Chapter 10

Bare branches reached for him in the dark, snatching at his hair, his thin trench coat, and his face. The deep snow hid a virtual minefield of mossy logs and loose rocks that challenged his balance with every step. And it was all uphill.

Mulder estimated that he'd been hiking for less than fifteen minutes, but he was ready to drop in his tracks. Maintaining his footing took his full concentration, taxing every muscle in his body. It was wearing him out with alarming speed.

The smoke smell was getting stronger. He just wished he had the first fucking idea what he was going to do when he reached its source. If he saw the Jeep, it would be confirmation that he had found Michael, too. And Scully.

Then what? What was he supposed to do?

He didn't think they would be outside in this weather. If she'd left Scully here without any shelter, she'd be dead by now. Michael had needed to get back here badly enough to risk drawing attention to herself by leaving the hospital in the middle of the night. That meant Scully was still a threat to her. That told him she was still alive.

But for how long?

"Damn it!" A heavy branch snagged his coat, ripping a hole in the sleeve. It also gouged the shit out of his shoulder. He pulled away from it and ripped the material again. Cold air rushed into the gap, freezing the blood on his skin.

He stepped to his right, aiming for a slightly clearer path. His foot came down on something slippery and round. Something that rolled under his weight and increased his momentum. Log. It was a log, he realized as he scrambled for balance, arms flailing, snapping branches as his center of gravity shifted too far.

Both feet were slipping now. An instant later, the ground fell away and so did he, sailing out into the dark, arms pin wheeling and finding nothing but air.

* * *
Donnie Phaster had failed. Duane Barry had failed. And Jerry Schnauz. And too many others to count. That Michael Hobart would be the one to finally take her life away was almost too much to bear.

It wouldn't be long now. She had come back with an armful of split logs and kindling, but for what purpose, Scully couldn't guess. Certainly not Scully's comfort. Maybe to make it easier to mimic the killer's technique? Cold hands would be shaky and imprecise. Precision was the man's hallmark.

She obviously intended to make Scully's death look like the work of the man they were hunting. She believed Scully had found something in New York that would implicate her. Something that would connect her to the killer... but what? Why would Michael protect-- or abet-- a serial killer and then pretend to pursue him?

Scully watched her build the fire, poking at the logs and adjusting the kindling until it suited her before she lit the match. Precise. Exacting.

The daughter of a police chief. A psychologist who had tried an odd mix of other professions first. Forestry. Medicine. Law enforcement? Profiling was something she'd gotten into because of Sheriff Kessler, if Scully remembered that conversation correctly.

What had Mike Castle said in their few minutes' talk about her? Something about her father. How pleased he would have been to see her working with the FBI. That pleasing him meant everything to her.

Mulder would know how to put this all together. He sensed things about people in a way Scully could never do. She read facts, and he read hearts. It was one of the things that made them such an effective investigative team.

Except this woman had slipped under his radar more completely than anyone she'd ever seen. Did he even suspect her? Despite knowing she'd been with Scully when she disappeared?

Or had he even known they were together? She had only Michael's word to tell her that Mulder sent her to pick Scully up.

How would he react to finding her body? The pain would be less because he had so few memories of her now. She should be glad for that, but somehow it made dying even harder. Everything they had been to each other would die with her.

The injustice of that one fact filled her with rage, and the rage cleared her head.

Michael thought she knew something. Use that. Stall for time. Pick the right moment and fight back.

Roll the dice. "Killing me isn't going to save you."

Michael stopped poking at the fledgling fire and stood up, dusting her hands on her jeans. She gave Scully an indulgent smile. "I wondered if you fell asleep." She came over and sat down on the edge of the cot, gently pushing Scully's legs to the side. "You spent all this time coming up with that opening. Where do you think you're going with it?"

"Killing me isn't going to solve your problem. I don't care if you believe that or not, but it's true."

"And what problem is that?"

"You know what I found in New York. And you're afraid I told Mulder. That's why you plan to kill him, too. But it's not going to work."

Michael's smile turned smug. "I found the computer disks in your bag. Why do you think I needed a fire?" She walked back to the hearth and picked up a small stack of floppy diskettes from the mantle, waved them at Scully and tossed them into the flames.

Scully let her smirk for a moment. "I sent myself some emails when I was in New York. It's only a matter of time before Mulder checks my computer." She paused to let that sink in. "He may be doing that right now."

Michael studied her with narrowed eyes. "You surprise me. Not many people do that. I expected you to deny telling him anything and try to talk me out of killing him. Instead, you not only guaranteed that I will, but you've just told me how to prevent anyone else from finding out what you know." Her gaze narrowed to a squint. "Unless you're just stalling for time."

Scully weighed her chances and then plowed ahead. "Of course, I'm stalling for time. But I'm also telling the truth."

Michael's smile was filled with such venom that it sent a chill down Scully's back. "You know that I have to go back for your computer, whether I believe you or not. Very good, Agent Scully. I'm fairly impressed." She grabbed her coat from the chair next to the fire and pulled it on. "Not as impressed as you must have been to discover your serial rapist was a woman."

She was watching Scully's face intently as she said it, and Scully knew why. It took everything she had to mask her reaction. She kept her voice carefully even. "Impressed is hardly the word."

Michael shrugged. "Call it whatever you want." She opened the front door, then paused to look back at Scully. "In case you were thinking that you might try to escape, let me assure you that you'll freeze to death before you find civilization. You're twenty miles from the nearest house, and the outside temperature was fifteen degrees and falling the last time I checked." The smile was back. "I'll see you in a few hours. We need to finish up before daylight."

The door closed. Scully didn't even wait for the Jeep to pull away before she started on the tape at her wrists.

* * *

The fall was brief, but the landing was a bitch. Mulder hit the ground feet first and off-balance, pitched forward by his own momentum. Instinct made him tuck his shoulder in and try to roll. The result was a hard, twisting motion around the axis of his right leg, the only part of him that had managed to make solid contact with the ground.

Pain exploded in his ankle and knee, shrieked up his leg into his hip and dropped him like a stone. He landed on his face in the snow, both arms beneath him, hands clutching his leg. Some primitive urge to breathe made him turn his head to the side, but moving anything else was utterly out of the question. Movement, his brain screamed at him, equaled pain.

Don't move don't move don't move don't move.

But he had to move. He had to get up and find Scully and kill Michael Hobart with his bare hands.

But first, I gotta let go of the leg.

Hanging on wasn't reducing the pain to any noticeable degree, but he had the nauseating sensation that his grip was all that was keeping it attached.

Scully needs you.

He moved very carefully, first straightening his left leg, then pushing himself over onto his back, keeping the right leg as still as possible. Even so, it generated a fresh burst of pain. He lay on his back gasping in the frigid air, waiting for it to ebb.

The flashlight was gone. He'd been carrying it unlit in his right hand before he lost his footing. If he'd had it turned on, he'd have a chance of finding it. What was infinitely worse: his gun had been in the other hand, and it, too, was gone.

Get your ass upright. Now.

The cold was beginning to sink in. He was coated with snow that was melting from his body heat and would freeze solid long before it dried.

And the path he'd been following was now an unknown distance above and behind him.

Futility and pain filled his eyes with hot tears. He brushed at them angrily, then pushed both hands down in the snow and shoved himself to a sitting position. Teeth clamped together in determination, he half-rolled onto his left knee. He needed something to use as a cane, and he'd have to find it by touch alone.

He reached out his hand and there it was: a thick branch the diameter of his arm less than a yard to his right, buried in the snow. Whoever was looking out for him should have done so a few minutes ago, but he'd take what he could get. He pulled at it and held his breath.

It resisted him for a moment, then came loose in a spray of dirt and snow that flew directly into his face.

Sputtering and blinking, he turned it upright and planted it on the slippery ground, then pulled himself up.

Standing sent a rush of blood to his leg and brought an answering burst of pain that dimmed his vision... or would have if he'd been able to see anything but shadows.

But he was upright. And moving. One step forward with his good leg, followed by an agonizing slide of his right, and he was still standing.

He raised his face and took a deep breath. The scent of smoke was still there, stronger than before.

He headed toward it.

* * *

Michael started the Jeep and sat for a moment to calm herself. She'd have to talk her way into Scully's hotel room. It was doubtful that Mulder would be in his own room next door, but she had to be prepared for that possibility. Even if she were only faced with the dimwitted night staff at the hotel, it wouldn't do to act hastily. Not with the issues she already had on her plate.

When Mike had called her earlier today, she'd known what he was going to say before the words were out of his mouth. An FBI agent was there checking up on her. No, he didn't tell her anything. No, he didn't believe she was there to do a simple background check. There had been something in her eyes that made him suspect her motives might lie elsewhere. He had just wanted Michael to watch herself.

Don't do anything stupid, Michael. I know how your mind works.

She had almost laughed out loud. No one knew how her mind worked, that was the beauty of it.

No matter what obstacles fate tossed in her path, she overcame them all. And anyone who crossed her paid the price. Sometimes it took years, but she was a patient woman.

Jackie Acres had pretended to be her friend, helping her research the paper she was going to publish. Stealing her research was what she'd been doing, just like that bastard Michael had worked with on her first project, only she hadn't caught on in time to stop him. In fact, she'd been sending him the final draft of her article when she found out he'd already published an earlier version himself, claiming full credit for the research she had spent two years completing.

She had been ready for Jackie from the moment they met online. Professional newsgroups. Professional backstabbers.

And still, she had almost straightened it all out. But for Agent Scully, there would have been only eight victims. Michael had been prepared to 'figure it out' after the last one. All she'd been waiting for was Jackie Acres' body to be found. Scully was forcing her to add one more. Now two.

In a few hours, Agent Scully would die at the hands of the serial killer who would be caught in the act by Agent Mulder. Agent Mulder would regrettably die in an exchange of gunfire with the killer who would then be identified by his DNA.

Thank you, Jesse.

Game over.

* * *

Mulder had lost track of how many times he had fallen. All he knew was that dragging himself to his feet was getting closer to impossible every time. He could no longer feel the cold, and the part of his brain that still functioned told him how dangerous a sign that was. His sense of direction was gone. If he lost the scent of wood smoke, he might as well lie down and let the pain and exhaustion take him. The knowledge that it would take Scully, too, was all that kept him moving.

But even that wouldn't be able to overcome his physical condition for much longer.

The ground had leveled out, but the constant need to weave his way through the thick trees was taking its toll. His makeshift cane was a foot taller than he was, and it kept catching on branches above his head. It was part of the reason he kept falling down.

Seconds after that thought shuffled through the fog in his head, it happened again. The cane snagged on something overhead and threw him to the left. He bounced against a tree on the way down and grabbed at it with the strength of desperation, halting his slide. He leaned there, gasping for breath. And that's when he saw the light.

Yellow, flickering light that couldn't be anything but a fire. He squinted through the trees, trying to judge the distance. As he did, his eyes identified the outline of a window, and then the dark shape of a cabin. It wasn't more than fifty yards away, he realized with a mixture of joy and apprehension.

What the hell was he going to do when he got there? No weapon other than the stick he was using as a cane. It wasn't likely that Michael would let him get close enough to use it.

The cabin door opened, throwing a rectangle of yellow light onto the snow. He saw the Jeep at the same moment. Nothing happened for what felt like forever, and then Michael appeared in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder. A few seconds passed, during which Mulder didn't dare breathe. Then, Michael closed the door behind her and walked to the Jeep.

The engine started, sending puffs of steam from the exhaust. The lights came on. And nothing happened. She was just sitting there.

For all he knew, Scully could be inside the cabin, bleeding to death. She might not be alone, but he would have to risk it. Michael might leave, or she could just as easily head back to the cabin. He couldn't afford to wait.

There was nothing quiet about his progress through the trees. Gasping for breath, stumbling and banging into trunks. Twigs snapping like gunshots under his feet. He could only hope that the sound wouldn't reach her inside the Jeep.

Just as he reached the edge of the clearing, the Jeep began to move. He leaned against a tree, hiding behind it, and watched her pull away. When the Jeep disappeared around the first curve, he staggered toward the cabin.

* * *

By the time she heard the Jeep's engine fade into the distance, Scully was already sweating inside the sleeping bag. The effort of picking at the layers of tape with her fingernails was already cramping her hands. The hopelessness was as draining as the exertion.

She was considering the logistics of rolling off the cot to give herself more room to try to wriggle out of the sleeping bag that was zipped up to her chin when the door burst open.

Before she could think why Michael would be back so soon, a familiar figure staggered into the cabin and collapsed in a heap just inside the door.

"Mulder! Thank God!" The words leaped out on their own while her mind was still processing his condition. She couldn't see him now, but she heard him gasping for breath. "Mulder, talk to me."

More gasping. "Gimme... a minute."

Not just breathless. Pain. He was hurt.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

Breathless, slightly hysterical laughter drifted up from the floor. "Now there's... a silly... question."

Slowly, awkwardly, he pulled himself up using a long branch for leverage. Every inch of progress brought another grunt of pain. When he was standing-- more or less-- he came toward her. He was limping badly.

"Jesus, Mulder. What happened to you?"

Against all logic, he smiled. "I'm mounting a rescue. What's it look like?"

He sat-- or, more accurately, crashed-- down on the cot. "You okay?" He let the branch drop to the floor and reached for her face with hands that were raw and bleeding.

"I'm all right. Mulder, where are you hurt?"

He unzipped the sleeping bag all the way to her feet. The room air felt icy compared to the steamy heat from her body, and she shivered. He pulled at the tape, which she could now see was in multiple layers spanning a six-inch length of her wrists and forearm. They would need a knife or scissors to get it off.

Mulder seemed to realize the same thing. He glanced around the room. "There has to be something here to cut this with."

"What happened to you?"

He sighed. "I think I broke my ankle."

"Help me get out of this thing." She sat up and bent her knees to free her legs, then swung them around Mulder and got her feet on the floor. Sitting up for the first time in hours brought a wave of vertigo. It also gave her a good look at her partner.

"Mulder, you're soaking wet. Get over by the fire. You're hypothermic on top of everything else."

"No. We have to get out of here now. My car is down by the main road. She's gonna see it and know I'm here."

"She has my gun, but she knows you're armed. She won't..." The look on his face made her heart sink. "You don't have your weapon."

"I lost it when I fell." He ripped at the tape on her wrists, finally peeling off he top layer by a sheer act of will. "We don't have more than a few minutes."

He left her to work on her wrists while he freed her ankles. The tape around her knees was just for effect. It peeled easily away from her slacks.

She was still wearing her coat, though its effectiveness was greatly lessened by having been on her body beneath the sleeping bag for hours. Mulder, she was chagrined to note, was wearing his light trench coat. The cold would kill them before Michael did.

Mulder peeled the last of the tape from her legs and tossed it away. Then, he tried to get up. Scully was on her feet an instant later and, between the two of them, they got him standing. Barely.

He spoke through gritted teeth. "I can't make it, but you can. Don't follow the road, just head out through the trees. It's dark but--"

"NO! We go together, or we stay together. I'm not leaving you."

There was sweat running down his face; dark exhaustion in his eyes. He nodded. "All right. But let's do it now. I don't know how much time we've got."

Scully made a quick tour of the cabin, hoping against hope that Michael had left a weapon. There was nothing but the poker from the fireplace. Carrying that would just slow them down, and she needed both hands to keep Mulder moving.

It took a few tries to sort out the walking arrangements. Scully took his right side, her left arm around his waist and his right arm over her shoulders. Every step drew a hiss of pain from his clenched teeth. By the time they made it outside, she could feel him trembling on the brink of collapse.

The cabin was surrounded on three sides by dense woods. In front lay an open field. The moonless dark might provide enough cover, and there was no question that it would be easier for Mulder to navigate.

They were a dozen yards into it before she realized they were walking on a frozen lake.

If he fell, there was virtually no chance she could get him to his feet again.

She glanced back at the cabin after what seemed like a long time and found they had covered barely a hundred yards. Mulder teetered next to her, but stayed upright. Scully ground her teeth together and strained to support his weight as they struggled to keep moving.

* * *

Michael came around a curve less than a half- mile from the main road to find a sight that stopped her cold.

Agent Mulder's red Taurus hanging half off the road, buried in snow to the axle.

For a moment, she just stared, dumbfounded. Then, hoping that the bastard was lying in there dead, she put the Jeep in neutral, set the brake and got out with Scully's gun in one hand and her flashlight in the other.

He wasn't in the car. She spent several minutes searching the immediate area and found his tracks heading off into the woods. If he kept to that course, he would have been at the cabin well before she had left. So, he either got lost in the dark, or something slowed his progress.

"I hope you're out there with a broken fucking neck," she screamed at the silence, then realized how foolish that was. He could be out there waiting for her.

Or, he had been waiting for her to leave the cabin so he could rescue Scully.

"Shit!" She ran back to the Jeep and turned it around.

* * *

Continued in Chapter 11