Diametrically Opposed
by mountainphile

************
Chapter 22
************

Beneath the Knoll Complex
March 16, 2001
Late evening

Alarm bells rattled Mulder's eardrums and mute expressions of 
fear hung on his every movement.  Despite their zeal, these 
new friends of Scully's crowding the hallway were weekend 
warriors at best and beating a hasty retreat was certainly the 
order of the day.  But he slowed his steps at the door to the 
next room, feeling the old fascination seize and suck him in.

It was a disaster scene he'd seen too many times in recent 
years, with and without Scully.  It stank with the cloying, 
acrid smell of death and disinfectant.

Inside he beheld the unthinkable, rows of Plexiglas tanks 
arranged along one wall of the room.  Some were laced with 
green scum, while others held indistinguishable body parts or 
entire torsos in various stages of dissection, decomposition, 
or development.  Stainless steel tables barricaded the area, 
waiting their turn for the next lurid phase of 
experimentation.

"Scully, check this out," he muttered, unable to take his eyes 
from the putrid slaughter.

She pushed her way past Footer and made a sound of disgust.  
"My God, Mulder..."

"You see?" said Stefan.  "No one is safe.  Everything ends up 
dead."

"What do you say?" he asked her grimly, cocking his weapon.  
"Want to help me clean house?"

"Unquestionably, but now is not that time.  We have limited 
armament at our disposal, so let's just get the hell out of 
here."  

Popping sounds, like those Mulder heard back at the farmhouse 
in Chancey, echoed through the narrow hall and made the 
decision for him.  Without warning, bullets pinged and whined 
past his head, with only time for a quick shot in return.

"Go! Go! Go!"  

Saddled with Mason's heavy pack, he hustled the more 
vulnerable members of their group after Stefan.  They pushed 
past him: Cricket, Mason carrying Amanda, and Footer, wide-
eyed with dread.  

Scully's demeanor remained a concern.  At a low crouch and 
hugging the wall, she was a trained veteran of gunfire 
exchange.  But her face suggested pain more than concentration 
and several times Mulder saw her wobble on the balls of her 
feet.  

Flanking him, Tusk dropped to one knee and squeezed off 
several bullets, arm straight.  The heavy Magnum never wavered 
in his hand.

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" 

Tusk ducked a bullet, eyes focused on the dim passageway.  
"Target practice.  For the record, you don't need to know at 
what -- or where."

"No complaints here," Mulder winced as cement chips sprayed 
over his head from a well-aimed strike.  "Scully?  You okay?"

Her faint "Fine" confirmed to him that her armor was in place 
and she wasn't anywhere near up to snuff.   

"Then we better get moving.  I'll cover you both."

She nodded, signaled Tusk, and they both fled as Mulder 
suppressed incoming shots with return fire of his own.  He 
hoped to God Stefan knew what he was doing, and they weren't 
just rats in a maze, following him into what could be a 
deathtrap for everyone.  He hoped Tusk had another clip for 
his gun, should they became pinned down again.  

He wanted to hope Scully's wound hadn't ripped apart, but he'd 
seen the wet crimson smear her hip had left on the concrete 
wall.

Once in the lighted tunnel, she surprised Mulder by loping to 
catch up with the others and give them weapons support.  The 
raw anesthetizing power of adrenaline always amazed him.  He 
and Tusk came on slower because of their weighty packs and the 
necessity of turning to lay down shots at their pursuers.

He heard the whine of a bullet and then a burning sensation 
stung the side of Mulder's arm near the shoulder.  He cursed, 
but refused to let it hinder their escape, dismissing the 
shallow trough through his flesh.

"You hit?"

"Just winged," he grimaced.  "I'll manage, so don't stop now."

"How many do you think there are?"

"Four or five, maybe.  And I say we jettison the load.  First 
aid should be our last consideration if it slows us down and 
gets us killed."

Shucking the wide straps from his shoulders, Tusk literally 
wrenched the backpack from his arms and threw it down as an 
obstacle to their pursuers.  While they ran he helped Mulder 
do the same, easing it over his wound and tossing it aside.  

Lighter and faster on their feet, they encountered a segment 
of darkened tunnel that looked older than the previous one.  
From Tusk's exclamation he seemed to recognize the location.

"What is it?"

"Stefan has the right idea.  This access... we studied maps of 
the system for months," he huffed as they jogged its length.  
"I think this one feeds out toward the forest.  Should take us 
in the direction of the original hospital and mortuary, if I'm 
not mistaken."

"That's the best shot we have?"

"There should be an exit tunnel there that comes out somewhere 
in the trees.  Used since the turn of the century to schlep 
bodies out to the boneyard.  It'll be good for us, if security 
doesn't pin us down from the outside.  Plus, it's a stone's 
throw from where we first infiltrated."

"Like your brother said, serendipitous."

"No shit."

Sounds of pursuit echoed through the dark chute behind them, 
and the gash stung, blood hot and wet along Mulder's torn 
flesh.  He tried to ignore it as they hustled, another wound 
weighing heavily on his mind.  "I noticed that Scully's 
bleeding.  How bad was her injury?"

Tusk hesitated.  "Deep.  A three-inch slice from hip to ass.  
Took thirty stitches, above and below, to close."

"Is that what she told you?"

"No, it's what her attending physician is telling you now."  
He scowled back at Mulder.  "And spare me the outrage, dude.  
Local hospitals haven't been safe for the likes of us.  I took 
extra special care of Dana in spite of what you might think.  
Trust me."

************

The Big Man drummed thick fingers on the arm of his chair and 
listened to the drone concerning allocations, budget 
proposals, and policies.  At the microphone, Provost Carl 
Mellingham was doing an excellent job addressing his captive 
audience.  With good reason: a gunman shadowed his teenage 
son's every movement, trigger finger ready, itching to hear of 
one small lapse on Mellingham's part.

Small wonder this entire assembly gave spellbound attention to 
such dry fare, with their loved ones living under the veil of 
certain calamity.  It was intimidation designed to keep those 
in the higher administrative echelon, all the way up to 
President Gladstone, under immaculate control. 

He imagined that his father would be pleased.

The scientists, seated in tight ranks off to one side, were an 
exception.  Most of them were mercenaries at heart, wanted men 
in their own countries for war crimes more than half a century 
ago.  Japanese, Russian, German -- survivors of evil regimes, 
whose only focus now was scientific experimentation with 
sanction and without restriction.    

He saw that Anton Krieg, chief engineer behind these 
operations, had quietly excused himself from the assembly 
after a nod from one of his lackeys.  Fifteen minutes passed 
and Krieg's assigned place remained vacant.

Motioning for his personal assistant, the Big Man whispered a 
request and watched him leave.  Within minutes the same 
contact bent over his shoulder again, bearing a message that 
brought him to his feet.  Whispering an excuse to the 
associates flanking him, he exited the meeting.
   
************

Gunfire peppered the ragged group, brought to bay seconds 
after Mulder and Tusk burst through the door of the darkened 
operating theater. 

Scully saw that her little band, because of the unexpectedness 
of the attack and their inexperience, had unwisely straggled 
throughout the room.  She couldn't pinpoint the exact location 
of each or be sure they were maintaining proper cover.    

Mulder turned on a dime, blew one of his pursuers out of 
commission, and then dove for shelter.  For her part, Scully 
tried to maintain suppressing fire and managed to take down 
another assailant.  But there were too many shooters, too many 
bullets to dodge, and now Mulder seemed injured as well.

Footer became another casualty.  Scully heard his strident 
yelp and moans of pain, but was unable to see the extent of 
his injury or reach him to administer first aid.  She shouted 
for him to grab a towel from the cart shielding him, to stanch 
the bleeding himself, and keep down. 

Their team, for the most part, lay hurt and huddled in 
different parts of the wide, high-ceilinged chamber.  But the 
rain of bullets stopped, the attack broken off by a booming 
order from the elevated operating stage.

"Hold your fire! Special Agent Fox Mulder?"

Mulder, crouching in Scully's sightline, flashed her a 
questioning look.  He appeared to be running the voice through 
his audio memory banks and had come up empty.  "Don't tell me 
I got hooked up with the wrong tour group?" 

"Your unauthorized presence here is the problem.  And you have 
something of mine in your possession."

"You can always check the 'Lost and Found' tomorrow."

"I'm out of patience; you will return the girl now."

Stefan, crouched behind an examining table, shook his head 
violently at Mulder.  

"Return the girl," the voice repeated more harshly, "and the 
rest of you could leave here alive.  With the exception of the 
'Whisperer', of course, who will remain with me... but his 
whispering days are sadly over."

Glancing at Stefan, Scully saw his body go rigid and his eyes 
glaze over.  He shrank into a seated, near-fetal position, 
white-knuckled hands clutching his knees.

"Show yourself," Mulder shouted.  "Let me see if I can 
recognize your sorry ass."

"First drop your weapons!"

"No chance."

"Then perhaps *this* will change your mind..."

Overhead lights blazed throughout the room, gleaming off the 
examining tables, chairs, and carts crowding the theater, 
which apparently was still in use.  They also highlighted the 
operating stage, onto which a suited, grim-faced man stepped 
forward and Scully's heart froze at the sight.

He had Cricket!  In God's name, Scully thought desperately, 
how had he managed to snatch Cricket in all the scuffle and 
crossfire?

She exchanged horrified glances with Mulder and willed Tusk to 
keep his head during the next crucial moments.  

Chokehold across her neck, a gun to her temple, the man half-
dragged the dazed and terrified girl into the open.  Her 
breath was labored, and her knees knocked as she tried to keep 
her footing.  From each side, his cohorts trained their 
pistols on the group, but held their fire as ordered.    

"So you see, Agent Mulder, we each have something of value 
belonging to the other." 

"Let her go, or I'll blow your fucking head off!" Tusk 
shouted, hysteria edging his voice.

The hammers of two enemy guns cocked ominously.

"Hold on!  Wait!" Still gripping his weapon, Mulder slowly 
stood up, hands and arms extended in a placating gesture.  He 
stared with strange intensity at the man who held Cricket in 
his power.  

"I think I recognize you... so let's talk this out 
reasonably," he urged.  "In fact, maybe we'll have that talk 
we should've had about three years ago.  You know the one I 
mean?  But first tell your goons to back off."

For her part, Scully had no idea what Mulder meant.  The man 
considered, barked the order to his men, and nodded down to 
him.

"That's better.  Okay... Remember the question I asked you one 
night back in DC?" he continued.  "I said, 'What hospital are 
you taking her to?' And no one would tell me.  I said that she 
might have been infected with a virus from a bee sting, and 
still no one told me anything.  Except for you -- and you 
tried to blow a hole through my head before you drove away 
with her into the night.  Big mistake."

"You're very good with faces, Agent Mulder."

"It's a given I won't forget the rat-fuck bastard's face who 
kidnaps and helps torture my partner." 

"By the way," the man sneered, "concerning your Agent 
Scully... I extend my condolences to you on her recent 
demise."

She saw Mulder's jaw square, his head angle.  A mere flutter 
of eyelashes and fingertip movement in Scully's direction and 
she understood that he wanted their trump card up and out on 
the table.

Slowly easing herself to her feet into the light, she kept her 
gun drawn.  "Don't bother wasting our time," she snapped.  
"Just release the girl to us unharmed."          
 
The man stared in alarm, tightening his arm against Cricket's 
throat.  Her eyes widened and her leg kicked convulsively as 
she tore at his sleeve with her hands.  "I propose an 
exchange", he growled.  "Mine for both of yours."

"In your dreams," said Mulder.

"Then together we'll wait... take our time and see how long 
she lasts, this one... without oxygen... with steady pressure 
on her windpipe.  Lungs burning as the minutes tick by..."

Dry gasps erupted from Cricket's mouth.  To Scully's dismay, 
Tusk leapt to his feet.  

"Stop it, back off!  Take me for her!"  

He fumed in place, eyes glazed with desperation as he put his 
life on the line to save his sister's.  Stefan gave a 
quavering moan and scrabbled crablike across the floor, 
latching onto his brother's leg.  

"Such altruism is refreshing.  And even more touching if you 
both are from the same family."  The arm relaxed enough for 
Cricket to gulp in a few ragged breaths of air.  "What an 
intriguing prospect, comparing test results on two people of 
similar genetic blueprint.  And I could easily add a third to 
the mix, considering my Whisperer's traitorous actions..."

"Leave them out of it!"  

"You're in no position to give orders.  Only to obey them!"

"As are you, Mr. Krieg," said a different voice in a new tone 
-- one that sounded harsh, husky, and laden with power. 

He was tall and heavyset, this newcomer to the equation.  With 
his bulldog features and drawn pistol, he held an air of 
impeccable authority.  Stepping from a rear doorway, he 
motioned for the two gunmen to move behind him, which they did 
without question.  

When he nodded toward Scully, a curious and grave expression 
marked his big face.  

"I think I know this man," she whispered to Mulder.

"Welcome back from the dead, Miss Scully.  It seems your will 
to survive knows no bounds.  The same thing has been said of 
your partner, Agent Mulder, over the years."  He looked over 
at the grim-faced man who held Cricket.  "How do you explain 
this unexpected resurrection, Mr. Krieg?"

"Weak links.  They've been eliminated."

"Have they?" he asked cryptically.

Lower lip jutting, he surveyed Scully.  "I believe my father 
met with you on one memorable occasion, at a former research 
facility in West Virginia.  He told me your tenacious attempts 
to convince and save your partner were most impressive, Miss 
Scully."

She nodded curtly, noting the family resemblance between this 
man and the previous Syndicate elder.  

"Yes... we spoke at the Hanson's Disease Research Facility in 
Perkey, on the day I learned that it was just another killing 
field.  A death camp utilizing innocent human subjects for 
experimentation in direct violation of the Nuremberg Code," 
she shot back.  "Like the one we're standing in now."

There were ten global directives resulting from war crimes 
that were brought to light following WWII.  Mad doctors like 
Mengele no longer had free rein to maim and torment in the 
name of scientific experimentation and were held responsible 
for their crimes against humanity.  Some were brought to 
justice at the groundbreaking Nuremberg Trials, but many 
vanished, only to reappear, like Zama and Klemperer had, among 
the ranks of the old Consortium.
  
"Yet my father showed you the truth," the Big Man wheezed, 
"which until that time had been distorted and misunderstood -- 
by your partner especially."

Scully frowned.  "Your father duped me that day.  He told me 
lies masquerading as truth."

"You tried to convince your partner otherwise."

"Mulder survived because of another weak link in your 
organization.  Since that time I've learned what atrocities 
you people actually commit.  The unconscionable lengths you'll 
go to promote your agenda.  I've been personally exposed to 
the cold truth behind your lawless hierarchy and its lust for 
domination."

"You may be right, Miss Scully.  We continue with the Plan set 
in motion by our elder members, in order to achieve what has 
been a guarantee to us when the new age begins.  We who remain 
follow only one code: that of honorable sacrifice for the 
future."

"You mean a code of the lie!" snorted Mulder.  "Tell that to 
the victims who fried in the hanger at El Rico Air Force Base!  
Was your father there?  Were the consequences worthy of the 
sacrifice?"

The Big Man stared at him in cold brooding contempt, but made 
no contradiction.

"That was the insurance agreement struck with the alien 
colonists at the beginning, wasn't it?  Take a family member 
from each household for specialized testing -- so the rest of 
you could survive when colonization began!  Who won the lucky 
draw at *your* house?  Your mother... or a sister or brother?" 

"To be chosen was an honor; they went willingly."

"Bullshit!  My younger sister was taken, screaming for me to 
help her!  And no one gave Scully the option of declining 
either time."

"Mulder, please..." she whispered.

"Your father refused to cooperate voluntarily," the big man 
continued, "and the choice was made for him."

"What about Stefan Toskala here?  What choice did he have 
while you lied to his family?  Or Amanda Carmichael, kidnapped 
from her dormitory?"  

"Why should they be exempt?"   

"He's paid his dues, so let him go.  Once is enough," Mulder 
insisted, his voice rising.  "We've even paid with the lives 
of people we cherished, some of us several times over.  Tell 
your hatchet man to release his hostage and in the name of 
humanity, let us all get the hell out of here."

"It's not that simple."

"Why?" Mulder sneered.  "You afraid the almighty ships will be 
pissed off when they find the merchandise isn't ready?  
Something tells me you'd better go to Plan B fast, because 
Plan A is set to blow up in your face at any time.  The jig, 
as they say, is up, and the Cavalry's breathing down your 
neck."  

"You may very well possess the gift of prophecy, Agent 
Mulder."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Seconds ticked, broken only by Cricket's rattled gasps and a 
muffled groan from Amanda who lay cradled off to the side, in 
Mason's arms.

The Big Man regarded both agents for long moments.  Then, 
coming to a final decision, he withdrew a cell phone, murmured 
unintelligibly, and slid it back into his pocket.

"And another chapter ends.  Mr. Krieg," he ordered with 
ponderous authority, "you will release the girl."

"Nothing's ended!  We can't give in to their demands when 
we're so close," Krieg snarled.  "I refuse--"  

Scully saw the effects of the gunshot before its sound even 
registered.  First the hole appeared like a wide red eye on 
Krieg's left frontal bone, his head rocked sideways, and the 
back of his skull shattered.  Cricket screamed and fell to her 
knees, hit by blood spatter.  In a paroxysm of terror she 
scrambled from the body on the stage and fell into Tusk's 
scooping arms.

"A very small window remains," advised the Big Man.  He gave a 
nod to the two gunmen behind him and all three backed away 
toward an exit.  

"What do you mean?"

"Take a lesson from Antarctica, Agent Mulder.  Secrets are 
never left behind unprotected..."

They vanished from sight, but a pulsating mechanical bray of 
alarm suddenly shook the walls and corridors around the 
amphitheater.

Mulder whirled to face the group and Scully saw that his 
expression went beyond panic-stricken.  "Talk to me, Stefan!  
What's the quickest way out of here?"

"That way -- down that hall!"

"What is it?" yelled Tusk over the din.

"A fail-safe to cover evidence!" Scully shouted back.  "He's 
had them activate a self-destruct sequence that gives us only 
minutes to evacuate!"  

Mulder's words, like his feet, nearly stumbled over 
themselves.  "This whole nest is gonna blow -- and us with it 
if we don't haul ass out of here now!"

************

A chill shot through Dave Hostetler.  He heard Carl Mellingham 
calmly articulate that the Putnam University Knoll Complex and 
Museum was funding a venture that had been in place for years.  
A conspiracy designed to evade government constraints and 
restrictions over scientific experimentation using human 
beings for test subjects.

Amanda Carmichael...? 

Non-cooperation and disclosure would not be tolerated, the 
Provost explained calmly.  Rather, it would give the erring 
staff member a more personalized opportunity to view the 
actual science behind the experiments.  Or one of their loved 
ones... whom a panel would arbitrarily select.

Frozen to his seat while the speaker moved easily and smoothly 
to other matters on his agenda, Hostetler thought of Val 
Pinkerton's broken body.  And then a mental picture of his 
parent's little farmhouse in Indiana made his belly clench at 
the horrific meaning behind Mellingham's words.  

Had he understood correctly?  

Other admins around him scarcely breathed.  One man mopped his 
brow with a napkin and a woman's eyes grew red-rimmed as she 
stared down at her lap.

Agent Mulder... Someone tried to murder his partner last night 
at the motel.  Maybe they succeeded after all, but Hostetler 
would bet his last dime that she was alive and breathing, with 
the FBI busy covering up her so-called "death."  Why else had 
Mulder given him such a dire warning to keep his mouth shut?  

The cell phone delivered another jolt when it jumped to life 
deep within his pocket.  He sat a moment, horrified and 
determined to ignore it.  Then better judgment gave him the 
courage to risk excusing himself and smuggle the vibrating 
phone out to the hallway.

Knoll security patrolled the far ends of the corridor and by 
now the phone had quit its jumping-bean antics.  So the trip 
wouldn't be a wasted drain on his nerves, he entered the men's 
restroom, only to have the phone begin dancing again.

He looked over his shoulder quickly, then answered under his 
breath.  "Yes?"

"Hostetler?  Is that you?"

Agent Mulder's voice: sketchy, breathless, and close to 
breaking up.

"Yes, we don't have a very good connection--"

"You need to leave right now!"

Hostetler dropped his voice even lower, pulse racing.  "What 
do you mean?  I'm here in the middle of the meeting!"

"And you're going to be meeting your Maker if you don't get 
your ass out of there fast!  Trust me, this whole place is set 
to blow up in a matter of minutes!"

"Holy Christ!"

"Get out now, any way you can--" 

Reception failed, with Mulder's words sparking like 
electricity through Hostetler's brain.  At the same time he 
felt a new and unmistakable vibration under the soles of his 
feet, gaining power and intensity.  It was what he'd always 
imagined an earthquake might feel like as it surfaced from the 
depths of the earth.  

Screams erupted in the banquet room from which he'd come; an 
old fire drill alarm began clamoring, punctuated by gunshots.  
He heard the groan of hundreds of chair legs scraping hardwood 
floors and a keening howl of panic that burst outward into the 
hallway behind him.

Sailing forward on his own adrenaline, he made it just ahead 
of the first wave of terror-stricken people.  They poured like 
magma down the stairwells behind him, administration and Knoll 
staff members alike, surging toward the dark outdoors.  To a 
place they hoped gave enough distance and safe cover before 
everything blew sky-high...      

************

The alternate tunnel, shallow and riddled with puddles, was 
built in a bygone era for drainage, Scully surmised.  
Thankfully, it seemed less archaic and not as rough as the 
earthen one by which they'd entered the Knoll.  The sides were 
reinforced with stone tile, but devoid of light other than 
their headlamps and flashlights bouncing like frenzied 
starbursts against the low ceiling. 

And the explosive beast still pursued them, its rumbling 
breath drawing ever closer.

"I know where they keep it.  The device," babbled Stefan as 
they ran, looking first to Tusk and then to Mulder.  "I could 
go back... try to shut it down--"

"No way in hell, bro!"

"Not a chance," Mulder swore, picking up the pace.

"I could try--"

"NO!" they shouted at him in unison.  

Maneuvering the long twists and turns of the passageway, they 
splashed along in near panic and too little light.  With sweat 
streaking his face and head, Tusk carried the unconscious 
Amanda.  Mason, supporting Footer, phoned ahead one-handed to 
Needlenose and Mole.  He related the change in position and 
advised them -- with Glenn's help -- to rendezvous with both 
vehicles.  It was assumed they would surface farther north, 
close to the cemetery and the countryside beyond.  

"Needlenose says they're not alone anymore," he panted to the 
others.  "A whole medical team showed up.  FBI ambulances, 
everything, down from Columbus.  Said Mulder called them in.  
Working on Mole's arm now... said they'll meet us."

"Far fucking out," moaned Footer.

Scully hobbled to keep up, biting her lip, blood trickling hot 
and cold as it saturated the fleece and ran down her thigh.  
She saw that the towel wrapped around Footer's shoulder was 
stained black with his blood, seeping over onto Mason's shirt.  
And Mulder's flesh wound bled down his arm freely...  

Yet, like a rerun from the past, his good arm slid around her 
ribcage and he pulled her faster along the passageway toward 
the end of the tunnel.  Blinding light pierced the gloom as 
the walls straightened out and a glare from the distant pick-
up point lured them onward.  

Cricket had dashed far ahead of the pack, but came to a sudden 
grinding halt.  She cast around and turned, white face 
streaked with dirt and splotched with Krieg's blood.

"Stefan's not here!  Oh my God, where is he?  Where *is* he?" 
she wailed to Tusk.  

She boomeranged around and would have backtracked into the 
dark tunnel if he hadn't snagged her arm with his free hand as 
he drew up beside her.

"You sure?"

"Yes!  Yes!" she howled hysterically, and Scully's heart 
plummeted.  

"Go! You hear me?  Get out now and leave this to me--"

"NO!" Cricket screamed, but she was no match against his 
strength and force of will.  He dragged her along with him and 
then thrust her to the ground a safe distance past the two 
agents.  

Stunned, Scully scanned the area and saw that Stefan Toskala 
had indeed vanished during their flight to escape.  When had 
he fallen behind?  Was he frozen by fear or had he succeeded 
in slipping away to execute a hopeless plan doomed to failure?  
She could only speculate, but the awful truth sickened her.

"You can't go back now," she cried, clutching Tusk's sleeve.  
"Listen to me -- we have no idea how soon before this thing 
blows!"

"He couldn't have gone far."

"You don't know that!"

He'd already dumped Amanda into Mulder's arms.  Her head 
lolled on his good shoulder and her feet dragged the ground, 
because his injury robbed him of the strength to lift her with 
the other arm.  Forced to help, Scully grabbed beneath the 
girl's knees, aware that time was speeding past them while 
disaster bore down at breakneck speed.  

Tusk was determined to attempt the impossible and they were 
powerless to stop him.  

They felt a thunderous shock and knew that the main building, 
a thousand yards distant, must be already collapsing into 
ruin.  Thus began a destructive chain reaction that would 
explode in all directions, blasting through everything it 
caught above and below ground.

Tusk hugged his sobbing sister fiercely and pushed her back 
toward Scully.
  
"Both of you," he growled, touching Scully's cheek, "see that 
she gets to safety.  Stefan deserves a chance!" 

"It's suicide, there's no time!" Mulder barked at him.

Undeterred, Tusk shook his gleaming head and sprinted away, 
swallowed up by the dark maw of the tunnel.  

************

Wordlessly she helped Mulder drag the hapless Amanda with one 
hand while maintaining her hold on Cricket with the other.  
The crying girl resisted, but allowed herself to be pulled 
along toward the blazing headlights at the end of the tunnel 
on their final leg to fresh air and freedom.

Needlenose, Glenn, and the EMTs ran to meet them and take 
possession of Amanda and Footer.  Outside, tall trees flamed 
into black silhouette, backlit by the distant flare of what 
seemed like orange, red, and yellow fireworks.  The deep 
rumble from the Knoll grew louder, closer, and dust began to 
cloud and blur the air.

Blasts reverberated, followed by a great belch of smoke and 
debris from the tunnel's mouth that made them stagger for 
balance in its concussive wave.  She saw that Cricket was bent 
forward, hands on her knees and weeping inconsolably.  Mason 
knelt beside her, tears streaming down his face.  

It was too unjust for words, impossible for anyone, including 
Scully, to fully comprehend.

The comforting warmth of Mulder's arms enveloped her and she 
leaned against him in stunned silence.  They stood holding one 
another until an EMT came forward, asking to examine Mulder's 
wounded arm.  He murmured a vague assent, but peered down into 
Scully's face before he released her.  

"You'll be okay for a minute?"

She blotted her eyes on a sleeve.  "Go ahead, get that looked 
at.  Mine can wait."

"Scully, I - I don't know what to say..."

"Then don't," she whispered in haste, her throat aching.  
"Please don't say anything... not yet."

A soft covert kiss to her temple and his hand slid away as he 
walked with the EMT toward the flashing ambulances.  

Alone except for the sounds of grief around her, Scully forced 
herself to turn and face the tunnel.  It was what she'd wanted 
from the outset, before they'd left DC -- the chance to heal 
and take a solitary stance against emotional hurt and the 
demons in her life.  On her own terms and in her own time, 
she'd explained to Mulder.    

But isolation wasn't a valid solution.  Not when they were 
bound together by history and cemented by love.  Not when 
there were new worlds waiting to be born and friendships to 
make and nourish along the way.  

She gave a shuddering breath and blinked through her tears, 
remembering the voice that huffed those words to her a mere 
day ago.   
 
So it was, that Scully alone saw the two ghostly figures, 
barely discernible through the dust and ash of the tunnel.  
Both limped badly, scoured with earth and streaked with blood 
from a dozen fresh wounds.  But the one who was taller and 
stronger kept the weaker brother from falling as they stumbled 
out together as one man, into the circle of light to another 
homecoming...

************
End of Chapter 22
Concluded in Chapter 23