TUESDAY, JULY 6th, 2010
"We're getting indications of a buildup of energy, Sir," Hobbs called from in front. Special Forces was already inside, scouring the building and determining what was and what wasn't safe to access. So far, they hadn't found Mulder. But no one had made it to the basement yet. It seemed that the elevator had been destroyed by a small explosive charge and no stairs existed.
"Enough to warrant us pulling out?" Calhoun demanded of his technician.
"No, Sir. We're still 'go.' No egress necessary. Yet."
"Keep an eye on it, Hobbs," Calhoun ordered. Then he stepped forward and entered the building with Scully right behind him.
"Major Calhoun, this is Thompson with Special Forces. We have a line down to the basement, Sir, but no response when we call Agent Mulder's name."
"There's no guarantee it's him down there, Thompson," Calhoun answered. "We're on our way to the elevator shaft. Out." Scully followed him, her heart ready to pound out of her chest. They had an infrared signature, and it was strong enough to be alive. Now it was just a matter of getting down that elevator.
Suddenly, the floor shifted. "Earthquake!" an officer called, but Scully knew that wasn't what was going on at all. She looked to her right, and saw a cloud of sand inside the hospital.
BASEMENT OF MILITARY HOSPITAL
TUESDAY, JULY 6th, 2010
He had no choice. He had to fire. "Forgive me," he heard himself vocally say, and he pressed his thumbs into the globe. He saw a cave, a small house, an SUV, and dozens of other locations there one moment, and turn to sand the next. As he did this, his mind threatened to destroy the other locations he knew his captors had also marked. They were so close to annihilation, and he knew they were hanging by a thread.
But he clung to that thread. He was determined not to let them die—they, he knew because of the Bari Trasadi's stream of knowledge, were not true terrorists. But this energy he had needed to go somewhere. It couldn't just dissipate. And then, as if the Bari Trasadi itself had given him the answer, he knew what he needed to do, to keep them safe. He knew it in his heart, but he also realized how painful it was going to be.
With his back arched and his thumbs still securely pressed against the globe, he imagined Scully, Alam, the innocent schoolkids in Pakistan who were about to be flattened into the Earth, and then threw his head back. He screamed, and in his screaming something exited from his mouth. Technicolor sand streamed out from his very soul and dissipated into the air. He had taken his own energy, and instead of streaming it towards those known targets, had directed it back at himself and the rock in his hands. At that moment, he knew he didn't save them all. Some of the innocents, along with the terrorists, had perished.
Even in this world where he should have felt no pain, he felt a sharp, jabbing sensation at his heart. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. The technicolors were fading into gray. The beautiful world, the endless knowledge, it was dissolving before his eyes. "No," he begged. He pleaded with the Bari Trasadi, "Please, no! Please!" But it was too late. He was back on the cement floor, and the building was coming down on top of him.
TUESDAY, JULY 6th, 2010
The walls dissolved. Dust was everywhere, and Scully's instincts took over. She dove to the ground and clung to the side of a receptionist's desk. The floor caved beneath her, and she was nearly swallowed up by the great plunge the cement was taking. The rebar groaned and bent with the cracking cement, and the screams of several officers nearly shattered her eardrums.
A tremendous roar overtook the building and it shook violently. After what seemed like an hour of dust assaulting her nostrils, debris flying all over her body, and the floor deciding whether or not it would collapse into the basement, it was finally over.
Scully never really realized what 'the silence was deafening' meant until that moment. After so much noise, so much commotion, everything was just…still. A thick cloud of dust blocked her view, and she squinted. She could see light coming from beside her. It was a huge light source, large enough that Scully realized what it was. Daylight. Another part of what was left of the hospital had just been demolished. "Major Calhoun!" She called, and coughed.
"Here, I'm okay," Calhoun called. "Thompson, check in," she heard him order, and a moment later, Thompson broadcast his injury report for his team. "We need reinforcements in the basement," she heard the man admit.
"We're on our way. All teams, check in. Calhoun out. Agent Scully! Where are you?"
"Over here—follow my voice." They managed to find each other, and then moved in the direction of the elevator shaft almost instinctively. Scully's heart was beating a million beats per second. She could only envision Mulder trapped beneath the rubble…or worse, simply disintegrated into pure SiO2.
"Our line is still secure, miraculously," Thompson said when they arrived. "Agent Scully, you're a medical doctor. You go down first."
Scully nodded her immediate agreement, and slipped on the harness Thompson handed to her. She jumped, and the secure rafter held her weight. She was lowered down to the basement level.
When she got there, it was worse than the first level. If she thought the cloud there was bad, this was literally impossible to see through or breathe. She coughed violently, and pulled her shirt over her face. Only seconds later, Thompson dropped two masks down the elevator shaft. That's Special Forces for you…always prepared.
She donned the mask and could at least breathe now. Carrying the other mask for when she found Mulder, she trudged through the rubble and spotted several things that disturbed her. She saw a half-demolished cot with multiple restraints as she accidentally bumped into a restraint system still secured from the rafters above. This was where he was tortured.
She could feel his presence, and though it made no sense to her, feel his pain. It wasn't an emotional connection, it was a palpable, physical presence. "Mulder!" she called as loud as she could. "Mulder! Answer me!"
She tripped over a pile of broken cement rocks, walked past a still-working Toughbook on the ground, and then she heard it. A barely-audible, extremely weak groan. She ran to its location, stumbling over rubble and ripping up her shins on damaged rebar. She saw his hand emerging from another pile of cement, and she began digging. "Call for medics!" She screamed. "Get them in here NOW! Mulder, stay with me, okay?"
The more she uncovered, the more she felt like throwing up. He was in horrible shape, his skin almost the same shade as the cement rubble. He was bone-dry, no sweat anywhere on his body. Her hands contacted several spongy areas where the bones and muscles should have been firm. And God only knew what other injuries she couldn't see in this dust.
As soon as his face was fully uncovered, she put the mask on him and stroked his hair, waiting for the medics to arrive. He was breathing, which was a good sign. The only good sign she could see. "Stay with me, Mulder. Come on, can you open your eyes for me?" Tears brimmed her own eyes when she got no response. "Come on," she continued to plead, but he was out cold.
The medics finally arrived, and secured Mulder on a stretcher after stabilizing him and inserting an IV. They had to call one of the Special Forces soldiers over to cut the chain link away from the bolt on the floor. Once that was done, they began carrying him out, and Scully stayed by his side and held his hand. She heard Calhoun get a report from one of his people about a Toughbook with 'alien text' on it, but for now, she didn't even care. She had gotten what she had come for.
BASEMENT OF MILITARY HOSPITAL
TUESDAY, JULY 6th, 2010
Mulder was barely aware of his surroundings. Unable to open his eyes, barely able to breathe, he felt his chest compressed by the cement and knew it wouldn't be long before his life slipped away from him. Like the walls had dissolved. Like the world of knowledge had been ripped from him. Like the lives of those innocents he couldn't save.
He couldn't stop their faces from flashing before his eyes. He didn't much mind the twenty-eight terrorists he had eliminated from the planet, although he saw their faces too. Instead, he minded the four schoolchildren playing outside, disintegrated before he could re-direct the energy. A husband and wife in their kitchen, making food. Two teenagers rummaging through a trash heap for spare auto parts. All mistaken for being terrorists by his captors. All marked on that damned map he had memorized. All seared into his memory despite being erased from the Earth.
Had he been at least partially successful? Had the Bari Trasadi been destroyed? If not, Strughold would return to salvage it. It would only be a matter of time before the evil man managed to adapt the device so that he could use it, and after that it was all over. Anyone who could successfully operate that device could have control of all of the world's governments in a matter of minutes. A few brief conversations with the world leaders and a convincing demonstration of its power, billions of people's deaths and several new deserts where US cities used to stand…Strughold would quickly become the most powerful man in the world.
But Mulder was dying. His lungs were filling with dust, his chest was barely able to expand and contract under the weight of the cement, and every inch of his body screaming with pain or had gone completely numb. There was nothing he could do at this point except hope his earlier efforts had been successful.
Then he heard voices. Great, more voices. Honestly, I just want to die in peace. Can I please die in peace?
But the voices persisted. They got closer. One voice in particular pierced his hearing. "Mulder!" he heard Scully call him. On the off chance it was actually her, he managed to grunt, but nothing more.
The next thing he knew, the weight was being lifted off of him. Still unable to open his eyes, he had no way of knowing it was her. But he somehow could sense her. He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted her to be real. An oxygen mask was slipped over his head. He could breathe, finally. She stroked his hair. Someone cut the chain that held him down. He was lifted up, and carried out. He was set free. He was going home.