Dreams IV: The Brotherhood(2/4)

The Brotherhood
Chapter Five

By Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net
and Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net

Inside the compound
4:15 P.M.

Scully nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Dixie to
offer a warm smile. She was in shock. No other word came close to
describing how she felt at that very moment. This very frail, almost
invisible woman, had not only known about her relationship with
Mulder, but she knew about her pregnancy as well. She wasn't sure if
she could trust her, but realized she didn't have much choice.

John Jacobs' booming voice from another room brought her back to the
present and sent a chill through her body.

"Get up, you good for nothin' Fibbie!"

Scully took a deep breath and bit her lower lip. It was all she could
do to contain her anger and keep from running to Mulder's aid.

***********

Mulder wasn't sure how long Scully had been gone. All he knew was that
he wanted to see her. Needed to see her desperately. The guilt he was
feeling superseded the pounding in his head and the dull ache in his
side. When he heard the door to the closet unlock he prayed it was
Scully, safe and sound. As safe and as sound as anyone could be around
madman Jacobs, he thought bitterly.

His hopeful anticipation was short lived when he saw Jacobs' large
form towering in front of him. Mulder heard him say get up, but then,
suddenly, and without warning, John Jacobs grabbed him by the
shoulders and hurled him out of the closet and across the room.
Whatever words Jacobs said after that Mulder didn't hear. His head had
exploded and he could no longer hear or barely see what was going on
around him.

Mulder forced himself to concentrate. He needed to get through this.
Dana was somewhere in the compound and he couldn't let her down.
Jacobs was standing over him, slowly backing him into a corner. Mulder
looked around but the slight movement made him gasp. They were in the
kitchen, a young woman was standing a few feet away at the stove. She
was cooking, wearing an apron. It was surreal, Mulder wanted to laugh.
He pictured Marie Antoinette saying, "Let them eat cake" and Betty
Crocker at a beheading. The room was spinning again and Jacobs kept
talking. Shouting, I think he's shouting, Mulder thought. But what is
he saying? Concentrate Mulder, concentrate.

"...want you to tell me what the hell is going on here? What happened
to Jeremiah and what's happening to Bo? I know you know boy, so you
just better tell me now before I feel the urge to inflict any more
damage to that scrawny little body of yours." Jacobs' grin was pure
mischief and from where Mulder was sitting he could smell the whiskey
on the man's breath.

Great, a drunken lunatic, Mulder thought bitterly, forcing himself to
look up at Jacobs and answer him. But what could he say? He had no
idea what he was talking about.

"I...we," Mulder took a slow breath, he didn't know talking could be
so painful. It would have been easier if Jacobs didn't keep coming in
and out of focus.

"Speak up, boy, I can't hear you." Jacobs gave Mulder a swift kick in
the chest, barely missing the already fractured ribs.

Mulder gasped for air. Bob, who had been standing by, afraid of his
own shadow, started to laugh uncontrollably. A loud, nervous laughter
that made Jacobs turn to him and forcefully push him out of the way.
"Shut up, boy," he shouted. "If you can't take the heat, then get the
hell out of the kitchen."

At that precise instant Jacobs noticed for the first time the woman
standing in front of the stove. She was frozen in place, had been
since the whole ordeal with Mulder began a few minutes earlier. She
was boiling some water for Dixie, to make another tea for Bo, and at
the moment was wishing the ground would open up and swallow her.

"Tenille, what the hell are you doing?" Jacobs was sparing no one
today.

"I...I'm boiling some water to make a tea for Bo...Dixie...said..."
The young woman was visibly shaken and was pushing her long blond hair
subconsciously away from her face. She knew she didn't belong there.
Not in the kitchen just then, not in the compound for the last six
weeks. Like Bob, she had been a victim of circumstances, negative
circumstances, for most of her life. When she met Bob over a year ago
he offered her what Jacobs had offered him, an occasional kind word
and a place to call home. More than anyone had given her since
mother's death when she was six.

"I don't care what the hell Dixie said. You just..." Jacobs was cut
off by a shuffling sound from behind. Apparently the young agent was
trying to stand up, and was nearly on his feet when Jacobs spun around
to face him.

"Good, I'm glad you're up," he bellowed mischievously. "Now maybe we
can take care of this man to man."

Mulder was leaning against the wall for support. Forcing himself to
focus on the situation at hand.

"So tell me boy, what is it the bureau has in store for us? Is it the
water? Is it something they're pumping into the air?"

"I...don't...know..." focusing and speaking was almost more than he
could handle. "What you're talking...about...We aren't
doing....any...thing." His words were labored and he wanted to slide
down the wall until he was sitting again. He couldn't remember why he
had wanted to stand in the first place. Dana...that's right. She's
here. He wanted to go find her. His eyes were starting to close. He
could feel himself drifting away, his thoughts fading.

"God damnit, listen to me." Jacobs wasn't done with him. Agent Mulder
would pass out when *he* said it was okay. Not a moment sooner. He
leaned forward and grabbed Mulder's shoulders with both hands, but the
young man's eyelids were fluttering and he knew he was losing him.

In a fit of rage, Jacobs let go of the agent and swirled around to the
stove, pushing Tenille out of the way and grabbing the pot of boiling
water she was tending.

Mulder caught a glimpse of something coming his way and instinctively
brought up his hand and moved his head. The scalding water reached his
right hand and part of his arm, causing the throbbing in his head to
feel like a minor ache.

***********

Scully was trying very hard to concentrate on Bo and whatever it was
Dixie was saying to her. Unfortunately, all she could hear were
Jacobs' angry words directed at her husband. She wanted to run to him
when she heard Jacobs yelling at Mulder to listen to him. She knew
Mulder had a concussion and she could picture him blacking out in
Jacobs' arms. She wanted him in her arms so desperately.

Just then, a young woman, she'd heard Dixie call her Tenille, came
running out of the kitchen. The woman, Scully guessed no more than 20
years-old, was visibly shaken and immediately ran to Dixie for
comfort.

"Dixie, it's awful," Tenille was sobbing. "John's going to kill him. I
know he is."

"There, there," Dixie was holding the woman, gently stroking her back.
"It's okay, sugar. He's not going to kill him. He's just been drinking
again and is a little upset."

"No Dixie, I can see it in his eyes," Tenille was fighting for control
and looked Dixie straight in the eyes. "He grabbed the pot of boiling
water I had on the stove and threw it at him. Caught his hand and arm.
He was aiming for his face, Dixie."

Dana Scully stood up, determined to go in the kitchen and rescue her
husband when she felt Dixie's strong hand on her shoulder.

"Tenille, honey," she was saying, not letting go of her grip on
Scully. "Please go get me another blanket for Bo. I think he's
startin' to feel better and I wouldn't want him to be cold."

Tenille nodded quietly and headed in the direction of one of the
bedrooms. Dixie immediately turned her attention to Scully, who did
not look very pleased or eager for small talk.

"Please let go of my arm, " Scully said through clenched teeth.

"Child, you can't go in there right now."

"I...I have to." Scully wanted to run, to scream, to cry, anything but
what she was doing rightthen, which was nothing. For all she knew
Mulder was already dead.

"I know you do," Dixie said slowly. "But you can't. Your man's gonna
need you to help him and if you go in there right now, John will make
sure you're in no shape to help him." Dixie paused before continuing.
"Or your unborn child."

Scully's eyes welled up with the realization that Dixie was right. Now
was not the time for her to make a move. But when? When and how was
she going to be able to do something? Anything? Her attention was once
again drawn to the kitchen and Jacob's angry voice, yelling at her
husband words she knew he couldn't hear. She turned to Dixie, eyes
pleading.

"What can I do? I can't just stand here."

Dixie smiled tenderly. This young woman reminded her so much of
herself when she and Jeremiah were newlyweds. It made her heart ache.
"Let me see what I can do," Dixie said, slowly walking to the center
of the room, where she stood silently for a few seconds before letting
out a high pitched, demonic wail. She continued alternately sobbing
and screaming until everyone in the compound, everyone except for
Mulder, that is, was in the room with her.

"What's the matter with her?" Tenille was asking, she'd already had
enough excitement for one day. Dixie was the only one in the compound
she felt she could trust. Even Bob had distanced himself from her in
the last few weeks. The thought of losing Dixie was unthinkable.

Dixie began to speak slowly, between sobs. "Jeremiah....he was here,"
the old woman said. "He told me we had to get out of here. He said..."
Dixie was shaking. Scully found her to be an incredible actress. Not
only that, she'd managed to bring Jacobs out of the kitchen and away
from Mulder. "He said...everything that's happening is our own
doing...He said we are killing each other...We have to leave here...We
can't kill anymore or we will all go to hell and damnation for our
sins." Dixie continued to sob, yelling loudly when anyone came near
her. "He's here," she kept saying. "Can't you feel him?"

The group that had gathered around Dixie was frozen in place. Most of
the men and women in the compound had grown up hearing folk tales
about the Blackfoot and the Sioux Indians. Tales that created a
lifetime of superstition and a powerful belief in the afterlife.
Messages from the dead, no matter what form they came in, were always
taken seriously.

John Jacobs, on the other hand, was not a superstitious man and
neither did he believe in the afterlife. But he was smart enough to
know his followers did and so, right then and there, he decided what
their plan of action would be. He just needed some time to put it into
effect. In the meantime, to prevent an all out mutiny, he decided he
better get the fibbie in the kitchen some medical attention.

He turned to Scully, who had been standing away from the crowd,
waiting for the opportunity to make her way to the kitchen.

"Hey Doc," Jacobs said, in a voice oozing with warmth. "Why don't you
go into the kitchen and see what you can do for our friend, Agent
Mulder. We wouldn't want anything to happen to him now, would we?"

Scully nodded, her heart in her mouth, and headed silently into the
kitchen.

The sight of Mulder, slumped against a corner of the large kitchen,
one leg bent at the knee, with his head resting on it, the other leg
stretched out in front of him, a badly burned hand, lying idly beside
him, made her gasp. She clenched her teeth tightly in an effort to
control her emotions. He needed professional help right now, she
reminded herself. Not a hysterical wife. She leaned down in front of
him and gently put a hand on the side of his head.

"Mulder," she whispered. "Fox, can you hear me?"

Mulder flinched slightly at her touch and slowly moved his head up to
face her. The movement was painful, but he wanted so much to see her
again. He tried to force a smile, but settled for a slow apology.
"I'm...sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean what I said...about
the...baby..."

"Shh. I know you didn't mean it," she said. "But I need to take care
of you right now. Open your eyes for me." Mulder did as he was told,
squinting against what little light there was in the room. As she
suspected, his eyes were dilated.

"Well, you have a concussion," she said matter of factly. "But we
already suspected as much. Let me take a look at your hand." Mulder
drew back slightly as Scully picked up his right hand. The scalding
water had already caused blisters all along the palm of his hand and
up his wrist and arm, halfway to his elbow. "I'm going to get you some
ice water to soak your hand in," she said before standing up. "Stay
put, okay?"

Mulder tried to smile. Like he was going anywhere.

Scully quickly found a large roasting pan and filled it with ice
water, carefully placing it beside Mulder on the floor and gently
putting his hand in it. He hissed in pain quietly, but said nothing.
After rummaging through the small medical kit she had been given
Scully found no creams or ointments for burns. There were plenty of
bandages, but nothing to soothe the pain. She took out four aspirin
and put them in his mouth, holding a glass of water up to his lips. He
gulped the water quickly and she realized it had been a while since
her husband had had anything to eat or drink.

His breathing was shallow and slightly irregular and Scully was
fearful he was close to losing consciousness. "Mulder, where else does
it hurt?" she asked, gently feeling his chest and ribs.

"Ow," he moved uncomfortably from her touch. "That hurts Scully. I
think I may...have broken some...ribs."

"Not you, Fox, Jacobs. Jacobs broke some of your ribs," she replied,
her voice full of hostility.

"Yeah, well. They're mine...They're broken."

Scully tried to smile at her husband's attempt at humor. He was very
pale, with clammy skin and all the signs of shock. He needed to be in
a hospital, but somehow, that didn't seem like an option.

"Mulder, you need to get to a hospital," she said anyway, just to make
herself feel better.

Before Mulder could say anything Jacobs' shadow came over both of
them. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, Doc."

Scully turned and looked up at Jacobs, contempt in her eyes. Mulder
went to grab her arm but thought better of it. If Jacobs knew...If he
knew what this woman meant to him, it would no doubt be the end of
her.

Scully stood up in a weak attempt to gain some leverage on the man,
who was easily three times her size. "This man needs to get to a
hospital," she said. "He has a concussion, some broken ribs, a badly
burned hand and is in the early stages of shock. I have nothing here
to treat any of those. If he doesn't get to a hospital soon, he may
die."

"Well, Doc, that's just a chance we'll have to take," Jacobs flashed
her a leering grin and she wanted to punch him in the face. If she
could only reach his face, she thought grimly.

"At least, let me get him to a bed, where I can make him more
comfortable and he can rest." It was the most she could hope for under
the circumstances.

"I'll tell you what," Jacobs answered, grinning once again. "I'll help
you drag him into that closet again and you can take that big pot of
ice water with you. And hell, I'll even throw in a flashlight, so you
can keep a real good eye on him, okay?"

It really wasn't a question and Scully realized it was the best they
were going to get. She nodded slowly, stepping in front of Mulder
just before Jacobs' grabbed him.

"I'll help him in the closet, " she said. "If you could please get me
a blanket, I would really appreciate it."

Jacobs was about to say something, maybe kick the agent one more time
for good measure, but thought better of it. A couple of his followers
were in the kitchen now, still spooked from Dixie's ramblings, and he
didn't want to add fuel to the fire. "Hey, Tim," he yelled to one of
the men standing behind him. "Go get the Doc here a blanket."

Scully helped Mulder to his feet and slowly walked him to the storage
closet that would become their home for God knew how long. She found a
good spot for Mulder and sat him down, going back for the ice water
and the glass she had left on the kitchen floor. She took the blanket
from Tim and the flashlight from Jacobs before closing the door to the
closet herself. She waited for the lock to fall in place before
joining Mulder on the floor.

It took all his strength, but Mulder managed to put his good arm
around Scully and bring her close, letting her head drop on his chest.
He thought he heard her crying, but said nothing.

***********

Outside the compound
7:45 P.M.

Agent Thornley was not a happy man. He had been living this case for
the last month and today, for the first time, he had felt like they
might be getting somewhere. Like there actually could be an end in
sight. Agent Mulder had been everything he had hoped for and then
some. Intelligent, tenacious, willing to do whatever it took to take
care of the situation. His partner had seemed like a Godsend. An agent
*and* a doctor. The last medic he had sent in came right out with
Jeremiah Miller. There was no reason why this time should have been
any different. But it was. Agent Scully had been gone for nearly four
hours.

He could no longer wait patiently. In spite of Agent Mulder's request
that he not call the compound, that he wait for him to call, he picked
up the phone and dialed John Jacobs' direct line. Agent Mulder and
Agent Scully were good people. That much he knew. He could no longer
wait around for the answers. It was time he started asking some
questions.

The voice on the other end sounded slurred, angry. What little
research they had dug up on Jacobs showed a man with a severe drinking
problem. "Jacobs here."

"Jacobs, this is Agent Thornley. I need to speak with Agent Mulder."

"Gee, Thornley. I'm afraid you can't do that right now. Agent Mulder
is...indisposed, right now."

Thornley tightened his grip on the phone. He could tell from the way
Jacobs had said that that he was smiling. Enjoying the conversation
and its repercussions. The son of a bitch..."Listen, Jacobs, you
already have one murder to contend with on your hands. I suggest you
let me talk to Agent Mulder before this gets completely out of hand."
What was he saying? It already was out of hand.

Jacobs thought for a moment. He needed a few more hours to put his
plan into effect and it would do no good to have the FBI storming the
compound before he was ready. "Okay," he finally said, "I'll put the
Doc on the phone, but make it quick. She's a busy woman."

Thornley could hear Jacobs laughing as he dropped the phone. What did
he mean by his last remark? And why couldn't Mulder come to the phone?
This day was not turning out the way he had expected.

Scully quickly moved away from Mulder when she heard someone unlocking
the door. Mulder had fallen asleep and she could see when the door
opened that he was not doing well.

Jacobs reached in and grabbed her hand forcefully, pulling her out
abruptly. "Agent Thornley's on the phone, wants to talk to Agent
Mulder. I told him you would have to do." He led Scully into his
private study and held the phone at a distance before handing it to
her. "Make it quick and tell him nothing...or else."

Scully took the phone and answered slowly, hoping her tone would
convey the seriousness of the situation. "Hello."

"Agent Scully, Thornley here. What the hell is going on? Where is
Agent Mulder?"

"Sir?" What could she say that wouldn't make Jacobs grab the phone
from her immediately.

"Agent Scully, are you all right?"

"No."

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"What about Agent Mulder? Is he hurt?"

"Yes."

Thornley took a deep breath. "How badly?" No, no, ask yes or no
questions, you fool. It's obvious she can't talk. "Is he hurt badly?"

"Yes." Scully looked at Jacobs, who was getting antsy.

"How about the other guy? The guy you were sent in to help in the
first place? Is he dead?"

"I don't think so."

"Good, at least we're not at the point of retribution just yet. Agent
Scully..." too late, Jacobs grabbed the phone from her.

"That's it Thornley. You had your chance. You know she's alive. As
well as the other one. They're both alive. For now. You do anything
stupid, however, and they won't be for long."

Thornley was left with a dial tone and an empty feeling in the pit of
his stomach. The next call he had to make he dreaded even more than
the previous one. He picked up the phone and dialed Assistant Director
Skinner's direct line.

One ring and the call was answered. Walter Skinner didn't mess around
with this line. Very few people had it and even fewer still ever used
it. "Skinner."

"Walter, it's me, Spencer."

"Spence? Hey...good to hear from you. What's going on? Agent Mulder
driving you nuts with his theories yet?"

"Well, actually no..." Thornley wasn't sure where to begin. "Walter,
we have a problem."

Walter Skinner sat back and listened to his old friend recount the
activities of the last 24 hours. When Thornley got to the part about
Agent Mulder being allowed into the compound he took off his glasses
and rubbed his eyes. "That's the thing about Mulder," he mused, "he's
too good for his own good."

Thornley was getting to the part about Scully going in. "She insisted
on going in. What with her being a doctor and Mulder's partner, who
better to watch his back..."

"WHAT? You sent his wife in?" Skinner was hyperventilating. He should
have known it would never work. Sending the two agents out on a case
together. His two married to each other agents. Even though assigned
to separate parts of the case, 30 miles apart, they still managed to
end up together. In trouble.

Thornley was still reeling from the implications of Skinner's last
statement. "His...wife?" Is that what he said?

"Yes, his wife. I take it Agent Scully didn't bother filling you in on
that minor detail?" Sarcasm would get him nowhere at this point. He
wasn't sure what would.

"No, no, she didn't tell me that." Thornley was scratching his head.
Now what? "How was I supposed to know?"

Skinner softened a bit. Thornley was right. Besides, even if they
weren't married, if this incident had happened two years ago, both
agents would have responded the same way. They had been devoted to
each other from day one. Why should he expect anything different
simply because they were married?

"You weren't supposed to know, Spence," Skinner said, relaxing a
little. "They're professionals dedicated to each other, to their
partnership. They would have reacted this way before they became
romantically involved, before they got married. I would have expected
nothing less from them before and I'm a fool if I thought they would
behave any differently now. So what's the status now? Where are we? I
know this can't be the reason you called."

"No, you're right," Thornley said, recalling his conversation with
Agent Scully just minutes before. He repeated the conversation to
Skinner, who sat silently for a moment before responding.

Mulder's hurt and Scully's pregnant, he thought to himself. "What are
your options at this point Spence?" he finally asked.

"I'm not sure. I have orders to do nothing drastic without permission
from the attorney general. I'm calling her next."

"You don't suppose this Jacobs character is bluffing, do you?" Skinner
asked.

Thornley shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Agent Briggs was 29
years-old, shot in cold blood. I wouldn't take anything Jacobs says at
this point lightly. For all we know it may be too late to save Agent
Mulder."

"I hope you're wrong," Skinner said. "He's got a lot to live for these
days." He paused and thought for a moment. "Spence, I'm on my way out
there. I'll call you from the plane to get an update."

Thornley hung up and thought about his old friend Walter Skinner
before calling the Attorney General. He had felt these agents were
special from the minute he laid eyes on them. Apparently, Walter
Skinner felt the same way. He only hoped Jacobs was still unaware of
their relationship to each other. That knowledge could be deadly for
both of them.

***********

Inside the compound
2:00 A.M.

Mulder was running, faster than he thought possible. The Blackfoot
warrior had been chasing him for quite some time and he was getting
close. He could almost feel the warrior's knife on his head when his
foot caught a fallen tree branch and he fell. The ground disappeared
from underneath him and he kept falling, down a black abyss.
Falling...falling...until he felt a hand reach out and grab him, stop
him from falling.

"Shh. It's okay. Relax. You were having a dream." Scully. It was okay.
Scully was there. Slowly, he realized where he was and why his head
was pounding, his hand hurt like hell and he was having a hard time
catching his breath.

Within seconds the guilt came back. He felt guilty for not being there
for Scully, when he knew she needed him. If only to offer some
comfort. I just can't win for trying, he thought dryly.

Scully shifted her position around him, reaching up, feeling his
forehead. He held up his left hand and held her hand against his
cheek. "I'm sorry Dana," he said quietly. Even to himself, he didn't
sound very good.

"Sorry for what? It was just a dream." He felt warm to the touch. Not
a good sign. The burn was going to need treatment soon, before it
became infected.

"No, not for that," he said wearily. "For getting you into this mess,
for marrying you, for life."

"Don't be silly," she whispered. "I married you too, remember. And I'd
follow you to the ends of the Earth if I had to." She felt Mulder's
smile underneath her hand and it made her move closer to him,
protectively bringing the blanket up around his chest.

Scully turned on the flashlight and looked at her watch. It was 2 A.M.
She looked at her husband's pale skin and offered him some water,
which he took obediently, making sure to leave enough for her.

"When was the last time you ate anything, Mulder?" she asked, turning
off the flashlight.

"What time is it?" he asked in return, ignoring the question.

"Answer me. When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know. Yesterday sometime. Whatever we had on the plane. What
time is it?" he added quickly, hoping to deflect some of her anger.

To his surprise, she wasn't angry. "It's two a.m. Just as well you
haven't eaten," she added, "you probably would have thrown up all over
this damn closet if you'd had anything in your stomach. Imagine that."

Fox smiled at his wife's attempt at humor. She never ceased to
surprise him.

"What do you think Thornley has up his sleeve?" she asked him.

"I don't know. I don't think it's up to him. The attorney general is
running this show. Thornley's just the figure head. If it was up to
him I think he would have busted in here by now."

Scully sat quietly for a moment before continuing. "Why do you think
Jacobs let me come to you? Look after you?"

"Insurance, I suppose. I must be serving a purpose at this point. How
was that kid, Bo?" Mulder pictured Bo, sleeping on the loveseat,
having a nightmare right before waking up screaming, hanging on to his
head for dear life. "Oh my God, Scully..."

"What, what is it? Are you okay?" Scully didn't like the tone in his
voice. He had just discovered something, she could tell that much just
by the urgent tone of his voice.

"I'm fine, well, I'm not, really, but no that's not what I'm talking
about. My dream," he said, speaking faster than his bruised ribs would
let him. "In my dream I was being chased by an Indian, probably a
Blackfoot, since that was the tribe indigenous to these parts. He had
a knife and right before I woke up he had the knife on my head, just
above my forehead. Scully, he was going to scalp me!" Mulder had to
lean his head back and close his eyes. His head was throbbing again.
But he had to get this across to Scully.

"Mulder, relax. Whatever you have to say can wait. You need to get
some rest."

"No, Scully, listen to me." He was determined to continue and she knew
there'd be no stopping him. "Remember that map I was looking for the
other day?" Was that only yesterday? "The map I got from Albert
Holstein?"

"Yes..." Scully was afraid of what was coming next.

"On that map, this area, the area the compound is on, was clearly
listed as having been the sight of a sacred Blackfoot burial ground."

"And?" Scully didn't really want to know, but she felt she should at
least pretend.

"Don't you see? Jeremiah wakes up screaming, grabbing his chest. A
chest X-ray shows an arrowhead. Your autopsy shows he bled to death,
from a puncture wound. But there's no weapon to be found and no
punctured skin. Bo wakes up from a nightmare holding his head,
screaming in pain and becomes almost comatose instantly. Don't you
get it Dana? Bo was scalped." Mulder sat back again. He was fairly
certain that if the lights were on, he would be seeing double right
about now.

"Mulder..." For once Scully didn't have a snappy comeback to his
outrageous theory. After seeing Jeremiah's chest x-ray and looking
inside his chest cavity, she didn't know what to believe. "Why? Why is
this happening? Do you suppose the Blackfoot are angry?" She couldn't
believe she had just asked that question. Validating his theory in the
process.

Mulder smiled but said nothing. He knew these things were hard for her
to accept and he didn't want to push his luck. "I guess," he answered.
"Why else all this torture?"

"But why now? Why only in the last couple of weeks?"

"I don't know, maybe...hey, wasn't it listed in the case file that one
of the men died? A couple of weeks ago?"

"I vaguely remember reading that somewhere." Scully thought for a
moment. It was a true testament to Mulder's injuries that he couldn't
remember everything he had read in the case file the day before.
"Parker," she said. "Joe Parker, he was the oldest Yeoman, about 80.
The FBI figured he died of natural causes. Only found out about it
because Jacobs insisted on having a coffin delivered to the compound."

"That's it Scully, they buried the guy in the compound. The Blackfoot
are angry. They're mad, they don't want to share their burial ground
with the same white men that put them there in the first place."
Mulder was giddy, completely sucked into his theory.

Scully laughed, surprising even herself. "I have to hand it to you
Mulder, this is truly one of your more outlandish claims and I
actually, honest to God, think I agree with you."

"Will wonders never cease. Now all we have to do is convince Jacobs
it's not the FBI and..." Mulder's words were cut short by a loud
crashing sound. Like a window being broken. He tightened his grip on
Scully's hand.

"Thornley?" Scully asked.

"I don't think so. I'd like to think the guy would be a little more
subtle."

All hell was breaking loose. From where Mulder and Scully sat, they
could hear people running, screaming, women sobbing. Jacobs' voice
came thundering through the kitchen, perilously close to the closet
door.

"Brothers, it's time to make our move. It's time to get out of here."

End of chapter five

The Brotherhood
Chapter Six

By Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net
and Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net

Inside the Compound
2 AM

Dixie had spent the majority of the night calming down
Tenille and the four other women in the compound. All of
them had seen Jacobs drunk before, but never had they
witnessed the maniacal hatred he now possessed, or the cruelty
he seemed capable of inflicting on the Federal Agent in the
closet. After settling them all down with some chamomile tea,
she watched until each one fell into fitful slumber before
allowing herself to rest.

She had the satisfaction of noting that Bo seemed to be
responding to the arnica infusion she had been giving him.
The plant grew wild, right outside the back porch of the
compound. <Once again, Gran, you knew what you were
talking about,> Dixie thought with a smile as she adjusted the
blanket on Bo. Her great grandmother had been in her
eighties when Dixie had spent a summer with her in the back
hills of Tennessee. The old woman was the local wildcrafter,
making medicines from the plants and trees that grew in the
hillocks and valleys. Dixie had thought it foolishness at first.
Sure, her mother had used aloe and chamomile, peppermint
and the like. But it would never take the place of a real doctor
and hospital. After spending a summer watching her Gran
'cure' any number of ailments of her neighbors, Dixie had
started paying more attention when the old woman spoke.

"A little more 'tea', a lot more rest, and you'll be up
catching me some more squirrels for stew, Bo," Dixie
whispered to the sleeping young man. His breathing was much
easier and deeper, his color better and the fever seemed to
have gone down. She almost went into the kitchen to make up
some more of the 'tea', but she didn't want to wake the others,
especially Jacobs, who seemed to have drunk himself into a
stupor. Dixie wasn't fooled. She knew Jacobs was scheming
about something because she had seen him set the battered old
alarm clock. He was planning on doing something before
daybreak, because the compound was usually up and moving
around by dawn.

Finally, in exhaustion, Dixie pulled a pillow off one of the
other chairs and laid down on the floor next to the loveseat Bo
was on. She wanted to be close, in case he had a nightmare
like Jeremiah.

She startled when she heard the muffled cry from the
closet. At first, she was afraid that Jacobs had woken up and
gone in to batter Agent Mulder some more. But she looked
over and saw Jacobs, sleeping with a rifle across his lap, next
to the window. She thought about going to the closet, to see
if everything was all right. The only thought stopping her was
that of Jacobs waking. She wasn't afraid for herself. She had
been honest when she told him she had nothing to lose. But
she was afraid for the young couple locked in the closet. If
John got angry at her, she knew he would use it as an excuse
to hurt them. So far, the young woman had been unharmed.
If Dixie had her way, she would remain so. And her husband,
though beaten pretty badly, was still alive.

<Jeremiah, are you waiting for me?> she sighed, allowing
her mind to drift to thoughts of her own husband. <I miss
your old bones.> She let a single tear stray from her eye as
she tried to find some sleep herself.

A tremendous crash brought her immediately to her feet,
along with waking most of the compound. Jacobs was on his
feet, rifle at the ready, just having missed an untimely death by
inches. Glass littered the floor and in the middle of the room,
the old piece of granite boulder that had been Joe Parker's
headstone sat like some kind of bomb, waiting to explode.

Outside the compound
2 AM

Walter Skinner got out of the rental car and made his way
among the dozen or so vehicles lining the gravel road. He
could see his old friend, Spence Thornley, pacing and
gesturing toward the compound.

"Spence, any word on what's going on?" Skinner asked
without greeting.

"Walter, God it's good to see you," Thornley exclaimed and
grabbed the Assistant Director's outstretched hand. "No, no
word." He caught the concerned look on his friend's face. "Of
course, they haven't thrown out any bodies, either. I'm taking
that as a good sign."

Skinner nodded grimly. "What's the word from higher up?"

Thornley closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Well, they
didn't use the words, 'sit on our thumbs',. but the message was
conveyed."

Skinner bristled. "Do they know there are two agents
being held hostage in there," he cried angrily.

Now it was Thornley's turn to bristle. "No, Walt, I think
I forgot to mention that," he seethed sacastically. "Of course I
told them! But you know Bureau policy as well as I do. We
don't negotiate for our own. The exact quote, by the way, was
'they knew the risks'. My hands are tied," he said, letting some
of the anger slip away. "And so are yours," he added, not
unkindly. "We are not to make a move unless he starts killing
innocents."

"He already killed a Federal Agent," Skinner said pointedly.

Thornley's anger rose again. "Yeah, one of *my* men!
But Walt, that doesn't change the orders. And quite frankly,
nothing short of a bomb would change them at this point.
Everybody's still reeling from the Waco hearings."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Agent
Thornley and AD Skinner heard the crash and all eyes flew to
the compound.

"What the hell was that?" Skinner shouted to the agents
closest to the fence around the compound. One of them
turned and ran over to the two older men.

"Sir, it looked like, . . .this is going to sound crazy," the
younger agent was saying, all the while looking back over his
shoulder at the clapboard building.

"You wouldn't believe what I find crazy, Agent. Just tell
me exactly what you saw," Skinner ordered.

"Well, sir, the Brotherhood buried some old man over there
just to the east of the house. They put him by a big rock, that's
about two and a half, three feet in diameter. It was too big to
move, I imagine. Looked like they chiseled his name on it and
the date, from what we could see. Anyway, that rock just . . .
it up and flew through the window! Like somebody threw it.
Sir."

Thornley had pulled up a pair of binoculars and was
scanning the compound. "The lights just went on. They're
moving around, but I can't tell if anyone was injured. My God,
Walt, look at that window!" He handed the glasses to
Skinner.

Skinner let out a low whistle. "Damn! That thing broke
the sill and everything. How much did it weigh?" he asked,
knowing no one around could answer that question. He
looked around the ground, noting the distrubed dirt where the
rock had laid. "And it must have traveled, what? Twenty feet
or more," he said in awe.

Inside the compound
2:30 AM

Jacobs was furious. Now, the FBI was throwing boulders
at the house. Or so he would have his men believe. Secretly,
the appearance of the large rock, much too heavy to be lifted
by even two or more men, unnerved him completely. But he
still had the presense of mind to see an opportunity when it
came to him.

"Look at this! They could have killed Dixie, or Bo or any
of us," he shouted to the assembled Brotherhood. "We have
no choice. It's time to leave this place, just like Dixie said
Jeremiah told her. We must leave now, before they start
shooting, like they did at Ruby Ridge."

At the mention of Ruby Ridge, the men grew sullen and
restless. It was a nightmare each of them had shared. It was
one of the reasons they rejected the interference of the
government in the first place. Unlike Waco, the victims of
Ruby Ridge were a family, and by most accounts, a law
abiding one at that. There had been no indication that they
were anything other than people who wanted to be left alone,
not unlike the Brotherhood itself. And among the casualities
was a 14 year old boy gunned down in cold blood by two
agents. At the mention of Ruby Ridge, there wasn't a man
present who wouldn't follow John Jacobs off the highest cliff
in Montana.

Jacobs motioned for the women to come over. "Now, I
want you all to gather up as many provisions as you can find.
Blankets, food, wood, if you can carry it. And we need to
make a litter for Bo, I don't think he'll be walking for a while."
Five solemn faces nodded in compliance. Only Dixie had the
forwardness to ask a question.

"What about the agent and the doctor?" she asked. She
wasn't all that pleased that Jacobs was taking to her suggestion
so readily. He was up to no good and she knew it. But after
the show she had put on the day before, she was hardly in a
position to argue the logic of moving.

Jacobs thought a moment. He still might find a use for
them. The alternative was leaving their bodies to be found by
the assault team outside the fence, but he doubted that the men
would take kindly to killing the woman. After all, she had
tried to help Bo and seemed to be an innocent in all of this.
Not that he cared, but he knew his men and they would.

"All right, Dixie. You can get them ready. But he walks or
he's dead and left behind, understand?" he said gruffly and
turned to direct the men in gathering up the weapons and
ammunition.

Dixie held her tongue and nodded, hurrying off to the
closet as fast as she could.

----------
Dana hadn't wanted to fall sleep. She was tired, exhausted
really, but she wouldn't allow her eyes to close. Even so, she
had dozed, waking with his muffled cries as she held him tight.
In the five or so hours that they had been held in the closet, his
fever had grown worse. He had been having nightmares off
and on. Then, his theory of the sacred Blackfoot burial
ground and the ghost of revenge had surfaced. Without
hearing it come from his own voice, she was starting to
wonder if it was nothing more than just another fever dream.

She wasn't happy listening to his breathing, either. It was
labored and she was becoming more and more concerned that
he might have a punctured lung. The flashlight had revealed
that the hot water had scalded his arm to a point of third
degree burns. Without treatment, he would undoubtedly have
an infection to contend with. The situation was bordering on
hopeless.

<Hopeless,> she thought bitterly. <Again.> She
sometimes wished she had taken a different path. If she had
gone into, say, plastic surgery, or obstetrics. . . The rumble of
her stomach and the slight dizziness she was feeling reminded
her that there was someone else to consider. She hadn't eaten
since a hurried breakfast before she had gone to perform the
autopsy. <That was a few million light years ago,> she mused.

She could hear the Brotherhood outside their door. It had
been a while since she and Mulder had heard the crash. It
sounded like a bomb had been dropped on the place, broken
glass and shouts. Jacobs' voice had frightened her to the bone.
But then, nothing happened. They were left in silence to
wonder what was going on outside the storage closet door.

Her eyes kept sliding shut on her, her body betraying her
best intentions. Finally, she dozed.

She was standing in a field. A meadow, really, surrounded
on all sides by white capped mountains. Flowers bloomed,
making the meadow a crazy quilt of colors and scents. As she
looked to her right, a man walked toward her. The sun was in
her eyes, and she expected it to be Mulder. As he drew closer,
she could see that it was not. It was a man, obviously Native
American, wearing buckskin leather and trimmed in feathers.
He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear the
words. He lifted a stick he held, and she watched him,
mesmerized as he picked up a sprig of the plant at his feet and
offered it to her. . .

When she heard the lock click, she jumped. Coming
instantly awake, she gripped the flashlight, ready to use it as a
weapon in case Jacobs planned on using Fox for a
punching bag again. When the bright light of the hallway
spilled into the closet, though, it was Dixie's tiny frame that
was silhouetted.

"Dixie," she whispered gruffly. "Are you alone?"

"For now, child. For now. How's he doing?" she asked,
motioning over to Mulder.

Dana gave her husband a hard look in the glare of the
hallway light. He was dozing again, too. But he was far too
pale and she could see the sheen of sweat on this face. "Not
good. He's got a concussion. I'm worried that one of the
broken ribs might have punctured a lung. And that burn is
third degree, it needs to be treated." She looked past the old
woman to see Tenille and some of the others packing up items
in the kitchen. "Dixie, what was that noise? It sounded like a
bomb went off?"

"Almost, but not quite. Old man Parkers' tombstone
decided to come through the window, right next to where
John was sleeping. Sure made that drunk sit up and take
notice," Dixie couldn't hold back a soft chuckle. "But now
John's decided that we have to leave here."

"A tombstone? Through the window? I doubt that is was
Thornley or any of the men outside the compound," Dana
mused softly.

"Honey, I don't think *any* human could have lifted that
stone. Strange things are happenin'. And John's gettin' himself
spooked." Dixie didn't notice the slight scowl that crossed
Dana's face.

Mulder stirred in his sleep, coughing. It was a wet sound
and Dixie frowned at the noise it made in the small closet.
Dana forgot all about the tombstone and turned her attention
to matters more immediate. "Dixie, are there any medicines
here in the compound? Neosporin, Tylenol, cough syrup, any
of that?" Dana asked anxiously.

Dixie chewed on her lip. "All that run out weeks ago,
honey. We're down to the bare nubbins, here. The food I've
been fixin' is mostly squirrel stew. The only thing we have in
good supply is John's Jim Beam and he's hording that for
hisself." At Dana's worried expression, she decided to take a
chance. "How fixed are you on modern medicine?" she asked.

Dana looked at the older woman suspiciously. "Very.
Why do you ask?"

"You're a *real* doctor, aren't you, then?" Dixie
responded.

"Yes, I'm a medical doctor. But I don't practice. I'm a
forensic pathologist. A coroner, sort of."

"And they sent you in to help Bo?" Dixie asked, not hiding
the surprise in her voice. "That figures," she added with
disgust.

Dana fumed a little. "Look, I'm the only one out there who
had *any* medical experience at all. And I've taken care of
my share of live patients. This one included," she said, gently
brushing the sweat soaked hair off Mulder's forehead.

"From the looks of it, that probably comes in real handy,"
Dixie said derisively. "Well, I've done my share of
*doctorin* too. But not the Journal of American Medicine
way. I can take care of that burn and probably do something
for the lungs and his head, if you let me. But you have to trust
what I'm doing and not ask too many questions."

Dana stared at her. "I can't do that," she said flatly.

"Even if it means he might die," Dixie flared. "Listen to
me, girl. John says we're packin' up. And I'm supposed to get
you two ready to move with us. Now, that's the good news,
coz it means John's not plannin' on killin' you. But the bad
news is, your man here's gotta walk on his own. Otherwise,
John puts a bullet in his head and the rest of us go on without
him." Dixie slowed down a little as she saw Dana turn ghostly
pale. "I don't want that, and neither do you. Now are you
gonna take what help I can offer, or is the alternative that
appealing?"

Dana's slow shake of her head was all the answer Dixie
needed. "Mulder," she said quietly as Dixie started to leave.

"What?" Dixie asked, afraid the young woman might have
lost all sense of reality.

"His name is Mulder. Don't call him 'my man'. Please.
Especially around Jacobs," she pleaded.

"You got a name, too, or do I just call you 'Doc'?" Dixie let
a smile form on her weary face.

Dana smiled in return. "Dana. Dana Scully."

Dixie looked over at the man sleeping on the floor.
"Mulder Scully. His mama must have had a *hard* time in
labor," she said with conviction. And for the first time in
almost 24 hours, Dana had something to laugh about.

-------

Dixie had been gone a while and Dana was beginning to get
worried. Mulder was in no condition to stand, much less walk
that far. It would have been better if they could carry him, but
it was not going to be allowed. The only thing that might save
them was the slim chance that Thornley had been given the go
ahead to storm the compound.

"Fat chance of that," she muttered, staring the door in the
darkness.

"Of the cavalry coming?" a husky voice asked beside her.

"Hey, you're awake," she said, rubbing his arm and
shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"We have to find a different pick up line for you, Scully" he
gasped, trying to make his voice sound stronger than it was.
He tried unsuccessfully to push himself into a sitting position.
His groan alerted her to how difficult it would be for him to
walk.

"Yeah, well, I'm off the market, so I don't need a new line,"
she shot back, and helped him get comfortable. He could tell
by the tone of her voice that she was worried. "Do you think
you could walk, if you had to?"

"Probably," he lied. "Not far," he added, trying to be
realistic.

"Jacobs wants to move out. Dixie says he's taking us with
them. I guess we're still 'insurance' to him. But you have to be
able to walk. I don't know if that's possible, in your
condition," she sighed.

"If you can walk in 'your condition', . . . I can . . . walk in
'my condition'," he assured her.

"Well, Dixie has some, ah, tea I guess, that might help,"
Dana said unconvinced. <If it doesn't poison you first,> she
added to herself.

"Tea?" he asked. "You don't . . . sound so sure . . . about
this, ah, tea," he said, imitating her hesitation.

Their conversation was cut short by Dixie coming in with a
cup in her hand. "Here, I want you to drink this. Now, it's
hot, and we're out of sugar, but it will help, I'm sure of it," the
old woman said, smiling brightly.

"What is it?" Dana asked, taking the cup and sniffing it
suspiciously.

"Arnica," Dixie replied, taking the cup back and helping
Mulder sip from it. "Leopard's bane is what some folks call it.
Grows wild here, right outside the back door." After the first
sip, Mulder made a face and shook his head. She took the cup
back and poured a small amount onto a torn piece of flannel.
"Here, lift up his shirt," she directed Dana. Hesitantly, the
young woman did as she was told.

"This is hot, but it will help with those broken bones,"
Dixie said, pressing the damp cloth onto his side. He hissed
with the pain, but said nothing.

"What is in that stuff?" Dana demanded, not able to hold
her curiosity in check.

"Told you, honey. It's arnica. Old Indian remedy. My
Gran swore by it. Good for concussions, broke bones, shock,
pain, you name it. But just a sip at a time. More'an that and
he might not wake up," she said casually.

"It's poisonous?!" Dana exclaimed. "It sounds like 'snake
bite medicine'!"

"Nah, child. You wouldn't use arnica for snakebite. You'd
use black cohosh or purple cornflower. Course, out where
you folks hail from, you'd use Virginny snakeroot. Can't get
purple cornflower east of the Mississippi, Gran always said."
She continued to dampen the cloth and gently press it against
the ribs.

After a few minutes, Mulder took hold of Scully's hand. "I
don't know if it counts for anything, but it doesn't hurt as much
when I breath," he said, not really wanting to anger his wife,
but feeling very relieved that the home remedy was working.

"Probably the early stages of severe toxic shock," Scully
said in disgust. But she did nothing to stop Dixie's
ministrations.

Dixie let a sad, warm smile fall on Dana. "Oh, honey, I was
just like you once. I didn't buy that stuff Gran told me for a
minute. But I saw her do more good with a backyard full of
weeds and a couple of old flannel shirts than all the fancy
doctors in all the hospitals in Nashville, Tennessee. How do
you think the human race survived before they thought up X-
rays and che-mo-therapy, and all those fancy computers?
People been doctoring *this* way a whole lot longer than your
way, Dana," she said gently. "And a whole lot of them lived to
tell of it."

"He still needs a hosptial," Dana muttered angrily, but
neither of the other two people in the room seemed to pay her
much mind.

Dixie took her hand and pressed it against the cloth still on
Mulder's side. "Hold this here, till I get back. Now we'll see
what we can do about that burn." And she left them alone in
the closet again.

Mulder smiled weakly at his wife. "Sorry," he said, his
voice full of meaning.

"Sorry for what? That you're feeling better? That's the
dumbest thing you've said today, Mulder," she spat out bitterly
and immediately regretted it.

"No, I'm sorry that I'm causing you to lose another piece of
your faith, sweetheart. I know that hurts you. That's why I'm
sorry," he said, and closed his eyes. Even Scully had to admit
that his breathing didn't seem as labored.

End chapter six

The Brotherhood
Chapter Seven

By Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net
and Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net

3:00 A.M.
Outside the compound

"I don't like it Spence," Skinner was saying, still staring through
the binoculars into the compound. "They look like they're moving
around with a purpose. Like they're going somewhere."

"Let me see." Thornley took the binoculars from his old friend. "Any
sign of Mulder or Scully?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"No, nothing." Skinner couldn't help the dejection in his voice.

"You're right, Walt," Thornley interrupted. "For three a.m. they're
awfully focused. Maybe this is our break," he said, putting down the
binoculars. "If they're planning on going somewhere there's only a
front door and a back door. We've got both of them covered."

"You sure there are no other exits?" Skinner was scanning what he
could see of the compound from where he stood.

"Pretty sure," Thornley replied, a mixture of dread and anticipation
on his weary face.

3:00 A.M.
Inside the compound

"Tenille, what the hell are you doing?" John Jacobs could have used a
couple more hours sleep to sober up and poor Tenille was caught in the
middle of his current outburst.

The young woman was kneeling beside Bo, placing a small, red silk
pouch on a string around his neck. "I made Bo an amulet," she
answered, almost whispered, to the floor.

"A what?"

"An amulet. It's kinda like a good luck charm. It's supposed to help
him heal quicker."

"Oh for God's sake! Get the hell out of here and go do what I asked
you."

Tenille didn't dare look at Jacobs. She dropped the silk pouch gently
on Bo's chest and practically ran out of the room.

"We have 30 minutes everybody," Jacobs shouted at no one in
particular. "We need to be ready to go in 30 minutes." The big man
surveyed the room, the broken window, the stone with old man Parker's
name carved into it. He felt a chill go through him. Thirty minutes is
going to be 30 minutes too long, he thought to himself. He hurried
away from the rock, spooked, in search of his Jim Beam stash.

Both Mulder and Scully stiffened when they heard the lock to the
closet being opened. Whatever Dixie had given Mulder had helped, but
he was still in no condition to face an angry Jacobs and from what
they had just heard, he was not a happy man.

Both agents relaxed when they saw Dixie's small frame enter the
closet. Her arms were full and Dana was relieved to see the first aid
kit she had brought with her to the compound. She could think of no
other reason why this made her happy than the simple fact that it
represented medicine in her terms. The way she knew it. Familiarity
breeds comfort, she thought grimly.

"How you feelin'?" Dixie asked, touching Mulder gently on the leg.

"Better," he said honestly, attempting to sit up a little to prove it.

"Good," Dixie said matter of factly, "'cause John just said we got 30
minutes to get out of here. That's how long you've got to get your
strength up."

"Surely he must know the place is surrounded," Scully said. "He can't
possibly think he's going to walk out of here and they're going to let
him go. He's already killed one agent..." Her voice trailed off, she
knew Jacobs was capable of killing again and it was all she could do
to erase the mental image of Jacobs towering over Mulder.

"Oh child," Dixie said, resting her hand tenderly on Scully's
shoulder. "We ain't going out any door. We're going out our very own
tunnel. It's been here for years. Longer than me or you have been on
this Earth. Probably ain't on no map either."

Realization struck Scully just moments before the panic hit. An
underground tunnel. Probably an old mine shaft. Who knew how long it
was, how deep. They could be buried alive in one of those things and
never be found. And Mulder...he would never survive miles and miles
through a mine tunnel. No matter what Dixie gave him.

The closet was suddenly too small. She couldn't breathe. By the time
Mulder realized what was happening she was hyperventilating. He took
her hands into his, forcing himself to turn and face her.

"Dana, look at me," he said, demanding his voice to sound
authoritative and strong. She was staring right through him. His words
were muffled. She felt alone. So alone. "Dana...Scully, it's going to
be okay. Slow down and take a deep breath." Panic was slowly creeping
into Mulder's voice. Scully didn't crack easily. He blamed himself for
all of it. If only he hadn't pursued his conversation with Jacobs into
the compound. If only... If only what? His head screamed. He had to
bring her back. He didn't care what happened to him, but Scully,
nothing could happen to her. He would die before letting anything
happen to her.

Dixie quickly sensed the situation and left the couple, only to return
a minute later with a warm cup in her hand and two slices of bread.
Mulder had managed to get Scully's attention and she was taking deep
breaths, hanging on to him for dear life.

"Here, drink this," Dixie said, holding the brown mug up to Scully's
lips. She surprised even Mulder by drinking the liquid without
hesitation.

"That's a good girl," Dixie was saying. "You just relax and drink this
all up. You'll be feelin' better in no time."

Scully finished her tea without saying a word. The hot liquid felt
good inside her empty stomach. She was just beginning to realize how
hungry she was when she closed her eyes and leaned her head against
the wall.

"What did you give her?" Mulder asked Dixie.

"Raspberry tea. Chamomile is better for calming the old nerves, but
raspberry helps prevent miscarriage. I thought..."

"What?" Mulder sucked in his breath at the pain the sudden movement
caused him.

"Calm down, son," Dixie said, checking the wet flannel over Mulder's
rib cage. "I didn't say she was *havin'* a miscarriage. The tea just
helps keep everything in place is all.

Mulder wasn't convinced. He looked over at Scully who had opened her
eyes and was staring right at him. "I'm okay," she whispered. Mulder
read her eyes for any doubt. Any trace she might be keeping something
from him. "Really," she said. "I'm fine. I just panicked for a minute.
Thank you," she said, turning to face Dixie. "I think the tea worked."
Her sudden calmness was unsettling to her husband but he held himself
in check, realizing that a panic attack from him was the last thing
any of them needed.

Dixie smiled. "If only everything in life could be solved with a cup
of tea, Jeremiah would say to me. You'd be runnin' the country,
Dixie." She looked at the young couple in front of her and felt an
overwhelming desire to cry. For her husband. For herself. For their
lives. She had a sinking feeling the worst part was still ahead of
them.

She shook herself out of her reverie and casually wiped her face,
surprised to find she had shed no tears.

"We better get this show on the road here," she said to Scully. "We
need to take care of your man's...I mean, Mulder's burn."

Scully nodded and Mulder protectively pulled his hand closer to his
body. He had become accustomed to the pain and wasn't looking forward
to Dixie's aid, helpful as it might be.

Dixie noticed his reaction but ignored it and continued. There really
was very little time left. "I've got some aloe here, fresh off the
plant just a couple days ago. I've used it all over since I was a wee
one. Works wonders." She looked at Scully before continuing, making
sure it was all sinking in. Who knew what the next few hours had in
store for them, let alone the next few days. She wanted Dana Scully to
know what she was doing, in case the time came when she wasn't around
to help. Maybe God would be kind to her and let her join old Jeremiah
before too long. She noticed Mulder had leaned his head back against
the wall and had closed his eyes. Just as well, Dixie thought, this
isn't going to be pleasant for him.

"I'm going to put the aloe on the burn," Dixie continued, "and then
some of this here purple cornflower." Dixie held up a strand of dark
purple leaves and Scully nodded. It was obvious to her that Dixie
wanted, no, expected, her to pay attention.

"The combination of the two will amaze you, my boy." She had caught a
small amount of fear creeping onto the young man's face and was hoping
her words would soothe him.

"I brought your first aid kit, Dana," Dixie continued, wishing she had
a little more time to work on her bedside manner and possibly
alleviate some of Mulder's fears. "I noticed some bandages in there.
When I'm done I trust you can wrap it all up nicely."

Scully nodded again. She felt so helpless. And so indebted to this
tiny woman. The woman whose husband's body she had been probing not
too long ago. Would Dixie forgive her if she knew?

Mulder's gasp and quick intake of breath brought Scully out of her
stupor. Thoughts of Jeremiah Miller and his bizarre death would have
to wait.

Dixie was spreading the aloe on Mulder's hand with her bare fingers
and even though she was being extremely gentle, Mulder was not having
an easy time of it. Scully squeezed his good hand and brushed some
sweat drenched hair away from his forehead. She was grateful he wasn't
looking at the burn. The red streaks that had surfaced in the last
hour were a sure indication that infection was setting in. She caught
herself praying that Dixie knew what she was doing.

When she had used up all the aloe she had with her, Dixie gently put
the cornflower leaves on the burn, making sure to overlap them and not
leave any area untouched.

"There, isn't that a pretty sight," she said lightly to Mulder, who
managed to give her a weak smile in return. Dixie turned to Scully.
"Dana, you finish bandaging up this hand and arm, making sure the
leaves stay in place. When you're done I want you both to eat this
bread." Dixie pointed to the two slices of homemade bread she had
brought in earlier. "It's my mama's recipe. It ain't much, but it's
all I got. And it's more 'an you two have had in a while. Maybe more
'an you'll get in a while too," she finished softly.

She turned to Mulder before leaving. "I hope you can walk out of here,
son," she said. "I've done all I can. Now it's up to you. I'll be back
for ya both in 15 minutes.

She was out of the closet before either one could say anything.

Mulder picked up his slice of bread and handed it to Scully. "You have
it," he said. "I'm not hungry."

"God damn you Mulder. You are so predictable." Scully had been on an
emotional see saw for the last 24 hours, not to mention the last 15
minutes and Mulder's chivalry was more than she could handle. More
than she wanted to deal with right now. "You need to eat this bread as
much as I do. If not more. I guarantee you Jacobs wasn't kidding when
he said you would have to walk out of here or stay behind dead. You
need your strength..." she knew she couldn't go on without her voice
betraying her. She was so close to the edge. So close to falling into
an abyss of hopelessness.

Mulder looked at her slowly. The throbbing in his head, his side, his
hand...had all become a loud pounding. Every hair and fiber in his
body told him to close his eyes and just hope the bullet would kill
him instantly. He wasn't sure how far he could walk. And through a
mine shaft of all things. It would be easier for Scully if he was left
behind.

"Scully, I...you..." What could he possibly say to her that would
convey everything he was feeling in the short amount of time they had
left together? The time they had left together alone?

He was still feverish and Scully couldn't tell if the moistness around
his eyes was the fever speaking or tears he was attempting to hold
back.

"Mulder," she finally said, almost reading his mind, "eat the bread.
We'll get out of this alive. I know it. Don't even think otherwise.
Don't even think my life would be worth half of what it is without
you."

"But Scully, if I hadn't..."

"Shut up, Mulder. If you hadn't what? Whatever you were going to say,
don't. Just eat the damn bread. We'll be fine."

Mulder smiled in spite of himself. He was grateful to his wife for her
strength and determination. Two things he was severely lacking right
about now. "What makes you so sure," he asked with a mouth full of
bread.

"I just know."

Mulder arched his eyebrows. "That's not like you Dana. You've got my
curiosity up," he teased, purposely relaxing a little.

"Missy told me," Scully answered slowly, unable to look at him. The
conversation with her sister, the ghost of her sister, she reminded
herself sadly, just before her wedding, was giving her what little
strength she had left.

"She told you what? That we would be kidnapped by some alcoholic
madman who makes Atilla the Hun look like Peter Brady, dragged through
a mine shaft in less than stellar condition and come out the other
end smelling rosy?

"Very funny," Scully said, repressing a smile. Mulder didn't even
question the fact that her sister had been dead for nearly a year. She
supposed that was one of the reasons why she loved him. There was very
little he *ever* questioned. "She told me about our three kids."
Scully said, leaning closer to her husband and looking him straight in
the eyes. "So you better get your butt in gear and come out of that
tunnel smelling rosy, if you expect another chance to procreate. Much
less two more chances."

Mulder's reply was cut short by Dixie's voice. When she opened the
door and faced them she was grim and sullen. "It's time," she
whispered quietly, extending her hand to Mulder. "I hope you have it
in you, boy. Something's got John spooked and he's not takin' kindly
to anyone right now."

3:30 A.M.
Outside the compound

"Sir! Sir!" A young agent, one of the men standing guard close to the
compound, was frantically trying to get Thornley's attention on the
two way radio.

"What is it Sullivan?" Thornley was only about 50 feet away and
decided to head in the direction of his young agent. Skinner was right
behind him.

"I can see Agents Mulder and Scully, Sir."

"What?" Before Thornley could see or say anything else Skinner had
grabbed the binoculars from his grip.

"It's them all right," Skinner said.

"What are they doing?" It was all Thornley could do to keep himself
from pulling the binoculars away from Skinner. Instead he ran the last
few yards to Agent Sullivan and commandeered the young man's
binoculars for himself.

"It looks like they're being led somewhere." Skinner could feel the
sweat building on the palms of his hands. He didn't like it "Mulder
looks like shit," he said, mostly to himself. "Something's wrong with
his hand...it's all bandaged up and...he looks...he looks like he's
having a hard time breathing."

"Probably broken ribs," Thornley said absently before catching the
sense of dread coming from his friend. "Agent Scully looks okay," he
added, to reassure Skinner as well as himself that not everything was
out of control.

"For now," Skinner noted roughly. "Where are they going? What's on
that side of the compound?"

"Just more rooms. Bedrooms I think."

"A back door?"

"No, the back door's on the other side. Behind the kitchen."

"You sure?"

Thornley put down the binoculars and scanned the clapboard building.
"I'm sure," he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Why is
everyone headed in that direction? he wondered. Too many frightening
thoughts were beginning to crowd his brain for attention. Maybe it was
time to sacrifice someone. An agent? Two agents? The entire
Brotherhood? His dread became unbearable when a young woman with very
long, blonde hair approached the window and began pulling the curtains
shut.

The last thing they saw was Jacobs pushing Mulder along with the butt
of his rifle.

Skinner was furious. "That's it, Spence. We have to do something. I
can't just stand here and watch two of my best agents being dragged
around by some madman."

Skinner was already halfway to the tent, his long strides telling
everyone to stay clear.

"Walt, we can't just storm in there. If we do that you might as well
start funeral arrangements for both agents." Thornley was by Skinner's
side. It was Skinner's assertiveness and determination that had gotten
him where he was in the bureau and he didn't think there was much that
could stop him now. These two agents meant something to him, that was
certain. Thornley just had to make sure the next step they took was
based on skill and experience and not emotions.

"Walt, listen to me." They were at the tent and Skinner was
frantically searching the room for something. Thornley ignored his
questioning glances and continued talking. "I know you care about
these two agents. All the more reason why we need to handle this
carefully. We act too quickly, without thinking things through and it
might cost them their lives." Thornley wasn't getting through.

Skinner had apparently found what he was looking for. The Phone. He
held up the receiver and began dialing a number.

"What are you doing? Who are you calling?"

"The Attorney General. Just as a formality at this point. To tell her
we're going in."

Thornley just stood there, staring at his friend. He wasn't mad at
him. Actually, he admired what he was doing. His resolve. It took a
lot of balls to call the Attorney General at three in the morning just
to *tell* her what you were going to do. He wished he could be a fly
on the wall in Janet's bedroom when she answered the phone.

Skinner was waiting to be put through, contemplating his next move,
when he looked up at Thornley and appeared to notice him for the first
time. "She's pregnant," he said somberly. "Scully's pregnant."

Spencer Thornley stared at Walter Skinner's emotionless face for a
long time before finding a chair he could collapse into. He barely
heard Skinner shouting into the phone. "I don't give a damn about
protocol or Waco and even less about the fact that it's an election
year. These are two of my best agents. Two people that have risked
their lives and lost a lot on a personal level in the name of our
glorified country. It's time we take some responsibility here..."

Thornley didn't need to hear anything else. He stood up and went
outside. Time to gather the team, he thought. He should have done this
days ago.

End chapter seven

The Brotherhood
Chapter Eight

By Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net
and Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net

Inside the Compound
3:30 am

Dana made her way gingerly down the rickety ladder. It looked
ancient and she wondered how it had held her partner's weight, much
less that of any of the larger men of the group. Only she, Dixie and
Jacobs had yet to make the descent and now it was her turn. She
looked down, and realized she had a good twenty feet to go before she
reached the Coleman lanterns and Mulder waiting at the bottom. The
mine shaft was fairly large, at least ten feet across. It's just a
basement, she tried to convince herself. A very big, very narrow,
very long basement.

Damn you, Bill Jr, she cursed silently. If her older brother had
never locked her in the basement as a small child, she never would
have discovered how horrible small tight places could be. Usually,
claustrophobia was the last thought on her mind. When they were on a
case, she was always too intent on doing her job to worry about it.
But with all the worrying she was currently doing, the fear seemed to
rise to the top, like oil on water. She tried to shove it to the back
of her mind, but it kept popping up and making it's presence known.

Getting Mulder down the ladder had been no small feat. She knew
his ribs were causing him a lot of pain and as she watched his
incredibly slow progress down, she saw him waver a time or two and
feared he would pass out. He made it, though and was watching her
descent anxiously. She shook her head at the thought that he was as
worried about her claustrophobia as she was worried about his broken
bones. We're like a matched set of bookends, she thought.

She could see Dixie above her, starting down the ladder. The old
woman was an enigma. She looked to be at least 60, but her eyes were
much younger, even cutting through the grief that hung about her like
a shroud. And agile. She was literally hopping down the rungs of the
ladder, and probably would have slid down the sides, fireman style, if
Scully had not been in the way. Hope I'm that agile when I'm 60,
Scully thought as she stumbled slightly before finding the next rung.
Hope I'm alive when I'm 60, she added ruefully. The floor was getting
closer, and the small confines were beginning to press in on her
again.

Dana stepped off the last rung and almost froze for the sheer
wave of fear that engulfed her. Sensing her terror, Mulder reached
out and touched her hand. He wanted desperately to take her in his
arms, shush all the horrifying thoughts running through her mind, but
that would only draw attention to them. As it was, the motion looked
almost gentlemanly. He looked to be steadying her on the rough mine
floor. The faint smile that crossed her face told him that it had
been enough. Message received, loud and clear. He had to grin as he
saw that business like gaze come to her eyes as she regarded their
surroundings.

Dixie took almost no time to join them. "How are you doing?" she
whispered to Mulder, glancing up the ladder to see if Jacobs was close
enough to hear her.

"Just like a ride at Disney World," he quipped, but he was
favoring the side with the damaged ribs. The old woman gave him a
disgusted shake of her head to let him know that his humor wasn't
appreciated. Scully gave him a look as well, but he caught the
twinkle in her eye in the glow of the lantern.

They didn't have time for more conversation as Jacobs jumped the
last three rungs and landed on the stone floor beside them. "You up
for a walk, Feddie? I could always make arrangements for you to stay
behind," he snarled and punctuated his feeble attempt at humor with a
grim laugh.

"I'm fine," Mulder said evenly. In reality, he hurt like hell,
but he was never going to admit that to Jacobs. He had a dull
throbbing in in his head. His eyes burned with the fever he was just
beginning to recognize. Every breath was agony. It was taking every
ounce of strength to stand, much less move, but he kept thinking of a
promise he had made not that long ago. My baby girl is going to have
a father, no ifs, ands, or buts, he vowed silently. Besides, this
bastard would enjoy it too much if he had an excuse to kill me and I'm
not going to give him the satisfaction, he added with grim
determination.

Jacobs jabbed him in the ribs, just to see the reaction. Mulder
let out a gasp, but stayed on his feet, glaring at the madman. "Well,
then, let's get moving. Those old floorboards I laid in place up
there aren't gonna hold 'em off forever." Stooping over, he picked up
the last remaining lantern and waved it in the general direction that
Bob and Henry had led the rest of the group. At the first wooden
beamed support, Jacobs picked up an ax that was waiting there for him,
and collapsed the sides and the overhead beam, then made a run for it.
Several tons of dirt and rock crashed to the mine floor, effectively
sealing off their escape.

Outside the Compound
4:00 am

It had been silent for too long. Walter Skinner had been
gripping the binoculars in his hands so tightly that he wasn't sure he
could loosen his grasp on them if he had to. He turned to Thornley.

"There's another damn exit," he hissed in frustration.

"Where?" Thornley demanded. "Thin air? I tell you Walter, I've
been to the Department of Mines and Minerals twice and there are no
mine entrances in this area. They must be in the basement or
something."

"Why would they all go down to the basement, Spence? No, they're
escaping. And they have my agents hostage. Tell your men we're going
in." Skinner put the binoculars back up to his tired eyes, ignoring
the disgusted look on his friend's face.

In the end, the storming of the Yeoman Brotherhood Compound was a
complete bust. It was deserted, just as the Assistant Director had
predicted. Worse yet, it took the FBI over two hours before one of
the agents was able to find the ladder leading down into the mine
under the false floor in one of the bedrooms. That too, proved to be
a useless discovery, since Jacobs had successfully pulled down a mine
support structure, closing the shaft just a few feet from the ladder.
Regardless of where the shaft might lead the Brotherhood, they would
not be returning to the compound by that route, and the FBI would not
be following them at any time in the near future.

Three hours later

Dixie fell back to walk next to Jacobs after having spent most of
the march at the head of the line. She made a point of ignoring
Mulder, who was obviously having a difficult time putting one foot in
front of the other. Scully had taken it upon herself to help him, but
even she was looking weighed down by his efforts.

"We need to stop and rest," Dixie said calmly.

"Why? Your G-man slowing down? Maybe I could put him outta his
misery," Jacobs suggested with an evil leer. He lifted the almost
empty bottle to his lips and drained the amber fluid down his throat.

"No," Dixie said defiantly. "It's Bo. He needs to be layin'
flat for a spell. That trip down the ladder over Henry's shoulder
wasn't that good for him. And Bob can't figure out how to keep his
litter on the level. He keeps raising up his feet higher than his
head. Any idiot knows that's not the way to handle a man with a head
pain," she spat out. Dixie had grown to hate Bob almost as much as
Jacobs, if for no other reason than that the man was dumb and
spineless and would do anything he was ordered to do.

Jacobs considered this information for a moment. The support he
had destroyed back at the ladder had effectively cut off all pursuit.
They could afford to rest a bit.

"There's a cavern up a piece. Go back up to the front and tell
Bob that we'll stop there for a spell, let everyone get some sleep.
Tell him to take first watch. I'm needing some sleep myself," he
added. Dixie nodded, totally noncommittal and headed off to relay the
message to Bob.

The cavern was indeed just a few hundred yards up the path. It
had a high ceiling, littered with stalactites and was about 50 feet by
50 feet, roughly. Water ran down the walls and collected in small
pools before disappearing into the cracks in the floor. Dana steered
Mulder over to one wall, which appeared to be relatively dry. He sank
to a sitting position gratefully.

Without hesitation, he put his hand in the trickle of water and
tasted it. "It's OK, you can drink it," he assured her. He cupped
his hand and drank greedily.

She followed his example, drinking several palmsful of water.
"And what would you have done if it hadn't been?" she asked
accusingly, when her thirst was satisfied.

"Can we wait till we get out of this to fight, Scully? I mean,
I'm not in my best form and I really hate to waste my breath arguing
over whether I should have tasted the water or let you taste the
water." He closed his eyes and shifted until he was lying more or
less flat on the rock floor.

She glanced furtively around at the others. They all appeared to
be settling down, ignoring the two hostages for the moment. She and
Mulder didn't merit a lantern, so they were in shadow. She took the
opportunity to risk brushing the matted hair from Mulder's forehead.

"Don't let them catch you doing that," he whispered, letting her
know that he was not asleep.

"I won't," she promised. "You get some rest. I'll keep an eye
out."

"You need to rest, too, you know," he countered.

"I thought you said you didn't want to fight, Mulder," she
intoned in his ear. Even so, she slid down the rock wall and lay on
the floor on her side. He opened one eye to look at her. "Nothing
says I can't keep an eye out laying down," she said and was happy to
see him grin as he shifted and settled in.

8:25 am

Jacobs had been too drunk to dream at first, but gradually the
haze lifted and he fell into REM sleep. His dreams weren't worthy of
remembering, mostly snatches of his own delusions of grandeur. But
his dreamscape began to change subtly. He found himself on a valley
floor. All around him were majestic mountains, snowcapped,
intimidating in their enormity. The sun was just about to peek out
behind one of the ridges and the shadows it cast gave the valley
meadow and it's early morning mist a ghostly glow.

Jacobs was just looking, coming to understand where he was when
he heard the first sound. It was horses hooves. Many horses. They
were sounding closer with each passing second, they were at a full
run. He looked up in front of him and saw them, coming through the
pass between two mountain ridges. Horses. At least 50 of them. Each
with a rider.

As the horses and riders approached, he began to distinguish them
better. The riders wore rough brown clothing, buckskin adorned with
feathers. He could gradually see faces, marked with color. Angry.
Screaming, waving their arms, the riders were obviously on the attack.
At that moment, John Jacobs knew fear. The attack was centered on him
and him alone.

Jacobs' own scream brought everyone in the cavern awake. He
bolted up and paced the floor, ignoring the repeated questions of his
men. Jacobs was an arrogant man and saw any weakness in another
individual as a chance for him to gain an upper hand. He did not
appreciate the fact that his men had now seen him in a weakened
position. It fed his anger even as the dream continued to feed his
fear. Since he could not take his frustrations out on any of his men,
he turned to the only outlet available: the FBI agent lying on the
floor, groggily coming awake.

Jacobs strolled over to where Mulder was laying and with a gleam
in his eyes, viciously kicked the weaker man as hard as he could in
the back. It felt so good, Jacobs did it again and again. Scully
shouted a protest, but Jacobs couldn't hear her. He was too deep in
enjoyment to hear anything but Mulder's gasps of pain. Then something
was in his way and Jacobs started to kick out at it, only to find
Dixie clutching his hands in a vise-like grip and screaming at him to
stop.

"You stupid bastard, you're killin' him!" she was shouting and
everyone in the room was deathly silent, wondering what John would do
next. He stopped kicking and stared at her. Slowly, he balled his
fist and raised it to strike at the tiny woman before him. Her
grey-blue eyes glared icily at him, but she didn't back down an inch.
If anything, she drew herself up even straighter and as much as dared
him to take a swing.

They stood that way for an incredibly long time. Finally, Jacobs
got control of himself. "Get out of my way, you dumb bitch," he
hissed. But he lowered his hand to his side. "I said, GET OUT OF THE
WAY!" he roared.

"NO!" she roared in return. "I will not let you kill this man!
He has done nothing to you. And he ain't worth nothing dead," she
added loudly, for the benefit of all those assembled. Although none
of them spoke, there were many silent nods in agreement. An eye for
an eye was one thing, and the agent that had been killed had been
armed. His life for Jeremiah's, that was a fair trade. To kill a
second agent in cold blood, that was more than many of the men were
prepared for.

Jacobs stared at her, utterly confused that she would dare stand
up to him. Slowly, his befuddlement was replaced with hatred, but he
held it in check. "One of these days, old woman, you gonna loose that
luck you been carryin'," he purred for only her ears. He was even
more angry when Dixie met his glare with one of challenge in her own
eyes.

"Too late, John. It run out the minute I met you," she hissed in
return and then knelt down to examine the damage that had been
inflicted on Agent Mulder.

"We're moving out after we get some food in us. Get him moving,
too, Dixie," Jacobs growled. "Otherwise, I still got a bullet with
his name on it."

Dixie glared up at the towering man for a second, but nodded
slowly. At this point, it was just a threat, but not entirely an idle
one. Jacobs might not have the full support of his men when it came
to killing the agent, but with a little thought, he could find an
excuse to sway them. Dixie didn't let her eyes leave Jacobs until he
had wandered over to the opposite side of the cavern to confer with
Bob and a few of the men.

"How bad is it?" she asked, letting her attention snap back to
Mulder and Dana the minute she was sure Jacobs was occupied.

Dana was running her hand gently over his back, noting his
reaction. "He probably bruised the kidney. I don't think it's
bleeding, but there's no real way to tell in here," Scully seethed,
wanting no more than to have her gun and have it out with Jacobs.

"Don't let him get to you, honey," Dixie instructed. "He wants
you two to make a wrong move. Right now, you're just a girl who
walked into the wrong place at the wrong time. If you let him get you
riled, you risk losing Mulder, here, as well as yourself and that
baby. Don't make that mistake." Dixie's voice was soft, but
controlling. Dana nodded her head once in understanding. "Now, to
answer my other question: is he gonna be able to walk?"

A soft groan escaped Mulder, who rolled onto his back. "Yes," he
said in a strained voice. "But how much longer are we going to be in
here? Dixie, do you have any idea where we're being taken?"

"Not really. Jeremiah helped John chart these tunnels. It was
an old 'mom and pop' copper mine that never really panned out. Mostly
just tunnels connecting caverns, like this one. There are a couple of
airholes that Jeremiah talked of, but I couldn't tell you if there was
more than one entrance. We could wander these tunnels for years and
never be found, but the food'll more'n likely run out by tomorrow
morning. These men don't go too far on empty stomachs. I 'spect
John's figuring on going out the entrance and then making a run for it
in the mountains. At least there's food to be found out there and
we'll be far enough from the compound that the Feddies won't find us."
Dixie sat for a moment, silently thinking. "He's running scared,
that's fer sure."

"Running scared of what? The FBI?" Dana asked, never looking up
as she wrapped Mulder's ribcage in bandages, covering the almost dry
flannel cloth.

"No, something else," Dixie said softly. "If'n I didn't know
better, I'd say ole John's got himself a ghost chasin' him. That
nightmare he had, it was more fear than meanness that he was kickin'
at you with," she said, gently patting Mulder's leg.

"Actually," Mulder started, but caught Scully's disapproving
glare. He chose to ignore it and plowed ahead. "Dixie, did you know
the compound is on the site of a Blackfoot Indian Burial Ground?"

"You believe in that nonsense?" she asked, shaking her head.

"You believe that plants can cure people," he countered
pointedly.

"Only because I've seen it, boy. Not because I listened to a
bunch of superstitious nonsense that's only to scare younguns into
goin' to bed at night," she snapped back.

Mulder couldn't help but notice the faint smile on Scully's lips.
Score one for the women, he sighed. "Then how do you explain the
rock?" he asked, first looking at Dixie, then at Dana. Both women
exchanged nervous glances. "I thought so," he nodded, satisfied with
this small victory. "Well, when you two come up with your 'reasonable
explanation', please let me in on it," he sighed and pushed himself up
into a sitting position. "Till then, Dixie, you got any more of that
snakebite medicine on you? It's the only thing that helped."

Dixie smiled and pulled out a beat up old thermos. "I filled it
up before I left. Just for you and Bo. You might look in on Bo in a
bit, Dana. He's feeling better, but I don't want him off'n that
litter till you look him over." Dixie didn't miss the look of
hesitation on Dana's face. "It's all right, child. This uns too
skinny for me. I'll keep the other women folk off him for ya, though"
she joked. It was enough to make Dana smile and go over to check on
Bo.

"So what's in this stuff again, Dixie?" Mulder asked after he had
sipped the requisite amount under her supervision.

"Arnica. It's wild. Now, I don't want you thinking you can just
pick up any ole leaf and start chewin' it, ya hear," she said sternly.
"My Gran, she spent a whole summer teachin' me the right ones and the
wrong ones. Just like with mushrooms, the wrong one can kill you and
it looks just a purty as the one that won't. But arnica shouldn't be
taken too often. It can kill you, too."

"And the stuff on my arm?" he asked. His arm was starting to
itch unbearably, but so far he had managed to leave it alone.

"Purple cornflower. Indians swore by it. Best thing to ward off
an infection. How's the arm feelin'?" she asked, taking it and
squinting at the bandages in the dim light of the distant lantern.

"It itches," he admitted.

"Good! It's healin'," she replied. "Don't scratch it," she
ordered. "You get banged up quite a bit, don't ya?"

Mulder was glad the light was low so Dixie couldn't see him
blush. "I've had my share of work related injuries," he said with
dignity.

"No wonder she married ya. Probably figgered it was easier to
take care o' ya that way," Dixie whispered with a gentle laugh at his
expense.

FBI Regional Office
Billings, Montana
8:45 am

"Furthermore, there will be no more 'middle of the night' phone
calls to the AG, am I making myself clear?!" the disembodied voice
fairly shouted out of the speaker phone.

Walter Skinner cringed. "Crystal clear, sir," he answered. It
took every ounce of strength he had to resist faxing his resignation.
This assignment had gone from bad to worse to hell in a handbasket,
and now *he* was getting called on the carpet for calling the Attorney
General. She said she didn't want another Waco, he thought angrily.
She said she wanted to be kept informed.

The Director's words were ringing in his head. Proper channels.
He, Walter Skinner, Mr. I Know the Chain of Command, had failed to use
proper channels. Fat lot of good it did me, he mused. It still took
too long and Jacobs still slipped away. That's it, he decided. If we
find them alive, Mulder and Scully are both being shipped off to Bank
Fraud and they'll become someone else's nervous breakdown.

He stared down at the half empty, bone cold coffee cup and in a
fit of self flagellation, gulped it down. Another twelve hours of
this slop and *I'll* go to Bank Fraud and let Mulder take *my* job in
VC. A knock at the door interrupted that thought.

"Walt," Spence Thornley said stepping into the office. "You all
right?"

"Yeah," he lied. "No holes that weren't already there. They're
just a little larger now," he quipped and rubbed a hand across his
forehead. "What's the word on the helicopters from the state police?"

"They'll be ready to go in a half an hour, but there's a storm
front moving across the mountains. Could make the weather dicy for
the better part of the morning. And Walter, you know we're still
talking a long shot here. They could be all the way to Canada before
they surface," Thornley sighed.

Skinner closed his eyes. He was so tired. "Then I suggest you
import some coffee, Spence. If I have to drink anymore of this mud,
I'm liable to turn homicidal."

His friend gave him a sympathetic smile. "Oh, by the way, you've
gotten a couple of phone calls," he said, handing over a small stack
of pink sheets. "Remember, it's two hours earlier in DC.

"Shit. These are mostly reporters! I don't remember. . ."

"Yeah, well, neither do I. Apparently though, the 'raid' was on
CNN this morning. Unbelievable, but the bastards actually stayed out
of the way this time. Maybe Waco *did* teach them something. But
there's one toward the bottom of the stack that you might want to
return."

"Damn it," Skinner cursed when he say who the message was from.
Margaret Scully. And she had been calling every hour since the first
report on the television.

"I recognized the last name. Dana's mom, I take it?" Thornley
asked. Skinner nodded and picked up the phone. He looked up at his
friend, apology in his face.

"Spence, can I handle this one alone?" Skinner's eyes begged his
friend for indulgence.

"Sure, Walt. I'll go see if I can put a fire under those birds,"
he said with a wave of his hand. "Good luck, Walt," he added as he
shut the door.

In the Mine Cavern
Day two, 9:00 am

John Jacobs had called a meeting. That meant that the men all
gathered around him and listened to his edicts and then nodded in
agreement and did exactly as they were told. The women waited
patiently by themselves. This time, they were joined by one male,
Special Agent Fox Mulder.

"Any clue as to what he's talking about?" Mulder asked Dixie
quietly, while she applied more cornflower petals to his burn.

"Where we're headed, I 'spect. The boys were hungry this
morning. There's not enough food for another meal. We gotta go to
ground to do a little huntin'. I think John wants out of the caverns,
too," she added, chewing on her lip. "You've been good, so far. Just
stay clear of him, OK?"

"Dixie, I need to talk to him. If we leave these tunnels, you
can bet that we'll be walking into an ambush. They probably consider
you women to be unwilling hostages at this point. And kidnapping a
Federal Officer, *two* Federal Officers, is a major crime. The FBI is
not going to let us walk to Canada, no matter what Jacobs thinks.
Maybe, if he lets me go first, I can at least make sure nobody dies,"
Mulder said anxiously, his eyes flashing over to Scully for a second
before turning back to gaze at Dixie.

Dixie thought about it for a moment. "He's sober. But I don't
know that's much of an improvement. I think that dream last night has
him spooked so bad, he'd kill just out of frustration. I don't want
that on my head," she said flatly.

Dana caught Mulder's look and made a decision. "Dixie, please.
Mulder's right. He's done this kind of thing before, talking to men
who were scared. He may not look like it now," she said with a wicked
grin, "but he's actually a fairly decent psychologist when he isn't in
traction. Let him try, Dixie. It might be our only chance at
resolving this peacefully."

End chapter eight