Gabriel
Chapter One

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Just east of Denver, Colorado
September 5, 2001
5:07 p.m.


The clickety-clack of the train beneath his feet
acted as a sedative, its repetitive motion
lulling him into a light doze.  But he wouldn't
relinquish all of his faculties to sleep; he'd
learned during the first trip in July that the
nights were cold - and the men he worked with
were no better than common thieves.

He'd gotten some funny looks that first day from
the mostly t-shirt clad group on the train
platform as he stood there sweating in his
jacket.  It didn't take long for them to realize
that the night air was thinner and much colder
as they'd plunged deeper into the Rockies.  Just
as within the first week, he found himself
attacked while he slept.  All for the warmth of
fleece-lined Gore-tex.  Good thing the foreman
had chosen that moment to take a leak, seeing
the scuffle in the tent next door and firing a
round from his pistol to break up the fight.

Though his pay was cut by half that week - the
company didn't like troublemakers.  He was
warned that the next time he incited the men, he
was gone.  Dropped off the train in the middle
of nowhere.  So long, sucker.  Protestations of
his innocence fell on deaf ears; after a brief
moment of past insolence that rose unbidden, he
realized it was better just to keep his mouth
shut and his eyes open.

These days, he caught catnaps when he could, the
knife he got from the cook in exchange for his
only pair of socks tucked and ready in his belt,
plainly displayed for all to see.  His left hand
curled around its handle, he'd used it several
times to ward off threats.  Guns were a luxury
enjoyed by the company's goons who made sure the
grunts did the work.

Right now, he didn't know which he would prefer
- the knife or the socks.  The days were getting
cooler as well, and his feet suffered constantly
with blisters from the heavy boots.  They were a
damn good pair of socks, too, he thought.  Made
for protection from the cold and given to him by
the Colonel before he left.

He could see it mirrored in his friend's eyes,
silently shared - a memory of dainty feet
hanging from the back of a delivery van.  Of him
slipping socks over those painted toes like
Cinderella slippers... of her teeth-chattering
smile and beaming blue eyes, relieved and filled
with the joy of freedom.

Sky blue, like the vast expanse outside the
window to his right, marred only by the smears
of dust on the glass.  He saw her in everything. 
In the red fire of the sunset and the pale white
of the heat lightning at night.  Heard her sighs
in the wind that stirred his hair and felt her
breath in the sun on his face.

Touched her skin every time he dreamed, waking
with hot, silent tears squeezed through grime-
laden eyelids.  Her loss hurt him still; sharp,
piercing pain that he assuaged only with the
slam of his pick into the soil.

Questions filled his mind again, but he refused
to let them surface.  Only when she could answer
would he ask.

"Comin' up on Denver, boys.  Grab what ya need. 
You know the drill."

The foreman's voice made him look away from the
rolling landscape to reach under his seat for
his backpack.  He'd accumulated a collection of
useful things in his travels; some, courtesy of
the company.  Blanket, canteen, flashlight and
two-way radio for communication in the holes. 
But those were simply necessary.  He'd bartered
some of his pay for what he knew he'd eventually
need most - packs of beef jerky, matches, and
other odds and ends that would serve him well
once he made the break.

*If* he ever made the break.  Shaking off the
dire thought, he rose from his seat as the train
slowed to a stop.

He *would* make the break.  He had no other
choice but to believe that.


Undisclosed Location
West Virginia Mountains
April 7, 2001
3:50 a.m.


The floor was cold at his back, in sharp
contrast to the hot, searing pain in his chest. 
Sticky, iron-scented blood seeped through his
fingers as he cried her name.

"Scully!"

Over and over, through the miasma of disbelief,
he kept on, scrambling to his knees as the cold
air rushed in through the open door.  "Damn it,
stop!  Scully!"

The far off hum of machinery reached his ears
and he crawled toward it, finally getting his
feet under him as the slap of boots against the
concrete floors came from the other direction. 
Shouts of alarm from the far end of the bare
hall didn't stop him.  Though the blood that
flowed from him seemed to drain him and he
staggered, bracing himself on the wall for
support.

"Scully!"

Blinding light came from the open door just ten
yards away, and a sudden inrush of diesel-laced
air assaulted his naked body.  The hum became
louder and more mechanically menacing, but he
kept on, forcing his legs to move.

"Mulder, stop!"

It was Frohike's voice, more demanding than he'd
ever thought possible.  Coming from close behind
now, followed by a stream of salty curses.

Almost there, he was almost there.  He had to
get to her, to stop her.  Dizziness made his
head swim; he knew the blood loss was catching
up with him fast.

A warm hand wrenched him down, just as a bullet
zinged past his head.  Then more, and more,
seeming to ricochet off the walls to pierce his
skin.  But he wasn't hit, was he?  He didn't
know anymore.  Scully hadn't shot him, had she? 
Why couldn't he feel his arm?

"Shit!"  Frohike again.  What the hell was going
on?  "Get down, get down!"

More gunfire criss-crossed the hall before
Mulder's glazed eyes as he slumped down the
wall.  Must have really taken a hit this time,
was his last thought before he slipped into
unconsciousness.

     
Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 5, 2001
6:15 p.m.


"Fuckin' K-whores," Jesse growled, as he threw
his blanket next to Mulder's in the tent. 
"You'd think they could at least give us a tent
without a fuckin' hole in it."

Gabriel grimaced at the moth-eaten tent, but
said nothing.  He'd seen better and he'd seen
worse.  At least he hadn't seen a rattlesnake,
like the ones that loved to seek shade in their
tent outside Albuquerque.

Jesse was fairly new; they'd picked him up in
Reno a month ago at the start of their rotation
there.  He was built like a steamroller and had
a big mouth, 'K-whores' mumbled at every
opportunity, whether it be at the beans and ham
for dinner, or the warm beer on Saturday night. 
Like everyone else, though, he didn't complain
too loudly.  The company wanted 'K' - as
krycekite came to be known as - and they didn't
care who dug it up.  And while not the easiest
way to make money these days, it was the
fastest.  If you survived the contract.

"We don't start til the mornin'," he said to
Gabriel, finally satisfied with the placement of
his blanket.  "Wanna check out the town?"

Gabriel shook his head, avoiding eye contact. 
"Nah.  Think I'll just get something to eat and
sack out.  I need to check the lists again."  An
hour's leave wouldn't be enough to do all the
searching he planned on doing; he'd get a fresh
start early Sunday morning.

"The lists?"  The big man's tone was
incredulous.  "Who you lookin' for anyway?"

The 'lists' were posted weekly on the Internet,
which thrived now that the Administration's
clamp on electronic communication was gone. 
Rolls of the found, those who resurfaced still,
looking for lost loved ones.  A shot in the
dark, really - but one thing the people refused
to give up on was hope.

The only drawback was the lack of computers; 
the former Administration had confiscated
hardware in an effort to quell cohesive
organization of the Resistance.  It hadn't
worked, of course; the new world was proof of
that.  Now, only a privileged few had access,
but the numbers of computers were growing. 
Gabriel did what many others in the crew did -
sacrificed part of his pay to the foreman for
use of his laptop once a week.  It was worth it; 
the only way he could keep up with his loosely
scattered friends was through the newsgroup the
Colonel had set up before he set out on the road
as well.

Months had gone by with no word - yet.  He was
confident that they would succeed.  There was
really no other option.

"I'm just looking," he told Jesse.  "Never know
who you might find."

Jesse was okay, he supposed.  Might be a big
blowhard, but Gabriel could tell he didn't have
a sneaky bone in his body.  He didn't *have* to
sneak around and thieve like the rest.  With his
almost seven foot tall frame and biceps the size
of a defensive lineman, he had proven to be a
valuable commodity to the company.  He could
lift three times the weight of a normal man. 
Still didn't mean he got a bed to sleep in, but
he got a bit more of everything else there was
to be had.  And he'd taken a liking to Gabriel,
that much he knew.

The setting sun cast a burnished sheen to
Jesse's forehead beneath the close cut scalp and
his teeth, when he smiled, were bright in the
dim tent.  "Man, you need to get out more.  Cut
off that skanky hair and get rid of that shit on
your face.  There might be *women* in that town
over there.  And if I *ever* seen anybody that
needs to get laid, it's you."

At that, Gabriel let his face loosen into a
grin.  Half-turning, he said in reply, "What
makes you think I'm not getting laid on a
regular basis, huh?"  He went into the nearest
town every Sunday like the rest of the crew did,
but for different reasons.  He'd even visited
some of the same barrooms and whorehouses in an
effort to tamp down some of the suspicion,
though he hadn't availed himself of the female
companionship.  After a few weeks of working
with these men, he discovered there were
definitely a few who preferred any port in a
storm, so to speak.  So far, they'd left him
alone.  Plenty of willing partners in the camp,
and one thing he *didn't* need was a pack of
gorillas thinking he was anything but straight.

Jesse's smile faded.  "You think you foolin'
anybody?  I hear you at night - all that moanin'
about 'Scully.'  Who the hell is Scully, anyway? 
I'da never pegged you for a fag."

At that, Gabriel's face hardened and he looked
away.  "None of your God damned business," he
bit out, cursing himself for allowing the
pitiful yearning of his dreams to give that
tidbit of information away.

"Was she your woman?"

"Shut up, Jesse."  Instinctively, his left hand
went to the knife in his belt.  If he had to, he
wouldn't hesitate to kill the man.

"It ain't no use lookin' for her, you know." 
Jesse's voice was softer now, coming from the
open flap of the tent.  "Believe me, man.  I
know what I'm talkin' about.  She ain't comin'
back."  At Gabriel's silence, he sighed.  "Suit
yourself."  The dust tickled Gabriel's nose,
signaling Jesse's departure.

He relaxed, but not enough to loose the grip on
the knife.  Taking a deep breath, he turned to
make sure Jesse had gone before allowing himself
to sag a bit.

Jesse's words weren't meant to hurt, he knew. 
Though he'd not let himself get close to anyone
in the crew, he had talked to Jesse a few times,
only when the need for human contact overwhelmed
him.  He knew that Jesse had lost his wife and
children to the Invasion; the man had told him
of his search and the day he'd finally realized
they weren't coming home.  How it had made him
cry for once in his life - and how it had freed
him to begin life once again.  Jesse now looked
forward to making a bit of money and settling
down with another woman; this was the first time
he'd pushed Gabriel in the same direction.

It meant the man was getting too close.  Gabriel
knew he'd have to watch his step carefully from
now on.  He didn't need to care about anyone -
didn't want anyone caring about him.  His plans
forbade the emotional attachment of friendship; 
one day, he'd have to make some difficult
decisions and he wanted nothing to interfere.

There was only one thing he wanted.  He walked
to the foreman's tent, purpose in his step. 
Time was wasting; he wanted to make the most of
this little break.


April 7, 2001
En Route to Tennessee
5:35 a.m.


"Keep still."

The hand that laid against his shoulder was firm
and Mulder struggled to escape its painful
pressure as he tried to open his eyes.

"I said, keep still!"  The admonishment was
hissed into his face.

Mulder cracked open his eyes to see Frohike's
face float above him.  He felt the rumble of
tires beneath his back, grimaced at the way the
truck dipped and swayed.  They must be on one of
the mountain passes, he knew.  Skimpy daylight
bled through the cracks in the tarp that
fluttered about them.

Gulping away the cobwebs, he rolled his head
from side to side, taking in the anxious face of
Langly, who crouched at the back end, his gun
barrel steady through the narrow gap in the
covering.  Frohike worked feverishly beside him;
Mulder felt the pressure on his shoulder release
for a second and saw the bloodied pad fly over
Frohike's shoulder.  In seconds, another had
replaced it, and he gasped at the renewed burn
of pain.

Through cracked lips, he formed the question.
"Scully?"

Frohike dropped his eyes to his work.  "Byers is
driving us to Tennessee.  We're gonna be okay,
Mulder."

Tennessee?

"Alternate location.  Gotta hand it to Krycek; 
he had all the bases covered," he said with a
grim laugh.  "We'll be there in a couple of
hours.  I think we lost 'em."

No, he wasn't saying what Mulder most wanted to
hear.  He tried again, this time louder and more
distinct.  "Scully?  Where is Scully?"

"Just settle down, Mulder.  You've lost a lot of
blood."

Mulder gritted his teeth, more so against
Frohike's ignorance of him than the sharp pains. 
He squirmed under the rough wool blanket that
covered his legs and muttered, "God damn it,
Frohike, answer me!"  The movement of the truck,
combined with the fear growing in his stomach,
produced waves of nausea that pushed at his
throat.  He opened his eyes wide, then let them
roll around, looking for some point to fix on. 
But everything was moving too fast; the truck,
the air, the sliding past the subject he most
wanted to speak of.  "Where the hell is Scully?"

Frohike reached past him; Mulder watched his
hand disappear, then come back, fisted around a
syringe.

"No!"  Mulder's left hand rose up to curl around
Frohike's wrist.  Hot, frightened tears welled
up and overflowed down his temples.  "Just tell
me where she is... why won't you tell me?"  His
eyelids drooped shut, the smell of blood and
gunpowder filling his nose with acrid dread.

His friend jerked his wrist from Mulder's grip
and spoke in a soothing tone.  "She's in the
truck behind us, man.  Don't worry."

"Are you sure?" Mulder gritted out, forcing his
eyes to open again, trying to keep Frohike's
face before him.

Frohike loomed over him again, this time with a
vial of clear liquid in his other hand.  Some
sort of sedative or painkiller, Mulder thought
absently.  Hard on the heels of that thought was
another - he didn't answer me.

"Stop the truck.  I want to see her." Frohike
dissolved into an unfocused haze, courtesy of
Mulder's weakening vision.

"Can't, Mulder.  No stopping until we reach the
new bunker."

Anger made his chest tight; the son-of-a-bitch
was lying to him.  "Stop this fucking truck. 
Right now."  His hand flailed in the air and
grabbed hold of Frohike's vest.  Holding on, he
pulled himself to a sitting position, his
adrenaline on its last legs.

"Cool it, Mulder.  You're in no shape -"

Mulder pinned the little man with his gaze,
unblinking and feverish, stopping the excuses in
a frozen instant.  "Stop this truck or I'll
fucking kill you."  His right arm moved up with
some difficulty, and though it was numb, he
brought it up, his fingers curling around
Frohike's throat.  

He wasn't surprised at the threat coming from
his mouth.  He wasn't surprised at anything he
did anymore.  Just as he knew he'd carry through
if he didn't get his way; Scully was more
important to him than anything or anyone.

Frohike tensed under Mulder's hands, the syringe
and vial dropping to the floor as his hands
wrapped around Mulder's arm.  With his dwindling
breath he gasped, "Langly!"

They were lying to him, just as everyone else
had.  Only Scully ever told him the truth, and
she was gone.  But Mulder knew he had a chance
to catch up with her, if they'd only listen to
him.  She can't have gone far; she was in the
mountains somewhere, probably shivering from the
cold and scared out of her mind.

No, she wasn't scared.  Scully never got scared. 
Not like he did - not like he was now.

Frohike's face was beet red, but Mulder paid it
no mind, saying, "I'll kill you, Frohike.  Stop
this truck so I can go after her.  She needs
me."

Langly's pale face appeared in his peripheral
vision and he flinched at the sting, realizing
what they'd done.  "You - Damn it!"  Suddenly,
his leaden arms fell away and he slumped to the
floor once again, feeling the sedative course
through his veins.  "Scully needs me. Frohike,
she - needs -"

His friend's hoarse voice came to him a last
time before he succumbed to sleep.

"She doesn't need you.  She fucking *shot* you,
you fool."


Idlewild Mining Camp
Just west of Denver, Colorado
September 5, 2001
6:42 p.m.


Times were hard, but they were improving.  The
new government consisted of eight territories. 
Though the country was no longer unified in
government, it was understood that unification
was the ultimate goal.  Those left behind to
rebuild had seen the need for a more localized,
immediate way to serve the people - thus, the
territories, each with a governor.

People were encouraged to work, asked to
contribute any way they could.  And most did,
though there were bands of criminals scattered
throughout the land, bent on stealing and
killing to survive.  If one stayed close to a
populated area, then chances were good for
safety and survival.  But safety wasn't what
Gabriel had in mind; the only things he wanted
were a means to move and a method to search.

From the day he heard the announcement over the
grainy television channel, he knew that the
company presented him with the best opportunity
for both.  The call had gone out for able-bodied
men, willing to brave the frontiers of the new
territories in search of unlimited wealth.  It
had taken some time to make ready, and he'd
grown restless waiting for forged papers and
healed flesh.

Despite his friends' understandable worries,
they had joined in his quest, spread out
throughout the new territories, taking jobs with
the company just as he had in an effort to
search and obtain information.  The only contact
they all had with each other was the newsgroup,
and Gabriel sat down at the foreman's table to
check it once again.

There were several new messages on the
newsgroup, more than usual.  His heart leapt for
a second, then quickly quieted as he spied the
subject lines.  One from Byers, labeled 'just
checking in'.  A scan of that one detailed the
weather in upstate New York as 'lovely'. 
Gabriel grunted, wondering if Byers' hands were
as raw as his were right now.  Not likely.

Langly's message was a moaning complaint,
reminiscing about Taco Bell and cursing the
flat-footed 'doofuses' of the Upper Midwest. 
Not a sign of her, and he'd traveled through
several states, hitting the major cities in his
search for a decent hamburger.  Of course, that
wasn't his top priority, he assured them.  The
message fairly reeked with residual fear at the
prospect of an unsatisfied Gabriel.

The Colonel was the only one who told it like it
was, despite having felt that dissatisfaction
first hand.  His message, sent from the Arkansas
caves, was terse and to the point.  I'm doing
the best I can, he stated.  He'd even managed to
impress the company with his computing skills
and was bumped up to the foreman's assistant.  A
position with continuous access to the computer
and a direct line to points throughout the
territories, he had access to information the
others could only dream of.

Gabriel eagerly gobbled up the Colonel's
messages, but so far, there was nothing but
vague descriptions of women who would appear and
then disappear without a trace.  Slender, small,
women with reddish hair and blue eyes - most of
them frightened and alone, putting their
photographs on the network.  Looking for family
members or caretakers, they bartered themselves
for the meager possibility of a new life.

The Colonel knew these women weren't her, but he
forwarded the grainy pictures in a slim hope
that a face that was changed once could be
changed again.  But all it took was one look by
Gabriel and he knew the soul within wasn't hers. 
The Colonel didn't dare post her photograph out
there; if she was being held against her will,
it would be disastrous for it to be known there
was someone looking for her.  They'd find her. 
It would take time, but they would.

Today, there was no photograph.  Just a short,
weary message that stated that the Colonel had
exhausted all known resources.  He'd continue to
check daily for new information, but all that
were alive - which wasn't many - had been
accounted for, as far as the territorial
governors were concerned.  Now more than ever,
they urged the people to take the step forward
into the future.  Leave behind the old and
embrace the new.

With a frustrated sigh, Gabriel scrubbed at his
bristly face.  He wouldn't give up.  It wasn't
his nature to do so, despite the months living
under his father's thumb where he wanted nothing
more than to die.

She'd changed all that.  She'd made him remember
the man he was.  Though now, he was only half of
the whole.  Without her, life would never be the
same.  Hope was all he had left and he refused
to let it go, just as he held on to her with
both hands.

No matter what anyone said.  She was out there,
and he was going to find her.

To save her or kill her, he wasn't sure.


End Chapter One