The following story is based on characters created by Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. The characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission. This story also contains graphic sexual scenes. If you do not want to read these scenes, or if you are under the legal age of consent, do not download part 2a. Do not read these scenes. If you read them anyway, don't flame me, 'cause you have been warned. Caveat lector. Comments, questions, lavish praise, and flames may be directed to the author, Sarah Stegall, at sfsfs@fail.com. Critiques and reviews are most welcome. This story is dedicated to the memory of the Crystal Peak firefighters. =========================================================================== NOTE FROM THE ARCHIVIST: Sarah Stegall's current email address is munchkyn@netcom.com =========================================================================== ----------------------------------------------------------------- PHOENIX by Sarah Stegall Now that I have found you In the cool of your evening air Your love burns through me Though I lie here so cool I burn for you I burn for you... --Sting Harlequin Ridge The fire licked along the dry grasses, the seared twigs. Fanned by a warm breeze, it wound its way up the hillside, tasting the underbrush, the last of summer's leaves rattling on the bare twigs before disappearing in a puff of light and smoke. Like a blister of heat suddenly popped, it leaped from a tiny line of flame to a crisp roaring of heat and destruction. The wind rose behind it, now made stronger by the indraft of heated air. The hazy day obscured the rising wisps of gray smoke. The fire flew along the hillside, leaping green trees and teasing downed ones before settling in to the long, slow eating of dead wood and leaf. Above, on the hilltop, stood the silhouette of a man, a mere suggestion among the smoke and flame of outstretched arms, legs spread wide in a stance that spoke of power and victory. Hungrily, the fire climbed toward him. "Jerry! Bring that hose in here!" The man in the firesuit waved an arm at a yellow figure struggling with a coil of hose. "Hurry!" Behind him other men were running forward, carrying picks and shovels and axes in exhausted hands. Bulldozers roared above the sound of the fire. The crew had been on this fireline around the clock for half a week, and were strung out to the point of collapse. "There's...water at half pressure..." panted the man in yellow as he came up. "Mike's set for your signal." He handed the heavy nozzle to the leader and retreated for more tools. With quick gestures, the man in the aluminized jumpsuit directed his team off to his left and right. They spread out down the line, a thin wall of human flesh and dogged determination against the angry power of the fire. "Now!" the man cried. Water leaped from the nozzle of the big hose, spraying wide over its ancient enemy. With a furious hiss the fire began to die back, retreating sullenly in embers of orange and red. The sky overhead began to clear as the smoke swirled away on the wind. Bracing his legs, the man fired water like a laser at the hot spots remaining. "Get the shovels in here!" he cried over his shoulder. Men with fire shovels ran in to turn over the ashes, searching for live coals that might smolder for hours and re- ignite the blaze. Ahead of them the slow smoke curled and crept against the wall of charred trees, lending a twilight air to the scene. The man in the aluminized jumpsuit shut off the hose and slumped. Slowly he reached up and pulled off the silver hood, revealing a rugged, homely face under dark brown hair. Sweat ran from his soaking hair into his collar; he tugged at the tight uniform irritably. "Cover that stand," he called to Jerry, now in the forefront of the men inching inwards to the remains of the stand. Before them stretched acres of blackened and seared scrubland, the half-cooked bodies of small forest animals, and the twisted remains of a once-living woods. The patch in front of him had been burned down to naked stone, as though the earth itself had been charred to its granite bones. The man sighed. "God, what I wouldn't give for a beer," he said to no one in particular, and turned away to pick up and coil the heavy fire hose. A gust of wind brought the smell of burning to his nose and he coughed. The smoke seemed thicker now, and that disturbed him. As the coals died the smoke should have dissipated. A shout to his left brought him up sharply. Suddenly the smoke was all around him, as thick as a gray blanket, choking and suffocating him. He dropped the hose. "Jerry?" A scream as raw as blood tore through the air at him. Brightness flared in the haze before him. "Jerry? Ramon? Who is that?" He took a step forward, and it was as if the smoke parted for him like a curtain. Before him, Jerry's yellow jumpsuit blazed as brightly as the sun, while flames crawled up the man's writhing, dancing body. The screaming was coming from him, a high pitched, tortured shriek that tore through the nerves like hot wire. "Jerry--!" His foot caught in something--the hose. Pitching forward, the man in the aluminized jumpsuit thrust his arms forward just in time to avoid landing face first in a pile of glowing coals. Their heat seared his skin from an inch away. Smoke clogged his nostrils, eddied in his brain. He gathered his feet under him on the shifting, unsteady surface of the glowing ash and rose to his feet. Jerry was on the ground now, his body still and quiet as the flames consumed it. Above him, the smoke from his burning body spun upward towards the sky, dark against the grayer smoke from the fire. And as he watched, a blazing form emerged from that smoke, as though it grew from it, growing more solid every second as the man stared. "What the hell?" It was like a cutout, a blood-red paper outline of a man moving against the gray fog of soot behind it. Where eyes should have been there were two glowing black coals. And where the mouth should have been.... The man in the aluminized jumpsuit stepped back in shock. Oblivious to the choking smoke, he retreated before the advance of the man-shaped flame. In the shadow's wake the coals glowed hotter, hotter, and burst forth into flame again. In two steps it was surrounded by fire, and in four it was walking in the middle of a conflagration. Horrified, the man recoiled until the blanket of darkening smoke drifted between him and the thing that smiled and walked in the fire. He turned and ran. Dew Cove, Nevada Dana Scully snapped the suitcase closed and set it upright on the floor at the end of the bed. She checked the bedside table and the bathroom of the small hotel room one last time for any small articles left behind. She had learned the hard way that nail files, stray earrings, and the essential toothbrush had a habit of hiding when it was packing time. The phone rang. "Scully," she said into the mouthpiece, bending down to scan the floor under her bed. "Ms. Scully, there's a visitor here to see you. Shall I send him over?" asked the receptionist. Scully straightened quickly. "A visitor?" Who on earth would be visiting her here in Nevada? Who knew she and Mulder were out here, except the Bureau? "Has this visitor a name? And did he ask for me or for Mr. Mulder?" There was a muffled sound; Scully could envision the receptionist putting her hand over the mouthpiece. "He says he's Freddy and he only asked for you, ma'am." "Freddy?" "Yes, ma'am. He says you know him." Scully sighed. "Okay. Send him over." She depressed the switchhook and then dialed three numbers, the extension of the room next to hers. "Mulder," came the laconic answer after the second ring. "Somebody named Freddy wants to come talk to me. Are you packed?" "Almost. I'm watching the -- go! Go! Ah, you stupid- -" "Mulder, turn the game down for a minute, will you?" Scully said, exasperated. "We leave in an hour. Are you ready? I swear, if you're not, this time I really will leave you behind." "Yeah, yeah, I'll be ready--layup! Go for the layup!" Scully hung up the phone in his ear. A knock on the door sounded at the same moment. Glaring at the phone, she checked to make sure her weapon was loose in her belt holster and went to the door. "Who is it?" "Um, Agent Scully? This is Larry Moore," said a hestitant male voice. "I don't know if you rem--" Scully jerked the door open. On the other side stood a stocky man with a rugged jaw and brown eyes, dressed in a khaki uniform. His brown hair was a little longer than she remembered. His face was honest, open, plain. Right now it wore a look of anxiety. "Hi," she said. "Ranger Moore. I remember you." His face relaxed. "From the logging camp. Those bugs nearly got us, huh?" Involuntarily, she shuddered. The memory of the swarming wood mites, prehistoric survivals that had nearly sucked the life right out of her body, flooded over her. She and Mulder had gone to investigate the disappearance of a band of loggers and encountered an infestation of insects that swarmed in the darkness. Draining their victims of all bodily fluid, they cocooned the bodies high in trees. Awakened from their long slumber by the felling of ancient trees, they had attacked and nearly killed not only Mulder and Scully, but also Forest Ranger Larry Moore. The loggers they had been sent to find were never heard of again. Scully, Mulder, and Moore were the only survivors of that nightmare. Scully discovered she was trembling. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you!" His hand was on her elbow, firm and secure. He snatched it away quickly. "It's okay....Larry. I'd pretty much blocked that out. Sorry. Won't you come in?" She held the door wider for him. He looked past her into the dim interior. "Well, I...I don't want to take up much of your time. I'm sure you're busy..." His hands were twisting his hat round and round in his hand. This was not the man she remembered, thought Dana. The forest ranger she had met nine months ago on an X-files assignment had been calm, quiet, confident. This man looked scared and ashamed. Something was very wrong. "Mulder's right next door. We can--" "No!" he fairly shouted. Then he flushed and looked away. "I mean, sure, if you want to call him. But I was kind of hoping we could, well, you would..." he floundered. Intrigued, Scully stepped back and gestured to the guest chair. He sank into it; the room suddenly seemed smaller with him in it, as though he brought the woods indoors with him. There was a faint smell of woodsmoke about him. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," he said. "You look well," she said. "You seem to have recovered all right. Last time I saw you you were covered in bug bites and wearing a hospital gown." He smiled. His face looked much younger when he did that, thought Scully. "And you were breathing through a tube," he said. "I'm glad you made it okay. You're looking...fine." There was a brief pause, while he looked away. This was extraordinarily uncomfortable for him, thought Scully. "I should have guessed who it was when the receptionist said 'Freddy'," she said, to put the man at ease. "I remember you told me that was the monkey-wrenchers' name for Federal Forest Rangers." He smiled tightly. "Just a little joke. I wasn't sure...you'd see me." "Why not?" "Well, you're busy, I'm sure. And well...this is a pretty strange story. I don't even know if you can help." "Larry, you should know that Mulder and I are no longer assigned to the ...to the same investigative area," she said calmly. Nothing of her inner fury at that reassignment showed on the surface. The loss of the X-Files still bit too deep. "I'll help you any way I can, but this may be out of our jurisdiction. And how did you know I was here, by the way?" "I saw Agent Mulder on that press conference last night, on TV. The report didn't mention you, but I knew if he was around, you probably would be." Dana smiled. "True enough," she said. "We were both testifying. But you know you can always go to the local office of the FBI if you need to report something. You didn't have to come to me." "No," he said, looking away. "But you're the only one I want to tell this to." The silence was taut between them, like a thread drawn out beyond its tolerance. Dana shifted on the bed and his eyes flashed to her. He looked her full in the eyes, and a slow red flush crept up his face. For some reason, Scully felt warm. He cleared his throat. "Besides, I'm staying in the same motel. I didn't know until I phoned the TV station. I'm on the other side of the building." She smiled. "It must be fate." "Nah. This is the only decent motel in this burg. Agent Scully--" he began. Dana interrupted him. "Call me Dana." "D-dana," he said. "I gotta tell you, this is weird. Almost as weird as those bugs." "If it's that weird, I'd definitely better call Mulder," she said, and started to rise. He caught her hand. "Please don't, Dana," he said softly. "We can call him in later, if necessary. I'd feel more...comfortable...talking to you." She sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. "All right. I'm listening." He probably didn't realize he was still holding her hand, she thought. His obvious nervousness was beginning to affect her, as well. She had to concentrate on his words; her attention kept straying to the warmth of his big hand holding hers. "I'm not working in the Forest Service any more," he said. "After...after I got out of the hospital, I just couldn't go back into those woods. I just couldn't." She nodded sympathetically. "You're afraid the bugs are still in there?" "I don't know. The USDA says they sprayed with pesticide and did some burning, but Agent Sc--I mean, Dana, I've worked in those woods most of my life. I know how quickly insects can develop resistance. But I have to admit I never saw any more. "No, they kept ordering me back in on one assignment or another, and I refused, and they held a disciplinary hearing, and well, I just quit." Scully heard the shame in his voice and squeezed his hand. Looking down, he saw that he was still holding her hand in his and jerked it back. He flushed beet red. Not looking at her, he continued. "I took my severance pay and re-certified for a firefighting unit up in the North Rock country. They put me on the line when the guy ahead of me got burned pretty bad in May." "So you're a smoke jumper now?" He looked at her now, surprised at her knowledge of the term. "Yes. They drop us into real remote areas to fight the small fires before they turn into big fires." "And one big advantage of that is that the fires make it unlikely you'll run into any bugs, am I right?" He nodded. "Yeah. You understand. I don't think anyone else would." "Mulder would." "Mulder. Yeah." Moore looked uncomfortable. "Tell you the truth, Dana, I thought Mulder was a little, well, spooky. He always--what's the joke?" Dana smothered her chuckle by clearing her throat. "Nothing. Go on with your story. I'd like to hear more." "Well, last week we were out on the line, fighting a little brush fire up in Glen County..." They were interrupted by a knock at the door and Fox Mulder walked in. "All set. Olajuwon fouled out anyway--oh, hello. Larry Moore?" Moore's jaw set. The openness she had seen in his face a moment before was gone, replaced with a sort of wary friendliness. Nevertheless he stood and offered his hand. "Agent Mulder. Good to see you again. You have a very good memory." Mulder smiled. "I'm cursed with a photographic memory. You're not with the Forest Service anymore? Your uniform is different." So they all sat down while Larry told them about the fire, and the smoke, and Jerry. He told them about the exhaustion and the thirst that plagued him, and how heat and weakness and pain could play tricks on a man's mind. He's leading up to something, thought Scully. Something that bothers him, that he doesn't want to believe. He's delaying putting it into words as long as he can. She felt a tingle at the base of her spine. She knew the feeling; it meant a witness was about to spill a story. She was glad Mulder was here. Then, for some reason, wished he wasn't. "And then...then..." Moore trailed off. He shrugged helplessly and looked at Dana. "I can't believe it myself. I don't expect you to. But I gotta tell somebody, and you're...kinda used to this stuff." Don't rush him, Dana thought. Never rush a witness. She wished he would hurry. The plane was probably landing. Mulder, silent, chewed his thumb and stared at Moore. Too late, Scully remembered Mulder's fear of fire; this story must horrify him. But as usual, he showed no sign of his emotions. Moore ignored him, concentrating only on Dana. "The smoke got thicker, and then I heard Jerry screamin'. It was...it was awful. I don't know if you've ever heard anything like that--" "I'm a doctor, Larry," she reminded him. "He burst into flames! I mean, it looked like someone had doused him with gasoline! I never saw anything like it!" "Well, that's a terrible thing," she said. "But you were fighting a fire, after all. I don't think it was so unreason--" "You don't understand, Dana. He was standing on solid rock. I'd just finished drenching it with the hose myself. There is no way, no way he could have caught fire in a flameproof suit just by walking over coals like that. And there was something else, the really strange part...." The silence stretched as he fought himself. Sympathetically, Dana leaned closer to him. He jerked backwards. "It was...I saw a man. In the fire. Or at least, it looked like a man. He stepped out of the smoke like he was stepping through a door. But he hadn't been there a minute before, I swear. I swear it, Dana. I don't know where he came from. He was just...there. And his eyes. I swear to God, his eyes were straight out of hell. And he was made of smoke." Her look of astonishment came and went quickly, but he retreated. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. I know how crazy it sounds, but I'm telling you it was not a living man walking towards me through that fire." "Oh, I don't know that it's all that crazy," Mulder said. "We've encountered something like it before." Moore looked at Mulder directly. "You have?" They told him of Cecil L'Ively, the serial killer and suspected arsonist the team had tracked and captured the year before. "Mulder claims he's pyrokinetic," Dana said, glancing at her partner. At Larry's puzzled look Mulder explained. "We had him trapped, but he caught fire when another agent splashed him with rocket fuel. He set fire to a whole house with one look. This guy is able to start fires with his mind." "With his mind?" Larry's look was incredulous. Dana took a deep breath. She didn't want to antagonize Moore at the same time she was confirming Mulder's story. "Regardless of how he was setting those fires, Larry, I'm telling you as a doctor that that man should not have lived. But he did even though he literally walked through fire. So, yes, we've seen something like what you describe before." The man's wide shoulders relaxed visibly with relief. "Thank God," he said. "I was sure you'd call me a nut. And I have to admit that this time last year I'd have said it myself. But now that I've seen...." "Extraordinary things?" Dana prompted. He smiled. "Extraordinary things, yes. I'm a little more open, maybe." Dana smiled back at him, and felt a little flutter in her stomach when his eyes met hers. He was really quite attractive, she thought. Not drop-dead handsome, but honest and masculine and simple. About as different from Mulder as a man could get, she thought. And why, she wondered, was she comparing the two? She shook her head. "Larry, I'm glad you told me this, but I'm not sure what you want us to do about it." He looked down at his hat. "I don't either. Hearing myself saying these things, I feel silly. But seeing that...thing walk out of the fire...Dana, I wasn't imagining that." He laughed shortly. "I don't have that much imagination." Dana stood up and glanced at her watch. "Well, in any case, our plane leaves in less than an hour and--" "You're leaving? Now?" "Yes. Our case is wrapped up here, and we have to--" "But I was hoping you'd be around a little longer. I-- " Mulder broke in, ignoring Dana's remarks and leaning forward. "Was this shadow thing actually walking? It looked like a human being?" "Yes. But the smoke was drifting in my eyes, they were stinging. I could have been mistaken." "I don't think so," Mulder said, and turned to his partner. She recognized immediately the tension in his shoulders, the set of them telling her something was on his mind. Oh, no, she thought, and mentally began shuffling her arguments. Here we go again. "Scully, can we cancel our flight and go tomorrow? I'd like to look into this." "On what grounds, Mulder? Excuse me, Larry, but this is just a story. Larry might have been hallucinating from exhaustion. He obviously feels guilty over the death of his co-worker. His pride is hurt, he's blaming himself and looking for a way to exonerate himself." "What?" said Larry. Ignoring him for the moment, Dana glared at Mulder. "What are you looking for? The X-Files are none of our business anymore." "X-Files?" asked Larry Moore, bewildered. "What are those?" The pair ignored him, eyes locked in their old argument. "What if Cecil Lively isn't unique? Scully, there might be something out there in those woods. We have to find out what it is." "An arsonist, maybe. A figment of Larry's imagination, maybe. Not Cecil Lively. Or are you thinking now it was UFO aliens?" She regretted it as soon as she said it. "Aliens?" Larry said, appalled. Mulder looked away, his jaw muscle tensing. "Look, Scully. You go on back to Washington. Tell them I got sick. Tell them anything you want. I want to check this out." "There's nothing to check out!" Larry Moore stood up. "I have to be going. Thanks for your time." He stepped to the door. Too late, Dana realized how he must have taken her words. "Wait, Larry!" But he was already out the door. She glared at Mulder. "We're going to miss our plane, you know." She ran out the door after Moore. Mulder watched her go. "Yeah," he agreed. "Larry, wait!" He was striding quickly, angrily across the parking lot toward his truck. She caught his arm and swung him around. "Please, wait! I didn't mean to imply...what it sounded like." He glared down at her. "Look, you don't have to believe me, Dana. But you don't have to ridicule me, either." "I wasn't. It's just that Mulder and I--oh, never mind. Larry, I'm sorry if what I said offended you. It is a little hard to believe, but that doesn't mean I think you're crazy." He softened. "Well, I may be, at that. But thanks." She realized her hand was still on his arm and took it away. She glanced back at the motel and saw Mulder lounging in the door to her room, watching them. She sighed. "Look, let's all go eat somewhere and talk this over. I'm starved and I have to unpack anyway." He grinned. "Deal. I'm buying." "No way," she said. "If we stay, it's to investigate a case at taxpayer's expense." Mulder watched them walk back, his hands in his pockets. His expression was unreadable. "I thought the high Sierras always burned in late summer. Could this be an arsonist out there, helping things along?" Dana asked. At Mulder's look, she said, "We have to check out every possibility." They were sitting in the motel's little coffe shop, jammed three to a booth with Dana between the two men. "Yes, they do," Larry said. "This spring the rains lasted pretty late, so the grass grew taller and thicker than usual. Then when the usual summer drought dried them up, there was that much more tinder ready to burn. But even so, there have been an unusual number of fires this year, fires we can't account for." "What do you mean?" Dana asked. She was increasingly aware of his thigh pressed up against hers in the narrow booth. He glanced at her. "Well, usually we can tell what starts a fire, especially in remote areas like the North Rock country. Lightning, campers, and arson are the main culprits. But the skies have been clear, and the area is off limits to civilians so the last two are pretty unlikely. We just don't know why these fires are starting. And there's a weird feel to them." "Weird?" Mulder poured more sugar in his coffee. "Yeah. I mean, there's always a danger of a fire restarting after we put it out, that's why we maintain a firewatch." "The Oakland fire in 1991," said Dana. "Where a fire was put out and then regenerated." "Killed nearly 30 people and wiped out millions of dollars worth of property," agreed Larry. "We're real careful about firewatches. But some of these fires have re- started on what appears to be bare rock, after the fire's been out for days. One of them started on an island entirely isolated by water. Some of them burn downhill, even." "Downhill?" Mulder sat up. "Did you say they go downhill?" Larry nodded. "Yeah. Weird. Fire usually only goes uphill." "What about the wind?" asked Dana. "Couldn't the wind be blowing the fire downhill?" Larry sipped his coffee. "Not likely. Once a fire really gets started, it generates its own winds. The firestorm sucks in all the surrounding air, so pretty soon most of the air is moving toward the fire, pulling in even more of the air. In really intense fires, the firefighters can actually come near to suffocation." Talking about familiar things was relaxing him, thought Dana. He was less strained, more at ease. "And this thing you say you saw in the fire, you don't think it was human?" Mulder was asking as Moore finished. Moore picked up his coffee and sipped deliberately. Next to him, Dana could feel the trembling in his thigh. "No, I don't," he said finally, his honest eyes meeting Mulder's. "No. I don't know what it was, but it was nothing...human. Call me crazy." Dana smiled a little. Everyone was always called Mulder crazy; it would take a lot for him to return the compliment. She reached over and patted Moore's thigh. "Don't worry," she began, but stopped when she saw Moore's face. "What?" He tensed away from her. "Nothing." Mulder was oblivious, as usual. "Have you noticed any kind of pattern to this? Have you mapped it?" "I haven't reported it or anything," Moore said uncomfortably. "I....I'm not really anxious to start job hunting again any time soon." The FBI agents were silent. They'd heard this before, witnesses unwilling to make official statements for fear of ridicule. "I want to take a look at the fire site," Mulder said. "Can you take us up there?" Moore looked from Mulder to Dana and reddened. "I'll take you. Not Agent Scully." "Why not? She's a trained agent and no fool," said Mulder, genuinely puzzled. Moore's jaw clenched. He refused to look at Dana's angry eyes. "I'm sure she is. But this is fire territory we're talking about. We don't normally let civilians in, just in case it flares up again. It's dangerous as hell. It's just...not right to take her in there." Mulder opened his mouth to reply, but Dana got in first. "Larry, do you have any women working on your fire crews?" "Sure, but they're professionals. I wouldn't--" Dana was rising. "I'm phoning in to the local office. You've called us in to investigate a possible arson on government land, and the FBI has jurisdiction. Larry, we'll be ready in five minutes." "But--" Moore was sliding out of the booth to let her up. Dana scooted out of the booth. "Larry, I appreciate your concern for my safety, but you really don't have to worry. I'll be fine." He looked down at her. His mouth was a taut line. "God. I'll worry about you the whole time. I really don't want to do this." Dana felt a peculiar sensation go down her back. His eyes were very brown and very deep. She looked away and took a deep breath. "Among other things, Larry, please remember that I'm a doctor. You might need me out there. I'll bring my bag." He nodded slowly, his face unhappy. She was coming back from her phone call when she heard Mulder say her name. Realizing that the big planter behind their booth effectively screened her from view, she stopped to listen. "...no idea if Scully's seeing anyone," Mulder was saying in a low voice. "No boyfriends, no ex-husband, nothing like that?" "Like I said, no idea." Dana knew that tone. She could almost see Mulder's look hardening, his hazel eyes becoming distant and challenging. "And...forgive me, Mulder. I know this is awfully personal, but I'm trying not to step on any toes here. I mean, are you guys just partners, or something more?" There was a long silence, and Dana held her breath. "We..." Mulder began, and broke off. She heard the clatter of a spoon in a coffee cup. "Dana Scully couldn't see me with a microscope," he finally said in a low voice. Mulder cleared his throat and his tone changed, became crisp as he deliberately changed the subject. "Scully is every inch the professional. She's the best. Though she's hard to convince, sometimes. You don't have to worry about taking her into the fire zone. She's a lot tougher than me. She may be tougher than you and me both." Two Horse Creek The valley lay blistering in the sun. Deep in the underbrush, it was hot and dry. It had been hot and dry for a long, long time. The years and the parched grass had piled up, season after season, laying down a thick bed of litter. Even under the shade of the trees, the air was dry and sere. The sun beat down mercilessly on the land. Something walked there, something made of shadow and smoke and evil. Where it passed, the air grew still and hushed. Where it passed, the sun seemed to burn brighter, hotter. Where it passed, tendrils of smoke arose. The crackle of flame filled the little valley. * * * * Harlequin Ridge The chopper was a big military cargo copter, retrofitted for smoke jumpers. Dana squeezed into the rear with Mulder while Larry strapped himself into the co-pilot's seat. It was midmorning of the next day. Dana leaned over to speak close to Mulder's ear. "I know how you feel about fire," she said. "You don't have to do this." He turned his head and smiled at her. "I know how you hate flying," he said. "You don't have to do this either. But neither one of us is gonna get off this chopper, are we?" Anything else was drowned by the clatter of the rotors as the craft lurched and swung crazily, lifting off. Through the plexiglass front, past Larry's head, Dana could see the clouds swinging back and forth as the craft turned. Her stomach lurched a little; she glanced at Mulder and saw that, as usual, air travel affected him not at all. He was poking through the fire fighting equipment stowed against the bulkhead, his hair blowing in the breeze from the open doorway. The wind was cold and smelled of woodsmoke. It reminded Dana of camping trips with her father, a nostalgic smell. She squirmed a little to get a better view out of the forward door. They were well onto government land, and the forest below was thick and dark as velvet. She smelled pine, briefly, but it was increasingly overlaid with the smell of smoke, and her eyes began to water. Mulder nudged her and handed her a mask. She fumbled with it, hoping she could remember Larry's brief instructions on how to use it. Mulder helped her tighten the straps behind her head, his fingers quick and sure. The inside of the mask smelled of rubber and smoke. The face plate cut off her peripheral vision; she could see Larry's head outlined against the sky at the front of the chopper. I feel like a damned tourist, thought Dana. Useless baggage. She hoped she and Mulder weren't going to be in the way. She hated imposing on people. The chopper banked sharply, throwing her against Mulder. He caught her in his arms and steadied her back into her seat. When she looked up, Larry was looking at her with a peculiar expression on his face. Then the bottom dropped out of her stomach as the craft lost altitude. It swung and dipped, leading her stomach in a most unwelcome dance. She hoped wretchedly that she was not going to disgrace herself by throwing up. Larry was yelling over the roar of the rotors, pointing down. "There. That's where I saw it." The black scar slashed across the land as though a gigantic bucket of paint had been tipped over. Dana smelled the deep, rank odor of charred wood and soil. A few matchsticks of blackened wood were all that remained of the pine and scrub thickets that had once covered these canyons. A pall of soot covered everything. Mulder coughed as the wind blew a few wisps of smoke into the cabin. "Is it still burning?" he yelled at Moore. "Nah. We've still got a firewatch on, but it's out. It was a hell of a fight, though. For two days, every time we thought we had it contained, it would break out again. Even if there was no wind, nothing to flame the embers. Even in areas we had soaked with fire retardant. I don't understand it." "Can we go lower?" asked Mulder. Larry glanced over at Dana. She smiled tightly back at him, ignoring her stomach. "Okay, I guess." He gestured to the pilot. They swayed lower, and now the wash from the rotors was kicking up soot and ash all around them. They flew slowly along the fire line, hovering above the blackened wasteland. Larry jerked his mask down around his neck and pointed northwest. "See, there," he said to Dana. "That's where I saw it, where the smoke was thickest. We never even found Jerry's body. It was reduced to ash." His mouth was grim, and Dana heard the anger in it. This was not a man to take defeat lightly. This was personal with him. "It was out, I swear. It was completely contained. And then that...thing came and the fire started up again. It took us another two days to contain it. We've kept a firewatch because it could flare up again any minute." As he spoke, the wind swirled suddenly from the north, raining big black flakes and soot on the trio. Mulder brushed a hand across his face, smearing a big black streak across one cheek. Dana saw the shudder he repressed and regretted dragging him into this confrontation with his deepest fears. The radio suddenly crackled. Dana couldn't hear it clearly over the rotors. Larry picked up the mike and thumbed it. "Chopper two. Where are you?" His voice was tense. There was more static, but Dana could make out the frantic tone of the transmission. "Oh, God," Larry said in a deadly voice. "What is it?" Mulder yelled. "Fire over in Two Horse Creek Canyon. It's out of control, chasing our guys out. They need the chopper. I don't have time to take you two back. I'll have to leave you here and send someone back for--" "No!" Dana yelled. The two men looked at her. She glared. "I'm not staying here. I've got my bag with me, you may need a doctor. And we don't have time to argue. Get your men out!" Larry opened his mouth to protest, but Mulder put a hand on his shoulder and pointed out the window. "I wouldn't leave anyone here unprotected, either," he said. They all looked. This low, the prop wash from the helicopter was blowing ash and soot away from the charred ground, scouring the rock clean. Inside the fire line was a line of round, blackened marks, extending back into the heart of the char, so black they stood out against the rest of the ruined landscape. They would probably not have been visible from ground level, thought Dana. But from the air, they looked like footprints burned into the rock. Two Horse Creek Canyon The helicopter lifted over a ridge and suddenly the world dissolved in fire. The smoke turned the afternoon into twilight, and filled the cabin of the chopper with a choking haze. Below them, the landscape was wreathed in dark smoke and outlined in glowing embers the size of boulders. And then Dana saw the inferno. Everywhere was the crackle and roar of the fire, leaping from tree to tree, swallowing everything before it. It was thirty feet tall, roaring towards them like doomsday itself. Before it, a line of tiny figures in yellow and orange straggled-- firefighters, she realized. She gasped: they were so few against the power of the fire. Before Dana could regain her equilibrium there was a sharp jolt and the chopper came to a stop. She smelled smoke and a deep, charred odor. Through the forward canopy, Dana could see the crew shovelling, cutting fire breaks in the path of the fire. Dimly she heard a droning behind her and turned to see a bulldozer come rattling past. On the line below her, she saw the line of firefighters pulling back, leaving the fire line and the fire breaks they had cut. Another, higher roar filled the canyon. "Fire plane?" yelled Mulder. Moore nodded, talking into his walkie-talkie. A C-130 modified cargo plane rose over the near ridge, heading for the fire. As they watched, the plane turned, banked low, and returned flying directly over the fire. Suddenly a bright orange cloud erupted from the tail of the plane, spraying heavily over the fire. Once, twice, three times the plane passed over the fire, each time releasing its cargo of fire retardant. The smoke dimmed, became light and wispy. The flames were shrinking, receding. A faint, ragged cheer went up from the fire crew. Then from the heart of the fire, flame suddenly leaped skyward. Caught in the sudden flare, the plane was momentarily engulfed in a veil of light. Then it exploded with an ear shattering roar, knocking Dana to the ground. Larry fell on top of her, tucking her head against his chest, covering her body with his own as debris rained down around them. "Oof! Larry!" His body was big and heavy on top of her. "Damn!" Larry cried, ignoring her. "Damn! It caught the fuselage!" "Yeah," Mulder agreed. "Like it intended to." Dana struggled upright and looked at her partner, blinking back tears from the smoke. Moore leaped up in front of Dana even as an explosive thunder sounded from uphill. "What the--pull back! Everyone back!" Suddenly the afternoon was brighter as a wall of flame appeared. Against it the silhouettes of the firefighters were tiny and inconsequential. They scurried back and forth with hoses and fire tools, ineffectively. Dana stood in openmouthed wonder. How could humans hope to stop that? "Oh, God, here it comes," Larry yelled into the walkie- talkie. "Fall back! Everyone back to the chopper! Everyone out right now!" He ran towards the fire, waving the crew onward. They dropped their equipment and ran towards him. Mulder grabbed Dana's arm. She looked at him--his face was as white as paper under the streaked soot. "Scully, the wind is blowing uphill!" he cried. "So?" "So, it's advancing downhill and against the wind!! How can it do that?" Smoke choked her reply. The flames were louder now, burning swiftly towards the running crew. As they watched, Dana saw one tiny running figure stumble and fall. Instantly Larry was there, helping it up. Behind him, the fire leaped forward like a wildcat pouncing. Without hestitation, Dana bounded forward to help him. Mulder grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. "Let's go, Dana! These guys know what they're doing!" "Mulder, I can't leave him!" she cried. She looked up at him, seeing the dark eyes watering--from smoke? "I can't. I know you're afraid of fire. Go on back without me." "I'm not afraid of the fire," he said. She could barely hear him over the howl of the advancing holocaust. "I'm afraid for you." She looked at him. Sweat was rolling through the soot on his face, giving him a tigerish look. His look was intense. She shook her head. "I can't leave him." "I can't leave you," he shouted. "I won't leave you." "Then come on!" Together they turned and ran uphill. Dana tugged on her mask, her eyes watering against the smoke. The first man they reached was on his knees, coughing, struggling with his mask. He waved them off as he reached his feet again. He staggered off downhill and was lost in the smoke. "Help! Quick!" Dana grabbed Mulder and tugged him to her left. They almost ran into the pair laboring down the slope under their burden. A man and a woman supported another man between them, his head hanging, his suit hanging in black strips from his side. Dana could see the reddened skin underneath. "Can we help?" Dana cried, but they waved her away and struggled onward. Through the smoke, she caught sight of Larry, standing over the downed man. "Come on, Mulder!" But Mulder was ahead of her already. The fire was the whole world. He was shaking like a leaf in a storm at the terror of it, but Larry couldn't move the man at his feet, and he refused to leave him. He saw Mulder lurching toward him and waved him away. "Mulder! Get out of here!" Then he saw Dana, bent over the man on the ground. "Oh, God! Dana, run! Go on!" "No! Come on! We'll help you!" Mulder could hardly speak for choking on the thick smoke. His eyes watered freely, stinging and blinding. "You get his feet, I'll get his hands." The man on the ground was still, his suit smoking. They didn't have time to argue. He grabbed the firefighter's boots and lifted as Mulder did the same at the other end. The man's weight swung between them and Mulder staggered a little. Behind them, the thing in the fire roared its rage, cheated. Dana's head snapped around, and she saw it. It was twice the height of a man, crowned in fire the color of blood. It hissed and moaned with the voice of the inferno. It had two arms, then ten, then none, then two again as it flickered and shimmered in its own light. The only darkness in it was its eyes, as dark as charcoal, as dark as midnight. And it saw them. It stepped toward the humans standing hypnotized in its path. The heat seared Dana's face; smoke rose from Mulder's shirt. "Dana! Run!" Smoke spun into her eyes, blinding her. Cut off from the sight of those terrible eyes, Dana shook herself. "No! I'm staying with you." She slid her hands under the injured man, taking some of his weight off the two men. The three staggered back, surrounded by smoke. Fire shot forward around them and she heard Larry cry out. He staggered but recovered. Glancing back over her shoulder, Dana saw the fire no more than ten feet away. The smoke cleared, and the eyes were on her again. Suddenly she felt very cool. Her feet slowed, stopped. She didn't feel the heat anymore, or see the smoke curling from her shoes or see the flames licking around her feet. All she could see were the eyes, cool and dark and quiet in the fire, beckoning her, calling her. She took a step toward the fire. "Dana!" A heavy hand swung her around and she was staring into Larry Moore's eyes. "Get in! Now!" Behind him, she saw the open door of the chopper and Mulder crouched inside it, holding out his hand. Without waiting for her to speak, Larry picked her up and flung her into the helicopter. Mulder caught her in his arms and rolled sideways, clearing the door as Larry dove in after her. The roar of the rotors drowned out the seething howl of the firestorm behind her. Struggling to sit up, Dana looked past Larry to the door and saw the red horror framed in the doorway even as the chopper rose with a jerk. Smoke burst through the door and fire filled the cabin for a moment, then was gone as the chopper climbed above the fire. "God, that was close!" murmured Mulder. He let go of her and she sat up, looking around. "Are you all right?" she asked. He rubbed an eyebrow; part of it came off on his finger. "I'm gonna look a little weird for a while. I think I lost my eyelashes, too." Dana peered closely into the hazel eyes. "No. You'll be batting your eyelashes at me yet. Are you burned?" His sleeve was burned through in a hundred tiny black pinpricks. "Falling ash," he explained. He winced and rolled up a sleeve. Tiny angry red marks climbed his forearm. "Nothing serious. How are the others?" One man was coughing uncontrollably. Larry was holding an oxygen mask to the man's face. He looked up at Dana desperately. "Take a look at George," he pleaded. George was the man Mulder and Moore had carried out of the fire. As soon as Dana leaned over him, the smell of burnt meat told her he was in serious condition. Gingerly, she pulled the blackened fabric away from the man's side and shoulder. Underneath the skin was raw, black, oozing. She was profoundly glad the man was unconscious. The woman firefighter handed Dana the chopper's extensive medical kit and Dana went right to work, cleaning and stabilizing the wounds. Finally, she administered a shot of morphine to help with the pain, should he wake up. Exhausted, she sat back on her knees and wiped a sleeve across her forehead. Across the cabin, the man and woman firefighter were passing a bottle of water back and forth. They offered it to Mulder, who took it. Dana turned and crawled on hands and knees to the back of the chopper, finding a niche behind the piled equipment. She set her back against the wall and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and laying her cheek against them. Then she took a deep breath and let the reaction take her. For a long minute she shuddered silently, letting the fear go through her, telling herself it was over, it was over. A corner of her mind wondered what it must have been like for Mulder, with his deep seated fear of fire. It must have been horrible, she thought sympathetically. A hand settled softly on her head and she looked up. Larry Moore knelt in front of her, his big body blocking the rest of the cabin from her sight. His eyes were gentle. "If you need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here," he said. She smiled crookedly. "Thanks, but it won't be necessary. I'll be all right." He smiled back, his teeth white in his smoke blackened face. "I guess you will. You're pretty tough. I saw that up in the woods that time." "Not that tough," she said. His hand slipped from her head to her cheek, his touch lighter than she'd have expected. "You shouldn't have come after me," he said softly. "You could have been hurt." "And you'd be toast," she said tartly. "I couldn't leave George," he said. She smiled. "Of course not. Just like I wouldn't have left you." "Dana...." His hand stroked her cheek again. "I..." She watched almost with detachment as he leaned closer, closer. And then his mouth was touching hers, delicately, softly. This close, she smelled woodsmoke and sweat, and under it a scent all his own: male. His mouth was very hot but very restrained as his lips moved over hers, tasting, savoring. She inhaled deeply, surrounding herself with the smell of him, his solidity, his presence, and opened her lips. And his restraint vanished. His tongue thrust into her mouth, hungry. His big arms came around her, pulling her close. She heard his breath in her ear and felt her own breathing quicken, felt the hot quick flush of desire over her skin. When he broke the kiss, she was entwined in his arms. He pulled back, quickly. "Oh, God, I'm sorry--" She opened her mouth to tell him it was all right, but he was already gone, scurrying back to the rest without looking at her. Dana climbed into her seat at the back of the chopper, to find Mulder looking at her sardonically. "Heat of the moment?" he asked, with a peculiar twist to his mouth. She glared at him, her feelings in a turmoil. "Shut up, Mulder." Dew Cove, Nevada They landed a few minutes later on the roof of a hospital, and paramedics swarmed into the chopper. Dana was drawn into the emergency room response, and found herself talking to the supervising physician, explaining the procedures she had used on George as the man was wheeled into an operating room. "Thanks, Dr. Scully," the physician was saying. "You may have saved his life." "Let me know if you need help," she said. "We're fine. You, however, are clearly exhausted," the doctor said sternly. "Go home. Now." She nodded and turned, looking for Mulder. Instead, Larry Moore was leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor, his face streaked with dirt and soot and sweat. He had shed the smoke blackened firesuit, and was wearing a faded flannel shirt and jeans. "Mulder was looking for you," he said, without opening his eyes. "He said he would meet you back at your motel, and he was going to the library." "The library?" "Yeah. He's a real odd one, you know that?" "Crazy as a bedbug," she agreed. He opened his eyes and looked down at her. "Thanks for what you did. You didn't have to help. In fact, you might have been killed." She shrugged. "Mulder and I aren't exactly babes in the woods," she said. "Everyone else has gone or is checked into the hospital," continued Moore. "I thought you might like a ride back to your motel." Larry opened the door to the parking lot. The night air was cool and fresh, she breathed it in deeply. He reached to help her up into his pickup and she heard him hiss in pain. "What?" "Nothing. A little burn." "Let me see." "No, it's fine--" "Will you stop this macho crap? I'm a doctor, not your mother. Now turn around." Diffidently he turned and leaned on his palms against the bed of his truck. She pulled his shirt out of the back of his pants and raised it. His back was raw and blistered between nape and waist. He winced when she touched it gently. "You should have had them see to this. Let's go back--" "No!" he cried, turning around. "No. Please. I hate hospitals. I can't stand them. I'll go home, shower, take it easy. It'll be gone in a couple of days." She glared at him. "Larry--" He clenched his jaw; she could see he was going to be stubborn. "Larry, if those blisters burst, they'll get infected. And then you really will be in trouble. At the very least, you need some antibiotic ointment on them--" "I have plenty of that," he said defiantly. "I'll put it on myself. I'll be fine." "Dammit, Larry, you cannot put it on your own back! I'll do it." There was a short silence. Finally, he muttered reluctantly, "Okay. But we'll have to go to my place." "Fine. Let's go." He sat gingerly forward on the drive, keeping his back rigid and free of any contact with the seat. It must hurt him terribly, she thought. She remembered him standing with his back to the fire, protecting the downed man at his feet. Even mylar has its limits, she thought. He pulled into the parking lot of the motel and sat staring through the windshield. "I wish I hadn't let you talk me into this," he said. "Nuts." Dana opened the door to her side of the pickup, carrying her small medical kit. "Let's get this over with." Larry's motel room was neat and anonymous, clearly a stopping over place during his summer work. A stack of newspapers sat at one end of the couch and a pile of discarded equipment covered the dresser. She was glad to note that at least it was free of discarded pizza boxes, dirty socks, and other routine impedimenta of bachelor life. She was surprised to see the little notebook computer sitting on the bedside table. "I use it for my reports," he said, noting her glance. He stepped to the door of his bathroom. "I'll be right back." Dana yawned and stretched and rubbed her eyes. It occurred to her that she had been up for twenty straight exhausting hours, and it would be good to shower and do her hair and sleep. Especially sleep. Larry reappeared, bare to the waist and holding a tube in one hand. His chest was wide and muscled, and dotted here and there with scars and fresh burns. The faint light highlighted his deep chest, the dark hair skimming over it, soft and curled. "Here it is," he muttered, handing her the ointment. "My God, Larry!" Dana exclaimed. "You look like people have been putting out cigarettes on you." "It's just a couple of little burns. Sometimes an ember will burn through the suit or get blown up under the hood. Nothing serious." She smiled. "What are you, John Wayne? 'The wounds are only six inches deep'? Men." He pulled a chair over and turned it around, sitting stiffly in it backwards and folding his arms along the top. "Let's get on with it," he said. She stepped to the bathroom sink and washed her hands thoroughly. "You must live out of a suitcase," she commented. He shrugged, then winced. "When you fight fires all summer, you have to. I was in Oregon two weeks ago, and I'll probably be in Colorado or Southern California next week." "A real gypsy," she smiled, coming around to his back. In the clearer light, it looked even worse, blue with bruises and black with red-rimmed scars. "This will hurt," she said. First she cleaned the area, ignoring the hiss of pain when she used the alcohol swabs. She spread ointment on her fingers and began to rub it gently all over his back. He flinched away. "Relax, Larry. I'll be as gentle as I can," she said. "I know, it's not that. It..." he said in a strange voice. "I...never mind. Go on." He put his head down on his arms. Carefully she covered his back with the ointment, feeling the tender skin under her fingers, the finely sculpted musculature of his back and shoulders. He shivered once or twice as she stroked his back and spine. Her fingers slid around his ribcage, feeling professionally for evidence of break or hesitation that might signal any damage. She ran her thumbs up the base of his neck, feeling for tightness or dislocation, and felt him shudder. He pulled away abruptly and stood up. "Thanks," he mumbled, and reached for a shirt. "Why do you always pull away when I get near you?" she asked. He froze. "I don't know what you're talking about." "You're doing it now. You flinched away." "I...I didn't know I was doing it. I'm sorry. It's nothing personal." "Bullshit, Larry." She frowned at him. "Is my touch so repulsive?" There was a long pause while something kindled between them in the silence. He took a deep breath. "Okay. I move away because otherwise I'd be all over you, all right? It's not an insult, I don't mean it to be, anyway. But I...you drive me crazy, Dana," he finished almost in a whisper. "You have ever since I met you. And I don't know how to handle it." "I think you want to handle it," she said softly. "I think you know how." The air was suddenly electric. She heard his breathing change, heard it go harsh and ragged. ''In the helicopter, you kissed me," she said, stepping closer. "Why?" "I knew better. I shouldn't have, I know. You should have stopped me," he whispered. "I shouldn't have done that." "I didn't want you to stop," she said. "You didn't? You're not angry?" "Why did you kiss me?" "Dana, you drive me crazy," he said. "You said that." "It's still true." She looked up at his face, so open, so honest, showing everything he was feeling. His eyes were deep, dark, passionate. "I want you," he said simply. "Forgive me, but it's true. I want you so bad I feel like I'm dying." Dana felt a sudden blossoming inside her, a quiet explosion of desire that surged past her usual reticence, wakening her, driving her past her usual caution. It was time to let go, she thought. She leaned up and kissed his mouth. * * * It was warm and surprisingly soft. Her tongue explored the curve of his mouth, so firm and yet so yielding. His lips moved under hers and she felt, rather than heard, his low moan. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up against him. His hands slid down her back, caressing it slowly as though memorizing the curve of it, molding themselves to the curve of her bottom, pressing her to him. His mouth let go of hers and trailed down her neck, lingering at her earlobe, her temple, sliding down to her shoulder where it emerged from her collar. His lips were smooth and silky on the skin at her throat; his tongue slicked out to trail a hot line down to the opening of her shirt. He was half-squatting now, holding her waist in both hands as he buried his face in the opening of her shirt and inhaled sharply. "Oh, God," he breathed. "Please..." She tangled her fingers in his hair. It was soft and fine, like Mulder's, she thought. That thought surprised her. Why was she thinking of Mulder? She gave herself a mental shake and looked down at the curve of Larry's neck. A sense of overwhelming peace seeped through her. "Larry," she said softly. "Make love to me." "Yes," he said. "Yes, oh God, yes." He sank down to the floor with her on his lap. His arms were around her, his hands restless on her waist, her thighs, her arms and shoulders. Dana reached up and unbuttoned her top shirt button. His attention was riveted. She unbuttoned the next one. He swallowed convulsively. She unbuttoned the one after that, and reached for his hand. She placed it between her breasts, feeling the heat of him burn through her skin. Beneath her thighs, she could feel him as rigid as iron. His hand moved slowly, cupping one breast and then the other. Dana arched back, pressing her breast forward into his hand, feeling the nipple rouse against the heat of him. A delicious shudder went through her, raising goose bumps on her flesh. A sudden movement, and Larry's head was between her breasts and his mouth was everywhere. One hand slid under the bra cup tightly, naked hand against naked breast. His thumb pressed against her nipple and she jerked in his arms. The delicate lace of the bra gave way suddenly and her breasts tumbled free into his face, his mouth, his hands. He wrapped two big hands around her waist and hoisted her up until she was kneeling against him, her breasts and belly in his face. "Oh, God, you're sweet," he said, and brushed his face against her belly. She felt the faint tickle of his stubble. "So sweet." His tongue snailed lazily up from her belly to her nipples and across, back, down, over again, until she was shuddering. Over and over again his mouth caught a nipple, sucking gently until it was hard and sensitive, then letting it go and moving to some other suddenly alert part of her. She felt the slick wetness between her thighs, felt herself opening, softening, relaxing against his strength and his solidity. His hands at her waist were strong and confident, holding her securely. She leaned back, arching against him and away from him at the same time, while his tongue trailed fire from breast to belly and back. His hands slipped under the waistband of her jeans, sliding around to meet in the front. She heard the zipper and put her hand on his. "Slow down," she whispered. "I can't," he whispered. "My God, you're driving me insane. Oh, Jesus..." He bit her nipple softly, then licked it. Dana whimpered as a spark of pure carnal lust shot through her. Suddenly her clothes were too tight and too hot. She slid her hands over his shoulders, avoiding the burned places, feeling the hard muscle down his arms and back up, across the moving planes of his chest. His nipples were hard and he gasped when she touched them. She breathed on the flat pink nipples and watched them rise. When she put her tongue against one he jerked like a hooked fish. "Do that again," he pleaded, and she did. He moaned and buried his face in her hair. She slid a hand down his chest, so smooth under her fingers. The hair arrowed down to disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans; she hesitated only a moment and then her hand followed it. His cock was hot and hungry, straining tightly against the jeans. He moved his hips against her hand when she drew it slowly up the shaft. "Oh, God!" His voice was muffled in her hair. She unzipped him and he sprang free against her hand. He was very big, and very hard, and she was very ready for him. Suddenly she stood up and drew her shirt slowly over her head. She tossed it onto the floor with the remains of her bra and slipped deliberately out of her jeans and underwear, teasing him. Then she stood before him, naked, while he looked up at her in wonder. Then he stood carefully, balancing on one foot and then the other as he shed his boots and jeans, all the while looking at her, his eyes never leaving her face. Dana looked at him. He was not tall, but compact and strong. He was packed with muscle on a frame meant to carry it. His chest was wide, his shoulders wider, thighs and arms and abdomen molded in tendon and brawn. He was tanned over most of his body, and his face and hands were scarred here and there with fresh burns. Her gaze roamed downward, past his stomach to his groin. He wanted her very, very much. Then he fell to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She felt his kiss between her breasts, felt his tongue, felt him tasting her skin. Again his stubble brushed her skin lightly as he kissed his way downward to her thighs. His fingers slipped between, opening her, and then his tongue followed. Carefully, he tasted her, savored her, explored her with fingers and tongue, while she wound her fingers convulsively in his brown hair. Moaning softly, Dana felt her knees give way. He caught her smoothly, guiding her down to sit facing him in his lap. His eyes were as hot as the fires he fought. There was a moment of uncertainty, while they hung in limbo between that space where they were strangers and that space where they would be lovers. She could leave, she knew. She could stop this, go back to her motel, call Mulder. Suddenly, she wondered what Mulder would say if he could see her now. The thought sent a hot tingle down her spine and she put it out of her mind. She looked at the man in front of her. "My God, you're beautiful," he said quietly. "I've wanted you so long, since the first day I saw you. I didn't think...." She kissed him to shut him up. He tasted of her and him and the two of them together. She felt his cock pushing against her. She was slick and hot and ready for him. Dana moved her hips against him, inviting him. He made an animal sound and shifted, bringing their bodies into alignment. His tongue thrust into her mouth as he pushed himself slowly into her. She could not cry out with his tongue in her mouth, but she moaned deep in her throat as he filled her. He was delicious--so hot and so hard and so big. She felt a shudder of pleasure take her; gooseflesh rose along her arms and legs. His big hands left her waist and came to rest on her buttocks, kneading them, holding her tight against him as he thrust, and thrust again, sliding into her. He slid his hands lower, from her buttocks to the backs of her thighs. His hands stroked slowly, gently, inexorably as he rocked them in a lazy rhythm. God, it felt good. It hadn't felt so good in a long, long time. She relaxed into him, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and neck and concentrate lower, below her belly. His cock was hard and urgent in her, calling forth a response she had nearly forgotten. He slicked in and out of her, unhurriedly, and she felt his cock stroking her until she was over the threshold and falling, shuddering, pinwheeling through her cascading senses into that pulsing glow she remembered. She did not realize she cried out until she heard his echo. She could feel her body clenching around his, squeezing him until he shook and bucked under her. And suddenly there was another face before her mind's eye, a pale face with sad eyes and brown hair that fell into them and a soft, wide mouth that laughed too seldom. "Mulder!" she gasped. "What?" Larry said. She looked down at him, the warmth of his come still in her and the wetness of their lovemaking on her thighs. He was looking up at her warily. She shook her head sharply and leaned down to kiss him. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her and rolling them over down until he was above her, still inside her. "I'm not done with you yet, woman," he growled. She smiled back at him and moved sensually against him. His head bent to her nipple and she felt the thrill of his wet tongue again. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensation, to being held and rocked in his arms, to being penetrated and filled to overflowing by this passionate, unaffected man. There was no reason, no reason at all, to be thinking of Mulder at a time like this. It was ridiculous. He slid his palms down her legs, opening her wide, pushing harder against her until her entire vulva was against him. He moved lazily against her, inside her, in no hurry. His arms slid down under her legs, lifting her, until her legs were almost over his shoulders. He buried his face in her neck and shoved. Dana arched her back, her breasts crushed against him. He thrust again, and again, and she felt every millimeter of him, felt his desire trembling through him. His balls slapped against her. He slid his hands up her arms, holding her down. He thrust again, and the raw animal power of it shocked through her, stripping away the last of her reserves, unleashing the hunger in her body. She convulsed inside, shivering and moaning as she came again and again around him, feeling the heat and size of him. He rammed into her again and again, lifting her with each stroke until he cried out and exploded within her. After a long and timeless moment, he relaxed as though someone had cut his string. They lay silent and covered with sweat on the floor. Her muscles, overtaxed after such a strenuous day, were cramping up. She moved, trying to find a more comfortable position, and he clutched at her. "Don't go, please," he whispered against her breast. "Not yet, please." "I'm not going anywhere, Larry," she said softly. "Except maybe to the bed?" For answer, he stood and scooped her up easily in his arms. "How trite," she giggled. He grinned at her. "You love it," he said. "Yes," she admitted. "Now and then." The sheets were cold and crackled as he laid her on them. He climbed over her and rolled onto his back. The moment his back touched the sheets he gasped and jerked to sit upright. "Better lie on your stomach," she advised. He grinned at her. "I have a better idea." Larry turned her over and swept his hands down her spine, along her backside, kneading and rubbing until she was as loose as putty in his hands. She rolled over lazily and reached for him. But he grinned at her and held her down, squirming, as he kissed his way down her body to her thighs. He pushed his face between them and slid his tongue deep inside her. Moaning, she surrendered and let him take her to orgasm again. She was still recovering when he rose and entered her. This time she held him while he came again, driving into her over and over until he was covered with sweat. She felt his release go through him, and held him as he relaxed against her breast wordlessly. She stroked his hair softly, over and over like petting a cat. "I won't be able to walk tomorrow." He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "Neither will I, but I'm not sorry. I don't know if I'll ever have another chance like this," he said seriously. "I have to pack it all into one night." "Why?" He rested his head between her breasts, muffling his voice. "You're in the FBI. You travel, I travel. You don't know how...how happy I was when I ran across you again." He nuzzled at her, running his tongue gently along the underside of her left breast. "I didn't think--though I often dreamed--I'd ever have this. Ever. God, I'm lucky." She stroked his hair again. "Why? I mean, this isn't a spur of the moment thing with you, is it?" "No," his voice was muffled against her. "No. I wanted you the minute I saw you, up in the forest that time. And every minute of every hour after that. You were brilliant and beautiful and strong, and you weren't afraid. You didn't whine. You were so smart and your ass was so gorgeous--" He chuckled when she slapped him lightly. His voice grew serious. "I thought about you, fantasized about you. I even called up the FBI once to try to talk to you, but I chickened out." "You never said anything, Larry. How was I to know?" He pushed himself up on his arms. "You're kidding me, right?" "No. I don't understand. You don't strike me as the shy type." "I'm not. But I'm not out to break up a couple. And you and Mulder...well. I'm not blind." "What about me and Mulder?" Dana was curious. An odd feeling was curling around her heart. He looked her in the eyes. "When Mulder is in the room, you don't look at anyone else, Dana. He doesn't look at anyone else. The two of you are off in some private world, and no one else even registers on your radar. When we were all three trapped in that cabin in the woods, the two of you sat together, talked together, ate together. I may as well have been furniture." "We're partners, Larry. We've worked together for..." "Bullshit, Dana." He smiled at her. "Fool yourself if you want to, but I'm not stupid." "Mulder has never laid a hand on me!" "Neither had I, until tonight. Doesn't mean he doesn't want to. And it doesn't mean you don't want him to. Don't kid yourself, Dana." "Then why am I here, with you, instead of with Mulder?" asked Dana sharply. He smiled, unruffled. "Temporary insanity," he said. "But I'm not one to question my luck. I'll take however much of you I can get, for as long as I can get it." "How much do you want? And how long do you want it?" she asked softly. He looked into her eyes for a long moment. "Forever, Dana." He closed his eyes, and she saw the lashes dark against his cheek. "I want you forever. I...I think I'm falling in love with you." She couldn't think of anything to say, and lay quietly in his arms, stroking his hair over and over. After a while, his even breathing told her he was asleep. What, exactly, was she doing here? Dana wondered. She liked Larry, liked him a lot, and the sex was great. It was fantastic, she admitted to herself. Obviously his feelings went much deeper than hers. She felt a little guilty over that, as if she should love him back. Love him. No, she didn't love him. She curled a lock of his brown hair around her finger. She enjoyed him. She liked being with him. She wanted to please him but felt no urge to stay with him. It was as simple as that. She drifted off to sleep to the gentle sound of his snores. For some reason, she dreamed of Fox Mulder. Near dawn, she woke in Larry's arms, his warmth against her side radiating through her bones. His face in sleep was relaxed and peaceful. She ran a finger lightly over his lips. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. His smile was slow, happy. "I've died and gone to heaven," he murmured. His hands circled her waist, lifting her as he rolled. He settled her on top of him and stroked his hands upward to her breasts. "What about your back?" He grinned. "It's fine this morning. And if it's not, we can play doctor." She looked at him in the growing light. He was brown and gold where the sun had touched him. His eyes were bright in his tanned face, his chest the color of new leather. The sharp demarcation of tan lines at his waist made him look as though he were partly clothed. Dana leaned down until her nipples brushed his chest hair, teasing them both while she bestowed a long, lazy kiss on him. Lifting herself up on her knees, she maneuvered until he was almost inside her. He was as hard as a rock, and trembling all over, as she eased herself, very slowly, down onto him. He parted her, sliding home with a soft moan. She took up the familiar rhythm, rocking back and forth on him as she watched his face go from closed to transcendant. Her hands rested flat on the broad flat muscles of his chest, feeling the crisp hair under her palms, his heart beating wildly as she moved. They rocked together, familiar with one another now, reacquainting their bodies. He slid his hands up her sides to cup her breasts, his thumbs on her nipples. The touch was electric, and she shivered. She felt the orgasm building in her and leaned down to kiss his mouth. They came with his tongue in her mouth, his cock buried in her, melding their bodies together. It was a long time before they spoke. "I have to go," she said softly. "I know." "I'll be back." He smiled wistfully. "I hope so. I want to make love to you again." She grinned. "Give me a break, Larry. I'll be sore all day." "Me, too. So what?" She kissed him softly. "This doesn't have to be the end, if you don't want it to be." "I want to see you again. Do you have to go back to Washington?" "Yes." His mouth made a thin, tight line. "Well, I hear there's an opening in the forestry management bureau in DC. I can apply for it. I know some people who might help me get it." She smiled. "Larry Moore, behind a desk? I don't think so. But we'll work something out." She lifted herself off his body, already missing the warmth of him, the smooth feel of his skin. "I'm still investigating an arson case. Can we meet for lunch?" "I don't know if I can behave myself." "Who's asking you to?" * * * * Dana walked quickly back to her room with her room key in her hand, being as quiet as she could. She wasn't sure why she was so anxious that Mulder not know where she had spent the night, but she was. She inserted the key in the lock and held it with her other hand to muffle the click. Mulder was sitting on her made bed, his head in his hands. His head jerked up when she came in, his eyes despairing. "Thank God! Are you all right?" She raised her eyebrows. "All right? I'm fine. What are you doing here?" "You didn't come back. I thought something had happened to you. I called all the hospitals. Where were you?" She flushed and turned away. "Mulder, sometimes I swear...Can I say it's none of your business and have you respect that?" The silence unnerved her and she finally turned around. Mulder was looking at her with an expression she had never seen before. His gaze took in her disheveled hair, her relaxed stance, and the fact that she was obviously no longer wearing a bra under the clothes she was still wearing from the day before. A slow flush crept up his face and he rose. "I'm sorry," he said distantly. "None of my business, of course." There was a short, nuclear silence while they stood facing one another, uncertain. His shoulders were tight, his whole body drawn up defensively. Dana wondered if he had any idea how hurt he looked. Odd things were happening to her as she watched his face lock up, assuming the closed, distant look it usually did. He was turning to leave and she stepped forward impulsively, stopping him with a hand on his chest. "I don't love him, Mulder," she said abruptly, and then wondered why she'd felt compelled to say it. He looked down out of unreadable eyes at her. "It's none of my business," he repeated in a low voice. Dana felt her throat grow painfully tight as he stepped past her. With his hand on the doorknob, Mulder turned. "He's a...a good man, Dana." He turned and walked out the door. "Yes, he is," murmured Dana, uncertainly. Somehow it didn't seem important. Dana showered and changed clothes, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. She was towelling her hair when the phone rang. "It's me," said Mulder in a voice she hardly recognized. "I think I have something. Meet me in the motel coffee shop?" "I'll come over to your room," she said immediately. "No! No, I'll meet you in the coffee shop. And...and I think you'd better get him to join us. Tell him to bring his maps." Mulder hung up without specifying who "he" was. Dana felt a little peculiar. No, she felt a lot peculiar. Mulder sounded remote, cold...and hurt. Mulder was in a corner booth, stirring coffee and looking out the window. Before him on the table were several books and a pile of photocopies. He looked up at her when she sat down across from him, then looked away again. "Is he coming?" "Yeah. What do you have?" "I spent several hours at the local library last night. I think I know what's setting these mysterious fires." The door squeaked open and Larry Moore walked in. Dana felt a sudden heat shiver over her. Mulder glared into his coffee cup. "Hi." Larry's eyes were warm and brown. He smiled at her. "Hi, yourself." She wondered if she should scoot over for him, then feared it would be too obvious, a slap in the face somehow to Mulder. Larry hesitated, looking from her to Mulder. His mouth tightened, and he reached behind him for a chair. He drew it up and turned it around, sitting in it backwards. "What's up?" he said brusquely. Mulder looked at him squarely. "I need you to pinpoint the locations of the fires you thought were suspicious." "Sure. I brought my maps," he said genially. Dana looked from one man to the other. Mulder looked haggard, red-eyed. Larry looked relaxed and calm. "It's somewhere in here," Larry said, spreading the map on the table and running a finger down a series of elevation lines. "Yeah, right about here." He pointed at a spot near the middle. "Harlequin Ridge. That's where I first saw it." His finger moved down, tracing a thin red line. "Here's Two Horse Creek, where we were yesterday." His hand swept up and to the right. Mulder circled each spot on the map, then bit the end of his pencil. He tapped at a spot midway between them. "Ute Creek?" His finger trailed across to the first circle. "Yeah. And here's Indian Springs, Two Horse Creek, and...yeah, here's Little Sandy Creek. It's an intermitten stream, only flows in wet years. Those all come together at Painted Wall Canyon below Indian Springs." "They all have Indian names?" asked Mulder, intrigued. "Yeah, that all used to be Indian territory," said Moore. "Ute, mostly, but some Paiute and Shoshone. There are still some scattered around, but the tribes are mostly either in the cities or on the reservations up north. The whole area was holy ground to them in one way or another, though, so sometimes they come back for ceremonies." "What kind of ceremonies?" asked Mulder intently. Moore smiled. "No human sacrifice, Agent Mulder," he said. "Utes never practiced that, and so far as we know the Anasazi didn't either." "The what?" "The Anasazi. That's the name ethnologists give to the early peoples who lived in the Southwest. Their ruins are all through the Four Corners area and Utah. That's why Picture Wall is a National Monument. It's one of the best sites." "How close were we yesterday to Picture Wall?" Mulder's eyes narrowed, and Dana felt that thrill in the base of her spine again. He was onto something; she knew that look. "Why is it called Picture Wall?" Dana asked suddenly. "For the petroglyphs," explained Moore. "Those are rock carvings and paintings. They're pretty rare in this part of the country. The archaeologists aren't sure who made them, but they're very, very old. Almost unique." He bent over the map again, and Dana met Mulder's eyes. They shone with satisfaction. "You know a lot about this stuff," said Dana. Larry glanced up at her. "Yeah. A regular Indiana Jones. Archaeology is a hobby of mine, and this part of the country is a great place for it." "What's this red line?" Mulder asked. "It's above Picture Wall." "That's the new dam the Army Corps of Engineers is building up at Indian Springs. It's about finished. The dedication is slated for December, I think." Mulder's slim finger followed a winding path south of the dam. "So the dam is holding back the waters of Two Horse Creek? And Little Sandy?" "Yeah, it was a major point of contention when the permit hearings were held. Those creeks will basically die once the dam is finished. The environmentalists argued about them, filed lawsuits, you name it." "Do you think this burning is another eco-terrorist action?" asked Dana. Larry looked up at her, and she suddenly remembered those eyes this morning, full of passion and desire. She felt her face go hot. "No, I don't," he said. "It makes no sense. None of these fires threaten the dam in any way. And any threat to humans would so undercut their political position they'd have to be idiots to do it. I don't see how even fanatical backpackers could carry enough stuff into the back country to start so many fires." "And in any case, they can't walk in fire," said Dana thoughtfully. "Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego," muttered Mulder. "What?" He glanced up. "Story in the Bible, book of Daniel I think. The three guys some king threw into an oven. They walked around in the fire untouched until he let them out." Dana and Larry stared at him. "You, ah, think that thing out there is a Hebrew prophet?" Larry asked, stunned. Mulder's smile came and went in a quick flash. "No. But something that old, maybe." It was Dana's turn to stare. "What are you talking about?" Mulder held up a sheaf of photocopies. He didn't look at either of them as he said, "Last night I was...ah, doing some research at the local library. Turns out that those rock carvings may be the oldest rock carvings on the continent. They aren't like any others. And look at this..." He spread them out on top of Larry's map. His finger pointed to a central figure, surrounded by jagged concentric rings. Even across thousands of years and through the crude technique, Dana recognized it instantly by the eyes. She sucked in her breath. "My God," Larry said softly. "That's it! That's what I saw!" "You mean Indians cut this picture into the wall?" "Yes. But I think it was more than just a picture. I think it was a warning." "A warning? Of what?" "See how the figure is between two streams, with mountains in between, and see these walls? I think it's a picture of Painted Wall Canyon itself." "It's a map," said Larry. "There's Two Horse Creek and Little Sandy. And the mountain in between would be Wagontongue Mountain. Okay. So what? These petroglyphs usually show religious shrines and mythical figures." "Why would anyone put a map to Picture Wall in Picture Wall Canyon?" asked Mulder. "The one place I don't need a map to is the place where I am, and if you're looking at this wall you don't need a map to it." "Maybe it once had a little arrow that said, 'You are here'?" Dana said. Larry ignored her and looked Mulder in the eye. "I have a feeling you have this all figured out already." "Maybe. I had plenty of time to think about it last night." There was a short, strained moment among the three of them, while Larry and Mulder stared at one another and Dana wished she could kick her partner. "So give, Mulder," she said sharply. "What are you leading up to?" He looked at her. "I think it's a danger sign. I think it's a 'Keep Out' warning posted for us by Indians who discovered the thing thousands of years ago." He showed them another photocopy. It depicted the figure, now grown large, surrounded by flames. But the figure had been damaged, scored across again and again by long, wavy strokes as though someone had raked stone over it many times. "Sympathetic magic?" Larry asked. "Like a buffalo hunter who dresses in a hide to entice the herd? They attack the picture to attack the demon. Just like I throw darts at my photo of James Watt." Mulder shook his head. "No. You aren't giving them enough credit. I think they were like the scientists and engineers who worry about storing nuclear waste for 100,000 years. How would you warn succeeding generations, long after your language and people were dead, not to fool with something dangerous? You couldn't use writing, but maybe you'd use pictures. And I think this one is a warning." "So the Anasazi knew about this thing," nodded Larry thoughtfully, looking at the pictures. "They weren't the only ones," Mulder said, pulling more photocopies from under the top one. He fanned them out on the table top. "The Chinese have had a fire-spirit in their mythology for five thousand years. And here's the fire-bird of the Middle East. And a Russian fire demon from the seventh century." "It really gets around," commented Dana, looking from picture to picture. "Haven't I seen this somewhere before?" "Sure. It's on the city flag of Phoenix, Arizona," said Mulder. Dana's eyebrows shot up. "Phoenix! Of course!" "So what is this?" Moore said. "Some kind of...of animal or something that goes around starting fires?" "No, it's a mythological creature," said Dana, glancing at her partner. "Like dragons and unicorns. The phoenix, at least in European mythology, was supposed to live for a thousand years. Usually it is shown as a bird. Sometimes as a creature like a dragon. Anyway, when it comes to the end of its life it builds itself a funeral pyre and climbs onto it. When the pyre is reduced to ashes, a new phoenix emerges." "It's a very old, very powerful cultural symbol of rebirth," said Mulder. Dana was suddenly reminded of his psychology degree. "Some psychological systems believe it to embody the destructive forces of the human mind." "In a purely symbolic way," reminded Dana. Mulder smiled at her for the first time that day. "Purely symbolic, of course. Until it starts setting real fires." "I don't get it," scowled Larry. "You're saying something out of a fairy tale is setting--" "I'm saying fairy tales may not be for children," said Mulder. "Maybe a fairy tale is only a memory of something too dangerous to talk about in normal terms. And a myth may hide a grain of truth at its center. If these stories all have one feature in common, it's the element of uncontrollable fire. What if--" Dana groaned. "Oh, Mulder! Not more speculation!" "No, I wanna hear this," said Larry sceptically. "Let me see just how deep he can pile this." Mulder flushed. "Look, maybe there are creatures that live in fire. Maybe they came from this world, maybe from another one. Petroglyphs like this have been used for decades to prove the existence of extraterrestrial visitors." Larry blew out his breath explosively. "This is--" "Hear him out, Larry," Dana said, and laid her hand on his. Unconsciously, he turned his palm over and captured her hand in his. He was still glaring at Mulder. "Okay, go on." Mulder stared at his coffee. "Let's say for a minute I'm right. What would the effect be of a fire creature on primitive society? It would be terrifying, devastating. Could they stop it? You can't stop it with modern technology and the finest fire fighters on the planet. I don't think this is just a warning sign," Mulder said, tapping his finger on the photocopy. "I think it's more than that. I think they showed us how to stop it." "How?" Larry said quietly. "I don't know," Mulder said, shaking his head. "But we have to go there and see the wall." Larry glanced over at Dana. "What do you think?" Suddenly, this was a loyalty test. Dana recognized it immediately. If she sided with Mulder, Larry would be angry. If she didn't, she would deeply wound the man she worked with every day. How had it come to this? She took a deep breath. "I'm reserving judgement," she said. "But I'm keeping an open mind. Can we see the wall?" Larry let go of her hand. "I'll get my truck." Mulder entered the truck first. As she was stepping up into the cab, Dana felt herself seized from behind. Even as she recognized Larry's touch, he was turning her, kissing her greedily on the mouth. It was a long, hungry kiss, a kiss that knew her and wanted her, that shook her to her toes. For a long moment he held her off the ground, pressing her up against his big body. Then, as easily as he had lifted her, he set her down. He grinned down at her astonished look. "I told you I didn't think I could behave myself," he said. As she belted herself in, she glanced at Mulder. He was staring blindly out the window. Picture Wall National Monument Picture Wall Canyon was a long, low slash in the earth. >From the air, it probably looked as though a knife had riven through the layers of ancient rock, thought Dana. They parked near the rim, at the trail head. Larry shrugged on a backpack. "No road down. We'll hike from here." The day was already hot, and by the time they reached the canyon floor ninety minutes later, Dana was sweating freely through her shirt. This close to the wall, Dana could smell the damp, mildewy smell of old rock. Water seeped from the base of the wall, maybe two drops an hour, to fill a tiny catch basin scummed in green. Above her, the wall bulged out from its base, towering over them with a terrifying sense of solidity. Dana felt intimidated. Mulder stepped away, leaning back to peer upward. "They're a lot bigger than I expected from the pictures," he said. "Look. That figure of the Phoenix is at least as tall as I am." Larry looked up. "Yeah. And nearly as ugly, huh?" he grinned. "How old is this rock?" Dana wondered aloud. Larry spoke from behind her; she could almost feel his eyes on her. "Millions of years old. This canyon wall is sandstone, lying on top of basalt. The basalt is volcanic residue, the sandstone is what's left of an ocean floor." Mulder squinted against the sunlight. "Volcanic residue? You mean from an eruption?" "Not all volcanic eruptions are explosive. Sometimes you get a continuous outflow, like at Mauna Kea in Hawaii. This whole canyon is the result of a volcanic rift, and the floor of the canyon is the volcanic outflow." Dana scraped at the rock. It came off in her hand, sandy. "But this doesn't look like basalt." "At the end of the Cretaceous, when the dinosaurs died, this sandstone in front of us was the bottom of a shallow ocean, lying on top of the rift." He smiled at Dana. "When I'm not fighting fires, sometimes I'm a docent for this visitor center. This area was once all underwater." Mulder's head snapped up. "Underwater?" "Yeah. Millions of years ago. People are always surprised to learn that a desert used to be an ocean." "Covered by water," Mulder muttered, looking off up the canyon. Dana saw that his hair was in his eyes again. He had an abstracted look about him. Suddenly he turned and strode out into the sunlight, heading for the creek. "Mulder? What is it?" Dana hurried after him, taking two steps to his one. Her boots skittered on pebbles as hard as flint. The sun struck her immediately, bringing sweat to her face. Mulder ignored her, bent over, peering at the wash that ran along the middle of the little canyon. His shadow snaked out ahead of him, climbing the little rills and dipping into the washes. Dana followed him, puzzled, as he crossed the dry bed of Little Sandy Creek and headed across the central plateau, towards Two Horse Creek. When he struck out with his long, swinging stride she caught up with him. "Mulder?" He looked down at her, and they were suddenly partners again, companions solving puzzles of life and death. "It's here. The key is here. They knew about it, they set up a billboard you could see for a thousand years and fifty miles. It's right here, somewhere." "What is?" He was looking up and down the canyon. A breeze, hot and dry, lifted the lock of hair on his forehead. He squinted. "Where it lives." "Where it lives? Mulder, I thought you said this was a cultural symbol. Are you saying this is a real living creature?" "Not the way we think of living, maybe," he said. "Maybe a different cell structure. Maybe a different evolutionary path. Maybe it comes from the center of the earth, thrown out by a volcanic eruption. Where it comes from, maybe, its native element is fire." They had come to the bank of Two Horse Creek. Even Dana, city bred, could see immediately that there had been changes here recently. The wash marks high on the side of the opposite canyon wall, the cottonwoods suddenly gone sere and dry, the patches of drying mud told her the water level in this creek had fallen drastically. They heard footsteps and Larry came up behind them, lugging his backpack. "What's going on?" Mulder paused on the bank, looking out across the water. "What is that?" Moore shaded his hand and looked where Mulder was pointing. "I don't know. I never saw it before, but then, the creek's never been this low." Mulder stepped into the slow moving water without hesitation, and just as forthrightly Dana followed him. The water only came up to Mulder's knees, and he strode quickly into the center of the stream. Dana, on whom the water was thigh-deep, floundered behind him. There was a domed structure of some sort in the middle. It was unmortared, but the stones had been carefully cut, shaped, and individually fitted to one another. It looked old. "This is incredible," said Larry. "We didn't know this was here! We've done surveys; there have been digs in this area for years." "You know what it is?" "I think so. It's partly a grave, partly a shrine, partly a prison. I've never seen one intact, but its a combination grave and shrine. We know of only one other in North America, outside Mexico City. That one was supposed to hold the soul of one of the Aztec gods. I've never seen one of these undamaged," he said, and reached out a hand to touch it. "No!" Mulder cried, and reached to stop him, but Larry's hand had already come to rest on the grave. Dana flinched--but nothing happened. Larry ran his hand over the stones, feeling the almost invisible seams between the rocks. "Superb," he said to himself. "Incredible workmanship. Must have taken them months to do this. And what's this?" His hand drifted, came back to the top. "Ow!" He cried out and jumped backwards, holding his hand. "It's hot!" A gust of hot wind blew Dana's hair into her face, and she reached up to tuck it behind her ear. "Let me see your hand," she said. She took his hand in hers; he gave her a small smile. His hand was red, as if he'd put it in boiling water. Without touching the cairn, Mulder leaned over and looked. Incised on the top of the cairn was the same fiery figure that appeared on the wall opposite, a quarter of a mile away. It was worn from centuries of being underwater, but it was clear. "Hey, guys, look at this!" he cried. They bent to look. "Those wavy lines! They're the same as the ones crossing the figure on the wall! They're not random cuts, they're supposed to be water. Dana, the grave is supposed to be underwater! If it's covered by water, the Phoenix can't get out! That's it! That has to be it!" "I don't understand," Dana said. Mulder's head snapped up. "Do you smell smoke?" "No," said Dana. "What about this...this Phoenix?" They were face to face now, back in the familiar debate. Larry looked from one to another with a peculiar expression. They didn't see him. "Look, somehow the people--what do you call them, the Anasazi, learned how to cage this thing. They kept it--or its source, refuge, home, whatever you want to call it-- covered by water. "But what is it? Are you saying it's a real thing? A...a human being? Not a hallucination?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. We may never know. Maybe it comes from the center of the earth. Maybe it lives in volcanoes." "Mulder, nothing can live at that temperature!" "Oh, no? Oceanographers have just recently found new life forms living in the oceans next to magma vents, where the temperatures are in the thousands of degrees Fahrenheit. Ten years ago any researcher who suggested such a thing would have been laughed off the podium." His eyes held hers, willing her to believe, dark and intense. "Scully, they knew about this thing. Maybe they didn't know how it lived, but they knew where it came from. >From here, right here at the center of the volcanic rift that formed this canyon millions of years ago. They built this cairn in the middle of the river, where it would always be covered by water. So long as it is underwater, the Phoenix can't get out." He spun to face Larry. "Could they have done that? Could they have built this in the middle of a river?" Larry shrugged. "Maybe. More likely they built it and then permanently diverted the stream. They were experts at irrigation. "But it isn't covered by water now," Larry continued. "The dam is cutting off the water. This cairn will be completely exposed soon." "And there is nothing to keep it from roaming," said Mulder. He looked up the canyon, to the unseen dam. "That's why you've had so many fires this season. We've got to cover it up again." "How?" Larry demanded. "This is a desert, Mulder. It's not like you can call down a flood." Mulder turned to look at them, his eyes bright. "Sure you can. You just have to know where to look." Dana was way ahead of Larry. She stared at Mulder. "You're crazy. You can't blow up that dam." "What!?" Larry cried. "Jesus, Mulder! Are you trying to tell me you intend to blow up Indian Springs dam?" A hot wind blasted sand into their eyes. Dana blinked fiercely to clear the grit. Even the water swirling around her legs felt warmer. "No," Mulder was saying. "I don't have to. I just have to increase the flow." "That'll take months," Larry said. "We'd have to get the permission of the Army Corps of Engineers, the Bureau of- -" "We don't have months," Mulder said in a stony voice, pointing behind them. "Oh my God!" Dana cried. * * * * A wall of fire was springing up behind them, cutting them off from the trail, the Picture Wall, the truck with the radio. Smoke wisped upward in the clear air. To Dana, the most terrifying aspect of it was the utter silence. There was absolutely no sound from the fire. It was like watching a video with the sound turned off. "It's the Phoenix," said Mulder. "It's intelligent. Somehow it knew we were here." "How?" said Dana. Moore was looking at his blistered hand and then at the incised figure on the top of the cairn. "Damn," he said quietly. "Damn. My fault. I shouldn't have touched it." "No one's probably touched this thing in a thousand years," acknowledged Mulder. "It may resonate with the Phoenix somehow. In any case, it's here now." Larry's face was grim. "It's two miles up the canyon to the base of the dam. How fast can you run, Dana?" "I can make it," she said. "Stay in the water," Mulder said tensely. "I refuse to believe that thing can burn water. Wet your shirt and pull it over your face to keep out the smoke, and keep as low as you can." Dana did not, did not want to turn her back on that menacing line of light. She struck out upstream, wading against the current, fighting it and the soft, sucking creek bottom under her feet. Behind her came Mulder and Moore. Like a nightmare in broad daylight, the fire followed. The fire was silent as it advanced. It hissed occasionally, as it hit a tiny puddle or a particularly succulent cactus swollen with water, but most of the time it popped and spat as it ate up the dry grasses. It raced, fifteen feet high, up the valley to the source of its life, the grave of the Phoenix. Within it, a shadow ran and danced with wild abandon. Falling ash and embers stung Dana's shoulders. She cupped water in her hands as she moved, throwing it on her shirt, dampening it and hoping to stop the myriad tiny pains on her back and shoulders. Smoke choked her, andher eyes were streaming. The water was getting shallower and faster. It was harder to walk against the current, but the fire was getting closer, racing up the canyon "How...much...further?" panted Mulder behind her. "Another...half...mile." Larry was right behind Mulder, the three of them bunched up in the flowing water. The fire had jumped the narrowing creek ten minutes ago and was flowing up both sides. They couldn't have left the water now if they wanted to. "What...do we do...when we get there?" asked Dana. "Climb," said Larry. "There's a deer trail, zigzags up to the top, about two hundred yards. Then the gatehouse at the end of the dam." "Which end?" asked Mulder. "This end," said Moore. "Thank God for that," said Dana. They rounded a corner of the canyon, and found that the fire had got there before them. Fifteen feet high, the silent wall of fire danced across the canyon from one wall to the other, blocking the path. The only opening was the creek itself, now only to Dana's knees. The heat was so intense Dana could feel the rivets in her jeans burning her skin. Her skin reddened, blistered. The wind thundered around them, a dry, driving force that whipped her hair across her eyes, making them water. "Oh, no," croaked Mulder behind her. Larry came up to stand in front of her. He shrugged off his backpack and opened it. He pulled out a flat packaged and unsealed it -- it was a camping blanket, aluminized on one side to reflect heat. "Here," he said to Dana. "Put this on. It's not a fire suit, but it'll help some." "But, you--" "Don't argue with me, please," said Larry. "Please, Dana!" Reluctantly, she took it and wrapped it around her. "Okay, but only if I go first." "No! You--" "Look!" Mulder cried, pointing. Out of the fire stepped the Phoenix. It looked bigger, fierier than before, as though it had fed on the forest. Smoke wound around it, obscuring all but its eyes sometimes. Fascinated, unbelieving, Dana just stood and watched as it came closer, closer. Cold water hit her face. She cried out and ducked. Mulder was scooping up water in his hands, dousing himself, Dana, and Larry with water. "Don't look at its eyes! Come on! Hold hands and don't let go!" Grabbing Dana's hand, Mulder stepped toward the Phoenix. Flames shot skyward; Dana was sure she could feel the vibration. The creature seemed to elongate, to widen and thin itself until it stretched from the flames to where the three humans stood in the running water. But it didn't touch them. "We're standing in water!" Mulder yelled. "I don't think it can touch us if we're standing in water!" "What if you're wrong?" cried Larry. "Then you can sue me," yelled Mulder. "Let's go!" They ran, Dana was never sure how, towards the flames when every nerve and muscle and instinct cried for them to turn away. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard a sob from Mulder as they reached the fiery barrier. She flung herself and her aluminum blanket between him and the fire. There was a moment of intense, searing heat, and then they were through the wall of fire and splashing through rocky shallows. And the fire roared. For the first time, they heard the fire, and now it crackled and hissed and spat its anger behind them as they raced uphill. Ahead of them, Dana saw the beige wall of the dam extending from one wall to the other. The terrain was rising sharply, and in moments they were no longer touching water, as the creek had lessened to a mere trickle emerging from a large, dark tunnel ahead. "That's the spillway for the dam," cried Larry hoarsely. "Where's the path?" cried Mulder. Below them on the canyon floor, the flames licked upward. They had to shout over its roar. It was climbing towards them. Larry pointed to the foot of the tunnel. "There. It goes straight to the top of the dam. At the top you'll find the gatehouse. Inside there's a wheel--" "Aren't you coming?" shouted Dana. "We're not gonna make it, Dana," said Larry tensely. "Not if the fire catches us. If it hits the brush along that path it will roast you; you can't outrun a climbing fire. Somebody has to stay down here--" "No!" "--and fight this thing, keep it at bay while you two go on up and turn on the water." "No! You'll never make it," cried Mulder harshly. "You have to come with us!" "Give me the blanket," said Larry, tugging at Dana's metallic covering. She slipped it off, numb. "Larry, please! You can't do this--" "Don't worry about me," he said cheerfully, pulling off his backpack. He tossed it aside. "I do this every day. I know what I'm doing. But you and Mulder don't. You have to go release the gates." "Larry!" Not all the tears streaming down her face were due to the smoke now thick about them. "Please, come with us!" He turned to her, suddenly cupping her head between her hands. "Dana..." His lips were cool on hers, human, loving. He kissed her long and deep, his breath in her ear as harsh and compelling as the hiss of the fire following them. "Dana, Dana, Dana..." he chanted, kissing her temple and her throat and her eyes. He looked at her, his face open and straightforward. "Whether we make it out of this or not, I want you know I love you. I know you don't love me, I know you and Mul--" "Here it comes!" Mulder cried. "The Phoenix! Come on, Moore!" Larry stared. "Oh, God!" He turned and shoved Dana into Mulder's arms. "Take her out of here, Mulder! Take her out of here! Now!" He started down the hill, grabbing a shovel from the jumble of equipment lying at the tunnel mouth. He did not look back. "Larry!" Mulder grabbed her shoulders, spun her, and shoved. "Go on, Scully! I'll stay with him!" "No!" "You have to! You're the lightest, and the quickest! Get up there and get that water on, and everything will be all right!" "Mulder, I can't leave you! I can't leave him!" His look was intense, fathomless. His hand came up and touched her cheek. "You have to, Dana. Please. I'll help him. We'll help each other. You have to be fast, and strong. Okay?" She could hardly see him for the tears. She nodded, and looked down the canyon. The fire was an angry wall of light. Small and resolute, she could see Larry standing before it with the shovel in his hand. "Go, Dana!" Mulder cried, and turned away. He jumped the creek and ran toward Larry. Dana turned and ran up the trail, sobbing for breath and in terror. It was the hardest thing she had ever done. The trail was steep but clear, and in minutes, heart pounding, with her vision going black from lack of oxygen, she was at the top. She looked down. The canyon below was a solid wall of flame. She could see no trace of either Fox Mulder or Larry Moore. "Mulder!" she yelled. "Mulder, can you hear me?" The gatehouse was right before her. Naturally, it was locked. She looked desperately around for a tool. Seconds were precious, two lives depended on it. The most important two lives in her world. She drew her gun, took aim at the lock, and fired. The lock spanged open and she kicked in the door. The wheel was nearly as tall as she was, dimly lit by the light filtering in through the tiny window. To her relief, it was not locked. She grabbed it and yanked. Nothing budged. She pulled at it again, ignoring her screaming muscles. Dana jerked at the heavy wheel, throwing all her weight onto it. "Come on! God dammit!" It wouldn't move. Smoke blew into her face and she coughed. She stepped back and looked at the wheel. It had five spokes radiating from a center. "Okay," she muttered. "We do it the hard way." She stepped up onto the wheel and set her feet on the upper spoke. She heard a tiny squeak. "Yeah, give, you sonofa--" She jumped up and down on it. The wheel let go with an earsplitting screech of metal on metal, and the spoke rotated under Dana. She fell to the floor as she heard a thumping noise. "Yes!" She scrambled up and caught the wheel, forcing it to turn faster. It protested loudly, in need of oil, but she put her whole body behind it. "Come on!" A dull vibration sounded at her feet, the sound of water rushing. A red light above the wheel began flashing. The fire was the whole world. Larry Moore watched the fire advance with terror in his heart. This was it, he thought. This was the one that would kill him. The flames were so intense, so hot, that they were nearly transparent. He could see through them to the charred, blackening landscape beyond, a landscape out of hell that shuffled and wavered through the heat haze. Smoke billowed around him, choking him, blinding him. He fought the urge to turn and run. Not this time, he thought. It was in there, somewhere. The thing that threatened his love, that had killed his friend, that was burning the forest. The fire didn't frighten him nearly as much as the thing that was starting it, feeding on it, delighting in the destruction it caused. "Come on out, you bastard," he thought. "Come on out where I can see you." Smoke swirled and fire flickered before him. The sweat was running from him in rivers and his legs trembled, as the wall of destruction came closer, closer. Sweat was running into his eyes, making them water, making them sting from salt. He blinked and blinked again. And it was there. Nearly close enough to touch, the shadow-thing advanced leisurely toward him, almost strolling. Smoke eddied around it, through it, enveloping it like a grey cloak that hid, then revealed, then hid its blood colored outline. Flame danced along arms, shoulders, up the legs and torso, red against its blackness. When the smoke eddied away, the figure was translucent, with the fire behind it shining through like a stained glass window in hell. It burned red and orange and yellow and white, like an ember. The eyes were like windows into an abyss. Larry feared their gaze but could not look away. Hypnotized, he watched it come closer, closer, closer... "Larry!" Mulder slammed into Larry, knocking them both to the ground. "Don't look at it!" They rolled away, as the creature came closer. Desperately, Mulder stood up, hauling Moore with him. "It's cutting us off!" he yelled. "Look behind us!" And it was true. Like flanking troops, the fire was sweeping forward on either side of them; in moments, they would be encircled. "Get to the creek! Lie down in the water!" yelled Moore. "I'll stop it!" "With what? Spit?" Mulder shouted back. Smoke was curling from his hair. He shuddered. "Give me the shovel!" Mulder yelled. His face was tense and angry. "No! It's my job!" "To hell with your job!" Mulder yelled back. "Go back to Dana!" "To Dana?" "Yes!" Mulder grabbed at the shovel. "She loves you! Go back to her!" Moore's right came out of nowhere, landing like a brick on the side of Mulder's jaw. It slammed him to the ground. "No!" Moore cried. "I'm not the one she loves!" Lying winded and dazed on the hot earth, he looked up and saw Moore framed against the wall of fire, flame surrounding him like a halo. His back was turned to the Phoenix, and Mulder saw a fiery arm outstretched towards him. He struggled to warn the man, choking on smoke, but caught the flash of aluminum as the protective covering settled over him. Then all was darkness and heat and a solid steady roar. The dull vibration grew to a thumping clamor, as millions of gallons of water held back by steel and concrete found an outlet in the opening sluice gates. First a trickle, then a rivulet, then a surge of water wet the surface of the dam. Then with suddenly water was thundering past her, falling down the front of the dam like troops charging into battle. From her vantage point on the top of the dam, Dana could see the entire canyon. It was like looking into a fireplace, all blue-white smoke and fire. There was no sign of the men below. "Mulder! Can you hear me? Mulder!" Water boomed and hissed, drowning her voice. Then the water reached the base of the dam and steam billowed upwards. Dana heard the explosive contact of fire and water just as the steam reached her and knocked her off her feet. Mulder gasped and struggled for air under the aluminum jacket. Numb from shock and lack of oxygen, he could not move. Then between one ragged breath and the next, he went from suffocation to drowning. A wall of foaming water as cold as death hit him from behind, stripping away the jacket and hurling him against the canyon wall. He caught at a rock outcropping, holding himself out of the flood. The rock was hot under his hands but he didn't care. Suddenly the air was filled with steam. "Larry!" he yelled. "Larry, where are you?" There was no answer. The fire winked out as suddenly as thought. There was no sign of the Phoenix, or Larry Moore. There was only a rolling, tumbling flood carrying embers and ash, thundering past his toes. "Larry!" There was a radio in the construction foreman's trailer. Dana had to shoot the lock off to gain access. Mulder grasped the rock above him and hauled his aching body upwards. One more, he panted to himself. One more.... His hand came over the edge of the rock and he hauled himself over. He rolled flat on his back, looking up at the darkening sky. The roar of the released waters below him had subsided to a steady rumble. After an eternity, he sat up and looked around. He could have laughed. He was sitting in the middle of the trail. Below him, the canyon was filled with water from wall to wall. Dana was sitting slumped, hopeless, staring at nothing. Her back was to the trailer. She was ostensibly waiting for the paramedics, but in reality she was numb. They were dead. They were both dead. She should never have left them. Smoke still swirled over the top of the dam. She coughed and wiped her eyes. And then wiped them again. Someone was limping out of the smoke... "Mulder!" He caught her up and buried his head in her hair. "Dana! Oh, God!" She held him tightly, face buried in his shirt, smelling smoke and sweat and blood on him. "You're alive! You're alive! Oh, thank God!" Her tears ran freely now. Then she pushed away and looked up at his face. "Where's Larry?" The paramedics carried Larry Moore's body past Dana and Mulder as they stood at the top of the dam hours later. They had found him wedged between two outcorppings when the water subsided to its normal channel. There was no sign of the Phoenix, but its cairn was under six feet of water and fires were dying all over the area. I can take this, thought Dana. I'm a doctor. I can look at him one last time. They had covered his face and chest, where the worst of the burns were, but smoke still rose from the body. Dana saw the stiff limbs, knew them for the final contortions of death. But when she saw the hands, the burned and blackened hands that hours before had brought her such delight and pleasure, she broke down. Weeping, she leaned against Mulder. He turned his body to shield her from the rest of the crew and gathered her against his chest. "I'm sorry, Dana," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. It should have been me." "No!" She grabbed at him and he held her tighter. "No!" "He loved you," Mulder said. "Yes." Mulder held her and looked off into the burned and blackened wasteland the Phoenix had left behind. In the forest, and in the heart of Dana Scully. I see your hair is burning Hills are filled with fire. If they say I never loved you You know they are a liar. --Jim Morrison THE END