TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (15/?) AUTHOR: Rachel Anton E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com xxxxxx This road had a name. Back when it was a major interstate highway and not a path of decomposing rubble. They don't know that it still exists. There aren't any checkpoints on it, no signs of colonization at all. Other than the fact that when I look out the window, all I see is a deep, black, emptiness. It's a secret road. But it hasn't always been this way. Once upon a time it carried vacationing families, returning college students, grandma and grandpa and their clunky old motor home. It had tolls and exits with little blue signs to let those folks know that there was another Stucky's coming up soon, another Texaco. I used to take this road. From Boston University to my father's house in Connecticut. Not often. But sometimes. What the hell was it called? I look through the passenger side window and out into the night, searching in vain for a remnant, a clue. Bryan drives on relentlessly. We stopped to camp on the way here, but we're going straight through to get back home. Three nights. There's enough of us left to take shifts. Ten. Ten people. Two trucks. God, there is nothing out there. What the hell was the name of this stupid road? "Bryan, what was this road called?" He drums his fingers against the steering wheel and then shrugs. "I dunno, Boss. Don't remember." I wonder if anyone else remembers. I glance towards the back of the truck, but the three men traveling with us are sleeping. Three men. Five in this truck and five in the other. We left with over one hundred. Almost one fifth of our population. Why can't I remember? Was it a number? 84? 91? Dammit. My eyes squeeze shut in frustration, but when I feel tears building behind the lids, I open them quickly. It's just a stupid road. Nothing to cry about. I wish we had some music. A tape player or even a radio station that plays something other than news reports that aren't true, tailor-made to appease the drones in their servitude. It's so damn quiet out here. So dark. I wish they'd talk to me. I wonder if they're even sleeping or if they're just pretending so that they don't have to deal with the awkwardness, the unease of looking at their leader and wanting to kill him. I wonder if Bryan feels it too. He hasn't been saying much to me either, but he's a pretty quiet person in general. Does he hate me the way the others do now? Will he defend me when we get back and my lynching party begins to form? I wish that we didn't have to go back, that we could just keep driving until we fall off the face of the Earth. Or into the ocean maybe. But at the same time, I can't get home fast enough. Can't help but wonder if I'll be able to stand the next two days of waiting to get back. To her. To my love, my life. Will she still be there, or has she given up? Have I lost her forever? Oh, devotchka, what have I done? To you, to myself, to all of us. Let's see. What have I done? Alienated the only person in the world who gives a shit about me, the only person I've ever loved. Probably sent her into the arms of another man, if she wasn't there already. Led a fifth of our population to their deaths. Murdered a woman out of pure spite. Ended a perfectly good symbiotic relationship with the one group that has been able to help us. All in a day's work I suppose. "Do you think it was a number?" I ask out of the silence. Bryan nods slowly. "Yeah...yeah, I think it might have been." 78? 101? Shit. I wonder if she'll forgive me. For anything. Even one thing would be a blessing. I wish there was some way for me to contact her. Cell phones would be nice. Or maybe psychic messages. A singing telegram. I'd be willing to try anything if it meant being able to tell her that I'm sorry. That I love her. That I'm the biggest fuckup who ever lived but if she'd take me back, I'd do the best I possibly could for her. That even if she would be happier with Mulder, I still want her. I still want her. I close my eyes again, hoping for sleep to overcome me, but this time I see Marita's cold, dead eyes behind my lids. When I open my eyes, I feel her behind me and turn around quickly in my seat. Will she haunt me forever? Will she come to me in dreams? I'm just waiting for the first nightmare where Dana's body crumples to the floor instead of Marita's. It might as well have been Dana. Might as well. God, two more days. I don't know if I can stand it. I wish I could remember the way she smells. I lost it to the stench of burning bodies. "What the hell is the name of this stupid road?" Bryan looks over at me with some concern. My eyes are tearing again. I turn away from him and stare out the window. He clears his throat and drives on. The night seems to grow even darker. "It's not that bad, Boss," he says after several moments of silence. And I laugh. And eventually, so does he. Not that bad. Could it be any worse? xxxxxx My blood is flowing through her veins. Funny how the intimacy of that gesture has only just occurred to me, three days after the fact. I suppose I've been too worried, too sick to my stomach and ravaged by sleeplessness, to really think about much at all. But now, tonight, my head is slowly clearing. It's finally warm enough for me to run outside at night without dressing like an Eskimo. I can't even see my breath tonight. And the sky is so clear, it's really quite beautiful. But I can't enjoy it. Not really. I haven't seen her since we gave her the injection. We decided it was best not to make any kind of announcement until we knew for sure that the cure was working, and we won't know that for at least a few more days. It's too soon to do any kind of bloodwork on her, so there hasn't really been anything for us to do at the lab. No reason to see each other. No reason for me to ask her if she's all right. Of course, if I had any balls, I'd just go right up to her door and knock. But that would mean seeing the place she lives, the room she shares with...him. I don't know if I could stand it. And it would also mean talking to her which, frankly, scares me to death right now. I'm just not sure how I would react to another "I'm fine, Mulder". And I know that no matter how terrible she looks, how dreadful she is feeling, that's the reaction I would get. I'm afraid I'd smack her. Or kiss her. And I don't even know which would be worse. My running path ends near the cafeteria. There are still a few lights on inside, even though it must be after midnight. I could go for a glass of water and maybe some fruit. Hell, who am I kidding? I could go for a fucking quarter pounder with cheese and extra large fries from McDonald's right now. But water and fruit will have to suffice. I stretch for a minute then head inside. There's only one other person here besides the guys I hear cleaning in the kitchen. For a minute I don't recognize her. She's sitting at a table that could probably seat twenty, next to a window that she is staring out of intently. A cup of coffee sits in front of her, untouched. Ret is under the table, curled up at her feet. She has no hair. Well, that's not entirely accurate. She's not bald. But in contrast to her formerly waist-length style, this new, short cut has the same effect. She looks different. Very very different. But a little better than last time I saw her. A little healthier. Not much, but a little. I briefly consider leaving, but that seems so overtly cowardly. I've got to talk to her. Or at least try. She doesn't really look like she feels like talking though. Maybe I should just go. She hasn't seen me yet. Shit. This is stupid. I approach her quietly and sit down across from her. She doesn't look at me, but she obviously knows I'm here. Or that someone is. "Think it'll storm tonight?" she asks. "I...I dunno," I respond with my usual cleverness. "Does it do that a lot in the spring here?" She shrugs and continues staring out the window. A couple of lights go out, and the sounds of water running and plates clanking continue to echo from the kitchen. "It's getting pretty warm, huh?" I continue the enthralling weather discussion. She nods. "S'that why you cut your hair?" She finally looks up at me. Our eyes meet for a minute before she glances at her cup. "Do you want some coffee? I'm sure they've still got some." "No, no thanks. It looks nice." "The coffee?" "Your hair." She looks up at me again and smiles faintly. "Th-thanks. Thanks." It really does, now that I look at her. Doesn't distract from her face the way the other style did. She looks a little older, a little harsher. But still beautiful. "I'm kind of surprised to see you here," I tell her. "Usually I'm the only person awake at this hour." "Well, Ret needed to be walked and I...I didn't wanna be inside." I nod. She takes a sip of her coffee, scowls. "Cold?" "Sort of." The question I dread asking seems to be making itself unavoidable. I can't sit here staring at her for another minute without knowing. "How are you feeling, Scully?" "I'm...getting better." "Yeah?" "I think so. A little nauseous but...I think it's working." Relief washes over me. She's not going to die. And she didn't say the word "fine" even once. I look past her a bit and notice a small, mustached and aproned man standing in the kitchen doorway with his hands on his hips. He looks a bit irate. "Scully, I'm getting a very definite vibe from our host over there." She turns her head around and waves, rising to her feet. "G'night, Louis. Thanks for the coffee." The man nods and waves happily, bidding us good- night. I stand up too, taking Scully's cue. "Night, Mulder. Come on, Ret." She starts heading for the door, Ret following closely at her heels. "You want me to walk you back to your place?" She spins on her heel and stares at me, startled, almost frightened. "No! No...no, I...no." "Are you sure? It's kind of late." She sounded pretty damn sure, Mulder. What the hell am I doing? "No, that's okay. I think I might walk around some more anyway. Night." She turns around and starts walking again. I should let her go. I have to let her go. Why can't I let her go? "Well, wait. Where are you gonna go?" I start walking next to her, not daring to look at what must, by this point, be a very irritated look on her face. "I, I dunno. Maybe to the barn to see the animals. Maybe the pool. I dunno, Mulder." I cringe involuntarily at the word pool, but continue relentlessly. "That sounds nice. Why don't you let me come with you?" "I'll be fine. Ret's with me." She pauses and runs her hand through what's left of her hair. Her left hand. That damned ring reflects the fluorescent light right into my eyes. "You don't need to take care of me, Mulder." "I know, I know that," I answer, a little bit too quickly perhaps. "I just don't wanna be inside much myself. I thought we could walk together." She chews on her lip and continues to pointedly avoid making eye contact as she considers this suggestion. Am I making her uncomfortable? Does my behavior seem inappropriate? "Um...I suppose, I suppose that would be all right," she finally responds. We walk out into the night together. We wander around for a long time, not speaking. I just don't know what to say. I feel like my insides are about to jump through my skin. Still, it's not an uncomfortable silence. It's very peaceful actually. Very nice. Eventually we end up in front of one of the dorms. She stops walking. "I'm gonna bring Ret inside. I'll be right back." She unlocks the front door of the building and disappears inside with the dog before I have a chance to ask any questions. Like, why is she dropping Ret off here instead of her place? Unless... By the time she comes back out I've just about got myself convinced. For whatever reason, she isn't living with him anymore. She stands in front of me with a completely enigmatic expression and a sweater she wasn't wearing before she went in there. She folds her arms across her chest. She's not wearing the ring anymore. And then she says something that causes my entire universe to spin on its axis. "Mulder, do you think we could go back to your place?" xxxxxx End Chapter Fifteen