TITLE: World Without End,
Book Three (11/13)
AUTHOR: Rachel Anton
E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com
In the end it comes down to a choice. Not resist or serve. Not fight or die. Not fries or onion rings. No, nothing as dramatic as that. In the past twenty four hours, our future has dwindled down to two disheartening options. Attempt to defend our home and face certain death or run away and face almost certain death.
My mother used to talk about time a lot. She was obsessed. My pubescent years were especially difficult for her. Watching me sprout up at a frightening pace- nearly an inch a month during my thirteenth year- she'd shake her head sadly and say "Oh, Fox, you're turning into a giant. Time is going so fast. Soon I'll be dead."
Mom was a real cheerful sort. She even managed to make me feel guilty for growing. But I have to admit, she was right about one thing; when you have a child time seems to fly right past you.
It's been almost a year and a half since Eve was born. If I ever had any questions about my purpose in this world, I've found the answers in my daughter.
The first few months were difficult. None of us had any practical experience in child rearing and we were still adapting, learning the parameters of our mutant family unit, getting to know this strange new person who'd tied us inexorably together.
I tried, despite my lingering discomfort over Scully and Krycek's relationship, to give them the space they needed, but I was filled with a desperate need to spend time with my child. It was a delicate and difficult balance. There were fights. There was awkwardness. But somehow, eventually, we managed to stumble into the right formula. We had to. For her.
They're glad for my help now, glad for someone who loves Eve, who'll happily take her for days at a time so that they can have some peace and time for themselves. And I have, unbelievably enough, become grateful for them, for their love for each other. Without it there would be no Eve. And they've given her a good home, a supportive, loving environment- something that I believe both Krycek and I lacked growing up.
Call me biased if you will, but I believe she is the most remarkable child who's ever lived. She is truly beautiful, despite having inherited physical traits from both of her fathers. Somehow the mixture of dark brown hair, hazel eyes, olive complexion, and a gigantic shnoz works on her. Aside from her above average intelligence- she's talking in almost complete sentences already- and her worship of Krycek, she is a normal and healthy child.
I can't imagine my life without the infectious sound of her laughter, her penchant for troublemaking, her wicked sense of humor. A few days ago she stole Krycek's holster, or "Da's hoetter" as she calls it, wrapped it around herself and did the best damn Krycek impersonation I've ever seen- scowl, Russian obscenities and all. And he laughed.
She is a handful, but never a chore. Even Roseanne has fallen under her spell. She still claims to be lacking any maternal hardware, but in her way she is just as much of a parent to Eve as any of us. It makes me wonder if some day, when Eve is a little older and less in need of constant care, maybe some day we could give her a little half brother or sister.
I should say it made me wonder. Now that is a future beyond contemplation.
Until yesterday I could honestly say that I was happy, hopeful about the future and content in the present.
Things were going as well as could be expected in the community at large. Farming had resumed and resources were being distributed fairly and in an organized fashion. The mutiny threats had long ago been quelched when Krycek began apportioning power and responsibility. The lights never came back, but we learned to live with that. Things were, relatively speaking, back to normal and had been that way for several months.
And me- I had everything a forty-six year old man could ask for. A beautiful child, some good friends, my health, a hot, young girlfriend who wanted nothing more than to make me happy. I've still got those things and, honestly, my life would be damned near perfect if it weren't for this whole impending doom thing. And the lack of baseball.
It started with a reunion.
When I left the drone colony all those years ago, Spender helped me. He told me where Scully was and supplied me with what I needed to get here. For that I would be forever grateful to him, but I never, never expected to see him again and express that gratitude.
Yesterday he appeared on my proverbial doorstep looking filthy, exhausted and deeply terrified. His arrival at the colony was met with far less fanfare than mine. We don't have enough men to position guards at every entrance twenty four hours a day, so he was spared the humiliation of a goon shakedown and presentation to the King and Queen. He just wandered into the cafeteria in the middle of lunch.
Scully and Krycek were at home with Eve, but almost everyone else was there and the whole place fell absolutely silent at the sight of a stranger. I stood and reassured them, told them that he was a friend and prayed he wouldn't prove me wrong.
He sat with me and Roseanne, and we fed him. He ate like the starving man he must have been, and after about fifteen minutes he started talking.
"My father is dead," was the first thing he said. This was hardly shocking news considering the man's age and condition, and it certainly wasn't going to bring a tear to my eye. But there was more. Much more.
"They'd been protecting him. He was promised that. And he was protecting you, protecting this place. But now, now that they've moved onto Phase Three, no one is protected. They killed him, and they found everything he'd been hiding. They know where you are. They know everything."
"Wait, wait, slow down," I interrupted him, overwhelmed at his frantic outpouring of information. "Your father was protecting us? How? Why?"
"Jesus, Mulder, that's not important anymore!" He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the silverware as well as my nerves. "The important thing, the thing you need to understand is that you're not being protected anymore. They know where you are, and they're coming here. It could be any time now."
We'd heard this before, from the British man, but that had been almost two years ago. I'd grown to believe that he'd been bluffing, trying somehow to put Krycek in his place. That could have been the situation, in fact. But either way, I trusted Spender's word a great deal.
"And you came all this way just to warn us?" Roseanne asked, understandably skeptical. He was a stranger to her.
"I came here because I had to go somewhere. This is the only place I know about, the only place left. There isn't anywhere else. You don't know what it's like out there. You just…"
His haunted eyes began welling with tears of fear and frustration, and any doubt I might have had disappeared. He was telling the truth and he was beyond scared- he was terrorized.
"Mulder, if you people don't get out of here you're facing complete and certain annihilation."
"Well, where are we supposed to go?" Roseanne asked. "You just told us there's nowhere left."
"It doesn't matter. Just go. Go anywhere. Run while you've still got a chance. If you stay here, there's no fighting them. There's no fighting them at all, but if you run you might be able to hide, to last a little longer."
"I can't…I won't believe that. There must be something we can do," I offered, trying to convince myself more than anyone else.
Spender shook his head. "Mulder, there's no time for your idealism anymore. You've got to go. We've all got to go."
It was clear to me, looking at the face of pure, unbridled desperation across the table, that something needed to be done. Something fast.
We brought the information to Krycek first. He decided, wisely, to let everyone know immediately and let them make the fight or flight choice for themselves. As far as I can tell, no one has chosen fight.
We've all been given a survival pack- some food, some medical supplies, clothing, a toothbrush and bar of soap, water purification tablets, all the basic necessities- and divided into groups of six to ten people. Each group has been given a vehicle, a compass, and directions to the British man's colony. It's the only place anyone can think of going.
Evacuation began last night with the first group leaving under Bryan's direction. Saying good-bye to him, I was struck with the eerie sensation that it was the last time I would see him.
Our group is small- just Roseanne, Spender, Scully, Krycek, Eve, and myself- but I believe we are strong. There is a very real possibility that these are the only people I will ever see again.
Krycek has decided, and we have all agreed, that we should be the last to leave so that we can assist the others in their preparations. We've sent off almost all of the groups and our time is rapidly approaching. It has been exceedingly difficult. Especially, I think, for Krycek.
I am helping him clear his office, gather everything that might be important for us in the future. His demeanor is even more morose than my own.
"I would stay," he says to me, dumping the contents of the top drawer of his file cabinet into a plastic bag. "I would stay and fight for this place if…if things were different."
He seems almost apologetic, as though he fears I might judge him for abandoning ship, for not rising to the opportunity and facing Krycek's last stand.
"We have to think about Eve. About…about our family," I tell him. As much as I might wish for a final show of strength and resistance myself, I understand that this is our only option.
"I know that, Mulder. I just hate running away."
I hate it too. God, how I hate it.
"You've done your best, Krycek. Better than any man could be expected to do."
He stops the frantic office ransacking and regards me with an expression that is shockingly close to gratitude. He reaches out his hand and I take it, settling into a comfortable handshake. I feel a peculiar urge to hug him, but under the circumstances the gesture would probably be considered deranged.
"Thank you, Mulder," he says simply, and we finish our packing in silence.
*************************
Babies don't like packing.
We moved a lot when I was little. San Diego, North Carolina, Virginia, back again and repeat. I cried the first couple of times. I remember the confusion, the fear, feeling completely disoriented seeing my belongings shuffled from room to room, into boxes and cars and planes. After a while I got used to it, but I always told myself that if I had a child I would try my damnedest to keep that child in one place. Sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you expected.
Eve is crying. Not a remarkable occurrence for most two-year-olds, but our Eve doesn't cry much. She never has. She's a screamer, a yeller, a stomper. Lately she's taken to haughtily proclaiming "You go hell!" when something or someone displeases her. Another lovely trait picked up from Alex. But we rarely see her face streaked with tears, as it has been almost all afternoon.
She is too young to understand why I chose to pack her things first. The story book that Alex made for her, words scrawled on notebook paper in an attempt at pretty handwriting, pictures she insisted on drawing herself because "Da' don' draw good"- that was the first item to go into a bag now overflowing with pieces of Eve. Her favorite blankie, the "partytime dress" Roseanne made for her first Christmas, the collection of kitty cat pictures Mulder helped her smuggle out of the library, all of these things are packed and they are coming with us no matter what. I packed them first because come hell or high water, those are my first priority.
The last holdout is flower bear. Flower bear is, as toys go, pretty pathetic looking. She is a floral pillowcase, molded unconvincingly into the shape of a teddy bear with black button eyes and a ball of a tail made from an old sweat sock. I've never been much of a whiz at arts and crafts, but I tried and somehow the one toy I made for my daughter has become her favorite possession.
She won't give it to me. She's curled herself into a fetal position on the couch, flower bear deep within her clutches, and every attempt to extricate the stuffed animal is met with more tears and wails of defiance.
"Eve, come on. Mommy's serious now. It's time to go."
I didn't think it would be this hard. Didn't think anything could be this hard.
"No! No go!" she cries, her dark curls flailing and her tiny hands balled into fists. I feel like crying right along with her, begging someone, anyone, to stop this nightmare and let me stay here. For the first time in my life I wish I were a small child with no power, no responsibility, no choices, and that someone could just come in here and pick me up and tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do. I wish I didn't know why this had to be done.
"Honey, we have to go. I'm sorry. Please, just let me have the bear so we can…"
"Mommy, lights! Lookit!"
Eve points toward the window, suddenly distracted, transfixed. Flower bear falls to the floor, temporarily forgotten, and I take the opportunity to swipe the toy and stuff it into the bag. Then I move to the window.
Twilight is upon us. The sun is hanging low in the sky, casting a golden glow on the autumn leaves that cling to our trees. The colors are deep, more vibrant and vivid than ever before.
In the distance, past the buildings of our compound, there are lights. Explosions. Balls of red and orange fire scorching the forest to the east of us.
It is a beautiful scene. One that could rival the most impressive work of art, the most moving symphony. It is our doom.
"Eve, put on your coat. It's time to go."
End Chapter Eleven
Continued in Chapter Twelve
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