Roadside Rest Stop - MO 

Will watched the entire scene play out in the reflection of the truck's cab window. From the approaching wall of fire to the man being stung, he watched it all until it faded into the Missouri rest area. He looked at BJ. His friend was exhausted. He wiped his brow, patted the knobby head of his trusted hound and purposely looked at Will. Without a word uttered, Will heard him. 

"Good job, boy. Whether you like him or not, you did the right thing. You must protect those that are sealed, or they can't protect you." 

With that, BJ sank back down and quickly fell asleep. Will climbed up into the truck bed and sat on the tire well. He patted Clarence as the hound sat down beside him. 

As time ticked away, the events of the night played over and over again in his mind. At first, he tried to convince himself it was all a dream, but every time he recalled BJ holding the fire, he knew it wasn't. Somehow, BJ entered his dream to offer guidance, to spur him to action. But when BJ acted out in reality to destroy with fire, it proved to Will that his dreams were real - that everything in them happened just as he envisioned them. 

More importantly, he realized the power he possessed was not limited to his waking hours. He'd experienced simple things like opening locked files, but the magnitude of the power had only now begun to reveal itself. Even in his dreams, it was with him and totally in his control. He could use it to protect; he could use it to help others. Knowing that, gave him a sense of peace. 

Before he climbed back into the front seat to grab some sleep, Will did something he never thought he'd do. He knelt down and prayed for the man he hated. 

Underground Facility - Women's Latrine 

Grant stood guard outside the locked shower room door. He wasn't concerned with anyone making an appearance in the area. He'd been working this section since Dana's arrival, and few ever passed this way. 

Inside, Scully quickly changed into the uniform Grant left in one of the lockers. It was hardly a tailored fit but would have to do. Fully dressed, she glanced at the name tag over the right pocket. 

"Elvis," she said. Elvis has left the building, and I hope to follow in his footsteps. Tucking her hair neatly beneath the cap, she stepped back to examine herself in the mirror. "You still look like Dana Scully," she complained, her gut churning with uncertainty. Picking up the rest of her clothes, she shoved them into the trash can, hesitating when it came to Mulder's shirt.

"God, how I wish we were together on this, Mulder," she sighed, taking a deep breath to infuse her with courage. 

A quiet knock behind him brought Grant to unlock the door. A moment later, Scully stepped into the hallway carrying the M-16 she retrieved from the locker. A hint of fear displayed in her eyes. She hadn't realized just how vulnerable she was feeling. Years ago, this wouldn't have been a problem. She was tougher then; she was used to hard circumstances and dangerous situations. Time away from the X-Files had made her soft. 

"It's okay," Grant reassured her, sensing her fear. "Look tough and stay behind me." 

"Lead on," she braved. 

They moved down the hall, weapons on their shoulders. One corridor after another, Scully quickly became turned around. She wondered how anyone could find their way through this never-ending maze. Avoiding the elevator, they headed to a nearby stairwell. As Scully read the sign on the exit door, it was the first time she realized the enormity of the facility. They entered the stairwell on Level 39. Down they went, one level to the next until they came to a door marked Level 20 - Transports. 

"This is it," Grant caught his breath. "Past this, everything changes." 

"How so?" 

Grant hesitated. 

"To tell you the truth, I don't really know what's on the other side of this door." 

"You're kidding." 

"I've caught glimpses now and then, but..." 

"What did you see?" 

"Nothing I understood. It seemed massive. Beyond that, it was motion... constant motion." 

Take charge, Starbuck. 

Scully eyes widened at the voice. Only her father had ever called her Starbuck, and nobody but Mulder and her family knew that. But the sound of her old, familiar nickname brought about a sudden peace. She had no idea what lie beyond the door, but it didn't matter. She was not backing down now when freedom was within her grasp. Stepping in front of Grant, she grabbed the handle and forged ahead. 

Bourne Scenic Park - Bourne, MA 

From high in the trees at the local park directly adjacent to the Bourne Bridge, Langly and Frohike monitored the increased military traffic as it moved in small convoys along General MacArthur Boulevard and over the bridge, heading north along Route 25. 

Across Buzzards Bay along Route 28 and south of the entrance to the Veteran's National Cemetery, Gibson, Doggett and Byers had breached the security fence unnoticed. They hid in the thick trees trying to determine exactly where the convoys of vehicles were coming from. They had pinpointed it to the cemetery, but had yet to find the point of emergence. 

As they neared the back edge of Cole Road, they watched the vehicles pass them by. At fifteen minute intervals, one set of mausoleum's doors opened. From within, a military escort vehicle emerged, followed by a number of hazardous material tankers and an additional escort vehicle. As soon as they were out of sight, the doors to the other mausoleum opened, and within minutes, another fleet of tankers arrived, and disappeared behind the doors. When they were through, the doors closed and all grew quiet. For three hours they kept up their surveillance, during which time the military routines were steadily repeated. 

When lunchtime rolled around, they met up with Langly and Frohike at a local restaurant along the bay. At a back table away from the main lunch crowd, they spoke nothing of their morning activities until after their meals had been served. 

"What did you find out about the tankers," Doggett opened the conversation. 

"I ran the numbers that Byers photographed, but none of them belong to any known military unit." 

"We've got snoops following each of the convoys that left the cemetery today," Frohike informed them. "They'll check in when they arrive at their final destinations." 

"Before we worry about where they're going, we need to find out where they're coming from," Gibson insisted. "We need to get on one of the tankers and go into the mausoleum to see where it leads. I have a feeling the destination ends about four hundred miles off the coastline." 

"Be serious." Langly objected. 

"I'm very serious." 

"That would be an incredible feat, Gibson," Byers said. "A four hundred mile tunnel is one thing, but a four hundred mile tunnel underground and underwater... It would take years to construct." 

"It did take years," his voice rose in volume until he realized it and forced himself to lower it again. "Three to be exact." 

"Impossible," Byers continued. "I mean look at the Big Dig in Boston. It took ten years to complete and only a portion of that is underwater, and it's nowhere near four hundred miles in length." 

"Not to mention the three point eight million cubic yards of concrete they had to pour and the amount of dirt removal that was required," Langly said. "I have to agree with Byers. It would be damn near impossible." 

"Guys, you're forgetting who we're dealing with? Super-soldiers. They don't tire, they don't wear out, they don't eat or sleep. Granted, their human in appearance and in some of their biochemistry but for the most part, they're machines. They're capable of almost anything imaginable... and if someone programmed them to build a four hundred mile underground tunnel... I think they could." 

"As strange as it sounds, I agree," Doggett supported Gibson. "We've seen them up close. They're able to do things that no human can do." 

"But look at our list," Byers reasoned. "We have sixty-five names. I know Mulder said that was only a partial listing, but even if there were a hundred sixty-five names, there's no way they could build it." 

"Gibson's right," Frohike spoke up, breaking his silent streak. "First of all, you have to remember that list is twelve or more years old. Secondly, you're not thinking large scale." The men looked at him wondering what he knew that they didn't. "Think about it. Those sixty-five are all top level officials in their fields whether it's military, engineering, construction, science, design, or whatever. We've already verified that. Each of them has power and money. And each of them has hundreds, sometimes thousands of people working for them. How hard would it be for someone in their positions to tell their employees that their going on special assignment... tell your families you'll be gone for a bit, and then send them somewhere that they're overpowered and surgically altered? It's not like they'll be able to resist. It's not like they'll have any memories beyond the memories they're programmed to have. Once they're super-soldiers, they do what they're told." 

"But their families would notice the difference," Byer's protested. 

"I didn't," Doggett admitted. "Knowle Rohrer was a good friend of mine. We served together in Lebanon. But I had no idea he was a super-soldier. I didn't believe it until I saw him torn apart by the magnetite in New Mexico." 

"Look, we can sit here and debate this until the next blue moon but the fact remains... I know Agent Scully is out there, and we have a decent hypothesis that leads me to believe we need to check out that mausoleum to see whether or not it leads us to her. Agreed?" Gibson asked holding up his bottle of beer. 

One-by-one, each man raised his drink. Doggett excused himself from the group when his cell phone sounded, and he moved to the large picture window overlooking the bay. 

"When?" 

Inside the car traveling south, Skinner glanced over at Mulder. 

"Late last night. He's... he's not doing well. In and out of it... running a high fever. He insists I take him to Democrat Hot Springs. I don't see the point of it but if I don't, I know he'll try driving himself, and he's in no condition to do that." 

"Skinner... you know what you have to do," Doggett said matter of fact. "I mean, you can't let that thing..." 

"I know, damn it. I know," he cussed and ended the call. 

Doggett holstered his cell phone and returned to the table. 

"What is it?" Byer's asked. 

"Mulder's in some serious shit. The short of it... he's been stung by one of those virus carrying bees." 

"Where are they?" Frohike questioned. 

"Mississippi... heading to Democrat Hot Springs." 

"If he's been stung..." Byers began. 

"He's a dead man," Langly finished the thought. 

"Do without me for a while, guys," Gibson said, standing. 

Doggett rose and grabbed Gibson's arm. 

"There's nothing you can do, Gibson. Mulder gave the only vaccine to Scully when she was infected. There is no more." 

"Mulder doesn't need a vaccine," Gibson informed him. "He needs a dose of the truth." 

June 20, 2014 - Democrat Hot Springs, GA 

Will grabbed Clarence as he and BJ emerged from the truck, looking around at the town that was void of life. Moving around to the front of the vehicle where BJ waited, Will set Clarence down. 

"Why are we stopping?" Will asked. "There's nothing here." 

"There's plenty here," BJ said looking about and nodding his approval as he started down the dead-end street. 

Will was slow to follow. Though he'd never been here, he sensed that something tense and emotional had taken place here and that something equally intense was about to happen. 

"What's that hound want now," BJ complained about the dog's barking. "If I didn't know better, I think he just likes to hear himself carry on." 

Clarence barked again, leading the man and boy up to a two-story wood-framed building. Vines and other foliage had grown up its columns and spread out across the second floor's railings. Clarence jumped against a set of double doors and barked again. 

"Check this out," Will pointed to the lettering on the front window. "It looks like it was a hotel or a church maybe. Exo something." 

"Exodus 17. You done good, Clarence," BJ said, patting the dog's boney head. 

BJ opened the door. One after another, they crossed the threshold into a dimly lit room, which suddenly came to light as BJ raised the front window shades. 

"It's weird but I feel like..." 

"Like you've been here before?" BJ suggested, completing Will's sentence as his eyes searched the room. 

Tin buckets rested atop the stove. A twin bed was framed in rusted metal. A porcelain bowl sat atop a nearby table surrounded by candle stubs. It was just as he remembered. He motioned Will to sit beside him on the rock ledge of the fireplace. 

"I brought you here because this is a special place, Will. It don't appear that way, but what happened here years ago, happened because it was meant to happen. I'm here to set the story straight... to tell you what I know. Might seem incredible, even impossible, but it's the truth. You understand?" 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Good," BJ said, removing his outer shirt as the Georgia heat began to rise.  

As though he understood they wouldn't be leaving right away, Clarence turned circles until he finally plopped down on the creaky wooden floor next to BJ's feet. 

"The men that started the lies were called the Syndicate. They'd been around a long time... further back than Roswell even." 

"What's Roswell?" Will asked. 

"We'll get there," BJ answered, grinning at Will's innocence. "These men were powerful. They held high positions politically and militarily. For the most part they had the ability to head the future in whatever direction they chose. They didn't want folks like you and me to know the truth, so they wove webs and fashioned lies that people got tangled up in. They spun lies people believed, making it real hard on those searching for the truth... like the man in your dreams." 

"The one I don't like?" 

"That's the one. You say he angers you, but I believe what you're feelin' isn't your anger at all. Think about it. What's he done to you?" 

"Well..." Will began, but he quickly realized he had nothing to add. 

"That's what I figured... nothin'. Fact is, he aims to help you." 

"I feel like I'm always competing against him." 

"Over what?" BJ asked. "Out with it. You know what's eatin' you." 

"Maybe," Will mumbled, but he wasn't willing to speak about his deeper feelings yet.

"Let me tell you somethin' about this man, and then maybe you'll give him the break he deserves. You see... back when the Syndicate was killed off, a new group took over. They're stronger than the first group - stronger because they ain't human. They're replacements, and you've seen what they're all about. They set bigger traps and spawned bigger lies, and they're gettin' stronger every day. There's more of them now than can be counted." 

"But what does that have to do with... him?" 

"You two are connected, and I think what you been feelin' is his anger. He's angry 'bout all the lies. He knows the truth is what matters. He's been searchin' after it for years. He don't know all of it yet. Fact is," BJ sighed, "he ain't even ready to believe the truth about his own self yet, but he's gonna real soon. Time's a comin' Will... all folks are gonna learn the truth because no matter how hard they try to hide it... the truth is out there." 

*** 

It was late afternoon when Mulder and Skinner arrived in Democrat Hot Springs. Mulder had been there only once - exactly twelve years ago this day. Inside the same building BJ and Will had occupied only hours before, Mulder stood over the flimsy, metal-framed bed. 

"Here," he touched the mattress as sweat dripped off his chin. "William was born right here. I should have been with her, Skinner." 

"You were, Mulder. You and Scully... you're never apart... not really." 

Skinner turned, leaving Mulder to his memory. He walked around the room stopping at the counter across from the front door. 

"Take a look at this," he called. 

Moving next to Skinner, Mulder looked down at the counter. Written in the dust was, Happy 12th Birthday, Will... Your Friends... BJ and the Hound. 

Beneath it, Will Van De Kamp had been crossed out. A new entry further down on the counter read: William Fox Mulder was here.