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Resistance 02: Finding
Author: Vickie Moseley Summary: It's 2012. William Vande Kamp knows more than his parents think he knows. He's about to embark on an adventure that will change his life forever. Category: Mytharc, Williamfic, pre and post colonization Rating: E for everybody Disclaimer: Well, it got pretty darned hard to make it sound like something a 12 year old kid would buy into, but I made him psychic, so that helped. Otherwise, I sure don't intent to infringe on that mangled mess that was S8 and S9 and don't even want to infringe on the good stuff in S1 through S7. Archive: yes Undying Gratitude: to Lisa for beta and pictures and general 'you can do this' encouragement. To DanaKScully for unconditional support and enthusiasm, even when it meant waiting a little longer for another story I was working on. Author's notes: this is a series. It's not really a WIP, because I plan on keeping it going for a while. I bow to DonnaH, who has blazed one heck of a trail before me with both After the Future and Goodbyes/Hellos. I take a slightly different route. This is part one of I don't know how many. The first section, Resistance 1 has five parts. I'll post a part a day for one week. The story and Lisa's wonderful artwork are available at my website http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com Resistance 1.02: Finding Nebraska November
27, 2012 I've heard them say in movies that some moments change your life forever. I guess that's the case. I think whatever happens is what is supposed to happen, so how can that be a change? But I do know that when I woke up that morning, things wouldn't be the same when I went to bed that night. Gibson had been telling me more and more about the aliens and their conspiracy with the government. Not just the American government, I learned -- it was a conspiracy with men in high places all over the world. He said there were even people in the UN involved in it. I didn't want to believe that, but then I felt he was right. I've always been good about telling when someone is lying. My parents stopped talking about Christmas presents around me when I was really little. Sometimes I guessed what they were thinking about and as a little kid, I would blurt it out that I knew. I figured out real quick that was a bad idea. But Gibson and I had a different relationship. He didn't have to explain everything to me, I could hear him talking in my head. It was great because I'm not the fastest typist and it sure made our conversations online a lot easier. That morning, back in November, I had been online with Gibson about half the night. I had to get up to go to school. I was in high school, a freshman. I'd skipped some lower grades. I was the youngest kid in the school, but I was tall so no one bothered me much. Still, if I weren't awake for my Algebra I class, I'd be in trouble. The teacher was also my P.E. instructor and he'd make me pay when he got me in 5th hour. So I dragged my butt out of bed and headed for the bathroom to clean up.
While I was in the shower I had my first 'waking dream'. I later came to think of them as visions, but whatever it was, it scared the piss out of me! I was standing there, letting the hot water wake me up and rinse my hair when all of a sudden, I was lying on my back looking up at a ceiling and the room was moving. There was I guy I'd never seen before leaning over me, putting something over my face. He strapped it on and I struggled but then I realized I could breathe with it on, so I settled down. He started taping something to my hand and I looked down to see an IV. I knew about those, mom had those to give her the chemo. I wanted to pull it out but there was a strap across my chest. I couldn't move. Then she came into view -- my real mom, Dana, as I thought of her. She was looking so worried and I think she was going to start crying. She tried to smile at me and she reached up to touch my forehead. She whispered to me. "Mulder, hang on." Suddenly, I was back in the shower. I'd never left. And I knew that wasn't so much a dream as a connection. My mom had called me Mulder. I was him again, going through what he was going through. Before it had been what he'd lived through, but now I was certain that it was what he was living through at that moment. He was hurt, sick, I don't know what but he was in terrible trouble. And my mom was begging him to hang on. I knew all about what that meant. I'd begged my adopted mom to hang on several times during her cancer. Thank God it was finally in remission. I
jumped out of the shower, not even bothering to dry off, just wrapped
a towel around my waist and ran to my computer.
There was an email from Gibson with a high priority.
It said two words. "It's time." I went ahead and got dressed like always. Before I left my room, I dug the money I'd saved baling hay that summer and shoved it in the pocket of my jeans. Then I went downstairs and ate breakfast and kissed my adopted mom goodbye. She never suspected that my book bag was not loaded with my books but with my clothes nor that it would be the last time I'd ever see her. When
I got to the bus stop, I rode the bus to school.
There was always a crowd scene at the drop off doors,
especially from the rural buses.
It was easy to slip away.
The interstate was just three miles from the high school, so I
started walking. I had to
get to Weed Hope, New Mexico. After
that, who knew where I'd end up? It took me a little over two days to get there. I caught rides with truckers on I-80 and I-76 and then took a ride with a guy hauling alfalfa all the way down US 85. I walked the last ten miles, but I didn't care. When I got there, Gibson was waiting for me. He drove me to El Paso, where my parents were living. Del Sol Medical Center El Paso, Texas December
1, 2012 Gibson parked the car in the visitor's lot and offered to go in with me. I wanted him to, but then I knew it wasn't his family up there. It was a little kid thing to want him to hold my hand. I had to be grown up about what I was about to face. I thanked him and told him I'd email him when I got the chance. He smiled at me, patted my shoulder and told me it would be OK. I knew he really wasn't sure about that part, but I couldn't consider it a lie, either. He just wanted me to know that whatever happened, I'd be OK. That sort of scared me a little. As I walked up the sidewalk to the big white L-shaped building, I'd never felt more alone. What if they didn't want me here? What if my mom would be mad that I'd left my adopted parents? She sent me away to keep me safe and I'd been having this prickling feeling for a while that something was going to happen, something really big and bad. What if my coming here was a dumb idea and I should have stayed back in Nebraska? How mad was Mr. Timmons going to be about my skipping Algebra? Man, I was a mess! When I got to the information desk, I almost turned back. Then I realized going back was not an option. So, in my deepest voice (which tended to crack a lot), I asked what room Fox Mulder was in. For a minute I thought the lady might not find him, that if they were on the run they might have used different names. But she found F. Mulder and then she asked if I was immediate family. I'd been to the hospital enough with my adopted mom to know that wasn't a good sign. I told her yeah, I was his son. She gave me the room number and said it was in the Intensive Care Unit on the fourth floor. The ride up was the scariest ride I'd ever taken. I didn't know what to expect. Usually, when I'm going to get in trouble for something, I know. I get this feeling; the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Jerry Rankin, one of my friends from grade school used to say I had 'spidey sense'. I think it was more than that. But while I was in that elevator, I had this really bad feeling and the urge to just stop on any floor and run as far and as fast as I could. Then the doors opened and I saw her sitting there. Her hair was still in braids. She was wearing jeans that had sewing on them, like some of the girls at my high school wear, except her shirt wasn't five inches above the top of her pants. She had on a sweatshirt with little bears holding hands and she had old red sneakers on her feet. When she looked up and saw me, it was like I was just coming home from school, not at all like we were seeing each other for the first time. "Hi, Will. I'm glad you're here," she said, standing up and chewing on her lip at the corner. "Hi, Peg," I answered. "You knew I was coming? How?" I thought about it a moment. "How do you even know who I am?" She smiled at me and she looked a lot older than eight years when she did. "I have dreams, too," she said and then I knew for sure I was where I was supposed to be. She reached for my hand and pulled me over to the chairs where she'd been sitting. "Mom's back there," she pointed to a door that said 'no admittance except during scheduled visiting times'. "They let her stay longer because she tells them she's a nurse practitioner. She's really a doctor, though." "Yeah, I knew that," I said, even though I'd just figured it out. "How is he?" I asked and almost regretted it. Her face sort of screwed up and I thought she was going to cry. "He's hurt real bad, Will. The doctor told us that he's holding his own but they keeping thinking that he's dying. That's why they let Mom back there with him so much. She won't let me go back because she doesn't want me to see him all hurt like he is, but I know. I can see what she sees." She choked up a bit, but still didn't let the tears fall. "He's got a big tube down his throat and all these wires on his head. They told Mom he's in a coma. Will, I'm scared." I don't know what made me do it, but I reached over and hugged her. "It's OK, Peggy. I promise. It's going to be OK." She sniffed a little and pulled back, then wiped her cheeks on the sleeve of her shirt. "I'm just glad you're here." She grabbed my hand and didn't let go. We sat there for a few minutes. It was like she'd been my little sister all my life. I thought back to those times when I'd wished I could live with my real parents, be part of my real family. Now that I had that wish, I really wished it could have been a better time. "Peggy, how did you know about me, really?" I asked finally. "Mom and Daddy have talked about you all my life. They have a picture, but you were a baby. When I got older, I could see you in my dreams. I saw you working on a farm one time. You were wrapping wire around a bunch of straw and throwing it into the back of a truck." "Baling hay," I said absently. "I saw you riding your bike. And I saw when you won a track meet. You ran really fast and got a ribbon." "The 100 meter dash. I got first place," I said. "How did you know to come here?" It was her turn to ask the questions. "Gibson told me where you were, but I've dreamed about you all my life. First Mom and Dad and then you. I remember I saw you when you were about two or three. Dad had you on his shoulders and told you that you were taller than he was. You laughed and laughed." At least I got her to smile at that. "Peggy, who's Emily?" I asked suddenly. If she knew about me, she had to know about Emily. I still didn't know who this Emily could be that would make Mom cry out for her when she was supposed to be happy with her husband and daughter. Peggy looked down at her shoes. "Emily was Mom and Dad's daughter but I think they adopted her out, too. When we lived in San Diego for a while we had to go to the cemetery every week and Mommy would cry every time and Daddy would cry sometimes too, but he'd hide it so Mommy couldn't see him. We always brought white carnations, even in wintertime. She was only three when she died. I did the math from her tombstone." Her bottom lip trembled and this time the tears did fall. "Will, I don't want Daddy to die," she cried suddenly. "I don't want to have to go to the cemetery every week to put flowers on his grave. I want him here, with us!" I pulled her over to hug her again. It took a while for her to stop crying. I just petted her hair, sort of like I used to do Shep, our collie. It always worked for Shep. It seemed to work for Peggy too. Maybe dogs and little sisters weren't that much different. We were quiet, just sitting there when my stomach had to go and make a noise that almost shook the windows. My stomach is loud when I'm hungry. Peggy laughed a little and then she started laughing a lot. "When Daddy's tummy does that Mom says we have to feed it before it attacks," she giggled. Then her stomach made a rumble and I pointed to it. "We better hurry, they might attack each other," I said and her smile got bigger, then just left completely. "Mom has the money," she said soberly. "No problem. I have $10 left from my bus ticket to New Mexico," I told her. "Let's go find the cafeteria." "Wait a minute," she said and ran over to a phone on the wall. She punched in three numbers. "This is Peggy Mulder. If my mom looks for me, tell her I went to the cafeteria with my brother." As she was hanging up, it hit me. This wasn't a dream. I was really here. For a minute, I thought I was going to start crying. We
found the cafeteria, since Peggy had been there before.
We stood in line, looking at the food.
She turned her nose up at the casserole on the hot line, and I
couldn't say I blamed her. It
looked like the stuff they served at my high school.
Peggy managed to find the dessert table and immediately picked
out a big brownie with frosting.
I shook my head. She frowned and looked at me. I got the strong impression that she was thinking maybe this big brother thing wasn't that great a deal and it made me laugh. "OK, how about this. You can have the brownie, but only if you promise to eat something else that's healthy." She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose and it was really cute, but I also realized it would get really old some day when I'd seen it more often. "OK, I guess. But not that stuff," she said pointing to the casserole. "Not that, for sure. Besides, I don't know that I'd qualify that as 'healthy'." She laughed. She went back and picked up a made up sandwich in plastic wrap. It was cut in half and was filled with chicken salad, from the looks of it. She then picked up the brownie and added that to our tray. We got our drinks and I saw an apple, which I grabbed for the tray. Peggy looked at it like it was evil. "That's for me," I assured her. We passed a case that contained little containers of yogurt. "Has Mom had anything to eat today?" I asked. She shook her head. "She has the nurse bring me a sandwich or gives me money to come down here. I don't think she's had anything since they brought Daddy in the ambulance." "Let's get her something. Let me see," I said, looking over our choices. Raspberry, raspberry, strawberry-banana, more raspberry. Finally, I spied the right one and put it on the tray. Peach. "That's Mom's favorite," Peggy said with a big smile. It made me feel kind of proud. "Yeah, I know," I said. I was about to get me a sandwich when figured I'd better add up our purchases. We were right at $8 and another sandwich would be $3. No way. "I can only eat half of that sandwich, Will," Peggy said and looked at me. "And you can have half the brownie." I smiled at her. She was something -- I knew that for certain. "I'll split the sandwich but the brownie's all yours. I'll have the apple for dessert." We sat down and started eating. She tore into the sandwich and had the brownie polished off before I could finish half my apple. When we were done, she gathered up all the plastic wrap and stuffed it into her cup, all neat and perfect. I shook my head again. "How did Dad get hurt?" I finally had the courage to ask. I didn't want to upset her again. "He works construction. He's lots smarter than that, but it's easy to find jobs when we move. He was working on the third floor of an office building they're putting up and he just fell off. Uncle Petey, he's Daddy's friend, told Mom that Daddy grabbed his head like it hurt real bad just before he fell." I closed my eyes. I'd seen three story buildings. They were building a new parking ramp at the hospital where my adopted mom got her chemo. It was three stories and it was a long way to fall. I opened my eyes and looked at Peggy. "How bad is it? You said he was in a coma." She shook her head up and down. "He's got broken ribs and a broken arm and a big cut down his leg. What's a spleen?" she asked out of the blue. I had to think for a minute. We had some anatomy in 8th grade. "Umm, it's an organ. I think it fights infections or something." She nodded again. "Well, Daddy doesn't have one anymore. They lost it. But what everyone's really scared about is the coma. They say they don't know what's causing it. That he's dying." Her bottom lip started to tremble again.
"But the doctors say -- " "I don't care what the doctors say, he's not dying. They're affecting him." "They -- who?" she asked. Boy, how to explain? "Do you know about the aliens?" I asked. Her eyes got big and she nodded really slowly. "OK, the aliens are making him sick. Well, really he's thinking about the aliens and that's making him sick," I tried to make her understand and from the look on her face, I wasn't doing a very good job. Just then it was like a light bulb went off above her head. "Strawberries," she said with a knowing grin. "No, strawberries have nothing to do with it," I tried to reason. I figured she was confused, because she was confusing me.
"OK, yeah, sort of like that." It was probably the easiest way to explain it after all. At that moment, we heard the doors open behind us and I turned around to see the lady from all my dreams. "Oh my God! William!" |