having… lancinating pain… my chest. My… motor functions are being affected. I'm—"
Frantically, but as gently as he could, Mulder lowered her until she lay upon the floor. She felt limp and helpless as a sleeping child, her head rolling to one side. She contin-ued to speak, her voice growing fainter and fainter, eyes no longer focusing.
"… my pulse feels thready and I—I've got a funny taste in the back of my throat."
Mulder knelt above her, straining to hear. "I think you're in anaphylactic shock—"
"No—it's—"
"Scully…" Mulder's voice cracked.
"I've got no allergy," she whispered. "Something… this… Mulder… I think… I think you should call an ambulance…"
He stumbled to his feet and raced for the phone, punching in 911. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder.
I have an emergency. I have an agent down—"
Scant minutes passed before he heard sirens wailing outside. He ignored the elevator and ran downstairs, holding the door open as two paramedics rushed past him carrying a folded gurney. He followed them, giving them a broken version of all that had occurred. When they reached Scully, one paramedic opened the gurney while the other knelt beside her.
"Can you hear me?" he said in a loud voice. "Can you say your name?"
Scully's lips moved but no words came out. The paramedic shot a look at his partner. "She's got constriction in the throat and lar-ynx." He looked back down at her and asked, "Are you breathing okay?"
No reply. He lay his head beside her mouth, listening. "Passages are open. Let's get her in the van."
They bundled her onto the gurney and Mulder went with them back into the corridor. Neighbors were standing in doorways, staring as the paramedics hustled the gurney toward the elevator.
"Coming through, people! Here we go, coming through—"
Mulder rode with them down the elevator and ran outside to where the EMT van waited, lights flashing. The paramedics banged out the front door, stutter-stepping the gurney down the front walk.
Mulder ran after them.
"She said she had a taste in the back of her throat," he said. "But there was no preexisting allergy to bee stings. The bee that stung her may have been carrying a virus—"
The second paramedic stared at him. "A virus?"
"Get on the radio," the first medic shouted at the van driver. "Tell them we have a cyto-genic reaction, we need an advise and adminis-ter—"
They guided the gurney to the back of the vehicle, lifting it in with expert hands. Scully's eyes rolled and then focused on Mulder. Unable to communicate, she held his gaze as they rolled her into the brightly lit interior. The paramedic quickly moved into the van. Before Mulder could climb aboard and join Scully, the paramedics swung the doors closed.
"Hey—what hospital are you taking her to?" he said as the doors were closing.
He ran to the driver's side of the van, wav-ing frantically. Mulder knocked on the window.
"What hospital are you taking her to?"
He got his first look at the driver, a tall man in a light blue EMT uniform, his hair close-cropped. He stared coldly out at Mulder, who drew up short in shock.
Because suddenly, in a split second, it all fell together. It was the uniform that triggered his memory: the tall man on the fire escape, sliding into an open window; the tall man in a vendor's uniform exiting the snack room where the bomb had been. And now the driver of the van…
It was the same man. His hand was raised, aiming a handgun directly at Mulder. The next instant a blast echoed through the night. Mulder fell backward, clutching his head as the ambulance shrieked away. He lay bleeding in the street and his neighbors watched, horrified, as a second ambulance roared up, skidding to a halt to let two other paramedics leap out and rush to the fallen man's side.
NATIONAL AIRPORT WASHINGTON, D.C,
An hour later an unmarked auxiliary truck sat on the runway overlooking Haines Point, its engine idling. In the distance a private Gulfstream jet
Frantically, but as gently as he could, Mulder lowered her until she lay upon the floor. She felt limp and helpless as a sleeping child, her head rolling to one side. She contin-ued to speak, her voice growing fainter and fainter, eyes no longer focusing.
"… my pulse feels thready and I—I've got a funny taste in the back of my throat."
Mulder knelt above her, straining to hear. "I think you're in anaphylactic shock—"
"No—it's—"
"Scully…" Mulder's voice cracked.
"I've got no allergy," she whispered. "Something… this… Mulder… I think… I think you should call an ambulance…"
He stumbled to his feet and raced for the phone, punching in 911. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder.
I have an emergency. I have an agent down—"
Scant minutes passed before he heard sirens wailing outside. He ignored the elevator and ran downstairs, holding the door open as two paramedics rushed past him carrying a folded gurney. He followed them, giving them a broken version of all that had occurred. When they reached Scully, one paramedic opened the gurney while the other knelt beside her.
"Can you hear me?" he said in a loud voice. "Can you say your name?"
Scully's lips moved but no words came out. The paramedic shot a look at his partner. "She's got constriction in the throat and lar-ynx." He looked back down at her and asked, "Are you breathing okay?"
No reply. He lay his head beside her mouth, listening. "Passages are open. Let's get her in the van."
They bundled her onto the gurney and Mulder went with them back into the corridor. Neighbors were standing in doorways, staring as the paramedics hustled the gurney toward the elevator.
"Coming through, people! Here we go, coming through—"
Mulder rode with them down the elevator and ran outside to where the EMT van waited, lights flashing. The paramedics banged out the front door, stutter-stepping the gurney down the front walk.
Mulder ran after them.
"She said she had a taste in the back of her throat," he said. "But there was no preexisting allergy to bee stings. The bee that stung her may have been carrying a virus—"
The second paramedic stared at him. "A virus?"
"Get on the radio," the first medic shouted at the van driver. "Tell them we have a cyto-genic reaction, we need an advise and adminis-ter—"
They guided the gurney to the back of the vehicle, lifting it in with expert hands. Scully's eyes rolled and then focused on Mulder. Unable to communicate, she held his gaze as they rolled her into the brightly lit interior. The paramedic quickly moved into the van. Before Mulder could climb aboard and join Scully, the paramedics swung the doors closed.
"Hey—what hospital are you taking her to?" he said as the doors were closing.
He ran to the driver's side of the van, wav-ing frantically. Mulder knocked on the window.
"What hospital are you taking her to?"
He got his first look at the driver, a tall man in a light blue EMT uniform, his hair close-cropped. He stared coldly out at Mulder, who drew up short in shock.
Because suddenly, in a split second, it all fell together. It was the uniform that triggered his memory: the tall man on the fire escape, sliding into an open window; the tall man in a vendor's uniform exiting the snack room where the bomb had been. And now the driver of the van…
It was the same man. His hand was raised, aiming a handgun directly at Mulder. The next instant a blast echoed through the night. Mulder fell backward, clutching his head as the ambulance shrieked away. He lay bleeding in the street and his neighbors watched, horrified, as a second ambulance roared up, skidding to a halt to let two other paramedics leap out and rush to the fallen man's side.
NATIONAL AIRPORT WASHINGTON, D.C,
An hour later an unmarked auxiliary truck sat on the runway overlooking Haines Point, its engine idling. In the distance a private Gulfstream jet
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