textfiles/sf/XFILES/k.06

Kadaitcha
by Michael Aulfrey
Part 6/7

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There was suddenly a high-pitched whistling, and something bright
as the sun flashed before their eyes.  Mulder suddenly found
himself on his back without knowing how he got there, an intense
heat billowing over and past him.  And then his ears screamed as
an explosion like God clapping his hands broke the air.  Above
him, he saw chunks of metal whirling through the air.  The echo of
the explosion resounded off the gully walls.  A pillar of fire
rose up from the wreck of Crawford's car as the sparks caught the
fuel tank and the car erupted into flame.

All of his body seemed to ache.  The sprained ankle he had was
minuscule in comparison.  He centred his will on achieving one
small thing after another: bending at the knee; bending his
elbows; moving his torso in the hope he would be able to sit
up...and slowly, he sat up.  Through the ringing in his ears, he
heard Crawford's groan and the scrape of shoes on bitumen as
Scully tried to pull herself to her feet.

Morris' upended car had saved them.  The brunt of the explosion
had been taken by the underside of the car, and potential shrapnel
had instead imbedded into it or rebounded off it.

Crawford's car was still on four wheels.  Crawford leaned heavily
on the wreck of Morris' car, looking at what remained.  From the
front seats forward, the car had become a smoulder mass of burnt
metal and smoking plastic.  The tang of charred rubber was heavy
in the air.  Nonetheless, Crawford staggered towards the car,
heading for the rear at a pace which indicated some form of
urgency.

Mulder, by contrast, was at Scully's side, lending her a trembling
hand as she shook her head to clear the ringing and bright colours
out of it.
"Scully, are you all right?"
"Yeah...I don't think anything was broken.  I'll have a great tan
for the summer, though."  She gripped his arm tightly, and with an
effort got up off the ground.  They looked to Crawford, who was
opening the boot of the car.

The Australian cop pulled out two long, silvery shapes.  Setting
one of the shotguns on the ground, he pulled out a battered box of
ammunition and jammed the shotgun under one arm.  Then picked the
other gun up again and walked slowly back over to them, his eyes
now scanning the canyon walls with the intensity of a hawk.  He
didn't take his eyes off them even as he held out the shotgun to
Mulder and set the box of ammunition on the ground.  Mulder took
the proffered weapon and hefted it uncertainly as Scully took a
breath and stood up on her own.  He looked at Crawford, who was
still peering into the haze.
"The shot came from the western side," said Crawford, dipping his
vision momentarily to open the box and snatch up a handful of
shells.  His hands were independent of his head.  They expertly
found the breech and slipped one shell after another in.  "We
can't stay out in the open, and he's got the drop on us.  Whoever
he is, he wants someone to come after him."
"He must have a rocket launcher or something up there," said
Scully, who had now pulled her pistol.  Her gaze flickered around
the Australian's, covering those spots he missed.  "You can't go
up there.  God knows what other weapons he has."
"It doesn't make a difference," said Crawford.  "At least up there
we've got even odds."  Click.  The last shell went in, and
Crawford pumped the gun, chambering the round with an ugly clack
of efficient machinery.  Immediately Crawford whipped the gun up
to eye-level and continued scanning.  "Out here, we're as good as
dead if he gets around to the eastern side."

Mulder exchanged a long look with Scully.  In that gaze he saw
fear in her eyes, and disapproval of what was revealed of his
intentions in his own.  Then he broke the contact and crouched on
the ground, picking up shells from the box and loading them almost
as quickly as Crawford had.  He handed Scully his pistol.  "We'll
try and draw him out.  You'd better wait here--"
"For what? You to get killed? Whoever it is wants this fight,
Mulder! He's only killed armed men so far, and both of you are
getting ready to start a war!"
"We haven't got a choice, Scully.  We have to find him...before he
finds us."

Crawford motioned to Mulder from the corner of the car, where he
had crouched.  Mulder exchanged a last look with Scully, then
hurried over and hunkered down beside him.
"I'll go first, Mulder.  Cover me, then follow me quietly."
"Got it."  Mulder's voice was pitched only to carry a metre or
two.  Behind him, he heard Scully taking closer cover behind the
car, and was glad he couldn't see the expression on her face.

Crawford nodded, and was gone, almost on hands and knees but still
moving with the speed of a runner.  Mulder was watching the
surrounding area, but at the edge of his perception saw Crawford
reach a narrow gully that rain had carved out leading to the top
of the hill.  The policeman disappeared for a moment, then Mulder
heard an artificial-sounding whistle like that of a bird and
ducked out from his cover, running quickly across the road with
long but light strides.  His ankle sent small jolts of pain up his
leg; he tried not to favour it.

He reached the gully and crouched down again, the shotgun pointed
out ahead of him.  Twenty metres ahead, Crawford was halfway up
the hillside, moving over loose stones and gravel with a grace and
silence that seemed impossible.  He stopped.  Was motionless for a
moment.  Then snapped his fingers twice in Mulder's general
direction and was moving up the slope again.

They crested the top of the slope to find it covered in a thick
belt of trees.  Crawford motioned to his left, and Mulder nodded.
To have destroyed their car, the shot would have come from that
direction.  Every shadow was now a threat.  Step.  Step.  Step.
Pause.  Move again.  Step.  Step.

Then a crash of branches off to their right, further into the
brush.  Mulder spun around, dropping to a kneeling posture, but
his finger hadn't reached the trigger before another explosive
roar bit his ears with a metallic twang.  Half the flora in front
of Crawford disappeared as he chambered another round, the barrel
still smoking from the first blast.

Nothing moved in the ruined brush.  Crawford paused a second or
two longer, then turned his attention back along the track they'd
been following along the line of the ridge.

Something incredibly strong and sharp whistled through the air and
caught Crawford in the shoulder.  As though conjured there, two
massive slashes appeared on Crawford's arm, blood spraying from
them as the flesh was torn open.  The Australian cop gave a scream
of pain as he dropped the rifle, falling dangerously close to the
side of the face of the terrain.  Mulder's finger almost tightened
on the trigger, but his eyes were screaming at him that there was
nothing to target on except open air.  Crawford had almost jumped
himself over the edge of the wall.

Mulder was never to forget what happened in the next moments.

He spotted a flash of yellow fire from a point in front of him in
the air, two points of light hanging motionless there.  The air
seemed to momentarily shimmer, and suddenly he saw an outline,
only faintly visible, leap at Crawford, who was moaning on the
ground.  Then the air seemed to melt, exposing a vision from hell.
It was tall, bipedal.  Two metres.  Big.  Its back was to Mulder,
but he was mesmerised even by the rear view.  He dimly watched an
arm go upwards, and double-bladed metal glint in the sunlight on a
fist with flesh too pale for a human being.  The double-blade
began its descent towards Crawford's heart.

Finally, nerve impulses connected finger and brain and Mulder
squeezed the trigger on the shotgun.  He didn't have the chance to
brace himself, and the blast rocked him backwards, into a tree.
The hard wood of the stock was only less painful when it hit him
than that of the tree.  The harsh smell of cordite and the roar of
the gun nearly deafened him.

The blast caught the thing below and to the right of where the
ribs would have been on a human.  Flesh and blood dissolved,
accompanied by an inhuman scream.  It sounded like a mad freight
train right on top of Mulder.  The blood spattered across the
ground.  It rocked, but seemed to gain its balance as it spun
around towards the source of the blast.

Mulder wasn't looking as it screamed and leaped at him.  Half-
winded by the kick of the gun, he could only think along one train
of thought.  Pump the rifle.  Raise.  Fire.  Somehow, he did it.
Again the piercing smell of cordite and the deafening roar.  This
time the burst caught the creature's shoulder as it jumped.  The
high-impact shell kicked the creature backwards, more blood
spraying high into the air as it nearly lost one arm.

It fell on its back, then shook its head and was getting to its
feet again.  The inhuman stamina of the thing galvanised Mulder;
adrenalin surged in his veins, and as fast as the creature got up,
he pumped the rifle again and fired.  Another hit at close range,
this time in the hip.  It staggered the thing.  He pumped it again
and fired.  This one caught it directly in the chest, and it
screamed as it fell backwards, over the side of the rock wall.
But one spike from its leg caught Crawford, and with a cry of fear
and agony the cop was pulled over the side with the thing.  Mulder
scrambled for the edge of the precipice, but too late--he heard
Crawford's cry and crunching sounds of impact.  He closed his
eyes, bowing his head in exhaustion, taking refuge in the darkness
behind his lids for a second or two.

When he opened them, he knew he was about to die.  Its face hung
before him.  Reptilian eyes.  Complex facial structure, surmounted
by row upon row of vestigial fangs.  It seemed to be several
creatures all in one--part bat, part snake, part bear and one part
that he couldn't name.  It roared directly in his face, and even
as he tried to move, a massive palm of a single, clawed hand
filled his vision and delivered him to total, welcoming blackness.

         	 *         *         *

He heard wings flapping from far away, beyond the field of
blackness before him.  Massive swoops of air brushed his face, and
he slowly began to open his eyes.  Pain grasped at him with bloody
fingers.  His whole head seemed to be on fire.  Then there was an
abrasive feeling of contact, and he saw a small hand wiping his
brow.  The face behind it revealed itself from behind a veil of
red hair.  Scully.  She was slowly withdrawing one facecloth and
bringing another one up, the first ringed with blood.  His blood.

She stopped as his eyes opened.  "Mulder? Are you all right?"
"Yeah...I think so."  He immediately regretted saying it, though.
The sound reverberated around his head and made him wince.  "The
thing.  Where did it--?"
"What thing?"
"The killer!  It--"  The blood drained from Mulder's face.
"Where's Crawford?"
Scully glanced away from him, down towards the road.  There, the
red lights of the town's sole ambulance flashed grimly in
counterpoint to the police cars' hard blue.  "The paramedics have
got him.  They showed up while you were out."
"Paramedics," echoed Mulder dully.  "How is he?"

Scully's gaze was uncompromising.  She'd seen men in Crawford's
state laid out cold before her ready for the final indignities of
autopsy.  Yet when she had handed the Australian over to the
others, he had still been breathing.  Despite the horribly
draining blood and broken bones.  Reputation for toughness be
damned--it was more than man that had kept Crawford going over
those vital minutes.

"He's not good, Mulder.  If he survives the blood loss and shock,
he might make it.  He wasn't breathing when I got to him."
Mulder tried to sit up, felt Scully's hand increase in pressure on
his shoulder.  He looked at her annoyedly.  "I'm all right.
Really.  It's just a bruise, really."
She hesitated, then shrugged and let him sit up slowly and look
around.  He saw one police cruiser turn and race for the horizon,
siren wailing, with the ambulance trailing behind it.

Another police officer walked up to them, cresting the top of the
hill.  "Ms. Dana Scully? Mr. Fox Mulder?"
"That's us," said Mulder, wincing from another bruise on his arm.
"More or less."
"I'm under orders to escort you back to Starkey's Creek.  The
chief detective on the case wants to talk to you."
There was a sudden noise of flapping in the air, not unlike what
Mulder heard as he began to wake up.  He looked around.  Two
helicopters were drawing up on the road quickly, flying low.  The
dust was swirling beneath them as they grew larger in the field of
vision.  Dark green shapes, they slowed and touched down lightly,
a pair of itinerant bees settled on the road.  The police were
turning around, looking at the new arrivals.
"Who's that?"
The officer turned and squinted into the light and shrugged.
"Dunno.  We'd better go.  The chief was pretty clear."

Mulder felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he glanced
sidewards at Scully.  The pretty forehead was crinkled into a line
of vexation.  "There isn't an army base around here, is there?"
"No, ma'am.  If you'll follow me?"
She gritted her teeth, then turned to Mulder, reaching out a hand.
With a rueful expression, he took it and between them they got him
on his feet again.  The officer preceded them as they started down
the hill towards the conglomeration of police cars and other
machinery at the bottom, near the still-smoking wreck of
Crawford's car.

At this distance, it was impossible to tell conclusively what was
occurring there.  Mulder caught glimpses of camouflage outfits and
berets on the men who were spilling from the helicopters.  One of
them walked over to confront the police, who were eyeing the
newcomers uncertainly.  The camouflaged man produced a sheaf of
documents, which one of the police took and read carefully.  Then
he seemed to nod and turned to talk to his men, while the other
merely nodded to his own men.  Immediately, the helicopter-borne
men sprang out, heading off in all directions from the landing
site.  Mulder saw one of them draw a pistol and cock it.  The
pattern of their motion was clear.  It was a search party.

Now they were within earshot of the collection of police officers.
The one who had taken the documents was speaking to the men.
"...I know you don't like it.  But we've got no choice here.
These are authorisations from the Commissioner of Police.  These
men are taking over here.  We're to extend them our full co-
operation and leave the area immediately."
There were a few assorted groans, but nothing by way of a
concerted protest.  Mulder shook his head with a knowing glance at
Scully.  Her eyes still held the rudiments of scepticism, but
suspicion and foretastes of knowledge were hiding there.

There came a sound over the noise of the helicopters' powering
down; something like a broken grinder coming to a halt.  From
around the edge of the helicopters, a battered tan Landrover
appeared, its grille showing the dents of many a confrontation
with the local fauna.  The tyre on the bonnet had an odd design
draped over it: Red and black background over which a yellow sun
dawned.  The car pulled up to a stop and the driver got out.
Recognition flashed in their minds: Charlie Duggan.

The tall Aboriginal was staring at the wreckage of the cars and
the two helicopters.  Then he saw Mulder and Scully, with police
officer in front.  He hurried towards them, but their escort
blocked his path.  "Nothing here to see, Duggan."
"My arse! I just heard Rob Crawford's on his way to the Flying
Doctor! What the hell happened here?"
"Give it a rest, Duggan.  Morris is dead, and his partner too.
The chief thinks these two had something to do with it--"
"We haven't done anything.  You said your boss wanted to talk with
us.  Now you're saying that we've been implicated?"  Mulder's eyes
flashed.
The cop turned around.  "Sir, if you don't keep quiet, I'll have
to arrest you."
Mulder seemed about to say something, but Scully laid a
restraining hand on his arm.
"Now I remember you," said Charlie quietly.  The cop turned
around.  "You're the kid I gave something to at the ute the other
night."  He smiled then, showing teeth.  "Maybe you want another
lesson?"
The cop flushed angrily.  "Just watch yourself, Duggan.  You can
still be arrested, you know."
"All right.  I'll keep quiet.  I'll go."  Charlie dropped his
voice.  "But maybe the chief would like to know about the pot y'
keep passing to the blackfellas at the settlement.  What d' you
think?"
The cop's face, previously red, had suddenly gone white.  "How'd
you find out about that?"
"Anything on Kaladjuma land concerns me, kid.  Now.  Get back with
the others.  I'm taking these two into town, understand?  No
questions."
The young cop stood there for a second or two, back stiff.  Then
he stepped aside.  "Fine.  It's you they'll be looking for if
these two cause trouble."
"What else is new?"  Duggan smiled, and tipped the brim of the
broad, floppy hat to the FBI agents.  "G'day.  Need a ride?"
"The limo's broken today, so we'll take you up on it," said
Mulder, and led Scully past the cop towards the waiting Landrover.

The Landrover smelt thickly of wet sheepskin, beer and grease.
They got into the back seat only because the front was occupied.
In the passenger seat of the car was the old man Mulder had seen
earlier at the settlement.  Charlie got in the driver's side and
slammed his door, starting the truck again.  As he reversed, he
looked back over his shoulder.  "So.  What happened here?"

They told him the story of their investigation, up until the point
of Crawford's injuries.  Strangely, the old man was listening
intently as well, and when Mulder started his description of the
creature, the old man cut in, speaking rapidly to Charlie.
Charlie tried to interrupt, then stayed quiet.  Finally, when the
old man had stopped speaking, he looked at them with the most
intense gaze Mulder had ever encountered.
"What's he saying?" asked Scully, trying to get her eyes away from
that unblinking stare.
Charlie sucked in his breath.  "He wants me to tell you about
Kadaitcha."
"What's Kadaitcha?" asked Mulder.
"The Kadaitcha were powerful magicians among our people.  Among
every Aboriginal tribe of Western Australia, they're whispered
about.  Big magicians.  Strong magic.  The stories go that they
can kill men just by looking at them."  Charlie looked out at the
desert terrain.  "They said their kind came to protect the earth,
the mother of us all.  Or that's what the stories say."
"You're saying a Kadaitcha--a medicine man--is doing the killing
out here at Starkey's Creek?"  asked Mulder.
"I haven't finished.  The trouble is, that story's not right.
Because the Kaladjuma people know the truth about the Kadaitcha.
The Kadaitcha learned their craft from a time thousands of years
ago, when the Kaladjuma were still one with this land."  Charlie's
voice was taking on a catch in it, though neither of them could
identify if it was grief or fear.  "Around this area, every so
often--a few generations, maybe, nobody knows how long in between-
-the thing from which the Kadaitcha learned their skills comes
back to claim its payment for the teaching.  In blood."
"A spirit of the land?"  asked Mulder.  He was dealing with
superstition here, from many years ago.  But something inside told
him he was on the right track.
"It's not of the land!" cried Duggan, and his voice was at once
angry and frightened.  "Dammit, that's one of the signs!  The
animals know it isn't of the earth and they get the hell out of
its way!"
"That still doesn't tell us what it is we're dealing with here--"
said Scully.
"You still don't understand, do you?  The way the men have been
killed is part of the story.  The Kaladjuma people would find
their warriors out there in the bush skinned, decapitated, Christ
knows what else because that thing took them for trophies!  It's
not a spirit.  It's not a man.  It's not an animal.  The animals
know what comes from the land.  And Kadaitcha isn't one of its
own!"
"Are you absolutely sure you've got the story--"
"Scully, I put at least three rounds from a shotgun into this
thing I faced, three rounds at point-blank range, and it still
kept coming at me."  Mulder looked at Duggan.  "Charlie, I need
you to do something.  Can you track this thing?"

END OF PART 6/7.