CLASSIFICATION: Fowl bash. character death.
would anyone read it otherwise?
SUMMARY: just a little ride in the country
RATING: G
DISTRIBUTION: you actually want this thing? have
it, then.
DISCLAIMER: All X-files characters belong to
Ten-Thirteen and are used with no intent to profit
and most assuredly without permission.
FEEDBACK: craved at exfilia@my-dejanews.com
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I Don't Want to Believe
by Exfilia
Okay, it was done. Mulder and his twit had the
information Il Fumatore wanted them to have. All
Fowley had to do now was get away from the farm
without being seen. This was turning into a job
in itself, as emergency units materialized at the
end of the long drive and roared up to the house,
to be directed hither and yon by a flame-haired
twit in heels. People just would take Scully
seriously. Diana couldn't imagine why.
She was beginning to feel exposed, even hidden in
the shrubbery. She waited for an opportune moment
and ducked into the barn. Didn't smell like it
had been mucked out since... probably not since
the aliens had replaced its proper owners. A
movement in one of the stalls alerted Diana. She
drew her weapon, and then replaced it. A gunshot
would bring the whole lot down on her. She
reached down her blouse and drew a wire from her
bra--a wire with a bone ring securly fastened to
each end. Then she sidled up to the stall and
looked through the open top door.
He was looking back at her, and he was beautiful.
His eyes were the brown of a velvety chocolate
bar, and a jet black mane flowed down his neck.
He was tall--17 hands if he was an inch, with the
sturdy limbs of a warmblood. Diana's hand snaked
up unbidden and scratched his poll. He whickered,
and touched his silky nose to her cheek.
"Hello," she whispered. "Have they not been
taking care of you? Poor baby."
She put the garrotte back where it belonged.
There hadn't been much activity in the fields
behind the farm so far, and the fields led to a
National Forest full of trails for hikers and
riders.
"You want to go for a ride, baby? Are you my
ticket out of here?" He knew the word 'ride.' He
flicked his tail vertically and waggled his nose
about in tiny circles. "So where's your bridle?
Huh?"
There was no bridle to be seen. Diana wondered if
the horse was sound. He seemed friendly enough.
Surely someone must have been riding him. Finally
she found a half-rotted hackamore on the back of
the bathroom door. Well, he was tame. Maybe he
didn't need a bit. He whickered at her, almost a
chuckle, and she was reminded her grandmother's
stories of the pooka, the pony found in the wilds
of the old country by a traveller in need. It
seemed a blessing until it dumped him in the
nearest pond.
"You wouldn't do me that way, would you, baby?"
She slipped the reins over his neck as a
precaution, but he almost shoved his head into the
loops she held. Now how to get on his back? She
led him out into the aisle. There was no block,
no nothing. Oh, well, she could make do. Diana
chuckled herself, thinking about Scully. Short
legs wouldn't have got her on this fellow's back
no matter how young they were.
The door slid open silently, and the horse dogged
Diana's steps out into the yard and up to a
tractor. Out front and in the house the locals
were still milling like lunch hour traffic under
Scully's direction. For a miracle, the horse
stood motionless as Fowley climbed from the
tractor to his back. She looked toward the field,
and must have leaned slightly, for the horse
walked to the gate as if he knew the way. Through
and away, and he broke into a canter with no
urging from her.
God, Diana had missed this. She thought sometimes
that the Consortium got so wound up in defending
the planet from alien assault that they forgot why
the world was worth saving. Even moving so
quickly, there was almost no sound. The pooka had
moved silently, too, particularly in the darker
stories, the ones where the traveller was never
seen again. She was being silly. The ground must
be soft here, or something. She refused to fall
prey to theories that Fox Mulder would love, and
his twit of a partner would mock. As long as this
beautiful animal carried her to safety in secrecy,
she could care less.
They topped a hill, and a broad dark pond spread
beneath them. Diana twitched at the reins, then
pulled harder. The horse must not have been
ridden a lot lately. He ignored her best efforts.
Okay. She could always bail out. Beneath them,
though, the ground swept by at almost supernatural
speed. She placed her hands on the horse's
withers and tried to push herself off, but the
muscles in her arms were like noodles. It
couldn't be from fear. She would not believe it
of herself. She was paralyzed, though, unable
even to scream as the horse tore down the hill at
full tilt.
I will not believe it, she thought. It's just a
horse. That eerie cackle was just a whinny. This
was just going to be a ducking. Then she would
dry out and walk away, as cleanly as she could
have wished. Why, then, could she not disentangle
herself, even when the churning black legs reached
the water and raced in without losing any speed at
all? Why couldn't she scream even when the water
closed over her head?
