X-Files: Trust No One

by Tim Lebbon

  They wound their way through the labyrinth, following Lumke, alert for any treachery. When the cave opened into a large grotto filled with the sound of running water, Lumke sounded boyishly excited. “The first time I stumbled in here, I thought it was a cave of wonders, like in Aladdin.” He found a switch on the wall and illuminated several electric lanterns he had set in place.

  As light flooded the grotto, Mulder and Scully saw a stone floor studded with lumpy stone figures. Human figures. Animal figures. Mulder shone his flashlight on a cluster of lumps on the ceiling, like rock protrusions.

  Bats, fossilized in place.

  At the back wall of the grotto, a human hand protruded from the flowing mass of travertine, as if grasping for escape. Another figure had been in the cave so long it looked as if a truckload of molten wax had poured on top of him.

  But one statue was fresh and white, obviously new—a young man with a goatee. His hands were clutching his throat, frozen in place. Scully inspected the statue. “Total replacement of body tissue with mineralized deposits.”

  Mulder bent over the stream in the center of the cavern, sniffing. “You can smell the chemicals.”

  Scully touched the statue of the young man, rubbed her fingertips together. “The water in this cave must have a highly unusual combination of dissolved salts and minerals. A mixture that has a natural affinity for organic material—a very strong affinity. Like a seed crystal suspended in a saturated solution, these dissolved minerals turn skin and muscle into stone.”

  Mulder stood at the edge of the stream. “Mr. Lumke, you’ve been here numerous times, but you haven’t been exposed.”

  Water trickled from the stalactites above. A large drop splashed on Lumke’s shoulder, and he looked at it in alarm, frantically brushing the droplet away. “I’ve been careful.”

  “And why didn’t you report this as soon as you discovered the grotto?” Scully asked. “These ‘statues’ are obviously people.”

  “I thought they were human fossils at first, works of art made by the mountains themselves. So I removed one from the cave and showed it to Ms. Pendra, just as a curiosity. I was trying to get her to set up an exhibition for my found-material sculptures, but she wasn’t interested. When she saw the fossil statues, though, she got excited. In fact, the fossil statues were all anybody wanted.” He shook his head. “I sold one immediately, then two more. I was trying to form an artistic career. I couldn’t tell her I had just found them, could I?”

  Scully stood with Mulder beside the stream, sniffing the alkaline water in the air.

  Lumke continued, “The popularity took me by surprise. After struggling for so many years, I couldn’t turn down avid buyers, and the demand grew so great that I had to create more statues.” In the eerie half-light of the electric lanterns, his smile became strange. “For that, I needed more raw material.”

  He lunged forward as Mulder and Scully both whirled to raise their weapons, but he wasn’t trying to subdue them—just knock them off balance. Like a charging linebacker, the sculptor rammed into the two agents and shoved them backward.

  Mulder staggered, his shoes slipping on the cave floor. Scully grabbed him for balance, but they both tumbled into the running stream. It was only three feet deep, but their clothes were soaked. Mulder even got a mouthful of the water and he spat it out, gasping.

  As they scrambled out of the slick streambed, Lumke ran to the edge of the grotto and doused the electric lanterns, so that only the uncertain flashlight beams played havoc through the gallery.

  Mulder fired his Sig Sauer at the sculptor’s receding flashlight beam, but the bullet ricocheted off a stalactite. Dust trickled down from cracks in the ceiling. Scully also fired her weapon, a loud boom, but Lumke was retreating, abandoning them. He fled, dodging up the steep path, ducking the ceiling boulders. He shouted back at them, “It’s only a matter of time—you’ve already touched the cave water.”

  Wet and annoyed, Mulder recovered and made sure Scully was all right. At least his flashlight still worked, even though the electric lanterns had been doused. “Lumke knows the way out of here, but we can find the path, I think.” He wanted to get out of the cave before the sculptor got to his 4X4 and drove off, stranding them in the desert.

  “Mulder, the water...” Scully said, and there was a dry rasp in her voice.

  He could already feel a tingle on his skin as he ran after the suspect. His suit jacket and slacks felt stiff. His legs creaked as he ran. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Scully was gasping. “We have to wash this off of us. We need clean water.”

  He didn’t remind her that they were in the middle of Death Valley, and clean water would not be easy to find. “How long do we have?”

  “No idea what the reaction rate is. Wilson Beatty drove all the way to Furnace Creek. We’d better run.”

  But the cave was like a maze. Mulder didn’t remember the exact way out, but they worked their way through the main passageway, trying to follow flickers from Lumke’s light. Dust and stones trickled down from the ceiling; the resounding echoes from their gunshots had disturbed the cave’s delicate equilibrium.

  They climbed over boulders and turned past a side passage. Ahead, Mulder spotted a glint of Lumke’s receding flashlight, but the sculptor disappeared, maybe ducking into a hiding place.

  “If the petrification has started, he knows he can just wait us out,” Scully said. “The mineral contaminants—”

  “We’re not going to just wait.” Mulder tugged on her arm as he led them through winding cracks that looked familiar. “Switch off your flashlight. Maybe we can see daylight ahead.”

  They both did so, groping along; they heard more stones pattering down, a deep grumble as the rocks resettled. Mulder worried they might be buried in a cave-in sooner than they were fossilized.

  Larger rocks crumbled from the ceiling, loose boulders from the tight walls sloughing down, disturbed by the increasing tremors.

  Scully was gasping, and Mulder’s chest felt heavy, like cement.

  Finally, they pushed their way around a tight dog leg, relieved to see a slice of sunlight ahead. He worried that Lumke was waiting to ambush them—but they emerged into the dry, open air finding only emptiness, no sign of the murderous sculptor.

  And his 4X4 parked on the rocky trail.

  “He must still be hiding in the cave,” Scully said. “He knows we have weapons, and he’s confident we’ll turn to stone before we catch him.”

  “We’ll get him later—first I want to get us to fresh water.” Mulder tried to brush himself off, but cave dust covered them. “Remind me never to take up spelunking as a hobby.” He pulled off his jacket and threw it aside, but the mineralized water had already soaked through his shirt and pants. He felt his skin tightening, his joints seizing up. Or maybe he was just imagining it.

  Reeling, exhausted, uncoordinated like two stiffening marionettes, they staggered down the rocks toward the vehicle. Mulder heard rocks and small avalanches continue to fall in the unstable cave behind them, but he was intent on getting back to Frustration Corners, Lumke’s home—in hopes of finding indoor plumbing.

  Together, they reached the 4X4 and slumped against it, sure that they would make it now...

  *****

  Bernard Lumke had ducked into a side passage and watched the two doomed agents stagger past. They would turn to stone before long, and he only had to wait—and avoid being shot. If he had gone out into the open, they might have seen him, fired on him. Better just to lie low. His pulse was racing.

  From the side alcove, he watched them pick their way upward and out into the light. Well, if they became statues in the open, it would be a lot easier to move them. For his next exhibition.

  Moving cautiously ahead, he heard the shift and grumble of the unstable cave walls and ceiling. The loud gunfire had caused enough tremors to start a domino effect. He had not anticipated how fragile the cave was.

  As he made his way out of the side passage, scrambl
ing toward the entrance, the rocks continued to fall. One struck his shoulder, and he ducked. Discarding caution, he pushed ahead as more boulders slid down, blocking the entrance.

  Shouting, he raised his hands to ward off the rocks but the debris kept coming down.

  *****

  Mulder and Scully staggered across the rocky landscape, one step, then another. The blazing sun pounded down. “Honest, Scully, I thought you knew how to hotwire a car...”

  Scully kept going, determined. “If we don’t wash off soon... we’ll become part of the landscape.”

  Mulder managed to raise his stiffening arms, which were caked with a whitish residue. He was visibly getting grayer, turning to stone. He tried to sound defiant. “I will not become a lawn ornament.”

  Scully touched her face, pressed her hardening cheek. “Skin... losing plasticity... Crystalizing.” She looked at her trembling hand, bent her fingers but could not straighten them again. “Muscle control increasingly difficult.”

  Mulder grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. “Come on.” He looked up and finally saw the ramshackle town of Frustration Corners, the collapsed buildings, the rusty equipment. “That’s not a mirage.”

  They staggered among the collapsed shacks and into Bernard Lumke’s weird sculpture garden of junk contraptions. As they struggled to keep moving, Mulder couldn’t help but think of the photos he’d seen of Wilson Beatty, just before he collapsed in front of the Furnace Creek Ranch.

  He spotted the water supply tank mounted to the roof of Lumke’s home. With a stiffening arm and shaking hand, he raised his Sig Sauer and fired off three shots, puncturing the wall of the cistern. Warm water gushed out like transparent blood.

  Scully lurched under the downpour. “Quick, Mulder—any longer and our tissues won’t be able to recover.” The two stood under the gush of water, which drenched them, rinsed them. Mulder knew they would still need extensive IVs and complete cleansing for a full recovery, but right now just the stream of tepid water felt absolutely wonderful.

  “It’s not professional for two partners to take a shower together,” Mulder said, already feeling the residue wash away. “This time I’ll make an exception.”

  They stood under the pouring water, scrubbing, rinsing, recovering, until the cistern was completely drained.

  *****

  Bernard Lumke tried to claw his way through the rockfall, but the cave entrance was entirely sealed. His flashlight battery was weak now, and in the dim light, his bloodied hands were starting to look chalky.

  It would have been better just to die in the avalanche.

  When he made his way along familiar passageways to the grotto, he turned on his battery-powered lanterns, which lit up the eerie display of the fossilized damned. Water from the stalactites dripped down, splashing into the stream of deadly concentrated minerals.

  The statues—both the ancient relics and his recent victims—surrounded him as darkness closed in. Tainted water continued to trickle around him, on him. Lumke swallowed hard in his dry throat. He was already very thirsty.

  When the battery lanterns finally went out, he shouted, “Help me!”

  But the darkness returned, giving him no answer. He heard only the continuously dripping water and the silence of stones, and he discovered that he could no longer move—at all.

  The End

  Author Bios

  TIM LEBBON is a New York Times-bestselling horror and fantasy writer from South Wales. He’s had almost thirty novels published to date, as well as dozens of novellas and hundreds of short stories. His most recent releases include the apocalyptic Coldbrook, Alien: Out of the Shadows, Into the Void: Dawn of the Jedi (Star Wars), and the Toxic City trilogy from Pyr in the USA. Future novels include The Silence (Titan UK/USA) and the thriller Endure. He has won four British Fantasy Awards, a Bram Stoker Award, and a Scribe Award, and has been a finalist for World Fantasy, International Horror Guild, and Shirley Jackson Awards. Works in development for screen include Pay the Ghost (starring Nicolas Cage), children’s spooky animated film My Haunted House, his script Playtime (written with Stephen Volk), and Exorcising Angels (with Simon Clark). Find out more about Tim at his website www.timlebbon.net.

  PETER CLINES grew up in the Stephen King fallout zone of Maine and—fueled by a love of comic books, Star Wars, and Saturday morning cartoons—started writing science fiction and dark fantasy stories at the age of eight. He is the author of the upcoming novel The Fold; the bestselling superheroes-vs.-zombies Ex-Heroes series (including the upcoming Ex-Isle); the acclaimed, genre-twisting 14; numerous short stories; countless articles about the film and television industry; and an as-yet undiscovered Dead Sea Scroll. He currently lives and writes somewhere in southern California.

  AARON ROSENBERG is an award-winning, #1 bestselling novelist, children’s book author, and game designer. His novels include the best-selling DuckBob series (consisting of No Small Bills, Too Small for Tall, and the forthcoming Three Small Coinkydinks), the Dread Remora space-opera series and, with David Niall Wilson, the O.C.L.T. occult thriller series. His tie-in work contains novels for Star Trek, Warhammer, WarCraft, and Eureka. He has written children’s books, including the original series Pete and Penny’s Pizza Puzzles, the award-winning Bandslam: The Junior Novel, and the #1 bestselling 42: The Jackie Robinson Story. Aaron has also written educational books on a variety of topics and over seventy roleplaying games, such as the original games Asylum, Spookshow, and Chosen, work for White Wolf, Wizards of the Coast, Fantasy Flight, Pinnacle, and many others, and both the Origins Award-winning Gamemastering Secrets and the Gold ENnie-winning Lure of the Lich Lord. He is the co-creator of the ReDeus series, and one of the founders of Crazy 8 Press. Aaron lives in New York with his family. You can follow him online at gryphonrose.com, on Facebook at facebook.com/gryphonrose, and on Twitter @gryphonrose.

  PAUL CRILLEY is a Scotsman living in South Africa. He wrote The Invisible Order series for Egmont USA, The Adventures of Tweed & Nightingale for PYR, and the award-winning detective novels The Abraxis Wren Chronicles for Wizards of the Coast. Paul also writes computer games, comics, and television scripts. He worked on the Bioware/Lucasarts MMO Star Wars: The Old Republic and adapted his Eberron detective duo Abraxis Wren and Torin for IDW. He recently planned out and wrote three issues of their six-issue comic crossover series X-Files: Conspiracy.

  STEFAN PETRUCHA has written over 20 novels and hundreds of graphic novels. His work has sold over a million copies worldwide. He also teaches online classes through the University of Massachusetts. Born in the Bronx, he spent his formative years moving between the big city and the suburbs, both of which made him prefer escapism. A fan of comic books, science fiction, and horror since learning to read, in high school and college he added a love for all sorts of literary work, eventually learning that the very best fiction always brings you back to reality, so, really, there’s no way out. Much more on him and whatever madness he’s currently perpetrating can be had at www.petrucha.com.

  BRIAN KEENE writes novels, comic books, short fiction, and occasional journalism for money. He is the author of over forty books, mostly in the horror, crime, and dark fantasy genres. His 2003 novel, The Rising, is often credited (along with Robert Kirkman’s The Walking Dead comic and Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later film) with inspiring pop culture’s current interest in zombies. Keene’s novels have been translated into German, Spanish, Polish, Italian, French, Taiwanese, and many more. In addition to his own original work, Keene has written for media properties such as Doctor Who, Hellboy, Masters of the Universe, and Superman.

  KEITH R. A. DECANDIDO has written fiction in more than two dozen different media universes, ranging from other TV shows (Star Trek, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Stargate SG-1, and many more) to movies (Serenity, Resident Evil, Big Hero 6, Cars) to games (World of Warcraft, Dungeons & Dragons, Command and Conquer, StarCraft) and lots more. He also has written plenty of fiction in his own universes: the Precinct series of fantasy police procedurals, startin
g with Dragon Precinct and continuing through several novels and short stories; and a series of urban fantasy stories set in Key West, Florida, that have appeared in Buzzy Mag, the collection Ragnarok and Roll, and the anthologies Tales From the House Band Volumes 1 & 2, Bad-Ass Faeries: It’s Elemental, and Out of Tune. Recent and upcoming work includes Star Trek: The Klingon Art of War, Sleepy Hollow: Children of the Revolution, the novelization of Big Hero 6, the short story collection Without a License, the graphic novel Icarus, and “Time Keeps on Slippin’“ in Stargate SG-1/Atlantis: Far Horizons. Keith is also a veteran podcaster, a second-degree black belt in karate, a rabid baseball fan—oh yeah, and he also helped run two small X-Files fan conventions in New Jersey in the mid-1990s. Because he’s that much of a dork. Find out less at his web site at DeCandido.net.

  RAY GARTON has been writing novels, novellas, short stories, and essays for more than thirty years. His work spans the genres of horror, crime, suspense, and even comedy. His titles include Live Girls, Ravenous, The Loveliest Dead, Sex and Violence in Hollywood, Meds, and most recently, Frankenstorm. His short stories have appeared in magazines and anthologies, and have been collected in books like Methods of Madness, Pieces of Hate, and Slivers of Bone. He has been nominated for the Bram Stoker Award and, in 2006, received the Grand Master of Horror Award. He lives with his wife in northern California, where he is currently at work on several projects, including a new novel. Visit his website at RayGartonOnline.com.

  TIM DEAL is a writer, an editor, a Bram Stoker Award Finalist, and an adjunct professor of writing and liberal arts. He’s currently working with the U.S. Army and the State Department in providing security training and support in the Middle East. He has three kids, two dogs, and one wife (for now)