The X-Files: Antibodies (29 page)

“Then how do you explain his remarkable healing properties? The gunshot wound?”

“No one actually saw that, sir,” Lentz said. “At least, no one on record.”

The man just looked at him, smoke curling around his face. Lentz knew his answer wasn’t acceptable. Not yet. “And the leukemia? The boy shows no sign of further illness, as I understand it.”

“Dr. Kennessy knew the potential threat of nanotechnology—he was no fool—and he might have been able to program his nanocritters to shut down once their mission was accomplished, once his son was cured of his cancer. And according to the tests recently run in the hospital, Jody Kennessy is perfectly healthy, no longer suffering from acute lymphoblastic leukemia.”

Eyebrows raised. “So he’s been cured, but he no longer carries the cure.” The man blew out a long breath of cigarette smoke. “We can be happy for that, 264

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at least. We certainly wouldn’t want anyone else to get their hands on this miracle.”

Lentz didn’t answer, simply stood watchful and wary. In a secret repository, a building whose address was unknown, in rooms without numbers, drawers without markings, the Cigarette-Smoking Man kept samples and bits of evidence hidden away so that no one else could see. These tangible items would have proven enormously useful to others who sought the truth in all its many forms.

But this man would never share them.

“What about Agents Mulder and Scully?” the smoking man said. “What do they have left?”

“More theories, more hypotheses, but no evidence,”

Lentz said.

The smoking man inhaled again, then coughed several times, a deep ominous cough that held a taint of much deeper ills. Perhaps he just had a guilty conscience . . . or perhaps something was wrong with him physically.

Lentz fidgeted, waiting to be dismissed or compli-mented or even reprimanded. The silence was the worst.

“To reiterate,” Lentz said, speaking uncomfortably into the man’s continued gaze. Languid smoke curled up and around, making a sinuous arabesque dance in the air. “We have destroyed the bodies of all the known plague victims and sterilized every place touched by the nanotechnology. We believe none of these self-reproducing devices has survived.”

“Dorman?” the smoking man asked. “And the dog?”

“We sifted through the DyMar wreckage and found an assortment of bones and teeth and a partial skull. We believe these to be the remains of Dorman and the dog.”

“Did dental records verify this?”

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265

“Impossible, sir,” Lentz answered. “The nanotechnology cellular growths had distorted and changed the bone structure and the teeth, even removing all the fillings from Dorman’s mouth. We can’t make a positive identification, even as to the species. However, we have eyewitness accounts. We saw the two fall into the flames. We found the bones. There seems to be no question.”

“There are always questions,” the man said, raising his eyebrows. But then, unconcerned, he lit another cigarette and smoked half of it without saying a word. Lentz waited.

Finally the man stubbed out the butt in the already overcrowded ashtray. He coughed one more time, and finally allowed himself a thin-lipped smile.

“Very good, Mr. Lentz. I don’t think the world is ready yet for miracle cures . . . at least not anytime soon.”

“I agree, sir,” Lentz said.

As the man nodded slightly in dismissal, Lentz turned, forcibly stopping himself from running full-tilt out of the office. Behind him, the man coughed again.

Louder this time.

FIFTY

Survivalist Compound

Oregon Wilderness

One Month Later

The people were strange here, Jody thought X . . . but at least he felt safe. After the ordeal he had recently survived, after his entire world had been destroyed in stages—first the leukemia, then the fire that had killed his father, then the long flight that ended with the death of his mother—he felt he could adapt easily.

Here in the survivalist compound, his Uncle Darin was overly protective but helpful as well. The man refused to talk about his work, his past . . . and that was just fine with Jody. Everyone in this isolated but vehement community fit together like interlocking puzzle pieces.

Just like the puzzle of the Earth rising above the Moon he and his mother had put together one of those last afternoons hidden in the cabin. . . . Jody swallowed hard. He missed her very much.

After Agent Scully had brought him here, the other members of the heavily guarded survivalist compound had taken him under their wing. Jody Kennessy was an icon for them now, something like a mascot for their antibodies

267

group—this twelve-year-old boy had taken on the dark and repressive system, and had survived.

Jody’s story had only heightened the resolve of the compound members to keep themselves isolated and away from the interfering and destructive government they despised so much.

Jody, his Uncle Darin, and the other survivalists spent their days together in difficult physical work. All the members of the compound shared their own specialties with Jody, instructing him.

Still healing from the stinging wounds in his heart and in his mind, Jody spent much of his time walking the camp’s extended perimeter, when he wasn’t working in their gardens or fields to help make the colony self-sufficient. The survivalists did a lot of hunting and farm-ing to supplement their enormous stockpile of canned and dried foods.

It was as if this entire community had been ripped up and transplanted here from another time, a self-sufficient time. Jody didn’t mind. He was alone now. He didn’t feel close even to his Uncle Darin . . . but he would survive. He had overcome terminal cancer, hadn’t he?

The other members of the group knew to leave Jody alone when he was in one of his moods, to give him the time and space he needed. Jody wandered the barbed-wire fences, looking at the trees . . . but mainly just being by himself and walking.

A mist clung to the forest, hiding in the hollows, drifting like cottony fog as the day warmed up. Overhead, the clouds remained gray and heavy, barely seen through the tall treetops. He watched his step carefully, though Darin had assured him that there really was no minefield, no booby traps or secret defenses. The survivalists just liked to foster such rumors to maintain the aura of fear and security around their compound. Their main goal was to be left undisturbed by the outside world, and they would use whatever means necessary to accomplish that end.

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Jody heard a dog bark in the distance, clear and sharp. The cold damp air seemed to intensify the sound waves.

The survivalists had many dogs in their compound, German shepherds, bloodhounds, rottweilers, Dobermans. But this dog sounded familiar. Jody looked up.

The dog barked again, and now he was more certain. “Come here, boy,” he called.

He heard a crashing sound through the underbrush, branches and vines tossed aside as a large black dog bounded toward him, emerging from the mist. The dog barked happily upon seeing him.

“Vader!” Jody called. His heart swelled, but then he dropped his voice, concerned.

The dog looked unharmed, fully healed. Jody had seen Vader vanish into the flames. He had seen the DyMar facility collapse into embers, shards, and twisted girders.

But Jody also knew that his dog was special, just like he’d been before all the nanocritters in his own body had died off. Vader had no such fail-safe system.

The dog bounded toward him, practically knocking Jody over, licking his face, wagging his tail so furiously that it rocked his entire body back and forth. Vader wore no tags, no collar, no way to prove his identity. But Jody knew.

He suspected his uncle might guess the truth, but the story he would have to tell the others was just that he had found another dog, another black Lab like Vader. He would give his new pet the same name. The rest of the survivalists didn’t know, and no one else in the outside world would ever need to find out.

He hugged the dog, ruffling his fur and squeezing his neck. He shouldn’t have doubted. He should have kept watch, hoping, waiting. His mother had said it herself. The dog would come back to him eventually.

Vader always did.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing a book like this is sometimes as involved as the deepest government conspiracy. For
Antibodies
, a few of the shadowy people lurking behind the scenes were: Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Chris Carter, Mary Astadourian, Jennifer Sebree, Frank Spotnitz, Caitlin Blasdell, John Silbersack, Dr. Robert V. Stannard at Adobe Pet Hospital, Tom Stutler, Jason C. Williams, Elton Elliot, Andrew Asch, Lil Mitchell, Catherine Ulatowski, Angela Kato, Sarah Jones, and (as always) my wife, Rebecca Moesta.

About the Author

One of today's most popular SF writers,
KEVIN J. ANDERSON
is the author of the internationally bestselling and award-winning
Dune
prequels (co-authored with Brian Herbert) and numerous
Star Wars
novels, and has carved an indisputable niche for himself with science fiction epics featuring his own highly successful
Saga of Seven
Suns
series. His critically acclaimed work has won or been nominated for numerous major awards.

His most recent book is
The Last Days of Krypton
, and he lives in Colorado.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

P R A I S E
F O R

T H E X -F I L E S

“The X-Files
is a true masterpiece.

There’s no more challenging series on television and, as a bonus, it’s also brainy fun.”

Howard Rosenberg,
Los Angeles Times

“The most provocative series on TV.”

Dana Kennedy,
Entertainment Weekly

“An original gem, mined with passion and polished with care.”

Andrew Denton,
Rolling Stone

“The X-Files
is a rip-roaring hour of TV: suspenseful, scary, fun, imaginative, entertaining, and weird, wonderfully weird.”

Jeff Jarvis,
TV Guide

“The X-Files
is undeniably x-tra smart.”

Matt Roush,
USA Today

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The X-Files: I Want to Believe

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE X-FILES™: ANTIBODIES. Copyright © 1997, 2008 by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation Cover illustration and design © Tony Mauro. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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ISBN 978-0-06-177156-9

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• Title Page
  
• Dedication Page
  
• Contents
  
  • Chapter One
    
  • Chapter Two
    
  • Chapter Three
    
  • Chapter Four
    
  • Chapter Five
    
  • Chapter Six
    
  • Chapter Seven
    
  • Chapter Eight
    
  • Chapter Nine
    
  • Chapter Ten
    
  • Chapter Eleven
    
  • Chapter Twelve
    
  • Chapter Thirteen
    
  • Chapter Fourteen
    
  • Chapter Fifteen
    
  • Chapter Sixteen
    
  • Chapter Seventeen
    
  • Chapter Eighteen
    
  • Chapter Nineteen
    
  • Chapter Twenty
    
  • Chapter Twenty-One
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Two
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Three
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Four
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Five
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Six
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Seven
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Eight
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Nine
    
  • Chapter Thirty
    
  • Chapter Thirty-One
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Two
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Three
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Four
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Five
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Six
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Seven
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Eight
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Nine
    
  • Chapter Forty
    
  • Chapter Forty-One
    
  • Chapter Forty-Two
    
  • Chapter Forty-Three
    
  • Chapter Forty-Four
    
  • Chapter Forty-Five
    
  • Chapter Forty-Six
    
  • Chapter Forty-Seven
    
  • Chapter Forty-Eight
    
  • Chapter Forty-Nine
    
  • Chapter Fifty
    
  • Acknowledgments
    
  • About the Author
    
  • Praise
    
  • The X-Files From HarperEntertainment
    
  • Copyright Notice
    
  • About the Publisher