30 miles north of Prineville, Oregon. 10:13PM. 
 
	"Billy! Oh, Billy!" Mary Worthington screamed into the dark 
forest for her son. She and her husband Bob had been looking all day, 
but had found no trace of their eleven year old boy, who had 
mysteriously disappeared almost two months before while camping with his 
boy scout troop. 
	"Shhh!" Her husband hissed. 
	"Bob, what is it?" 
	"Did you hear that?" 
	"Hear what?" 
	"I could've sworn I heard something over there." He pointed to 
another grove of trees, just beyond a small clearing. "Stay here. I'm 
gonna take a look." 
	"Don't you think we should stick together?" 
	"It's only about forty yards. I'll be right back. Don't move." 
	She watched him walk across the clearing and enter the trees 
beyond. She shortly heard a branch crack, and thought she could see 
vague, two-legged shapes just inside the treeline.  
	"Bob?" she called out. 
	No response. 
	It's OK, she thought. He's probably too far away to hear me. 
He's a grown man, 220 pounds and in fair shape, he can take care of 
himself. She leaned against the nearest tree, fidgeting. 
	Five minutes passed. 
	He should be back by now, she thought. She felt the cold 
tendrils of fear creep slowly up her back. Where is he? "Bob?" she 
called out again. 
	This is ridiculous. He's fine. He just wandered off. If I go 
looking for him, when he comes back here for me I won't be here and we 
may never find each other in this God-forsaken forest.  
	Five more minutes, laced with barely fought-off panic. 
	WHERE IS HE? Mary couldn't restrain herself any longer. She had 
to find him. She bolted off into a run across the clearing.  
	"BOB!!!" she screamed as she passed the first of the trees on 
the other side. There was no sign of him. She whirled around, looking 
for any trace of where he might have gone. Off to her right, she saw a 
tinge of silvery gray. She ran to it. 
	It was just as she feared. It was her husband's Seattle Seahawks 
ball cap, lying in the mud. As she dropped to her knees to pick it up, 
she noticed it was obscuring an impression in the mud. She picked the 
cap and looked at the mud. 
	In it was a footprint as long as her thigh. 
	Mary began to scream. 
 
FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC. 9:45AM. 
 
	Scully walked into Mulder's office to find him throwing 
jellybeans into the air and trying in vain to catch them in his mouth. 
	"Morning." 
	Mulder smiled. "Hey, Scully. I think I'm getting the hang of 
this. Watch." He threw another jellybean in the air and missed it 
completely. 
	"See? I can miss every time." 
	Scully put her briefcase down on the desk. "Cute, but no cigar. 
I hear we have another case?" 
	Mulder straightened up in his chair. "Series of missing persons 
in Oregon, near Prineville." 
	Dana sat down. "What makes that an X-file?" 
	Mulder smiled again. He'd been waiting for this. "Humanoid 
footprints averaging fifteen inches were found all over the places were 
the missing people were last sighted." 
	Dana slumped in her chair. "Bigfoot?" 
	"What's the matter, Scully, you don't consider the possibility 
that there might be a previously undiscovered great ape living in the 
Pacific Northwest?" 
	"What I consider unlikely is that an animal that big could go 
undiscovered so long without a shred of physical evidence." 
	"You underestimate its habitat." Mulder got up and leaned on the 
corner of his desk. "Since World War II, seventy-three aircraft have 
crashed in that area and have never been recovered. Hundreds of people 
have seen a Sasquatch. Two or three substantiated sightings are logged 
every year, and white men have been locking horns with Sasquatch ever 
since the first recorded sighting in 1780. Each tribe of Native 
Americans has a name for it in their own language. Sasquatch, Omah, 
Tsonaqua, Bukwas, Selatiks..." 
	"OK, OK, assuming it's real, why would it abduct humans? It's 
supposed to be shy and reclusive, right?" 
	"Usually, but not always. One of the most famous accounts comes 
from Albert Ostman, who was abducted by a family of four Sasquatch while 
he was on a prospecting trip in British Columbia in 1924. They've done 
it before." 
	"Assuming this Ostman character wasn't just trying to get 
publicity." Before he could interject, she picked up her briefcase and 
added, "Fine. Let's just go out there, and see what we find." 
 
	The flight to Oregon was uneventful. Scully sat quietly, trying 
to catch some much needed rest while Mulder read a copy of John Green's 
_Encounters_With_Bigfoot_. They landed in Portland and rented a car they 
drove down Interstate 26 to Prineville.  
	Prineville was your standard small, northwestern town. Founded 
due to the mining potential of the nearby mountains, it was small and 
unobtrusive, just a few thousand ordinary people trying to squeeze out a 
living.  
	The sheriff's office was "downtown", a smallish brick building 
on the town's main road. Mulder parked the car and the two agents walked 
inside. 
	"Can I help you?" The desk sergeant was a pretty brunette in her 
mid twenties, and she seemed happy enough to get away from her 
paperwork. 
	"I'm Agent Mulder, FBI, and this is Agent Scully. We're here 
about the missing persons. Is Sheriff Tyler in?" 
	"Yes, he's been waiting to see you. Right back there." She 
pointed to an office near the rear of the building. Mulder and Scully 
walked over and Mulder knocked on the door. 
	"Come on in." called out a gruff voice from behind the door. 
	The sheriff's office was small and austere, but well-used. 
Behind the desk sat Sheriff Jeffrey Tyler, a barrel-chested hulk of a 
man. He stood as they entered and extended his hand as he smiled through 
his bushy mustache.  
	"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, pleased to meet you at last. I have 
to say I'm glad you're here. We're about at our wits end. Please, have a 
seat." 
	Scully opened her notepad and spoke. "Could you tell us 
something about your problem?" 
	"It all started about two months ago. There was a boy scout 
campout about thirty miles north of here came back missing two of the 
boys. A search party was formed, but all we found were those damn 
footprints." 
	"Footprints?" Scully asked. 
	"Yeah, human footprints about fifteen inches long." 
	Mulder spoke up. "What do you think made the prints?" 
	The sheriff sat back in his chair. "Do I believe in Bigfoot, you 
mean? No, I don't. I don't know what made those prints, but it was no 
monster." 
	Mulder pressed on. "What about the townspeople? Do they-" 
	The sheriff cut him off. "Yeah, some folks around here think it 
was Bigfoot carried off those boys. That's one of the reasons I wanted 
you folks out here. I want to solve this before folks get caught up in 
some kind of hysteria." 
	Scully asked, "What about the other disappearances?" 
	"Well, about three weeks after the search parties gave up, Bart 
Farmer's car broke down about twenty-five miles north-northwest of here. 
He never made it back to town, but we found footprints about two-hundred 
yards down the road from his car, just where his own footprints end. And 
then two days ago, Bob and Mary Worthington, the parents of one of the 
scouts, went back up into the woods by themselves to look for their son. 
Mary says Bob went off to look for something he thought he heard, and 
told her to wait. After ten minutes, she went to look for him, but all 
she found was his hat, on top of another footprint." 
	Mulder sat back in his chair, thinking. Scully pressed on. "Is 
there anyone who would want to blame Bigfoot for the kidnappings?" 
	"Not that I know of. There was a group a while back that went 
into the woods every so often to try to find the creature, but they 
weren't dangerous." 
	Mulder got up. "Well, I think we'd better get cracking. Thank 
you for your time," he said as he shook the sheriff's hand. "We'll let 
you know if we find anything." 
	Mulder and Scully left the station. 
 
	In the car, Scully asked, "What was the big hurry getting out of 
there?" 
	"There's something he's not telling us. Did you notice that he 
was real happy to see us until I started asking about Bigfoot?" 
	"Well you can hardly blame him, Mulder. He probably gets that a 
lot, and with these disappearances, I'd be sick to death of the word 
Bigfoot too if I were him." 
	"Maybe. You want to interview Mary Worthington?" 
	"Sure, I guess. Where will you be?" 
	"I've got a source of my own to consult." 
 
	Mulder pulled up alone in front of a ramshackle house on the 
edge of town. There was a Native American man in his fifties sitting on 
the front porch. 
	"Good afternoon, 'Spooky' Fox." The man chuckled as Mulder got 
out of the car. 
	Mulder had never met John Running Elk personally, but had talked 
to him on the phone the day before. Mulder got his number from a mutual 
friend Mulder had met in Montana working on another case. John Running 
Elk was the local shaman, and the most qualified man in the area to give 
Mulder the low down on Sasquatch. 
	Mulder walked onto the porch and took a seat. "Good afternoon, 
Mister Running Elk." 
	"Call me John." 
	"OK, John. How are you today?" 
	"I ain't disappeared." 
	"What's your take on these disappearances?" 
	"It ain't Sasquatch, that's for sure." 
	"How do you know?" 
	"Sasquatch is as old as these mountains, and has been here 
longer than my people or yours. He takes no interest in humans, save to 
stay away from them and live in peace." 
	"So what di-" 
	"What took those folks walked on two legs, but it wasn't 
Sasquatch." 
	Mulder thought this over as John sat quietly in his chair, 
staring off into the distance. Finally, Mulder spoke. "If it is humans 
trying to blame this on Sasquatch, where would they be?" 
	"Can't say. The forests and hills of this land have sheltered 
and hidden Sasquatch for many centuries. They hide people just as well." 
	Mulder had heard what he came to hear. He got up to leave. 
	"Agent Mulder. Some advice." 
	Mulder turned around. "Yes?" 
	"Be careful what you believe." John Running Elk got up and went 
inside. 
	Mulder looked at the door for a moment, and then got in his car 
and drove away. 
 
	That night, Mulder and Scully met in Mulder's room of the Bed 
and Breakfast were they were staying to compare notes. 
	Scully started. "Mary Worthington wasn't much help. She's been 
through so much lately that she's pretty far gone. She and her husband 
Bob went up there to look for their son. When they couldn't find 
anything at the original campsite, they started searching the 
surrounding area in concentric circles. Bob was a ranger in the Army, so 
he knew how to move in the woods without getting lost. 
	"They came upon a clearing, and Bob said he heard a noise. He 
left Mary to check it out, and that's the last time she saw him." 
	"Did she see anything else?" asked Mulder. 
	Scully sighed. "She did say she saw 'dark, looming shapes' pass 
through the trees in her husband's direction, but I think that's more a 
figment of her imagination than a real clue. It was dark, she was 
scared, and Bigfoot mania had been sweeping this whole town for quite a 
while. I think she saw what she expected to see." 
	"Did she notice anything unusual besides the footprint?" 
	"No. I think she was too shaken to be an effective witness. What 
did you learn from your 'source'?" 
	"Not much. According to the local Shaman, Bigfoot isn't behind 
this. He said Bigfoot doesn't get involved in the affairs of men." 
	"That's good to know. It's also what the sheriff said." 
	"Yeah, it is. One believes and one doesn't, but both say Bigfoot 
didn't do it, despite evidence to the contrary. Well, at least Bigfoot's 
got a better case than O.J. Simpson." 
	Scully got up to go back to her room. "Sheriff Tyler said he'd 
take us out to where Bob Worthington disappeared tomorrow morning. Don't 
let your imagination run away with you until we get there and see the 
evidence for ourselves." 
	Mulder sat back on the bed, hands clasped behind his head. "Sure 
thing. G'night, Scully." 
	"Good night, Mulder." 
 
	"Agent Mulder! Agent Scully! Good morning!" Jeff Tyler was in a 
good mood. Much as it hurt his male ego to lets the feds handle this, if 
they could crack it, things would finally be back to normal in his town. 
If only Agent Mulder didn't have this Bigfoot fixation... 
	Mulder shook his hand. "Good morning, Sheriff Tyler. Scully 
tells me you have a little field trip planned for us?" 
	"I thought you might like to have a look at the spot where Bob 
Worthington disappeared. It's pretty far into the woods, so we'd better 
take my jeep." The sheriff grabbed his coat and headed out the door. 
	Once they were in the jeep and on the road, the sheriff asked, 
"So, do you have any ideas about what might have happened?" 
	Mulder piped up from the back seat. "Well, since Bigfoot seems 
to be in the clear... have you had any problems with crop circles, or 
cattle mutilations?" 
	Scully cut her partner off. "No, we don't have any theories yet. 
We'll see what we can tell from the evidence at the site. In the 
meantime, have you noticed anything unusual in town?" 
	"Actually, I did notice one thing. You know that group I told 
you about, the one that went into the forest every so often looking for 
Bigfoot? I tried to ask their leader, Paul Simmons, if he'd seen 
anything, but I can't find him or anybody else that I knew was in that 
group. Their neighbors haven't seen them in months. It's like they just 
disappeared." 
	"You think they might have had something to do with this?" 
	"I don't see how. I meant what I said yesterday about how they 
weren't dangerous. They were a little weird, sometimes, but they were 
all nice folks." 
	Neither Mulder or Scully said anything, and they made the rest 
of the drive into the forest in silence. 
 
	"Well, here we are." 
	Mulder was shaken out of his reverie by the suddenness of the 
sheriff's voice. It seemed like they'd been on the road much longer than 
half an hour. 
	They'd moved off the main road quite a ways back, and had taken 
a poorly maintained dirt road to the camp. The sheriff was right about 
needing the Jeep; the Ford they rented would never have made the trip. 
They were surrounded on all sides by the forest, fifty foot trees 
standing in mute testimony to the humans who had disappeared here. Even 
to Mulder it felt a little spooky, and he noticed that Scully seemed 
downright freaked. The last few times she'd been in the woods hadn't 
been pleasant. 
	The sheriff got his shotgun out from under the seat. "The 
clearing is this way, come on." He started off into the woods. 
	Mulder and Scully followed, weapons drawn but on safety. The 
forest was deathly quiet, without a hint of the sounds one normally 
heard. No bird cries, no sound of small animals scurrying for cover, it 
was as if the woods were dead. It took them about ten minutes to reach 
the clearing. 
	"This is where Mary Worthington was told to wait. Bob ran across 
this clearing, then she saw something move behind those trees on the 
other side." The sheriff paused, not quite sure what to do next. He'd 
searched this area thrice over, and found nothing. He didn't know what 
the FBI expected to find. 
	Just then, Mulder started across the clearing at a run. 
	"Mulder! What're you doing?" Scully started after him, followed 
by the sheriff. 
	Mulder stopped just inside the treeline, and spun around. He 
waited for Scully and Sheriff Tyler to catch up. 
	"I was hoping to see from Bob Worthington's perspective what he 
ran into, to see if there were any obvious traps." 
	"You won't find any, Agent Mulder. My men and I went over this 
area with a fine-toothed comb. All we found were the footprints and we 
lost those in the rocks about a half mile northwest of here." 
	Scully was studying the trees. "So there was no evidence of a 
struggle?" 
	"We figure whoever grabbed Bob knocked him out quick, then 
carried him. He didn't struggle." 
	Mulder perked up. "Did you hear that?" 
	Scully looked up sharply, but the sheriff said, "Probably 
nothing. A squirrel or a rabbit." 
	"What?" Scully asked. 
	"Agent Mulder has pretty good ears. There's something rustling 
in those bushes over there." 
	"I still want to check it out." Mulder started off in the 
direction of the noise.  
	"Mulder..." 
	"So cover me." Mulder approached a shoulder high cluster of 
shrubs and small trees. There was definitely something moving behind 
them, but he couldn't see what it was, or how big it was. He then heard 
two muffled thumps behind him. 
	He spun around to see Scully and the sheriff lying prone on the 
forest floor, out cold. He had just take two steps towards them when he 
saw a large shadow out of the corner of his eye. 
	He couldn't turn fast enough to see what hit him. 
 
	"Wake him up." 
	Mulder was groggily aware of being pulled to his feet. He was 
suddenly jarred into full consciousness by a splash of cold water in his 
face. 
	"Hello, Fox." 
	"Mulder," Mulder spat. "Not even my parents call me Fox." He 
looked around. He was in a cave, the sole illumination coming from small 
camp fires. Unseen hands had tied him to something behind him, forcing 
him to remain standing with his arms outstretched. 
	There were three men in front of him, dressed in rags. They had 
taken his watch and there was no sunlight in the cave, so he had no idea 
what time it was, or how long he'd been missing. He wondered about 
Scully. 
	"You're friends are quite well, Mulder, " the center man said, 
as if reading his thoughts. "We chose you and you alone to join us in 
perfection." 
	"Perfection?" 
	"Welcome," the man said, "to the Church of the Holy Reunion. My 
name is Reverend Paul Simmons, and this is Brother Mike and Brother Tom. 
They will be helping me educate you in the Truth." 
	"Can't I just throw a twenty in the collection plate and go 
home?" 
	Brother Mike stepped up and struck Mulder hard across the jaw. 
	"Do not make light of the Truth, Mulder," Simmons continued. "We 
all believe in the Truth very, very strongly, and will not stand to see 
it ridiculed by unbelievers. But you won't be an unbeliever for long. I 
have a feeling about you. You want to believe. Soon you'll be one of us, 
well on your way to perfection and immortality." 
	Mulder suddenly made a mental connection. "Paul Simmons? Aren't 
you one of those Bigfoot hunters?" 
	Simmons laughed. "Hunters? Is that what Sheriff Tyler told you? 
No, Mulder. We seek the Sasquatch, but not to kill them." 
	"Then what do you want from them?" 
	"Why, to join them, of course." 
 
	Scully woke with a splitting headache. She was lying on the 
ground in the forest. The sun was low in the West, so she figured she'd 
been out for at least seven hours. Sheriff Tyler was lying about ten 
feet away, motionless. 
	She picked herself up and went over to the sheriff. She knelt 
down beside him and began to examine him. He was breathing, and like 
her, appeared to have been struck from behind. As she felt his head and 
neck for obvious breaks she looked around for Mulder. There was no sign 
of him. Dammit, Mulder, why is it every time we go into the forest -- 
	Tyler awoke with a start and scrambled to his feet. Scully fell 
backwards, startled. 
	"What the hell?" Tyler stammered. 
	"It's OK," Scully replied, "I'm a doctor. We were both clubbed 
from behind, and I was examining you to see if you had a concussion." 
	Tyler looked embarrassed. "Sorry. Let me help you up." He 
grabbed Scully's hand and pulled her to her feet. "So do I have a 
concussion?" 
	Scully took a penlight from her pocket and flashed it in his 
eye. "No, you're OK." 
	"Good. Devil of a headache, though. Where's your partner?" 
	"I was just wondering the same thing. I haven't seen him. I know 
Mulder wouldn't just wander off. I think we have another disappearance 
on our hands." 
 
	"What do you mean, 'join them'?" 
	"The Church of the Holy Reunion," Simmons spread his arms wide, 
"is dedicated to rejoining our lost brothers. To let them lead us to 
perfect immortality. 
	"What you know as Sasquatch are actually human beings, like you 
and me, who centuries ago learned to live in perfect harmony with the 
universe. They are every one of them perfect, tuned into the very pulse 
of the cosmos, and they can never die." 
	"And you think you can become Sasquatch?" 
	"I know it, Mulder, and you will too. All that is required is 
perfect wanting. When the Church has enough members, the Sasquatch will 
come down from their mountain paradise and lead us back to it, as 
brothers. But we must all believe, with our hearts and souls. If there 
is any dissent, any heathen unbelievers among us, they will not come. 
	"Do you see the Truth I speak?" 
	Mulder thought for a moment. Zealots hate to be disagreed with. 
Maybe he should just play along. "Yes. Yes I do. I was a fool not to see 
it before." 
	Simmons and Brother Mike exchanged a look, then Brother Mike 
struck Mulder hard across the jaw again. 
	"You are not being sincere with us, Mulder. We do not like being 
lied to. No matter. You will believe. You want to believe. I will leave 
you now. A brother of the Church will stay with you to see to it that 
you ponder the meaning of the Truth, and the effect it will have on your 
life. I will return and see what you believe." Simmons left, followed by 
Brother Tom. 
	Brother Mike sat across from Mulder on the floor. "Reflect on 
the Truth as Reverend Simmons has told it to you." He stared at Mulder, 
unblinking. 
	It was standard brainwashing technique, Mulder thought. Over the 
next several days or weeks, they would inhibit his sleep, feed him only 
enough to keep him alive, and give him nothing to do but think about 
their "Truth". That would lull him into a high state of suggestibility, 
and then they could make him believe whatever they wanted. The FBI had  
taught him to handle this. 
	He had to keep a clear head. He had to resist whatever they told 
him. He had to play their game, say what they wanted without believing 
it himself. Most importantly, he had to have faith. He had faith in his 
own strength to get through this. More importantly, he realized, he had 
faith in Scully. If Simmons was right and she was safe (he had to 
believe that) then she would find him. He just had to bide time until 
she brought the calvary crashing down on these people. 
 
	For three days and nights he stood there, splashed with water 
every time he fell asleep. There was no sunlight, but his guard had been 
changed eight times. He figured if they were on eight hour shifts, that 
plus the first guard made three days. 
	Brother Mike was the only quiet one. All the  other guards 
droned on endlessly about the glorious perfection the Sasquatch would 
bring them. It made it hard to think. When it became obvious that they 
were tuning him out, they'd attack. A kick to the groin or a rock to the 
head were commonly used to regain his rapt attention. 
	Where the hell was Scully? Seventy-two hours is a lot of time to 
think, and the lack of sleep was making his brain fuzzy. She should have 
been here by now. Didn't she care?  
	No, he cautioned himself. Don't go there. Scully's looking for 
you. She'll find you. Be patient. If you have to believe in something, 
believe in Scully. 
	At that moment Simmons finally re-entered the room. "So Mulder, 
have you meditated on the Truth?" 
	"Yes." Mulder croaked through split, cracked and dehydrated 
lips. 
	"And have you accepted the glorious Truth of our Church?" 
	"Yes." 
	Simmons paused. "Why don't I believe you, Mulder? Your mouth 
says yes, but your eyes say no.  We can't have that." He looked back 
over his shoulder. "Brother Chris!" 
	A man Mulder had never seen walked into the room. He was short 
and thin, but had a hard edge to him that immediately screamed "Danger!" 
to Mulder. 
	Simmons continued. "Brother Chris is our disciplinarian. Brother 
Chris, show Mulder the penalty for faltering in his belief." 
	Brother Chris gave Mulder a wicked smile, and walked over to the 
fire. He took two heavy gloves from his back pocket and used them to 
remove a rod of steel that Mulder hadn't noticed before from the fire. 
He walked over to Mulder and with one hand, holding the rod in the 
other, ripped Mulder's shirt open. 
	"Brother Chris," Simmons said, "let me know when Mulder is ready 
to cooperate. Mulder, it doesn't have to be like this. If only you 
weren't so stubborn, if only you gave up your foolish ways and embraced 
the Truth with all your heart, we wouldn't have to resort to these 
measures."  Simmons walked from the room. 
	Mulder looked at the small man before him. He clearly enjoyed 
his work. Mulder braced himself. 
	His screams could be heard throughout the camp. 
 
	Splash! 
	Mulder has passed out from the pain, but it seemed like he had 
just fallen into the first deep sleep in years when the water came 
again, yanking him back to wakefulness. The pain of his burns came back 
too, hitting him like a freight train. 
	"I don't understand you, Mulder." 
	Simmons was standing in front of him, alone. "I know you believe 
in Sasquatch. A member of our church heard you say as much to Sheriff 
Tyler. Yet you refuse to accept the Truth we preach, even when such 
disbelief only brings more pain." 
	Mulder concentrated on his pain, blocking out what he could of 
the reverend's words. 
	"Do you want a show of faith? Something to show you we really do 
have your best interests at heart? Fine. I'll untie you." 
	As Simmons released his bonds, Mulder collapsed to the ground 
like a sack of potatoes. 
	Simmons spoke softly, confidentially. "Mulder, it's so easy to 
end your pain. A simple leap of faith, really. You already know 
Sasquatch exists, now you just need to accept them as your saviors, your 
key to eternal life and happiness." 
	Simmons' voice dropped into a droning monotone. "It's so easy, 
Mulder. So easy to end your pain and suffering. Accept the Truth, and 
you will be free. Accept the Truth. Believe it. You want to believe. I 
can see it in your eyes. You want to believe. Accept the Truth. End your 
pain." He paused. "Do you believe?" 
	Mulder painfully raised his head to look Simmons in the eye. 
"No." 
	Simmons stamped his foot in frustration. "Why? Your blasphemy 
just brings more pain! Can't you see that? Why don't you believe?" 
	"I already believe in something else." And she's looking for me 
right now, he added to himself. 
	Before Simmons could comment, they both turned at the sounds 
coming from the main camp. Shouts of "He's here!" and "We're saved!" 
were quickly replaced by screams. Simmons ran from the room, and as soon 
as he could muster enough strength, Mulder followed. 
	Once he left the "conversion chamber", Mulder saw that the camp 
was a large, flat clearing surrounded by mountains. A stream ran through 
it, exiting in the West, were the sun had just finished setting. On the 
eastern edge of the camp was all the commotion. The cultists were 
engaged in hand to hand combat against a huge figure. Mulder couldn't 
make out any details in the post-twilight illumination, but the figure 
was strong enough to hurl cultists a dozen feet through the air. Mulder 
half-ran, half-staggered to stream and followed it West, out of camp. 
 
	The ranger spotted something through the trees, a figure lying 
on the shore of a small stream. He ran to it. 
	"Search 13 to Search HQ. I have an unconscious Caucasian male 
matching Agent Mulder's description. I'll need a Medivac chopper, he's 
in bad shape." He relayed his coordinates to headquarters, and began 
first aid on Mulder. 
	The ranger was glad it was over. The search party, led by a 
seemingly tireless Agent Scully, had been going non-stop for four days, 
and they had almost given up. Hundreds of people had searched to woods 
and foothills and come up empty. Then earlier tonight, another ranger 
stumbled onto a man running through the woods, screaming "We are 
Damned!" 
	More people were soon found, some of them coherent enough to 
explain about their cult and where they were before their "god" drove 
them out. The search was concentrated on this area, and now they had 
finally found paydirt. 
	The ranger finished up. Mulder had some bad burns, was 
malnourished, dehydrated, and in mild shock, but his vitals were good. 
He was going to be OK. 
	It was over. 
 
	The creature walked alone in the mountains. Despite his eight 
foot height and over 600 pound weight, he had no trouble scrambling 
nimbly over the rocks; he'd done it all his life. 
	He didn't like attacking the camp of the Hairless Ones and 
driving them away. Contact with them was not the way of his people. For 
centuries his people had kept to themselves, living at peace with the 
forest, fighting the Hairless Ones only to defend themselves. 
	Since the camp was formed, more and more Hairless Ones came into 
the forest. In the last few days, more came than ever before. The 
Hairless Ones had brought violence and death since the dawn of time, and 
his people were in danger. The Hairless Ones had to be driven away. 
	His task completed, the creature loped off into the night. 
 
 