The Lambs: Part 1 (1/10)
by Lamia (AKA so kiss me goodbye) 

Rating: PG-13 (violence, strong language)
Category: S 
Spoilers: Seasons 1-9, Fight the Future 
Keywords: William; Colonization 

Summary: Liam van de Kamp's life changes the day two 
FBI agents kidnap him and his parents.

Author's Note: The Lambs is a three-part story (with prologue).

"A mother's love is something
that no one can explain, 
it is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain" 
A Mother's Love, -- Helen Steiner Rice 

"And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste"
Fix You, -- Coldplay 
     

Chapter 1

August 9, 2011
Tessa
Lincoln County
Wyoming 

If he waited long enough, he could almost *will* them 
to swim into his hands. This was a truth ten-year-old 
Liam van de Kamp believed. 

For minutes the sun and panting dog were the only 
things that moved. Grass tickled his legs; he resisted 
an urge to scratch. Instead he kept still, kneeling at 
the pond's edge. The dog moaned and lolled her head; 
Liam was a statue. 

A crow flew overhead. The dog's eyes tracked its flight 
and Liam watched its reflection glide over the pond. It 
passed inches from where his hands were dipped into the 
water. 

The image was fleeting, moving quickly from the mirror 
edge. Summer's heat had left the pond a quarter of its 
normal size. Liam's gaze flicked back to the life 
teeming just beyond his fingers. 

In his heart he knew he was too old for this. 

He also knew this was the last summer of his childhood. 
He did chores now, of course, but next summer he'd be 
expected to help with more serious tasks around the 
farm. 

Liam wasn't lazy. He wouldn't begrudge his father 
several hours a day out of his summer vacation, but the 
thought of trekking along endless fences, checking and 
repairing posts and wires, filled him with sadness. 
There was still so much to be seen, so much to wonder 
at and explore, that any time pulling him away from it 
seemed ... unjust. He tried the word on inside and out. 
It wasn't new to him; it had just never applied to 
anything in his world before. 

It wasn't that he was being disloyal. 

His dad was staunch and funny, his mom, kind and 
patient. They listened to him when he felt frustrated: 
no raised voices, no uncontrolled anger. His parents 
were always on the sideline cheering him on, wincing 
when he took a fall, celebrating when his hit won the 
game. 

Early on Liam had felt one thing to be true: he was 
lucky (his mother would have said blessed). Lucky to 
live on the farm, lucky to be who he was, lucky to be 
wanted and loved, lucky to have fallen into the arms of 
the best parents in the world. 

It was just ... there hadn't been enough time to take 
everything in; to examine the layers of earth beneath 
his feet; the worms writhing in the soil; the fine 
blades of grass and their even finer tentacled root 
systems. 

The older he got, the grander (and more time-consuming) 
his schemes and adventures became. And the more detail 
he took from his excursions into the wilds of nature. 

Cataloging the natural world was a superior way of 
spending his time to chasing cattle and feeding pigs. 
It was something he was much better at doing. At least, 
he thought so. (And if you asked nicely, the cattle and 
pigs didn't need chasing.) 

He watched the darting shapes inches away from him. 

Some had already been tempted, swimming into the pool 
in his hands. He let them be. He couldn't save them all 
and he was after another prize. Beyond the smaller 
ones, edging closer and closer, was the bulbous brown 
shape he had been sizing up for ten minutes. 

*Come on, come on.* He concentrated all his brain 
power, mentally nudging the tiny creature. Coaxing it 
to trust him. 

Sal tensed, snapping grass stalks. The tadpoles 
scattered. The dog whimpered, turning doleful eyes on 
him. 

Liam bit down on his urge to swear. More old words he 
was developing a new appreciation for - but ones he 
knew he wouldn't be practicing at the dinner table. 

"S'okay Sal." His arms were steady and, remarkably, the 
tadpole was still basking just beyond his fingertips. 

His patience was rewarded; it shimmied into his hands. 

"Gotcha." With a practiced swing Liam sprang to his 
feet. 

Freeing the tadpole in the bucket, he sealed its fate. 
It flitted around its temporary home before it calmed. 
Liam peered down to study the creature. It was losing 
its tadpole shape. Four dark nodules could be seen 
through translucent skin; four nodules that would soon 
stretch, flex and break through membrane to form four 
limbs. It was perfect. Liam couldn't wait to start 
recording details of the young frog's development with 
his mother's digital camera. 

As he brushed himself off, slapping his hands dry 
against his thighs, he looked up. A dust cloud billowed 
over the road in the distance. 

He raised his hand when he recognized the vehicle 
approaching. 

The pickup pulled in, and a man leaned out the open 
window to holler at him. 

"What you up to today, Liam?" 

Paul Stanaway was a family friend and lived on the next 
farm over. Liam liked talking to Stan; every time they 
met, the gruff old man always asked about Sal and Blue 
and Twig and all Liam's other animals. Today started no 
differently. 

"Hello, Sal," Stan said. "Hope you're keeping young 
Liam out of trouble." 

The labrador's tail thumped the truck's door as she 
came up alongside Liam. 

"She's been helping me with my summer project." 

Liam hoped Stan would ask him what that project was. He 
hid his disappointment when the old man didn't. 

"Your folks expecting company today, Liam?" Deep 
crinkles about his eyes and mouth appeared. 

Liam scrunched his face up. "Don't think so." 

"Well, there was a real shiny, fancy car clogging up 
your driveway when I went by five minutes ago. Don't 
think I recognize it. You don't have a pretty, 
sophisticated aunt your mom hasn't told me about, do 
you?" 

"I've only got Great Uncle Ted and I've never heard 
anyone ever say he was sophisticated." 

"That isn't your uncle's car, that's for sure." Stan 
grinned. "It's lunchtime - hop in. I'll drop you out 
back, and you can slip in and get yourself cleaned up. 
If you do have company, I doubt your mother would 
appreciate you turning up like a swamp monster." 

Liam glanced down at his stained t-shirt and grimy 
shorts. Streaks of mud caked his shins. Stan had a 
point. 

"Alright," Liam said. "But only if you've got room for 
a new friend of mine." 

Stan groaned when Liam produced the bucket. He muttered 
"frog spawn" under his breath. Liam knew it was all for 
effect. He whistled to Sal. 

"Get, Sal," he said, signaling her to jump on the back. 

Stan laughed again. "Sal's alright. She's got better 
manners than you and she's cleaner. I oughta make you 
get in the back." 

Liam clenched the bucket between his knees and leaned 
over it to prevent water slopping over the sides. Not 
that he was really worried. Stan might look rough but 
he drove the truck like he was escorting a dying king. 
They talked about tadpoles the two-mile trip home, and 
Liam explained his reasons for collecting this one (to 
learn more about them; to save at least one from the 
colony's evaporating habitat; to have fun). 

They took the back entrance up to some farm sheds 
behind the house where Stan swung wide, giving them a 
view to the front and the car he had mentioned. It was 
white. Except for a splatter of mud around the wheels, 
it looked clean. 

Stan spotted something else as Liam was pulling on the 
door handle. 

"Virginia plates," he said. "You folks got family back 
east?" 

Liam was doubtful. "Maybe." 

Stan tapped a furious tattoo on the steering wheel; his 
other hand went to his chin. When he noticed Liam still 
next to him, he seemed surprised. 

"Better scram, kid. And make sure you find a lid for 
your bucket. Blue's got a look in her eye that says 
tadpoles make a tasty meal." 

A cat had sauntered along the side of the house and was 
on her haunches by the steps leading up to the back 
door. Liam eyed the cat - and the cat eyed the bucket. 

"Thanks, Stan," he said as he headed to the house. 

Liam was met by his dad stepping into his boots on the 
verandah. His dad waved at Stan, then cast an 
appraising look over him. 

"Where do you think you are taking that dripping 
bucket, young man?" 

"I gotta put Jerry some place safe, Dad, otherwise Blue 
might get him." 

The slim gray cat was licking her paws at the bottom of 
the steps. 

"Jerry, huh?" his dad said. "If you let any of that 
slime drip on your mother's floor, you might be looking 
for a safe place of your own. Why don't you go see in 
the tool shed if there's anything more suitable to put 
him in. I'm just going to have a quick word with Stan." 

He was striding away when Liam called out. "Dad, who's 
visiting?" 

"Be with you in a minute, Liam." 

They called it the tool shed, but ever since Liam could 
remember it had been the place where they stored old 
stuff. Murky light seeped in when he pushed on the 
door. 

Broken crockery shared shelf space with an ancient and 
warped tennis racket and several rusted flashlights. A 
fragile wicker hamper poked out from under a stack of 
magazines. Liam shoved the magazines aside and opened 
the case. He'd had memories of it when he was much 
smaller. He could see why his mother had banished it 
years ago; it wouldn't be much use as a picnic basket 
anymore - not with half its contents missing. Most of 
what remained was chipped, cracked and discolored with 
age. But it did have a tall plastic cup. And the 
plastic cup had a soft plastic lid. 

An idea formed and when he fastened on to the hammer 
and a nail the idea became a plan. 

It took a minute. Liam scooped up Jerry and pressed the 
lid on top. Peering into a hole he had punched, Liam 
watched the tadpole swim about. He felt bad about the 
confusion he was causing the tiny creature. He sent it 
reassuring thoughts and tried to explain his intentions 
weren't bad and he hoped they could be friends. There 
wasn't much the tadpole could do to indicate the 
message was understood. Liam hoped for the best and 
took his handiwork outside to get his father's 
approval. 

His dad was still talking to Stan - but not about the 
mysterious, out-of-state car. 

"He's marked to be a vet or a botanist of some sort, 
Harry." Stan was leaning against his vehicle. "He's a 
natural. It's almost spooky the way he is with animals. 
Take Sparky." 

At the crunch of Liam's sneakers on gravel, Stan 
stopped. Liam held up the cup. "This'll work for the 
time being, Dad." 

Although he pretended he hadn't heard, Liam wondered 
what Stan was talking about. One memory stood out but 
how was it "spooky"? Did Stan mean the day Sparky, his 
dad's oldest and best work dog, got hit by a van on the 
driveway? 

It had been an accident. His dad and Stan had been 
there, racing to Sparky before anyone else. When they 
stood up, his father shook his head. 

No no no no. Not Sparky. While the two men had gone to 
talk to the driver of the van, Liam knelt by Sparky and 
ran his hands over the dog's head. 

He'd looked up when his father called to him but kept 
his hands flat against Sparky's fur, willing the dog's 
tail to wag and his eyes to open. 

It had ended when Stan put his hands on Liam's 
shoulders and asked him to let Sparky go. 

"He's gone, Liam." Long, gnarled fingers wrapped around 
Liam's upper arms, restraining him. When Liam wouldn't 
stand, Stan crouched. 

"Is there something you feel you can do for Sparky?" 

That was exactly how he felt. Liam struggled to see 
Stan for the tears stinging his eyes. 

He jumped up, sending stones flying with a vicious 
kick. "I should've been able to do something!" 

It had been a long time ago. *What made Stan bring it 
up?* 

Mr. van de Kamp was finishing his conversation with 
Stan. Liam mumbled goodbye, and then the old man's 
pickup was disappearing down the drive. 

His dad grinned when he examined the cup and lid. 

"I think we oughta have called you Jem, son," he said. 
"You've always got an idea. What? Your mother hasn't 
made you read that book yet?" 

Liam wasn't worried about the books his mother made or 
did not make him read. There were more pressing matters 
to be discussed. 

"Dad, who's visiting?" 

Everybody knew just about everybody around Tessa; 
strangers made everyone talk. 

"Who are they? Where are they from? Are they long lost 
relatives?" 

"Oh boy, Liam, are you in trouble!" his dad said. 
"We've got more than just visitors. We got ourselves a 
visit from some federal investigators. You got a 
license to collect baby frogs?" 

Federal investigators? The FBI? They investigated 
things like murders and bank robberies, didn't they? 
Liam sized his father up. His dad's face was straight. 
Too straight. 

"You're lying." 

His father put his hand on his heart. "I do not tell 
untruths, Liam. At this very moment, there are two FBI 
agents sitting in our living room, here to discuss a 
very serious matter." 

"Their car didn't say FBI." 

His father leaned in and clapped him on the back. 
"Maybe they're undercover." 

"Dad ..." It was Liam's turn to be offended. He might 
have believed the ruse two years ago but he was ten now 
and liked to believe he was not as easy to trick. 

Liam toed off his shoes and waited for his father to 
remove his boots. 

"Don't believe me then," his dad said. "But make sure 
you wash your hands before you see your mother. She 
will not be happy if you disgrace the family name!" 

Liam waited a minute before he crept to the bathroom. 
He could hear voices and chinks of mugs. 

"Does that mean everything's in order, Mr. -" That was 
his dad's voice. 

"Let me check the paperwork again, Mr. van de Kamp. Just 
to make sure we haven't missed anything. The Bureau 
wouldn't want to waste anymore of your time with 
another unnecessary visit." 

That was a stranger - another man's voice. 

"Of course." His father again. "But didn't we just go 
over that checklist? We certainly don't want to take up 
too much more of *your* time. You've examined the 
secured premises, seen my documentation ..." 

Was that a hint of exasperation? It took a lot to rile 
his father. Harry van de Kamp was usually a placid, 
easygoing man; the first person neighbors consulted to 
mediate boundary disputes, everyone's preferred ref at 
Little League. 

Without warning his mother sang out. "Liam." 

That special sense Marie van de Kamp had - the same one 
that knew when Liam had woken unexpectedly or had a bad 
day at school - must have alerted her. She was calling 
him and he knew better than to ignore her. 

Wincing as he re-examined his fingers and the dirty 
crescent slivers under his nails, he walked into the 
living room. 

His mother let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, Lee." 

A woman and a man, both in dark suits, sat ramrod 
straight on the sofa. Papers were spread across the 
coffee table in front of them. Their gazes were trained 
on him. A fraction before the whole situation became 
uncomfortable, the man's pocket beeped. The woman 
flinched. 

The man's brow furrowed as he read a message then 
passed the cellphone to the woman. She gasped. 

"Mulder -" The room iced up at the tone of her voice. 
Liam's parents looked at one another. 

The man stood, knocking the table and a cup as he rose. 
"This changes things." 

"What -" 

"Excuse me, Mr. van de Kamp. We need to leave 
immediately." 

"So the paperwork is in order?" Liam's dad asked. The 
man glanced at the woman. She hadn't moved. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't make myself clear. We - all of us 
- need to leave this place. You're coming with us, Mr. 
van de Kamp." 

Liam's parents, both on their feet, broke into angry 
questions. 

"Excuse me? Is this some sort of joke?" 

"Are you arresting my husband? On what grounds?" 

Liam's dad turned. "Liam, go wait in the kitchen, son." 

Liam gulped. He'd never heard his dad this upset. 

"No, Liam. Don't." The strange woman had spoken. 

A cry escaped his mother and his father swore. Even the 
strange man looked horrified. 

"Scully -" 

The gun made an emphatic statement pointed at Liam's 
head. 

She wasn't a tall woman, only coming up to his mother's 
chin, which made her only a little taller than Liam. 
But this wasn't a case for heroics. Jerry's cup was 
still in his hand and something about this woman told 
him she was serious. Her hands were shaking. Liam's 
father edged forward, perhaps to lunge at the lunatic 
aiming a gun at his son. Her finger curled around the 
trigger. He froze. 

"Please don't hurt my son. What do you want? Do you 
want money? Cash? We've got -" 

The strangers didn't wait to hear what valuables the 
van de Kamp family had. 

"Ten minutes, Mulder." The woman may have been 
deranged, but the gun didn't waver against his head. 
"Please. Get them out of here." 

Liam's parents were motionless. His mother swallowed. 
"Please don't do anything rash." 

The man flicked aside his jacket, revealing a second 
gun. "Are you on any medication? Anything you'll need 
in the next twenty-four hours -" 

Out of the corner of his eye, Liam saw the woman shake 
her head. "No time, Mulder." 

The man looked at her again; a beat later he nodded. 
"I'm sorry it had to come to this. It is supremely 
important that you leave this house, right now, with 
us. You are not safe here." 

"You're not kidding," Liam's father said. 

"Harry, let's just do as these people say." Liam's 
mother inched back, never taking her eyes off Liam. She 
took her husband by the arm. 

"They look like reasonable people. Agent ... Scully, is 
it? Perhaps if we go out to your car you'll be able to 
take the gun off my son?" 

"Please." The woman whispered the word with relief. 

"Liam, please do as the lady says." It was the last 
thing his mother said to him before he lost sight of 
her. 

When they were alone, he forced himself to look at his 
kidnapper. She still had a finger on the trigger but 
her head was bowed. She let out a long breath and her 
shoulders sagged. 

"You're name is Liam." She spoke to the floor. 

"Yes." 

When she lifted her chin, her intense blue eyes bored 
into him. 

"Well, Liam, I need you to understand. I would *never* 
hurt you - but I very much need you to go out to my 
car." 

Her knuckles were white against the gun. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

He thought he heard a groan. 

Cup in hand, he walked through the house and out the 
front door. His parents were already jammed in the back 
of the car. The man stood by the driver door. Liam 
moved to join his parents, but a light hand on his 
shoulder made him stop. 

"No, Liam. The front." The gun hung in the woman's 
hand. 

The strangers looked at each other. 

Liam couldn't decipher the look. He did as he was told, 
sitting stiffly next to the driver's seat, his hands 
clamped around Jerry's cup. The man got in beside him. 
Absurdly, the man turned and smiled. Liam shrank away. 

A noise made them look right. 

The woman had doubled over by the steps, dry-retching. 
Her heaving stopped but she made no move to rise. 

"Scully -" 

It took long, painful seconds for her to pull herself 
up. "I'm okay." 

She didn't look okay. Her breathing was ragged like 
she'd been chased by a bull from one end of the farm to 
the other. Her walk to the car was unsteady. 

But her eyesight was sharper than Liam would have 
guessed. 

He had no time to be shocked when she reached in, gun 
still in one hand, and pulled the seatbelt over him. 
His skin tingled when her hand brushed his arm. 

When she climbed in the back, she said nothing. His 
parents kept as still as they could. Liam risked a look 
behind him. Space must have been tight, but there was a 
gulf between his mother and the woman. 

Key in the ignition, the man fired up the engine. 

"This way." He was studying the drive that lead behind 
the house to the farm's secondary exit. "Does it get 
you to the main road?" 

"No," Liam's dad said. 

The man craned his neck one way, then the other. "Your 
life, Mr. van de Kamp -" 

"It takes you round the back way to Tessa. You can 
avoid the main roads entirely. I'm telling the truth." 

Liam burst out, unable to contain himself. "My dad 
always tells the truth." 

The man stared at him. Car in drive, they shot forward. 

They were following the route Stan had driven down 
minutes before. When they passed Sal's kennel, Liam saw 
her pacing up and down her kennel run. She was barking 
furiously. 

He heard a heavy intake of breath behind him and knew 
it came from neither his mother nor his father. 

As they hit the long, dusty road where Liam had been 
playing only this morning, he decided he was not 
scared. Confused - yes, but scared? *Well, maybe just a 
little bit.* 

He looked down at the cup in his hands. 

*Guess this is how you feel, Jerry? Sorry.* 

His mother cried out, and Liam's heart thumped against 
his ribcage. She had twisted in her seat to see out the 
rear window. 

A thick, dark plume funneled skyward. 

"Harry, that smoke ..." 

They were too far away to know for sure where it was 
coming from, but Liam didn't need to be told what it 
meant. 

Nothing had ever filled him with dread before. It was 
another word he'd never really had cause to consider. 
Not anymore though. 

He shivered.