“Logan?”
“Yeah…”
“How did it go?”
“Just fine. Go back to sleep. I’ll take a shower…” He sounds so tired. More tired than he should be. Lights on.
“Logan!”
“What?”
“What the hell happened to you?” Clothes torn and bloodied, bruises on his face still fading.
“Took a tumble with the bike. Don’t worry about it. Just go back to sleep.” Bullshit. You don’t get to lie to me, mister…
“Those are fucking bullet holes on your back!” Some of them are still bleeding.
“There’s nothing to worry about. I took care of it. Go back to sleep, Marie.” You don’t get to say to me what to do. We’re in this together.
“They know. They found out. We have to go…”
“Nobody knows a shit, Marie. I took care of it. Some punks thought they could mess up with me. Scared them for good. They won’t be coming back anytime soon.”
“But… What if they talk? There are people who’d pay anything…”
“They won’t be talking if they know what’s best for them. Remember Tommy?” What does he have to do with this?
“I gave him a call. He said he was going to take care of them. We have nothing to worry about.”

For the last ten years this world has gone straight to hell. Mutants are considered a threat to humanity. Rumors are spreading fast. Last week we heard about a new weapon they’re developing. Some kind of giant robots, specially designed to slaughter us. Slaughter mutants. I quit in a diner I had been working. Logan’s still bartending, but it won’t take long before we have to leave. Keep running. Fuck. Sometimes I feel like that’s all we have done from the beginning to this day.

“You know… There are times that I’m so fucking relieved that Anna’s not our real daughter…” Logan’s sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, waiting for the water in the shower to warm up.
“At least she’s safe. Adele is safe. And Bobby.” Adele. Our granddaughter. We haven’t seen them in six years. It’s not safe to visit. They’re better off without us. Logan’s staring a faded picture he pulled from the pocket of his jeans. It was taken when Adele was just born. When it was still possible to pretend that we were just normal, ordinary humans.
“She was so fucking tiny…” We are all in the picture; one of the nurses took it. Anna sitting on a bed, holding Adele. Bobby standing next to her, hand wrapped around her shoulders. I’m standing behind Anna. Logan’s standing next to me. Everybody’s smiling and looking at the camera. Everybody except Logan. He’s smiling, too, but his eyes are cast downwards, towards Adele.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” It’s a short struggle to get that picture away from him, but finally he lets go of it. I put it back to the pocket.
“I miss them…” Logan whispers and ducks his head under the spray of water. He doesn’t cry often. He thinks it makes him somehow less of a man if he lets his hurt show.

“And what’ll it be for the lady?” I don’t come here often, but tonight is different. Last night Logan’s working. We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Time to head back to north.
“Hmm… What would you recommend?” Truth to be told I’m getting tired of beer and whiskey, but I have very poor imagination when it comes to booze. Logan leans over the counter and winks at me, smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.
“Maybe something long and stiff from under table…” Customer sitting next to me, businessman wearing an expensive suit nearly chokes to his drink.
“Hmmm… I might be persuaded to try it… But maybe later. Bring me a beer, honey.”
“One beer coming right up.”

I settle on the stool more comfortably and let my gaze rest on Logan when he scurries back and forth, mixing drinks and chatting with customers. There’s not a hint of last night’s ordeal in his posture. Mask on. None of these yuppies know him. Know us. They know the lively bartender. They don’t know, they don’t even care to know the real person under the black shirt and trousers Logan wears. He has started shaving off his muttonchops, and his smooth face blends right in. Hair is still as wild as ever, but that only adds to his disguise. Men chat with him about hockey and football scores, women hit on him. More than couple of times I have heard them guessing his measures. Some outrageously overrating him, some hitting closer to the truth. They would like to bed him. There are times I would like to go to them and ask if they would be willing to face the animal behind the man. The animal that surfaces nowadays more often than ever before. He’s constantly alert, on the edge. I can’t blame him. Not when I myself sleep one eye open. Listening every small creak and rattle, ready to bounce and run if the need arises.

“Give me another one.”
“Sure. Having a good time?” Logan asks, plunking a new pint in front of me. I take a sip and nod. Don’t really have any complaints. It’s nice and quiet night. Though businessman sitting next to me keeps staring at me maybe too intensively, but I have already gotten used to men watching me. Nearly seventy years in a body of thirty years old gives me an odd air. Something people keep noticing if they look too closely.
“About tomorrow… I’ll drive. Keep the bike in the trailer.”
“Why?” Usually I have to practically force him in the truck.
“Heard that there might be some nasty weather coming this way…” Oh, shit.
“Should clear up once we get over the border, but way there might be a bit rough.”

“Ready to go?” Last glance to the small house I have learned to call home during these years.
“Yeah.” Logan turns on the engine.
“You have your vest on?” Something he bought me few years ago. Bulletproof vest. It doesn’t replace his healing, but gives us more time in situations where he can’t touch me immediately. I knock the chest plate with my knuckles. It’s heavy and chafing, but it has saved my life two times already. Instead of ugly, messy holes I got only huge bruises.
“Do you have yours?” Logan throws me an annoyed glance. The one asking ‘do I really have to’.
“Put it on, mister! I don’t want to wake up in some ditch just because you were too macho to protect your precious innards!” It happened once. Logan drove over a cliff when a bullet pierced his heart.
“Fine…” He gets up from the driver’s seat and shuffles around in the camper for a while. When he returns he looks bulkier. Moving more stiffly. He hates to be restrained that way, but I feel better knowing that it’ll take quite a lot to hurt him now. He may not die from his wounds, but he feels the pain just like anybody else.
“Now we are ready to go.”