That little get-together really did nearly cost their lives to them.
There they were, sitting in the small kitchen. Breakfast just finished. Logan cradling a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, staring at Sam suspiciously when the boy recited his tale of what he had been doing these past years. Marie was washing dishes, horrified of the brutality Sam had faced after Logan had left him with the caravan, but satisfied that they were all sitting in the same room, relatively quietly and peaceful.
“… I saw them. For the first time I saw one of them. The enemy. Have you heard those ‘eyewitness descriptions’ where people tell you about how the Aliens look?” Sam had asked. Logan had just grunted something and stood up, reaching for the coffee pot on the side table when it had happened.
Sharp metallic snap echoed in the kitchen. Logan stood for few seconds, one hand frozen in midair, other still holding the empty coffee cup. Then he was falling, something small and black lodged to his forehead. A bullet. She was screaming. Another shot, and Sam went down, falling to the floor. Mindless of the possible injury she dashed to where he laid. Sam was alive, blood pooling around his left shoulder and unconscious, but alive.
She could hear Logan groaning softly and getting up. Opening the door and walking outside. Bullets hitting his flesh, tearing him open and splattering blood on to the porch and the small window. He just shrugged them off like they were nothing. His healing was working overtime, she could tell from the way he was already sweating, and how fast the wounds were closing. He was walking straight in to the hail of bullets, approaching the shooters calmly.
Not Army. Just a group of bandits, five of them. Desperate enough to attack in plain daylight. Logan reached them, and snapped their necks, one after another. She turned to Sam, trusting that Logan could take care of the situation outside.
Looked like they had been lucky. Bullet had gone straight through, and it hadn’t broken bones or any major veins. Wound was bleeding, but blood was not pulsing out, and Sam was clawing his way back to consciousness.
“Mom…”
“Hush. I’m here. I’ll take care of you…” She tore off her apron and pressed it against the wound, trying to stem the blood flow. Sam squirmed and whimpered, but seemed to understand what she was doing
“What happened…”
“It was not the Army. Just some bandits. Logan’s taking care of them.” She could hear him walking back in, heavy boots clunking against the floorboards.
“It went straight through. Could you give me a towel from the clo…” Words died in her throat when she turned her head and instead of worried hazel she met indifferent yellow stare of the beast.
“Mom?” Sam called her, tried to get her attention, but she was unable to answer. Unable to move. She could only stare at the monster standing at the doorstep. Bloodied and torn predator who was staring back at her, recognition swirling in his eyes.
“Mom?” She couldn’t even breathe when Wolverine stepped closer.
“Breeder. Where the fuck are all the mechanics?” Destroyer asked, crouching next to her, eyeing the wound on Sam’s shoulder with mild curiosity. Sam didn’t seem to hear, didn’t seem to understand that something was wrong.
“I asked you a question. Do we have a mechanic with us?” Wolverine asked, turning his yellow stare from Sam to her. Finally she found some stray shed of strength and tried to crawl away from him, legs paralyzed, horrified whimper stuck in her throat bleeding slowly out. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. She had been shot too, and this was just some horrible hallucination, the last grotesque vision before her heart would stop and it would all be over.
Except that hallucinations didn’t talk. They didn’t grab your ankle to prevent you from running.
“I asked you a question. Where is our mechanic? This unit needs fixing.” Finally Sam seemed to realize that something was wrong. His eyes narrowed.
“Dad? What the hell are you talking about?” He whispered with dry lips, his gaze darting between Marie and Wolverine.
“Sam, don’t…” Marie whispered, trying to avert her gaze from Wolverine’s face. The less contact with him, the better. Sam didn’t seem to have gotten that manual. The one where they told you to how to deal with Destroyers. Instead of trying to appear harmless he grabbed Wolverine’s arm.
“What is going on?” Wolverine huffed and swatted his hand off.
“No touching. Stay down, stay quiet, somebody will come and fix you up soon,” Destroyer grunted, stood up and grabbed Marie again. This time she really screamed, screamed her lungs out when Wolverine dragged her after him to the front porch.
Hard slap on her cheek made her stop screaming.
“Look at me.” She kept her eyes cast downwards. She wasn’t going to look at him no matter what.
“Look at me. That’s an order, fucking breeder, look at me!” She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. This was it. The last pun from life before this all was over. Hard hand grabbed her chin and tilted her face upwards. She closed her eyes, but she could feel Wolverine’s breath on her face when the Destroyer leaned closer and inhaled deeply.
“They gave you to me. Then they took you away.” She whimpered and tried to pull away from her. She felt his tongue on her cheek, just a quick dart over tears that had fallen.
“You were carrying our cub. That unit inside… It’s him, isn’t it?” She couldn’t answer, but she was sure Wolverine could read the answer from her scent.
“And we’re all AWOL. You have done good, little breeder.”
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