“The man who’s responsible for all of this must be stopped,” Logan heard Xavier speaking. They were sitting in his truck he had managed to park behind an old theatre few blocks away from the police station. He was in no condition to take a part to the old telepath’s monologue. He was still shivering and sweating from the effort it had taken to carry the brittle form of the professor down the stairs in to his truck. It had taken all of his strength to hide the truck and now he could only lean against the backrest and hope that one of his companions would have the sense to plug the wound on his shoulder before he lost too much blood.
“Lets get this shirt off…” The girl was jostling him, huffing and puffing from the effort it took her to lift his limp arms. He nearly cried out loud when skin around the wound bunched up, stretching the gaping hole even further. He bit his lip and tried to cooperate.
“He’s insane. From what I understood he just woke up this morning and decided to slaughter each and every one of his neighbors.” Xavier sounded like he was speaking from a bottom of a well, his voice distant and hollow. He felt cold. Colder than he ever remembered feeling. Finally the girl gave up trying to get the T-shirt over his head and simply tore it in half, then slipped it down from his shoulders.
“I think you’re going to be alright. It didn’t hit an artery. You’d bled out already if that were the case,” he heard her muttering. She was pressing the remains of his shirt against the wound with one hand and combing back strands of hair from his forehead with the other.
“You a doctor?” He asked, his tongue rasping against the roof of his mouth. Like sanding paper. All dried up and sticky. His whole body, sticky from sweat and dried up from blood loss.
“Nope. But I know about these things. You wouldn’t happen to have a sewing kit anywhere near, would you?” The girl asked. He croaked a strangled noise from the back of his throat, trying to laugh.
“What the hell do you think… I live alone in this heap of trash…” He choked out, trying to swallow, but there was nothing to swallow in his mouth.
“In the back… Cupboard next to fridge…”
“Okay. Stay put. I’ll go and get it.”
“Bring me a beer… While you’re at it…”
“Logan? Are you listening? We have to stop that maniac before he continues to the next town,” Xavier spoke.
“I’m kind of busy right now… With this bleeding and shit…” Suddenly Xavier’s face filled his field of vision. Worried eyes scanning his. He nearly suffocated under the stench of fear that was rolling off from the telepath.
“Yes. I’m… I’m sorry. How… How inconsiderate of me… Are you… You are going to live, right?” Xavier asked stuttering. Stuttering. Professor Xavier, self-appointed spokesman for all the mutant-kind, the man who single-handedly turned the tide in the congress and made them revoke the registration act, the man who was responsible for putting away the most heinous criminals that walked on the earth… The man was scared to shitless.
He hadn’t been so worried. Not before. Of course a man capable of slaughtering a whole town full of people was a force to recon with, but he hadn’t met a man able to beat him yet. Xavier’s wide-eyed panic gave him a reason to think that maybe, just maybe he had met his match now. He flashed his best shit-eating grin to the telepath, little lopsided and forced his right hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, prof… You know me. What doesn’t kill me… Just pisses me off. Kid!” He turned his head towards the back of his truck. He could hear the girl rummaging through the cupboards.
“Kid!” He called her again.
“Yes?”
“Stitch me up… There’s an ass that needs kicking out there…”
“Thanks… I needed that…” He gasped and sunk lower on his seat after the girl had given him a swig from a cold beer. She was perched on top of the console that divided the front seat, sewing up his torn shoulder. He tried his best not to squirm and keep his eyes closed, but some shred of perverse curiosity kept his gaze glued to the needle as it pierced his skin time after time, threading thick, black yarn over the ragged tissues and pulling them together.
“Have you done this… Before?” He hissed, stifling a yelp when she hit a nerve.
“Few times… Hold still, hold still. I’m almost finished.” She was all concentration. Hundred percent of it, eyes scanning the wound, brows knitting together and tiny pink head of her tongue peeking from between her lips. He tore his eyes from her face, turning to look at Xavier and took another swig from the beer, bringing the cool bottle against his throat in an attempt to alleviate the pain that radiated from his shoulder.
“You said we should stop him… What for? We’re not some fucking police…” He rasped.
“He’s a mutant. From what I have seen, able to control animals, and even other mutants to some extent. I have no idea of what prompted him to kill these people, but the images he was projecting when I was still able to see his mind… He’s not going to stop before somebody stops him,” professor spoke with clear, articulated tone, having regained his composure.
“Control other muties? Prof… How good idea it is for us to stay here? What if he gets us under… Under his power? We’re pretty much unstoppable…”
“He can’t take us under his control. But he can control our mutations. Shut them off and turn them back on. He can probably even use them by himself if he’s close enough of us,” Professor explained.
“He’s a little like me then, I guess… There. What do you think?” The girl asked putting the yarn and the needle aside, having finished stitching his shoulder.
Row of stitches was relatively straight, and he could even move his hand a bit. Though he couldn’t find good enough reason to do so. Not when every small move made his head spun wildly and colorful set of stars exploding from the shoulder all across his body, igniting pains in places he hadn’t even realized earlier were hurt.
“That’ll do. Thanks… There should be some beer left in the fridge… Go and have some. I need to talk with prof…”
Professor Xavier’s eyes followed the girl as she walked to the back of his truck, closing the door that separated the cab from the camper.
“So. I see you followed my orders, as usual,” he started smiling a little. Logan smirked, leaning heavily against the backrest.
“If you’re going to fry my ass because of her… I’d appreciate if you did it after I get my ass kicked by that super-mutie of yours…”
“Under normal circumstances I might see the need to retaliate. Right now we have more important issues at hand. What did she mean that our new friend is like her?” Xavier asked.
“Don’t know… Said her mutation had something to do with her skin… Hurting people who touch her bare skin…”
“I see. Probably some sort of parasitism. She can… Uh, borrow the power of other mutants by draining it from them through the skin contact. Not much use for us in this situation. But she has proven to be quite skilled in field medicine. How soon do you think… You’d be able to move?” Professor asked. Logan could smell only worry and curiosity on him instead of earlier fear.
“Don’t have the slightest idea… Normally I’d been up and running right after… Now? Who the fuck knows…”
“Maybe we should drive out from the town so you can recover. I don’t know how wide range our friend has, but I highly doubt…”
“Cut the crap, professor. We’re not going anywhere… And you know it, don’t you?” Xavier stared at him with a blank look on his face.
“That fucker… He knows about me… Knows about the girl… Knows even where we are right now. He won’t let us out from this goddamned shithole…”
“I don’t understand…” Professor Xavier muttered, utter confusion shrouding his features.
“Animals… Fucking coyotes, vultures… Goddamned insects, for Christ’s sakes… If he’s controlling them, he can see and hear us through them!”
“Then… How… Why? Why let us escape this far? Why let us rest here?” Professor asked. The door dividing the cab and the camper slid open.
“A game. It’s a game for him,” the girl said.
“A game?” Xavier’s brows knit together. He wasn’t getting it.
“Fucker is after some fun and games… Wants to see who’s the biggest predator…” Logan grunted shifting on the seat and rolling his shoulders, grimacing when fresh wash of blood trickled through the stitches and down his arm.
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