He was digging a grave to the hard-packed soil, flies buzzing lazily all around the bloodied corpse that lay next to him. Sun was high on the sky, and he had to squint his eyes when it reflected from the visor. It suddenly struck him. The visor. Why the hell had Scott tried to use it when he very well knew that it was far from fixed? They had glued the pieces carefully together last night, but Scott himself had said that he wasn’t all too sure if it would work, that he’d try to find something better to fix the visor before he tested it.
“Marie!” The grave and Scott forgotten he turned on his heels, discarding the shovel he had been using. He could see Marie, sitting with Jean at the shadow of the demolished lumber mill. Jean was rocking back and forth, Marie was holding her.
“Marie!” He called the girl again and took running when she didn’t seem to hear him.
“Why Scott was wearing the visor?” He asked, crouching beside women. They seemed to wake up from their trancelike state, both blinking their eyes in utter confusion.
“He wouldn’t have used it. Not without a reason,” Jean finally stuttered. Her words made Marie and Logan both straighten their stance.
“And that gives us a good reason to get the fuck out of here,” Logan grunted standing up and pulling Jean with him. Marie helped him, offering Jean her support as well.
“Whatever it was that attacked Scott and made him try the visor might still be around here, just waiting for the right moment to come after us.”
“Where are we going?” Marie asked, her eyes still watering but scanning their surroundings sharply.
“To the village. We need a safe place to regroup and plan our next step,” Logan said.
The forest around them was deathly silent. Birds weren’t chirping anymore, bees weren’t buzzing, and even the sun felt somehow dimmer than what it had been only minutes ago. Air around them felt heavy as led and thicker than tar. Taste of it was bitter. Something had definitely happened, and as they ran through the forest Logan could practically feel something watching them, following their every move. It made him nervous. He was fucking never afraid of anything, he had faced off with the most fearsome adversaries known to man, and now he was running from a shadow, trying not to stumble over his own trembling knees. He could feel the sheer terror emanating from Jean, woman’s hand grasping his in a death grip. He stole a quick glimpse of Marie running on the opposite side of Jean, girls face twisted to a mask of absolute horror. Then, suddenly he got an irresistible urge to duck.
“Get down!” His command reached Marie and Jean in the nick of time, they all fell on their faces to the soft moss, and something large soared right past them, raising a strong breeze and peppering them with a generous dose of fallen leaves and other debris risen from the ground.
“Get up, get up, get the fuck up!” He couldn’t get them back on their feet fast enough. Whatever it had been, it would return soon, he was sure of it. It wouldn’t do to take a nap in the line of fire. And they were running again, something akin of a whining of a jet engine echoing from all around them. The whole fucking forest sounded as if the trees had grown motors and were trying to lift off from their roots.
The hand that held his now felt more delicate. Quick glimpse affirmed that it belonged to Marie. She still clung to Jean who looked dazed enough to stop if she was left alone.
“We’re not going to make it to the village! Go to Blackbird!” He shouted over the noise, letting go of Marie who turned around and dragged Jean after her, through thick and thorny bushes lining their path.
Logan chose the opposite direction, raising a ruckus loud and visible enough to make their pursuer to believe that the women were still with him. He was going to keep running until he got caught or until the one following him got bored.
He didn’t get far. Suddenly he noticed that he was running in a greenish cloud, sticky mist covering him quickly from head to toe, making breathing an impossible task to perform. He fell to the ground, gasping for air, trying to shake off the translucent barrier that invaded his mouth, throat and lungs. He was drowning. Burning fuel was raining on him, his skin was blistering, it was so fucking hot and he could taste the gasoline and there was no air to breathe. His last, futile effort was to cut open his own throat in hopes of breathing through the gaping hole his claws left on his flesh. The pain of it cleared his head momentarily, and he could see a jet, landing nearby, several black figures pouring out of it and approaching him.
“False alarm, guys! This one’s a mutie!”
“What the fuck? Why were they running?”
“Think about it, you fucking moron! They just found that one guy from the lumber mill! Then we come in! Wouldn’t you run?”
“No? I would stay and try to find out what’s going on!”
“And that’s exactly why you have a life-expectancy of a pogo-stick tester on a minefield. Shit... Let’s get the fuck out of here. You saw those claws. I don’t want to be here when that freak wakes up...”
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