He’s down! Oh m’ah god, Logan’s down! What am ah gonna do?
Lying in the cool grass, with my unconscious lover stretched out beside me, I do the one thing I swore I would never do in a situation like this ……
I panic. Pure and simple. Fear washes over me and I whimper softly in the back of my throat as an uncomfortable feeling like freezing water ripples down my spine. There are men out there! With guns! They’ve already taken down Logan and I just know they’re coming for me next.
I glance across at Logan. His face is tilted away from me and I can see the hair at the back of his head is matted with blood. The bullet wound at the base of his neck is still bleeding – I can see it oozing from the wound in the moonlight. Shouldn’t it have healed by now? Shouldn’t he have expelled the bullet from the wound?
I know as sure as day turns into night that something is seriously wrong and it’s this fact alone that penetrates the haze of fear fogging my brain, forcing me to relax and take slow, calming breaths. I’m an X-Man – I’ve faced situations like this one a thousand times before in the Danger Room.
In the Danger Room. I try not to let that thought distract me as I peer around the bike, alert for any sign of movement. Okay, so maybe most of my combat experience has been of the simulated variety, and always with the rest of my team-mates around me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been trained by the best and, right now, that training is the only thing capable of saving Logan and myself from whoever is out there.
I shuffle away from Logan to the other end of the bike, peering around the front tyre at the surrounding trees. Ah can’t see a damn thing! There could be one man out there, or as many as forty, but I can’t see a single one. But they can sure see us, or the bullets that took Logan down wouldn’t have been so well placed. It’s a safe bet that our opponents are wearing night-sights. An’ I’m gonna assume there’s more than one, ‘cause no one in their right mind would ever go up against the Wolverine alone.
So, having concluded that we’re surrounded, what next?
We’re as good as dead unless I can get to the shootists an’ take ‘em out first. But for that I need to be able to find them faster than they can find us. I need to be able to see in the dark. I need ……
…… I need Logan’s enhanced senses.
I crawl quickly back to my lover and turn him onto his back. Even in the moonlight I can see that his face is pale and his breathing is ragged and erratic. There’s something definitely wrong with his healing factor. I need his senses and his tracking skills. But if I take his abilities, I’ll leave him vulnerable to the gunshot wounds and …… he may die.
I pull back, fear of the unknown making me reconsider, but then I feel the cold certainty that we will both definitely die if those men out there find us here and I know that I have to take the risk if we’re going to get out of here alive.
I press my hand to Logan’s cheek. He’s cold and his eyelids flutter erratically as some part of him, buried deep, tries to respond to my touch. I won’t absorb much – just enough to track and scent, that’s all. I take a calming breath and trigger my power.
“Ah’m sorry, Logan, but ah have to do this. Ah don’t have any other choice.”
I gasp as his own unique abilities flow into me, filling me with his essence, his memories – everything that makes him who he is. His most recent memory is the strongest and I blush as I see ‘myself’ entering a woman with white streaks in her hair from behind and sensing the flow of emotion behind the image – the feral pride, the overwhelming sense of possession, and the glorious rush of coming inside the woman ‘I’ love. I feel an answering heat in my own belly and I know that, given the right circumstances, this little foray into my lover’s memories would have me coming in my own panties.
I don’t hold on to him for long – I don’t want to hurt him any more than I have to, and I would prefer to leave him with at least some of his abilities intact. He needs his healing factor far more than I do. I push his memories aside for now, concentrating instead on the feral senses I now possess. The world around me is frighteningly different – the clearing almost seems as bright as day after my own limited outlook. Logan has had a lifetime to hone the abilities that I now have just seconds to learn how to control and I struggle to make sense of the rush of information being presented to my brain by my new enhanced senses. But I can scent at least five men out there and all of them are carrying firearms, if the scent of gun-oil is anything to go by. They’ve been hanging back, probably waiting to see if their prey is playing possum, but at least two of them are now moving in, from opposite sides of the clearing.
These are the men I need to take down first.
I concentrate on the one approaching from this side of the bike. I can’t see him yet as he’s still in the trees, but I can hear his feet treading softly through the undergrowth. And he’s scared – his heart is beating wildly at the thought of confronting the legendary Wolverine. Good. His fear will make him sloppy.
I crawl off into the grass, heading for the trees directly between the two men. I hate leaving Logan alone, but the bulk of the bike will protect him from the man approaching from the other side of the clearing and, by the time he gets too close, I should, god willing, have dispatched the first man.
Once I reach the trees I stand and set off at a run, my feet making scarcely a sound as I flit from cover to cover. Ordinarily, I would never be able to move like this, but my lover’s instincts are ruling my body, telling me exactly where to place my feet in order to make as little sound as possible. The feeling is exhilarating and a rush to my senses and, if the moment wasn’t so desperate, I would throw my head back and laugh with the sheer joy of it.
I slow when I see my quarry come into view. He’s moving stealthily through the long grass and, as luck would have it, he’s very near to the tree-line. I won’t have far to leap when I make my move.
I choose a tree and duck behind it, not even needing to look out to know exactly where my prey is. My hands itch around the knuckles and I curl them into fists, wishing I could have my lover’s claws right now. The lethal blades would come in useful, but my bare knuckles will have to do.
As the shootist draws level with my tree, I drop into a crouch and hurl myself out of hiding, resisting the urge to indulge in one of Logan’s infamous battle-howls. I tackle the man low, taking his legs out from under him and hearing a muted ‘oof’ as he hits the ground. I have no desire to touch this guy – anyone crazy enough to take on the Wolverine is not a person I want taking up permanent residence in my head – and so I wrap my arms around his neck and twist. I hear a satisfying snap and his flailing body goes still.
I hold my breath for a moment, expecting to hear a shout, a gunshot, anything to show that this guy’s sudden disappearance has been noticed. But I hear nothing and, when I roll to my knees to peer through the grass in the direction of the bike, I suddenly know why.
The second shootist has moved faster than I expected and is standing over Logan, pointing his weapon directly at my lover’s face.
Two things happen simultaneously – I leap forward, all pretence at stealth gone, screaming my lover’s name, as the lover in question surges to his feet, howling like a madman and swinging his claws in a wide arc at the shootist’s neck. The results are predictable and gorily dramatic.
A hail of bullets erupts from the three men still in hiding and Logan howls once more, dropping to one knee as he takes a bullet in the side. He sees me charging across the grass and struggles upright, roaring my name.
“Rogue!”
By the time I reach him, he is on the bike with the motor running, and I see the remaining three shootists running through the grass towards us. Logan can obviously see them too, because he aims a vicious snarl at the nearest one and has the satisfaction of seeing the man falter.
My lover looks dreadful – his face is pale and sweaty and he is covered in blood, both his own and the shootist’s. His breathing rattles in his chest and, when he gestures at me to get on the bike behind him, it’s with the stunted movements of a man in a lot of pain.
I shake my head at him, pushing him back and vaulting on to the bike in front of him. “Don’t take offence, sugah, but ya look dead on your feet. If ya pass out while drivin’ ah don’t give much for our chances.”
The fact that he doesn’t argue with me lends mute testament to how bad he really feels.
I haven’t a clue how to drive a bike, but I access Logan’s memories and send it careering towards the trees, my eyes already picking out the rabbit track ahead. I hear a couple of cracks ring out behind us and I feel Logan jerk and hear him grunt and I know he’s been shot again. My heart cries out in pain for him.
“Logan? You okay, sugah?”
A moment’s silence, then, “M’fine, Marie. Jus’ go.”
His voice is rough – he’s hurting – but I don’t get time to dwell on this as the rabbit track is upon us and I send the bike hurtling through the trees. If not for Logan’s feral instincts and sight I would have wrapped the Harley around the nearest tree – I’m having enough trouble keeping it upright on the uneven ground as it is, and I scream as the front wheel hits a furrow and we begin to slide out of control ……
Logan’s arm snakes around me and he grabs the handlebar, simultaneously putting a foot to the ground and correcting our forward motion. But the effort costs him dearly and he slumps against my back as he relinquishes control to me once more.
We rocket out of the trees onto the dirt road …… and straight into the path of an armoured truck.
“Oh, geez ……!” I gun the engine and speed up in an effort to put as much distance between us and the truck’s huge wheels as possible. “They’ve got flamin’ reinforcements!”
Logan’s only answer is a non-committal grunt. His arms around my waist are painfully tight – almost a death-grip – and I pat his hand reassuringly, knowing that each jolt on this dirt road must be agony for him.
There’s a strange sounding click from the truck behind us and the hair on my neck literally stands on end. “What the hell was that?”
I feel Logan move as he looks behind us and then his breath is hot on my ear as he leans in close. “Don’t look back, Marie! Just go! Go!”
I don’t need telling twice. The engine roars as the bike shoots forward, just as a hail of bullets peppers the ground behind us. “They’re shootin’ at us!”
“No! Ya think?” Logan’s voice is laced with pained sarcasm. “They’ve got a machine gun mounted on top o’ the truck. If they hit the bike, we’re goners. Ya gotta move, Marie!”
“I’m trying!” And I am, too, literally weaving across the narrow track in an effort to throw the sights of the gunner behind us. The big truck all but fills the track, its sides brushing the overhanging branches.
They open fire again and I hear a metallic ping as a bullet hits the bike and then a grunt from Logan. Christ, they’ve shot him again!
“Rogue?” Oh, geez, he sounds awful. I risk a quick glimpse behind me – his face is ashen and there’s a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth. Oh, Logan …… “Keep yer eyes ahead, Rogue. Ya gotta do somethin’ fer me.” He’s using my codename, which means …… Oh god, were gonna fight! “When I give the signal, pull over ta the side o’ the track an’ hit the brakes. We’re gonna let the truck go past.”
“Go past …… ? Christ, Logan, there isn’t room! They’ll hit us!”
“Just do it, Rogue!” His tone leaves no room for argument and I nod, silently.
I tighten my grip on the handlebars and focus ahead, my expression determined. There’s a section of road coming up where the trees are set back slightly, leaving a grassy area at the side of the road and I know Logan is planning on staging his ambush there. I grit my teeth, awaiting his signal.
“Now!”
He barks the command and I swerve onto the grass, simultaneously hitting the breaks. Unable to stop in time, the truck thunders past and Logan unsheathes his claws, ramming them into the front wheel with a fierce roar.
The truck shudders as the wheel collapses, spinning it around and then flipping it as the opposite wheel digs into a rut in the road. It crashes into the trees just ahead of us, resting drunkenly on the roof, the machine gun lying crushed beside it.
“Let’s go!” Logan sheathes his claws, but I get a glimpse of his hand and the wounds aren’t healing.
“Your hand …… ?”
“Go!”
Helplessly, I set the bike to the road again and we roar past the disabled truck. A couple of dazed looking men are clambering out of the front.
We encounter no further resistance and I head for the main road, not even thinking of reducing speed. Logan urgently requires medical attention and the sooner he gets it, the better.
We both spot the camper and trailer blocking the end of the dirt road at exactly the same time.
“Logan!”
“I know. I see it.”
“But it’s ……”
“I know ……!”
It’s the same camper we passed hours ago on the way to the clearing. That it’s here now, blocking the roadway, means ……. it means we’re in a hell of a lot o’ trouble, that’s what it means.
The vehicle is blocking the entire road – there’s no way past it on either side and the trees grow so thick to the edge of the road that there’s no way to get through them. But Logan leans past me, grasping the handlebars to either side of my hands and hunching over me.
“Keep yer head down, Rogue, an’ hang on,” he growls, warningly, in my ear.
“But what …… ?” He can’t be thinking of going through the camper, can he? He’s crazy! He might survive the impact, but I certainly wouldn’t, the protection of Logan’s arms or not. And what about the bike?
I’m about to protest when I see it – the fallen tree at the side of the road. It’s broken off half way up the trunk and collapsed parallel to the roadway, with the highest end facing the camper. And with a jolt of absolute dread, I realise what he’s planning to do.
“No! Oh god, Logan, you can’t! We’ll be killed! Or worse!”
“Jus’ hang on, darlin’,” is his only reply.
Somehow, he manages to wring a burst of extra speed out of the engine and that fallen tree is in front of us far faster than I expected – or even hoped. Logan makes the bike do a little hop and then we’re roaring up the fallen trunk, with a huge drop and a big expanse of nothing between us and freedom. And below us is a crappy old camper which is even now spewing out a troop of body-armoured men, all carrying guns. If the fall doesn’t kill us, the men with guns will.
We’re between a rock and a hard place.
And, curse me for a fool, but I actually start to laugh.
The end of the tree is upon us and the bike takes off, wheels spinning as though trying to find purchase on the air. Logan heaves back on the handlebars, trying to keep the front end up – if we hit the road on the front wheel we’ll flip and that’ll be all she wrote. But the camper is looming ahead of us, and it soon becomes apparent that we’re descending too fast. With our combined weight, the bike is too heavy and we’re going to hit.
“Oh shiiiiit!”
I can’t help it – I squeeze my eyes shut. If death is coming, I don’t want to watch and maybe he’ll miss me. I can feel Logan frantically fighting the bike and then there’s a sickening crunch as we hit something and bounce. The bike slews sideways and Logan grunts, hauling on the handlebars. Then there’s a huge jolt, a smattering of gunfire, we skid sideways before the wheels find purchase and suddenly we’re roaring forward again.
“Ya can open yer eyes now, darlin’.”
I do so, tentatively, to find us barrelling down the road that leads, inevitably, to the mansion. I don’t believe it! We jumped the camper! We’re back on the goddamn road!!
“What happened?” I ask, twisting around slightly so that I can see my lover’s face. His skin is beginning to take on a ghastly grey pallor.
“Hit the roof,” he explains, his eyes never leaving the road. “Any lower an’ we’d have gone right through the flamin’ cab …… but …… we ……”
“Logan!” I scream as his eyes close and his body begins to slide sideways, threatening to drag us over. I make a wild grab for the handlebars as the bike wobbles alarmingly, my right hand reaching behind me to grab hold of Logan’s jacket, clinging on for dear life. I am not going to lose him! I will not!! “Logan, for heaven’s sake, stay with me!”
He groans and his eyes flutter open, quickly taking in our predicament. His arms go around my waist and tighten, locking him in place. “Marie …… I ……” His voice is a painful wheeze.
I try to ignore the tears welling up in my eyes and concentrate on keeping us both on the bike. “We’re nearly there, sugah. Just hang on. Ah’ll get us home.”
“Marie ……”
He’s passed out. I can tell by the weight on my back. His head is resting on my shoulder and I can hear his breath wheezing in and out with a wet rattle. Oh, god, Logan, hang on. Please hang on.
The journey back to the mansion is the longest I have ever taken in my entire life. The road seems to go on for ever and I alternate between moments of perfect lucidity - during which I talk to Logan, hardly caring whether he can hear me or not just as long as I assure him of my love for him and that I will get him home safely – and moments when I cry floods of devastated tears, hardly able to see the road ahead through my misery, cursing the men who’s dirty sneak attack has led to this and hoping they all burn in hell.
And then the gates to the mansion are ahead of us and I cry out with joy, knowing that help will soon be at hand.
“Logan, we’re here! Ah got ya back safely, sugah!”
There is no answer, but I didn’t expect one and, as I trigger the little switch next to the handgrip which transmits a code to open the gates, I likewise open my mind, screaming mentally for attention.
Professor! Jean! Logan’s hurt! Help me!
*We’re on our way, Rogue*
I take the turn into the driveway without slowing, narrowly missing the still opening gates. The bright lights of the mansion are now before me, beckoning me on, promising refuge and the welcome companionship of friends and family and my heart lifts with the knowledge that we’re safe.
The front door opens to reveal Scott and Jean silhouetted against the light in the hallway and, distracted, I hit a rut in the gravel. The bike slews sideways, spilling us both to the ground, and sliding on its side to hit the porch steps with a resounding crash. Concerned for Logan, I scrabble to my knees, heedless of the cuts and scrapes on my hands caused by the sharp gravel, my thoughts for my lover and for him alone. He’s not moving and I roll him onto his back just as Scott and Jean reach us.
“Jean, he’s hurt! Help him! Please!”
They go down to their knees beside my lover and suddenly there are a pair of arms around me, pulling me back, giving Jean room to work and I look up into the fathomless blue eyes of our weather witch, Ororo, seeing my misery reflected there.
“Oh god, ‘Ro, he’s hurt. He’s hurt so bad ……”
She strokes my hair, shushing me, assuring me that everything will be alright, that Logan will be fine, and I believe her, until she breaks off with a gasp and falls silent, and I look around to see what’s wrong and find Jean staring at me with panic stricken eyes.
I pull away from Ororo’s arms. “What are you doing?” I demand. “Why aren’t you helping him?”
I look from Jean to Logan, lying so still and silent on the ground, and I know. God help me, I know, and my heart breaks.
“No,” I whisper and my voice breaks on the word. I look back to Jean and she’s crying, silent tears rolling down her face and Scott is gathering her into his arms and my Logan is still lying on the ground.
“He’s not breathing.” Jean’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but I can hear every word as if she were shouting in my ear. “He’s dead, Rogue. Logan’s dead ……”