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FIC: A Stolen Season 3/?

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  • rimmette@earthlink.net
    A Stolen Season 3/? Author s Warning: More character deaths. A lot more. For disclaimers, etc., see part one. ***** POV: Logan My skin feels like pins
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 18, 2001
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      A Stolen Season 3/?

      Author's Warning: More character deaths. A lot more.

      For disclaimers, etc., see part one.


      <i>POV: Logan</i>

      My skin feels like pins and needles are pressin' in all over it.
      It's like the tingling you feel after your foot falls asleep and you
      finally let the circulation come back, only spread out over your
      entire body.

      Still, I'm healin'. Marie's not. As soon as I see her crumpled on
      the floor, I want to touch her and let her heal, too. Before I get a
      chance, though, I hear the voices.

      "Those last two have to be down here somewhere. Check every room." a
      deep voice commands.

      Other male voices answer with a unified, "Yes, sir."

      They're military, and they're after me and Marie. From the sound of
      footsteps echoing down the metal-plated hallway, there's gotta be at
      least twenty of 'em. They're splitting up, but if they find us in
      here, the sounds of fightin'll let the rest of 'em know just where to
      come. I've gotta get Marie outta here. I can't fight and protect
      her at the same time.

      I lift her into my arms, but she's limp, a dead weight. The way I'm
      cradling her, her head lolls back at what's gotta be an uncomfortable
      angle. I can't carry her like this. I set her down and instead lean
      over to pull her over my shoulders in a fireman's carry, but before I
      can move her, she half-whispers, half-says, "Logan."

      I freeze, waiting for the voices to get louder and the footsteps to
      speed up, but they don't. They must not have heard her.

      "Marie, you gotta be quiet," I whisper, barely audible.

      "My skin," she whispers back, quieter now.

      Dammit. I'm still wearing that damn hospital gown, and even though
      she's fully clothed, there's no way I'll be able to pull her over my
      shoulders without her face touchin' my bare skin. That's why she
      stopped me.

      There's no time, though. The footsteps are gettin' closer, and I'm
      sure those doors'll whoosh open any second. We can't be here when
      they do. Cradling her in my arms as quickly and gently as I can, I
      hurry over to the pile of clothes I'd changed out of behind the
      privacy screen and lump them onto her stomach before heading to the
      back of the lab.

      There's an elevator back there leading down to the flight deck that's
      used mostly for medical emergencies. Despite my healing factor, I've
      become very well acquainted with that lift over the years. I usually
      haven't had to stay in the lab more'n a few hours before I heal, but
      until then, Jeanie's insistent on checkin' me out.

      The lower levels are made up of two stories to give the plane enough
      room and the Med Lab is on the higher level. The lift'll get us
      deeper into the underground, but it'll also get us further from
      whoever's lookin' for us.

      I set Marie down as soon as I enter and have a long sleeved flannel
      shirt pulled on by the time the bell dings. I press myself against
      the wall next to the doors and am ready for a fight when they finally
      open onto the flight deck.

      As soon as the air from the massive room invades the elevator, I know
      that no one's waitin' to capture us. They probably haven't made it
      down this far yet. No, only the scent of death hangs in the air.

      Marie's facin' away from the doors and I'm glad, 'cause Hank's body
      is lyin' on the ground underneath the jet in plain sight. Even if I
      could fly the thing, there's no way we'd escape in that. The
      engine's in pieces, parts spread neatly around Hank's body on tarps.
      He must've been working on it when it happened. Just like Jean, it
      looks like he died instantly.

      "Logan? What is it? What's going on?" Marie asks, startling me from
      Hank's limp form.

      "Nothin'," I say quickly, then return back to my clothes. "There's
      no one here. I'll just get dressed, and we'll get movin'."

      I don't think she believes me. Hell, I've never been a good liar,
      especially with Marie. She knows me in some ways better than I know
      myself. Still, she lets it slide. In no time, I've got my jeans
      snapped, my shirt buttoned, and my boots pulled on. We're good to
      go. Just one more thing.

      "Marie, I kinda... well, I gotta use you as a doorstop. We can't
      let 'em follow us with the elevator."

      "It's ok, Logan."

      "I'll be right back," I assure her.

      Pulling Marie half-way out of the lift, I use her to keep the doors
      open as I run to get one of Hank's screwdrivers that I can use as a
      more permanent stop.

      As I crouch down by Hank, though, I see two more bodies on the other
      side of the Blackbird: the Popsicle and his wife. They've collapsed
      into each other's arms, sitting on crates where they'd probably been
      keeping Hank company. I thought I'd smelled them in here, but I was
      hoping I was wrong.

      I feel my rage risin' when I look at Kit Kat's pregnant belly. She
      was expectin' in three months. I want to turn around and hunt down
      the faceless men followin' us. I want to plunge my claws into them
      and watch them die for what they've done.


      Marie. Gotta stay focused. She's completely helpless, paralyzed
      like this. If I run off and get myself killed or captured, she'll be
      caught too.

      "I'm here," I answer, picking up a flat-head screwdriver and going
      back to where she lay, using it to jam the doors open.

      Now that I'm covered, I pull her onto my shoulders, her right arm and
      leg hanging over for me to grab onto. With her positioned like this,
      her head isn't bobbing around so much and she's facin' so she can
      only see what's right below her on the floor.

      Heading for the auxiliary stairwell, I take a wide path around Hank,
      so she won't see him lying there. They'd become good friends over
      the years, and I didn't want her to have to see him like that, his
      eyes staring lifelessly up at the hangar doors high above.

      Once I enter the stairwell and reach the top, I stop before opening
      the door, listening for any movement. There isn't any, and when I
      crack the door open, I can't smell anything but more death. Slipping
      out into the open foyer, I see even more bodies. Kids are strewn
      where they fell, in the hall, on the couch by the TV, around the
      foosball table, everywhere. I can't hear any breathing, so they're
      not paralyzed. They're all dead.

      I don't know how long I stood there, staring at their innocent, pale
      faces before Marie whispered my name. That's when I came back to my
      senses and realized that my claws were out and I was growlin' low in
      my throat. When I clamp my mouth shut, though, I can still hear
      noises, outside. Men's voices, shifting fabric, and muffled, soft
      thumps. I wanna go over to the window and check it out, but there's
      no way I can move without Marie seein' the bodies. They're too close
      together for her to miss them in her peripheral vision.

      "Marie, baby," I whisper. "Close your eyes."

      "Logan, what..."

      "Trust me, darlin', just do it."

      She doesn't answer, but as I walk over to the closest window, she's
      still breathin' evenly so she must've listened. Once I've siddled
      close enough that I can just barely see what's going on without being
      visible to the men outside, I feel suddenly sick to my stomach and am
      glad Jeanie didn't let me eat lunch. The muffled, soft thumps I hear
      are the sound of children's bodies as they pile 'em up like dry cord
      wood. They're collecting them from the grounds, and I'm sure they'll
      soon start on the inside rooms.

      There's no one alive here, no one but me and Marie and the soldiers.
      They killed everyone else. How did we survive? Was it my mutation?
      Does Marie still have some of it that's keepin' her alive?

      Even as I wonder this, I see two soldiers walk past my window
      carryin' Cyke's body, only he's not dead. I can hear his choking
      sobs and see the tears streaking down his face from under his
      glasses. I get closer to the window, tryin' to see where they're
      takin' him, and I can just make out the back of a black van.

      When they open the back, I see a few more kids in there, paralyzed
      and cryin', and just before the doors shut, I can hear Cyke say
      Jean's name through his hitching breaths. He knows she's gone, just
      like Marie and I thought, but he couldn't get down there to help
      us 'cause he was just as bad off as we were.

      Whoever these soldiers are, they killed whoever they didn't want and
      paralyzed the rest. Judging from the back of that van, they didn't
      want very many. They've killed children without a second thought and
      I don't want to know what they have planned for the people they
      wanted to keep.

      Just as I'm thinkin' about how I can get to that van, I hear a door
      opening on the other end of the foyer and start to run in the
      opposite direction. I can't let 'em get Marie. There's no way she's
      ending up in the back of that van, too.

      I make it into the kitchen, and I don't hear anyone followin' so I
      don't think they saw us. Still, I can't push our luck any more.
      We've gotta get away, regroup, and then rescue Cyke and the others
      when we've got a better chance at winning. I head towards the

      It doesn't smell like anyone was in here when it happened, no death,
      just stray people smells and gasoline. I lower Marie off of my
      shoulders and into the passenger seat of Scooter's black, convertible
      Porsche. He's fitted it with the same turbo engine that's on his
      motorcycle, and it's the only thing that'll get us far away fast
      enough that these guys won't be able to follow us.

      I strap Marie into the passenger seat and lower it down until she's
      practically lying flat on her back. They've got guns and automatic
      weapons, holstered and casually slung but still there, and I don't
      want her gettin' hit. Sniffin' and listenin' by the garage door, I
      don't hear anyone close by, still I'm not takin' any chances. I
      start the car at the same time I trigger the doors. Just when we've
      got enough clearance, I speed outta there, racing down the driveway.

      We caught 'em off guard, but they're professionals. They start
      shootin' at our disappearing vehicle, but I know it's too little too
      late. Of course, that's before I take a bullet in the back of the


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