Five Months Later…
Sitting in the middle of an enemy base camp, surrounded by pissed off men with weapons was enough to make most people soil their britches. Severely outgunned and outmanned, with certain death looming should have been quite sobering-- the situation made the Wolverine grin. That should have been warning enough for the poor grunts holding the dark haired man in their line of fire, but none heeded it.
With his enhanced senses Logan could smell the sweat, anxiety, and anticipation rolling off the soldiers around him. There were at least twenty men surrounding him and more hidden in the shadows, patrolling the camp. They wanted to kill him, he knew, but they couldn’t--at least not yet--not without knowing who he worked for and if he was alone.
He had heard a series of barked commands, most likely to get whoever was leader of this little cell of vigilantes to come see their prisoner. That was just fine with Logan. Let them give him time to catch his breath after the forty mile trek through the Congo he’d taken.
Logan eased himself back, allowing his haunches to bear most of his weight as he surveyed his surroundings. His mind worked quickly, rapid fire fast, and with icy precision. He had a route of escape mapped out in his head between one breath and the next. He tilted his head, watching as two men tramped towards him and felt the familiar surge of adrenaline course through him, coiling his body, tightening his muscles.
One foolish grunt strode forward, prodding him with the tip of his rifle. Logan turned towards the man with a baring of teeth. The other man must have seen his own death in Logan’s eyes because he quickly backed away, fear coming off of him in waves. He was a fraction of a second too slow. Logan moved like a blur, grabbing the man, snapping his neck and using his dead body as a makeshift shield. Backpedaling towards the thick jungle foliage, using the dead soldier’s rifle to take out as many others as he could, Logan calculated how long he had before the patrolling soldiers came rushing into the fray.
Once sheltered by the dark canopy the leaves provided Logan dropped the body, rushing counter clockwise of the camp, using his superior eyesight, hearing and sense of smell to mentally log each of his enemies locations. Shouts and bullets echoed in the night, several coming close to striking their mark. Logan flinched as bark exploded from the tree he was crouched beside and embedded itself in his cheek and eye.
Logan lowered himself to his stomach, slinging the stolen rifle across his back as he serpent crawled closer to the camp again. He knew the soldiers were expecting him to run away, not come back at them, and that would be their fatal mistake. Logan moved fast across the ground, rising to his feet swiftly, breaking into a dead run as he rushed the camp.
With trained skill he took out the nearest men without wasting bullets, then grabbed their dropped weapons. He shoved two grenades into his deep pants pockets and a serrated blade into his belt loop. He weaved between tents, his eyes scanning for the silver briefcase he had been sent to retrieve. Soldiers were filing back out of the jungle, running towards the encampment realizing that he had doubled back.
The first small group of men came into sight and Logan lobbed one of his two grenades at them. The blast was loud in the night, sending nearby birds into the sky and monkeys screaming. Logan ignored the commotion, searching for his intended target.
He tore tent flaps back, peering into each as fast as he could. Damn it. Where was it? There! Sitting atop a desk in one of the larger tents. He quickly snapped the top open. A top secret classified satellite control box. Mission accomplished. Logan slammed the lid shut, tucked the case under his arm and left the tent.
Another round of soldiers, a burst of gunfire, a bullet tearing through his thigh. Logan grit his teeth, swung around, tossed the other grenade and headed for the jungle again. Once in the dark forest again he tore his shirt, wrapped the material around his upper thigh to help staunch the bleeding. His healing factor would take care of the injury in a matter of moments, but he didn’t feel like leaving a trail of blood for wild animals to follow.
Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out his mini radio. “Target acquired.”
“Acknowledged. Clean up crew in bound. ETA two minutes.”
Logan tossed the radio on the ground, stomping on the small electronic device. Less than a full two minutes later he heard the scream of two jets and the deafening explosion of the encampment being blown apart. Wiping the sweat from his brow he surged into the denser regions of the jungle, making his way as fast as he could. He had less then one day to reach his rendezvous point and collect his one million dollar commission and he’d be damned if he went through all of that for nothing.
In the past five months he had taken several jobs, building up a healthy nest egg for himself. But money wasn’t the real issue. He was restless. He needed something to take the edge off and he had hoped to work himself into exhaustion, but no matter what he did, the disquiet was there. He wondered if it would ever go away--or drive him insane.
Shaking off his troubling thoughts he decided what he really needed was a stiff drink and a good fuck. Everything else could wait.
Elsewhere…
Ororo stared out the waiting room window into the pouring rain. She sighed softly, her fingertips touching the cool glass, tracing the lines left by the falling droplets. She loved the rain. There was something cleansing and pure about it. It washed away what was old and brought life to what was new. It was perhaps, one of the most miraculous things a person could witness.
“Ms. Munroe?”
Ororo reluctantly turned from the rain, glancing over at the portly woman leaning towards her. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“I asked, did you have any questions before your next appointment?” the woman repeated patiently.
Ororo shook her head, flashing a grateful smile. “No. I think I’m all set.”
The nurse nodded, jotting the next appointment date and time onto a small business card. “Well then, we will see you in four weeks.” She handed the appointment card to Ororo. “But feel free to call if anything comes up.”
“Thanks.” Ororo pocketed the card and picked up her jacket from the chair it lay across. She waved to the receptionist, Janet, on her way out of the clinic and made her way out into the rain, not bothering with an umbrella.
“It’s a wonder that girl doesn’t catch pneumonia,” Janet commented, clucking her tongue.
The nurse, privy to Ororo’s charts, simply chuckled. “Not likely,” she murmured walking down the hall. “Not likely at all.”
“So how’d it go?” Was the first thing Becca Montgomery asked when Ororo strode through the library doors. The aged brick building sat in the center of the small town of West Bitterroot, Montana; population less than 800, and it was there that Ororo had found herself a job and a quiet niche in the small community.
Shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the rack, Ororo beamed. “Everything looks great.”
The other woman grinned, her hands making ‘gimme’ gestures. “Did you get pictures?”
“Yes, I got pictures.” For all of thirty seconds Ororo pretended to be put off by having to dig the scans from her purse, but the second she did her heart somersaulted in her chest and her face split into a wide grin. “See?” She held out the black and white images, her hands trembling in her excitement.
“Oh, my God.” Becca breathed, examining the pictures. “It’s like a tiny little person…”
Ororo laughed, nudging her friend with her elbow. “It is a tiny little person.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “I know that, but I mean…this is in you.” She gave Ororo’s gently curved belly a pointed look.
“I know.” Ororo breathed placing one hand on her abdomen. Her mind was still not completely wrapped around the fact that she was going to be a mother; that a tiny life was developing inside of her.
Becca’s look turned appraising. “You know, you’re still not very big. Well aside from your jumbo boobs.”
“Doctor Langston said everything looked great. I’m gaining just fine, thank you.”
“Did he even look at your stomach or was he distracted by your other maternal endowments?”
“Will you cut it out with the boob envy.”
Becca laughed. “I can’t tell… boy or girl?”
Ororo made a face. “Little thing was too stubborn to show us.” Just like Daddy, she thought but kept her mouth closed. As far as the residents of West Bitterroot knew Ororo’s significant other was in the military-- away. Not an all out lie, and one she could live with. She had conveniently left out little details like that she had no way to get a hold of him, suspected that even if she did he would be furious and not want the baby. If she was a liability to his way of life, what on earth would he think of a child?
She shook herself, clearing away those unwelcome thoughts. Whatever he thought was irrelevant. She wanted this child and if that meant raising it by herself, then that’s what it meant.
Becca handed her the ultrasound scans back. “Must be a boy then. Males are definitely the less cooperative sex.”
She tucked the pictures back into her purse carefully. “Probably true. I’m going to go downstairs and get my lunch from the fridge. Would you like a water?”
Becca nodded. “Sure. We’ve been really dead in here today.” She took a quick look towards the windows. “I don’t imagine many people want to get out in the rain.”
“Yes, because we’re a hotspot of activity without the rain.” Ororo rolled her eyes with a chuckle. Truthfully the two of them were lucky to see ten people in a day. They had a few weekly regulars that came in for the papers and a good book, but otherwise it was a very quiet, uneventful place to work.
Poking her tongue out Becca began stacking the small amount of returns left in the overnight drop. “While your downstairs could you grab some extra trash bags?”
“Sure.” The downstairs of the library was dimly lit with piles of old books, periodicals and other miscellaneous odds and ends running the length of the hall and around the small break room. Ororo had always enjoyed reading and writing even more so. The smell of genuine leather books was something she had come to enjoy immensely.
Ororo grabbed her fruit salad and turkey sandwich, extra trash bags and two waters. She glanced at the labels and cringed. Strawberry-kiwi water? “Hey, Becca, what’s up with the flavored waters?” Ororo bump the stairwell door closed with her elbow. “Becca?” The front desk was empty. “Becca? I swear if you jump out from behind the bookcases and try to scare me I may be forced to take drastic action.” Nothing.
Suddenly very uneasy Ororo set her parcels onto a small round table and cautiously made her way to the front desk. She peered over the counter top, her mouth parting in a cry of alarm. “Becca!” Her friend lay crumpled on the floor, face up, eyes open, a small round hole directly between her eyes. There was no use checking for a pulse, the black pool of blood beneath Becca’s chestnut curls told Ororo the bullet had torn clean through.
A book thudded to the floor.
Ororo spun around, her eyes wide as she searched the rows for any movement. Whoever had shot Becca was still in the library. “You obviously don’t have a clue who you’ve just pissed off,” she ground out, tears in her voice.
“Oh, but we do, Ororo…or do you prefer Storm?”
The voice was rough in timbre and hard to locate. Mutant, most likely a chameleon of sorts. Ororo took several rapid breaths, trying to calm herself. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“That should be obvious.”
She tilted her head, trying to follow the sound of his voice. “Are you too much of a coward to show yourself to someone that can defend themselves?”
There was a ripple of movement to her left. She shot out her hand, a blast of wind knocking an entire row of book shelves against the wall with enough force to shatter the windows.
“Not a coward,” the voice continued. “But not stupid. Put your hands on the counter, palms down.”
She stayed as she was.
“Don’t make me say it again. Hands on the counter!” There was a hiss of sound--a weapon being readied. Ororo glanced over her shoulder. Twenty feet to the door… She couldn’t risk a fight. Not in her current condition. She ran.
Thunk! Ororo slammed out of the doors just as a long dart embedded itself into the wood frame. Tranquilizer. She didn’t waste time contemplating it, she just ran. Rain poured down on her, drenching her hair, soaking her clothes, making the pavement slick. As she slid towards her Honda Civic a huge man emerged from the library doors. Victor Creed. Ororo felt panic grip her. She knew it wasn’t his voice she had heard--that meant he wasn’t alone. How many were there?
She fumbled with the handle of her car door, her eyes never leaving the man lumbering towards her with a sadistic smile on his face. Weapon X had found her. That could only mean one thing--they knew she was pregnant. “Stay away from me, Creed!” she warned.
“You gonna zap me again, doll?” he snarled, his longer canines overlapping his bottom lip. “Why would you do something so foolish as that when I let you live last time? We just wanna talk to ya.”
Right, and monkeys were about to erupt from her ass. Ororo jumped into the car, swore violently when she realized her purse and keys were still in the library. A big hand slammed against the window making her look up. Creed stood beside her car, keys twirling around his index finger, whistling.
“Missin’ somethin’, princess? Now quit playing and get outta the car.” He shoved the door, rocking the vehicle violently.
Ororo reached beneath the dash and ripped the wires free. “Go to hell!” The engine roared to life. She jerked the shift, tires squealing. The last thing she heard was Creed swear as she ran over his foot as she sped off. She watched in the rearview for anyone to follow her, but no one seemed to be.
Her eyes welled with tears, making it impossible to see. She pulled over onto the shoulder of the two lane road. “Oh, God, Becca, I’m sorry.”
“If it’s any consolation, she didn’t suffer.”
Ororo screamed. From the backseat one hand covered her mouth as the other shoved a needle into her neck. She slumped forward, shoved to the side as the Weapon X soldier climbed into the driver’s seat. As her vision blurred one frantic internal scream pounded through her mind: Logan, I need you!
