Logan’s swing of claws missed as he was shot for the umpteenth time. He staggered backwards with a weak grunt, his body struggling to repair the copious damage of bullet fire. More armoured vehicles had raced in to join the battle, each bringing a team of armed soldiers. He made a huge breath of air, only able to lift his head once before his eyes rolled backwards. His body hit the snow with a heavy thud, claws automatically retracting into his forearms.
“He’s down! He’s down! File in, men!”
He hazily saw the murky figures of faces come upon him, feeling his forearms be wrenched upward and locked securely to stop him lashing out any further. But he had no energy left. His wounds were barely healing, body riddled with injuries that couldn’t mend fast enough. Slowly, tiringly, his blackening vision darkened to unconsciousness.
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There was no stumble, nor any over-dramatic flailing. Thomas hit the ground in a weak, lifeless plummet, the back of his head cracking against the cold, hard earth. His mobile phone clattered out of his loosened grip, skidding across the ice to land against the stationary car tyre. Erratic breaths shook Rogue’s form as she lowered the gun, her eyes staring in dismayed horror. She shakily took a step backwards, leaning against the car weakly, turning her eyes elsewhere than the body. Why had she done that? Why couldn’t she have just fled and spared him?
Because they were not about to spare her and Logan’s life, that’s why.
Rogue shivered a little, her eyes closing. She felt thoroughly sickened with herself, and was praying this was another of those nightmares she would wake from and soon enough find herself at Logan’s side, driving along calmly. But this was reality, and she was a murderer.
Thomas’s conversation had revealed that Logan had been apprehended, and Rogue knew what that meant. Her gut writhed uncomfortably as she looked ahead into the trees. They were taking him to Alkali Lake, they wanted Wolverine. She knew the only one who could reach Logan’s sanity was herself. With a gasp she flung from the side of the car, getting into the driver’s seat hurriedly. The gun was tossed back into the glove compartment, where she was relieved to shut it out of sight. Her eyes stared over the dashboard, numb fingers moving to turn the ignition. She hadn’t ever got round to passing her driving test and it had been a long time since she was last in a driver’s seat.
This was illegal. But then, so was capturing and torturing an innocent man. So was shooting someone with a gun. Right and wrong had become so skewered. The black and white had turned into a hazy greyscale where only one thing mattered now. The law was irrelevant. She wasn’t about to let them kill Logan and allow Wolverine reign supreme. She would not lose the man she loved to some fanatical government scientist who cost Logan his normal life all those years ago.
Shakily, she began moving the car, of which juddered weakly as she tried to adjust herself, thinking back to those lessons on those lazy summer days back in Mississippi. Eventually, intuition trickled in, and she was able to set off. There was a crunch of the man’s mobile phone below a tyre, silencing the concerned cries coming through the earpiece.
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Controls were shakily navigated, and somehow, Rogue thought the only reason she was actually doing this because she had Logan’s abundance of driving experience in her head somewhere. He was so skilled on driving on treacherous icy roads after all those countless years in Canada. With added determination and a quench of revenge for the ones who captured Logan, Rogue pursued.
And she was terrified.
Where were the X-Men now? Since fleeing the mansion, they appeared to have gone their separate ways. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she continued to race the car along the road, eyes anxiously staring ahead. Instinct took her in her directions, as if somehow, she knew where the military base was located.
It called to her.
The confidence gained the longer she drove was abruptly disturbed when her eyes checked the rear view mirror to see a steel grey vehicle pull out onto the road. The same armoured surface glinted cruelly in the moonlight, headlight beams turning upon her mirror and momentarily blinding her. She quickly looked back to the road ahead of her with a panicked gasp. Did they know what had happened? Had they found Thomas’s lifeless body; killed by his own gun?
It was denial to think otherwise. And in retaliation, Rogue drove her foot down fiercely upon the accelerator and within seconds raced off ahead with a screech of the tyres on the ice. Her fingers clenched painfully tight to the steering wheel, urging the car faster as she raced across the long winding road. Her eyes frantically checked the mirrors to see that the chasing vehicle was defiant in it’s pursuit. Somehow, Rogue knew in her gut that this chase wasn’t going to be a case of if she was caught.
It was a case of when.
How long could she keep ahead for? How long before their tactics turned dirty and they tried to ram her to the roadside? Rogue quite simply, wasn’t a qualified driver, and it showed. She didn’t dare to make the risky manoeuvres Logan often did. It took a lot of courage to slow the car down and navigate the vehicle to the roadside. She needed to get to Alkali Lake, and she hoped beyond hope that that was where they were taking her. If they wanted her killed, then she had been dead from the start.
The armoured vehicle screeched to a halt behind her, uniform cladded men leaping out and quickly filing around the car. Rogue closed her eyes slowly, a hand opening the door. She knew there was a chance of her being shot. Her boots quietly crunched in the snow as she lifted herself out of the car. Eyes gradually opened in a bid to give the armed soldier before her a defiant look. Gaze was exposed to the barrel of a gun and she couldn’t help but shrink backwards from it.
No words were spoken, not from anyone.
She was waiting, waiting for the rifle to fire and that bullet to make contact. She had failed dismally in her attempt to rescue Logan. She wasn’t a hero. She wasn’t an X-Man. She was just an eighteen-year-old girl from ol’ Mississippi. She was barely a threat.
She longed to reach forward, grab with her bare hands and draw out every last inch of life out of the soldier before her. But despite Wolverine’s battle call inside of her, she admitted defeat. Her head sank slowly. A handle of the rifle swung out, leaving Rogue no time to comprehend as it smashed against her temple and sent her hurtling to the frozen ground in swirling darkness.
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