DARK SIDE OF THE MOON
thatcraftykid
track one // “MONEY”
MONEY, GET BACK / I’M ALL RIGHT, JACK, KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF MY STACK
Logan turns his back on her dumbfounded expression and starts walking.
“End of the road, kid. Hated knowing you.”
– Logan –
Acrid bile froths in his throat. Nothing Logan can do but choke on it, until his back knits itself together well enough for him to shove the girl off and roll onto his side. He empties the contents of his stomach onto the snow. Blood’s next, then dry heaves. Between the fight, the flight, and the fall, it’s a good amount of time before Logan can stagger to his feet.
Even passed out, Marie annoys him. He nudges her in the shoulder with his booted toe. “Wake up.” He doesn’t think she can be injured, so he nudges her harder. She flops back like a dead fish.
With a noise of frustration, he crouches beside her. The bare fingers of her left hand are curled against her ear. Snow glistens on her glowing red face. She looks as fragile and sweet as glass-spun sugar – a lying façade if Logan’s ever seen one.
He’s about to rap her against the forehead when he remembers what she said about her skin, whatever the hell “they get hurt” is supposed to mean. She didn’t say anything about hair, so he slides his hand inside her hood and checks for skull injuries. She’s sweating, not bleeding. Pure exertion got her.
“You think I feel sorry for you, kid?” Logan shakes her limp head no. “You think I asked you to lug my heavy ass up into the damn clouds?” He shakes her head harder. Right again. “You think I asked you to get me into a fight with a maniac fuckin’ mutant? My chopper probably stolen by now, my pickup blown all the hell – you think I asked for that? Huh?” He’s got her by the shoulders now. “You think I asked you and your goddamn problems into my shit life?” Logan has to force himself to stop shaking her before he breaks her neck. He sits back on his haunches, panting in her face.
Her nose twitches. She coughs. “Ugh.” She opens her eyes. Coughs twice. Moans, “What died in your mouth?”
Logan lets her drop to her elbows. He swipes his hand across his face as he stands. There’s some vomit in his beard, which he wipes on his sleeve. “I’m not big into flying.”
Marie’s still coughing. “Suck on some snow or something. God.”
“You finished? That’s where I threw up.”
“Oh, ew. Ew. I almost touched it.” She scrambles back on her knees. “It’s everywhere. How did all that even come out of you?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it was the forty-foot drop with the hundred pound weight on my stomach.”
“Okay, that was not intentional. You know, neither of us are dead or mangled, so it was at least a fairly successful rescue.” Marie winces as she gets to her feet like a wobbly-kneed colt. “Where’d we end up, anyway?”
That’s the single decent upshot of this whole fucking catastrophe. The backdrop of the Rockies is as familiar to him as the back of his unscarred hand. His cabin’s just a short hike over the next ridge.
“High Level is twenty kilometers northwest. That’s where I was taking you. Ten minutes away, as the crow flies. Can’t do much better.”
Incredulous, she asks, “You want me to fly us again? I can’t.” She shivers visibly. Eyes not leaving his, she extracts her long gloves from the pockets of her cloak.
“Not us, you. And if you can’t fly, walk.”
“But where’re you going?”
“Home’s due north, and I don’t need you destroying that, too.” Logan turns his back on her dumbfounded expression and starts walking. “End of the road, kid. Hated knowing you.”
“But – Hey, no. You can’t leave me. There’s a fangy Sasquatch back there, and my money’s on fire!”
He pivots. “The money I gave you after you tried to steal it from me at gunpoint. Easy come easy go.”
Marie puts her gloved hands on her hips. “First off, only half of the money was actually your winnings. Second, it’s gone because I chose you over it. Fangs would’ve knocked your head clean off your shoulders if it wasn’t for me.”
“If it wasn’t for you – ”
“Don’t try to make him my fault! Fangs totally went after you.” A valid point. One she ruins by milking it. “So if he comes after me to get to you…” She trails off significantly.
“Can’t guilt-trip me, kid. You may not have any common sense, but you’re sure as shit strong enough to take care of yourself. On top of that, you’ve done not one damn thing to endear yourself to me. I don’t owe you nothin’.”
“Okay. Okay, you don’t. I know that. Logan, I – ” Marie takes a step forward. He takes a step back. “I can’t go into town. I’m on the run now more than ever. You may not care about money, but without it…where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know or you don’t care?”
“Pick one.”
“Shit.” Gingerly she tilts her neck back. Tears gleam in her eyes, but she laughs. It’s sharp and quick to end. “Look, you can skewer me with your claws or whatever, but I’m gonna follow you back to your house. I have to eat. One meal, and I’ll fly away. I swear.”
Logan shifts uncomfortably, suddenly unable to agree to do so little for someone who needs so much.
“I’m not too proud to beg.”
He turns and walks away. “Move your ass,” he tells her for the second time.
Marie keeps pace on his left, taking two strides for his every one. She’s edgy, looking around the forest like the trees are going attack outright.
“Fangs won’t be able to track us since we flew, so that’s good, right?”
Logan grunts.
“Do you know why he’s after you?”
He’d tell her to mind her own business, but, hell, he can’t work out how it’s his business, either. “I don’t have a fuckin’ clue what that was back there. I counted no less than three mutants.”
“Three?”
“Two more showed up while you were busy playin’ Supergirl. Friends of yours?”
“I don’t have any friends.”
“Yeah, well neither do I,” he replies before he can stop himself. Pressing on quickly, he points out, “But you do got enemies.”
“I told you, they’d never let a bunch of mutants run around using their powers like that. Besides, they’re doctors. They don’t have jets.”
“Who the hell does?”
“I don’t know. Military? You were in the army.”
He grunts. Had to have been, war is in his dreams. Would’ve been a long time ago, though. Too long ago, by anyone’s standards.
“Well, it’s probably not military, actually,” Marie says, like it wasn’t her suggestion in the first place. “The US, at least, definitely does not use mutants. Too risky, too much liability. It’s automatic discharge if they find out. Then they recommend you to Southaven for ‘treatment.’ Believe me, I know.”
“You were not in the army.” He actually laughs at the suggestion. “You’re just a kid.”
She bristles. “Air Force. Two tours in Iraq.”
“Bullshit.”
“Ask me anything. Ask me what it feels like to barrel roll a Boeing F-22 Raptor. Ask me the best place to score bootlegs and contraband in Baghdad.” She taps her temple. “It’s all up here.”
“Right.”
She stops to dig into her collar, bringing out a set of dog tags. “These belong to Captain Carol Susan Jane Danvers. I held her until she died, so don’t you tell me I’m just a kid.”
Logan recognizes the deep, turbulent currents running under the surface of those watery brown eyes of hers. It’s a wonder she hasn’t drown. He has. More than once.
“Fair enough,” he replies, longing for a cigar.
Marie lets the chain drop as she stomps past him. “Jerk.”
His sympathy threatens to dissolve. “What was that?”
“You heard me,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Slow down,” he orders, long legs eating up the distance between them. “Break your ankle, you’re on your own.”
“That’ll be a change. Just think, the faster we walk, the sooner you can kick me to the curb.”
“Been thinkin’ about it.”
They come to a high incline, on top of which rests the unpaved road to his cabin. Tree roots stick out down the side. It’d be an easy climb, if it weren’t for the melting ice. He slips twice, the second time as he’s hauling himself over the top. Wet mud clings to his jacket and his jeans.
“Well done.”
He turns, and Marie’s hovering directly behind him. She smirks. Logan has a strong urge to pop her like a helium balloon and watch her zip away. Instead, he turns around and starts walking. It’s not long before she’s huffing and puffing trying to keep up.
“Flying takes a lot outta you.”
“I’d like to see you try it someday.”
“House rule: Only people who shut their yaps get to eat.”
Marie falls silent, obviously just remembering she’s supposed to be humbled by gratitude.
As always, the approach to his cabin feels somehow right. Situated on a plateau, except for the view from above it’s camouflaged by the encroaching forest spreading out behind it. His cabin is sturdy, he cut down the timber for the necessary repairs himself, and a decent size, especially since he added the loft three summers ago. He stops before he gets to the side porch, ostensibly to check for wind damage on the roof.
“Wow,” Marie says.
“What?”
She smiles at him. For the first time, a sweet smile. “It’s nice.”
Logan snorts, but that’s what he wants to hear. Fifteen years, and his cabin is the only thing he has to show for it. “Roof needs re-shingling. And the inside’s…not finished.” Actually, he wrecked it the day he lit out for the winter.
“Outer appearances first. How like a man.”
“How like a woman. No concern for structural integrity.”
Marie’s smile gets brighter. There’s a small gap between her front teeth. He likes it because he’s decided it’s one of the things that makes her look older. That’s important, because she’s pretty when she smiles at him.
Or maybe he likes it because when she’s smiling wide enough to show teeth that means she isn’t talking.
He fishes out his keys as he strides up the porch steps. Unlocking the front door and stepping inside, he scowls at the deep gashes in the entryway wall. He almost forgot how stir-crazy he was when he left. The evidence reminds him. There are claw marks in the large, open den, too. His favorite chair lies overturned and the coffee table is in pieces. He steps over it to get to the kitchen.
Pulling out his cigars from one of the drawers, he watches Marie pick her way through the destruction. She stops at the bay windows, which look out over the screened-in back porch and the big pond. Pushing aside the tattered curtains, she asks lightly, “Ornery house cat?”
He takes a long drag on his cigar, relaxing slightly. “Ornery owner.”
“No foolin’?” she laughs, sliding out of her cloak and a zip-up jacket. She’s wearing a high-necked black top underneath. Fitted. He was right about too skinny, but those are hips he’s seeing now. And breasts.
Cigar clamped between his teeth, he opens all his cabinets at once. “There ain’t much here, kid,” he warns. “Canned vegetables, instant potatoes. More jerky. Crackers. Whiskey.” He opens the refrigerator. “Jar of pickles.” He turns to her. “Been gone a while, and I wasn’t exactly expectin’ company.”
“Sounds like a the makings of a feast to me.”
Comment’s not as glib as he’d like it to be. He shuts the refrigerator. “Eat what you can. I’ll get the water and the boiler going.”
Her thanks follows him into the very back of the cabin.
Pipes froze at some point so it’s a chore getting things up and running, which gives him plenty of time to stew. The mutant trio bothers the hell out of Logan, but not as much as the fact that Marie is right – Fangs attacked him. Saved him from the law, then lured him into a trap. Somebody else’s trap, no doubt, since Fangs seems about as intelligent as he looks. But whose plan and to what end?
Logan flexes his hands, feeling the metal under his skin even now. He was designed for use by someone; more than anything, he wants to know who that someone was. But not at the expense of his freedom. And not at the expense of the kid. She won’t get far on half a meal and zero dollars, not with a whole mess of people after her. Logan has cash money he hasn’t found a use for yet stashed under the floorboards, but even that won’t guarantee she’s not caught.
Marie has to stay, only thing for it.
Logan kicks the boiler hard. It clunks slowly to life.
Hell. He runs his fingers through his hair, jerking back at the smell of his own armpit. Tools put away, he heads down the hall to the cabin’s only bathroom – could be an issue – to wash up. Water’s like ice, so he leaves it running.
He’s tugging off his muddy boots when he remembers that he doesn’t even like the girl. She’s a pain in his ass, as unpredictable as she is moody. She’ll start out obliging, maybe, but give it a day and she’ll be whining that the mattress in the loft is too lumpy and demanding she get his bed.
Logan scowls and sticks his arm under the water. Still icy. He mans up and gets in anyway.
So he has a housemate for awhile. Big deal. He’s shacked up with women before. Almost decade ago, he stayed in Montana with a down on her luck divorcee with killer legs for nearly five months. Of course, when they weren’t fucking they were arguing over some stupid shit or other. And, come to think of it, he spent most of that time on the road just to get away from her. Made a damn fine maid, though. Clothes washed. Meals cooked.
There’s an idea. He’ll put Marie to work, tell her she can earn back that two thousand dollars. Probably take longer than a few days, but more’s the better as far as safe travel goes. Second she starts driving him up the wall, he’ll hit the road and deduct rent for the trouble. He’s got a list of projects a mile long, so there’s no shortage of work.
Facts are facts, and a week or so of aggravation is much less likely to kill him than even one day of exposure is likely to kill her.
Talk about exposure, his dick’s about frozen to his leg. Still sudsy when he shuts off the water, he towel dries the soap off. Marie’ll probably need shampoo and other girly shit, he thinks. And clothes, because he’s not about to let her go naked, danger skin beside the point. Logan’s a lot of things, but he’s no maker of whores.
He’s not above petty revenge, though. First thing he thinks to have her do is wash the mud off his jacket. By hand.
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