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Registered User
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Posts: 129
Join Date: Jul 2008
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It was past midnight. Every person in the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters was fast asleep, except for one brawny man with wild hair.
Logan stepped quietly down the stairs, occasionally glancing to the left or right. He didn’t want to wake anyone. He was not good at goodbyes. A battered leather rucksack hung from his left shoulder, packed with only the essentials: A spare change of clothes, a pack of matches, and several bottles of whiskey. Logan wasn’t bringing any food. He’d catch his own in the forest. As Logan made his way into the garage he absentmindedly rubbed the flesh between his knuckles.
Scott’s motorcycle was right where it always was. Recently waxed, the bike glistened in the faint garage lights. Logan smiled. Scott hated it when Logan borrowed his bike without asking, thus Logan borrowed Scott’s bike without asking. Logan mounted the motorcycle. A shiny blue helmet hung from the tilted handlebars of the bike. Logan shoved it off and it fell to the floor with a dull clunk. If there was one thing Logan did not need, it was a helmet. He had one custom built right into his skull.
Logan gunned the engine and rocketed out of the garage.
Logan pushed the bike to its limit. He was rocketing around curves and zooming down the roads at over 125mph. No normal person could go that fast on a motorcycle around such curves and live to talk about it. But then, Logan wasn’t normal. His mutant abilities gave him heightened senses and reflexes. And he wasn’t afraid to fall. Fear is crippling, but Logan crippled fear.
After hours of high speed driving, Logan arrived at his destination. His already feral-looking hair was even wilder. He propped the bike up on its kickstand and faced the edge of the woods. He’d leave the bike where it was. The high tech security system installed in it would keep any would-be-thieves away from it.
Logan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The scents of the forest came rushing at him. Logan could smell a group of campers several miles away, four men and a bloodhound. Hunters. There was another scent…something…Logan couldn’t place it.
He opened his eyes. The sun was not yet rising, but the night was brighter. Logan hung his rucksack across his chest and stepped past the first trees. It was darker under the cover of the trees. The forest was silent. The only noises were the crunching of twigs and dry leaves beneath Logan’s boots.
He had no particular destination. He just wanted to be alone. Logan felt that he was wearing the nerves of everyone at the mansion thin, and had decided to take a trip into the wilderness. He’d actually come to the decision earlier that very night while lying awake in his bed. He knew some people would be worried. Logan hoped Jean would miss him, although he buried that thought. No doubt the Professor would find him with cerebro and put everyone’s minds at ease.
The first rays of sunshine began breaking through the canopy of leaves and branches overhead. Birds began to chirp merry songs and Logan saw squirrels scurrying up and down tree trunks. But as he was walking, Logan noticed that the birds became gradually silent and the squirrels stood still, ears pricked up, listening to something. Logan stopped walking and glanced around. His nostrils twitched, sniffing the air. Logan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the hell? He barely had time to contemplate the origins of this strange scent before he was deafened by a shockwave and slammed into a tree. Darkness.
There he is.” Drake Sanders whispered, shouldering his rifle. Hidden in a cluster of bushes, he was invisible to the oblivious deer. It was just standing in a small clearing practically asking to have a bullet put through it. Drake lined up the shot. The deer suddenly went rigid, head up in the air, ears perked. It bolted before Drake could pull the trigger. “Damn it!”
Drake stood up and spat. He was a large man, his flannel shirt barely containing his plump belly. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He wondered what had spooked the deer as he lit up a cigarette. He only smoked on these camping trips where his wife couldn't bitch about it. God, was he glad to get away from her for a few days. He happened to glance up at the sky and glimpse what looked like a huge, spiraling, metal croissant. “My God...” Drake said limply just before the craft disappeared below the horizon where sky met tree. The cigarette fell from his mouth. With a deafening WHAM he was blown backward off his feet and hit his head on a low branch.
Drake came back to consciousness slowly. He saw three blurry shapes standing above him, talking excitedly. As Drake opened his mouth to speak, he felt the excruciating pain in his head and moaned.
“Hey, he’s awake. Drake, bud, I think you’ve got a concussion. Did you see that thing?” Drake groggily stood up, the world still a haze. He could smell something though, smelled like smoke.
“We have to check it out, man. We have to.”
Drake recognized his friend’s voices. Chuck, Brady, and Chris were all looking in the direction of the crash, practically ignoring Drake.
“I’m fine, thanks. What the hell happened?"
Brady whooped excitedly. "Didn't you see it, Tubby? The fuckin' UFO! Like in Close Encounters! Holy Mother 'o God!"
Chuck clapped Chris on the back. "We have to go check it out, right?"
Chris nodded. "We sure do, Mulder. Come on, Scully! Get up!" He nudged Drake with his foot.
With much effort and sweat, Drake managed to get to his feet. His shirt had been torn open and his hat was gone. Christ, he'd sunburn for sure.
Minutes later he was struggling to keep up with his friends as they hurried through the woods to the where they presumed the strange craft to have crashed. His head was still in pain, but he was at least able to function without any help. It hurt to talk, so he just listened as his friends jabbered on about aliens and UFO’s.
Through the trees directly ahead of the group they could see a fire burning and smoke billowing up into the air. All four gripped their guns a little tighter.
Chuck approached the wall of black smoke. He glanced back at the other three, grinned, and walked into the smoke.
“Holy…hey guys, you gotta see this! This is some fuckin' Twilight Zone shit! There’s-” Chuck enthusiasm was cut off by his own muffled scream and three quick shots from his rifle. Then, silence. Brady and Chris charged through the trees and smoke, over small patches of fire. They screamed Chuck's name. Drake stood still, petrified. He heard his friends calling for Chuck and then their own terrified shrieks. Guns went off. He heard his best friends moaning for their mothers.
It was like a nightmare...in fact...yes! He must still be unconscious! This was just a hallucination. Of course.
Drake was trembling and on his way to his knees when something shaped like a huge spider shot out from the smoke and latched itself onto his face. A terrifying sense of claustrophobia set in. Drake was aware of being smothered and he felt something worming its way down his throat. He thrashed around wildly before he fell to ground, unconscious, victim to the same fate as his friends.
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