Chapter 29: “Invasion (X2)”
John remembered the first time the man who would become his step-father, his arch-enemy, entered his home in Syracuse. Up until that day, the man had always honked and waited out front of the old wood-siding house, in which John and his mother occupied the second-floor apartment. At the sound of that strident call, John (age 11) would watch her face light up strangely — like a Christmas tree with faulty bulbs. She would kiss her young son quickly and give final redundant instructions to the babysitter as she ran down the stairs. John would then hurry to the window and look down to see her being kissed by her mysterious dark-haired boyfriend. In the summer, the top of his convertible would be down, and John remembered staring at the man’s strong, bare arms as they wrapped territorially around his mother in the front seat. He had felt a kind of wary excitement at the sensuous power of those limbs, and found, as he lay in bed later that evening, that he recalled them more clearly than the man’s face.
It had been late September when the boyfriend came to dinner for the first time. Looking back, John realized that the marriage must have already been arranged, though the courtship had been brief. His mother had been more than usually nervous as her two “men” met. She fluttered around the small living room in which she also slept, pushing toys under the couch with her pale feet, pointing them like a ballerina. John barely spoke that evening except to answer questions. He was overwhelmed by the physical presence of the stranger he had up to then observed only from a distance. He watched the man move through the two rooms of his world as if as if staking a claim. The stranger peered into the tiny kitchen with its collection of broken appliances, and into the cramped bathroom where he stirred thick fingers through the bowl of seashells. He then walked boldly into John’s room where posters of dragons and armored elves stared down mistrustfully. John followed him inside, and found the stranger weighing the heft of his Pirates of the Caribbean souvenir pirate skull. When the man turned a cold smile his way, John didn’t return it. He felt violated by the strange presence. The man did not belong in his home.
Much as the soldier coming up the stairs of Xavier’s mansion did not belong.
“The fuck!” John shouted as the man in camouflage fatigues raised a gun at him. Even if John had not spent the last six weeks being endlessly attacked in Jubilee’s training sessions, his experience of ducking his step-father’s fists had already trained him how to hit the ground fast and scuttle. As he rolled to his right, he heard a hiss and a sharp “thunk” in the wood paneling of the hallway. It wasn’t a normal gun, but whatever the fucker was shooting, John didn’t want to be hit by it.
The soldier began climbing the last flight of steps as John rolled behind a palm tree, growing in an antique Chinese ceramic. Sorry about the damage, Chuck, he thought as he braced two legs on the heavy pot and, with a grunt, sent it careening down the steps, knocking the soldier off his feet like that final stubborn bowling pin. John was up and running even before the crash of earth and clay. He reached into his pocket and cursed as he realized his lighter was still by his bedside. As he ran, he could hear brand new sounds in the mansion: heavy footfalls, breaking glass, a high cry cut suddenly short. He burst into the dorm room, snapping on the light.
Flea’s cot was jammed in between the two regular beds and John wasted no time navigating the narrow patch of floor. He leaped up on the sleeping boy’s mattress, and then hopped across to Peter’s, accidentally kicking the big guy in the side.
“Whufuh?” Peter grunted, hauled out of sleep in confusion.
“Soldiers!” John hissed as he dived for his lighter, feeling a sudden jolt of confidence as his palm grasped its cold metal surface. “We’re under attack, get the fuck out!” He was already at the door as he heard Peter calling after him, but there was no time to stop. His mind held only one thought: Bobby, got to get to Bobby!
He rounded the corner and almost fell over Derek Tran. Derek was cowering behind Neal Shaara who, in turn, was confronting another armed soldier. Neal’s hand was aglow with plasma energy which hummed menacingly and made the air around it dance in a field of distortion. John froze, his mind going instantly blank.
Neal stammered, “G-get away! I will fire upon you!” But he didn’t fire. He was as frozen as John. John suddenly wanted more than anything to be telepathic, to urge on his classmate: Do it! Kill him! But John knew it wasn’t going to happen. He could see the hesitation. Ever since he had been 12 years old, Neal had been compelled to hold in the awesome power that surged inside him. He hadn’t asked to be lethal; he prayed to whatever gods were available to make him normal, to save him from the solar fires that pulsed through his veins.
But soldiers don’t hesitate and when he fired his gun, Neal wasn’t as fast as John had been. Even as the boy’s legs buckled, he shot back with a plasma burst, but succeeded only in lighting the edge of a Turkish rug on fire. Derek screamed and the soldier brought up his gun to the new target. That’s when John unfroze. “Derek, stay down!” he shouted and reached out to take control of the incipient blaze, bringing up a wall of flame between the X-students and the soldier. “Go! Run back to your room, get Bobby!”
“But he’s —”
“Go!” John moved forward, pushing the fire ahead of himself, pushing the soldier back until the man turned and ran. John absorbed the flame and it washed through him like a shot of whiskey. He bent down to Neal who was struggling in vain to stand. John found a dart in his neck. A tranq gun? He pulled out the dart and saw two more embedded in the floor.
“Help me up, John,” Neal moaned, his voice slurred. “We have to fight!”
“Yeah, you’re not doing any fighting. Come on.” He grunted as he pulled Neal to his feet, half dragging him towards Bobby’s room. The door was open and he willed Bobby to be there, to be all right. Together they would get the fuck out of this mess. But when he hauled Neal across the threshold and saw only Derek inside, his heart sank. “Where the fuck is Bobby?”
The boy was crying, standing rigid as a statue in his pajamas, stroking his pet rat. “I don’t know. I woke up and he wasn’t here!”
He’s in the kitchen having a fucking bowl of ice cream! John thought, already figuring how he’d get down there without being shot by goddamn commandos. “They sent the fucking army after us, I can’t believe it.”
“No,” Neal muttered. “No American flag on the uniforms. No emblems at all. They are a private army.” He pulled away from John, trying to stand on his own, and immediately keeled over, crashing into Bobby’s desk and sending a pile of books tumbling.
“Jesus Christ, Shaara!” John shouted. “Get your shit together! You have to stay here and keep Derek safe!”
Neal was on his hands and knees, shaking his head. “John, I am ashamed. Should be defending… You-you saved me.”
“Yeah, will wonders never cease,” he muttered. “Listen, I gotta go. You just… just lay there and if anyone comes in, fucking blast them! No questions asked, right?” He stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed. John looked both ways down the corridor, knowing that no direction was safe. He had just decided to try the back stairs when Terry’s scream shattered the air and brought him to his knees.
Kitty’s brain was barely working as the terrible sound of the scream shook her teeth. The horrific wail made her want to climb into the wall and just stay there. She knew Terry had to be hysterical with fear to lose control like that. Was it a nightmare? And just like that, the scream was gone. She opened her eyes and saw Jubilee and Rahne sitting up on Rahne’s bed, looking as shaken up as she was. It took Kitty a second to remember why Jubilee was even in their room. Oh yeah, shit movie marathon.
“What the hell was that about?” Jubilee moaned, rubbing her head. That’s when they heard the other scream. It didn’t last as long, but it chilled them. Running feet, cries of frightened kids, a distant sound of breaking glass. Kitty felt herself go rigid with fear, but Jubilee was already on her feet, putting her ear to the door. “Oh fuck, this isn’t good.”
Rahne’s voice rose in alarm. “What’s happening?”
Jubilee hissed at her and put a finger to her lips. “Pryde, ghost your head through the wall. Tell me what you see.” Kitty was staring at her, but she couldn’t make herself move. “Pryde! Kitty! Come on, you can do it.”
Kitty got off her bed as if she were relinquishing the last safe place on Earth. She shivered with fear as she stood beside Jubilee. She felt the girl’s hand on her shoulder.
“Get down on the floor,” she told her with quiet authority. “Crawl through. There’s less chance they’ll see you down there.” Kitty found her body obeying even as her mind screamed at her, urged her to run back to her bed. “And don’t materialize in case they… in case, okay?”
Kitty took a deep breath and crawled forward, phasing through the wall slowly until her eyes were out in the corridor with its dim night lighting. She turned one way, seeing no one. Then, heavy footfalls behind her. She turned and saw two soldiers sprinting down the long hall in her direction. There was no question; they had seen her. She pulled back into the room and jumped to her feet, shouting hysterically, “They’re coming, oh shit, oh God!”
“Move!” Jubilee yelled and Kitty jumped out of the way as Jubilee slammed Rahne’s desk up against the door, leaning her weight against it even as the invaders started pushing from the other side. “Kitty! Open the window. We have to get out!” Kitty forced herself to cross the room and opened the window. The night air was cold, and there was no easy climb down from the third floor. The next ledge was at least a 15 foot drop. The door was forced open a few inches and Jubilee screamed in fury, pushing at the desk with all her slight weight. “Rahne! Wolf-form now! Come on!”
“I can’t…” Rahne whimpered but then the door heaved open and the recoiling desk knocked Jubilee off her feet. Three girls screamed as the man started forcing his way through the narrow gap. Kitty found herself running back to her bed, pushing herself into the corner, her mind screaming, No! Daddy, they’re here!
Rahne’s scream twisted from the human to the uncanny, and Kitty turned in time to see girl become wolf. The startled invader yelled, “Holy fuck!” as wolf-Rahne turned and leaped out the open window like a nightmare vision from a vampire movie.
Jubilee was on her feet then, shooting fireworks at the man, screaming, “Get out of my house! Get the fuck out, motherfucker!!” The man covered his face and yelled obscenities as sparks crackled across his body. “Pryde, get his gun! Get him!” But Kitty was pressed deep into the corner, unable to move. She had to help, but she couldn’t do it, couldn’t break free of the terror which held her like a fist. She watched helpless as the dazed soldier fell over the desk, and powerless as a second soldier filled the half-open doorway, gun raised. A pulse of air, a blur and Jubilee fell with a soft cry, three small darts in her upraised arm.
The man was in the room, turning on his heel, gun raised, locking Kitty in his sights. She dropped like a stone before the darts could hit her, phasing backwards through her bed, through the floor, tumbling through the second floor library and through that floor, too. Then her training kicked in and she landed on her feet on the ground floor, running pell-mell through the walls of the mansion. Her sanctuary was a war zone. Too late, too late. The Gestapo had gotten in at last. Her parents had been right all along. Everywhere around her, chaos and terror. And she ran and ran, until she was in the locker room off the gym.
She put her ear to the door as Jubilee had in the dorm. She was crying openly now, knowing that she should go back and help. But what could she do? She was just a child! She wasn’t an X-Man! She ran for the fire door and pulled it wide. Cold wind blasted at her. On a hook beside the door hung a black, X-branded duffle jacket. She pulled on the oversized garment and a pair of too-big boots before hurrying out through the open door, running, running towards the lonely darkness of the woods.
I’m sorry, Jubilee!
***
The Phoenix was deep in thought. The Phoenix was thought, and had been for epochs. Now, she was thinking about the deep corridors of space, about the taste of gravity and the tang of light as it bent around dark matter. She remembered time without time, feeding and singing amid the coalescing proto-stars and the young solar systems. The call of the planet had surprised her, aroused her curiosity, for life was the rarest of riches in the vastness of the cosmos. She had sailed towards the blue ball, her wings full with photons, and there she had heard the green hum. It was a protean, evanescent psychic aura, generalized across a billion one-celled minds who bloomed and died and learned to desire. And what did life desire? Only more life. The keen urgency of that desire was addictive, and the Phoenix exulted in the psychic bath, dipping lower and sipping deeper until all at once, the trap was sprung. The open avenues of the stars were lost to her.
The eons passed in her molten prison, deep in the roiling core of the Earth. She was almost content to listen from afar as the primitive psychic energy broke apart into a thousand trillion separate strivings, until the music grew so contrapuntal, it took all of her vast, time-ripened experience to decipher its code, to find the beauty in the cacophony. And perhaps she convinced herself that she was not other, but mother of all. That deep in the magma, she was creator, Life Incarnate.
Until she heard the voice of Jeangrey.
Oh, just a child, but already so strong a note in the psychic chorus. A solo, a cadenza. And listening intently to the utterly unique voice that was Jeangrey, the Phoenix realized she was no longer a prisoner of the core. The anchor had freed the ship. But the human girl proved to be a trap herself. For if the Phoenix were to take control, to release all she was, the vessel would crack and she would again lose her place in the world above. She would lose her dream of returning to the stars.
No, she had to wait for the wondrous girl to mature, until a time came when she could reveal herself to Jeangrey and together they could fly free. And that great moment would have already come to pass, if not for the interference of Xavier. From the beginning, he had been frightened of Jeangrey. Perhaps he felt no human could handle such a gift; no one but himself, that is. And so the Phoenix had watched in impotent fury as the brilliant vessel was reduced to gourd, a hazelnut with only enough room for the most pathetic flexings of telekinesis and the vaguest hummings of telepathy.
The Phoenix suffered the indignity of looking out through Jeangrey’s limited human senses. She was with the weather witch in a temple, chasing a teleporter. Are you bored yet? Jeangrey asked. Not for long, the Phoenix thought.
***
It was just before 9 a.m. when Logan exited the highway and drove Scott’s exquisitely tuned car into the sleeping Sunday suburbs of Boston. The trip had taken hours longer than it should have. Every time they saw police cars, they had slipped off the highway onto side roads. Logan told them that if Stryker was working for the government, it paid to stay paranoid. John knew he was right, but he was starting to go completely stir crazy in the crowded car. And it was altogether a bad thing that he had time to think.
As long as the night had been all “action! action! action!” he had been able to forget everything that had happened the day before. But now, at the end of a long commute, it was all he could do to stop himself jumping from the moving vehicle. Not that he wanted to kill himself — he just wanted to be ejected from the smoking fuselage of his life. He was craving freefall. He wanted to be free of trying to please, free of lectures on what a disappointment he was, free from being beaten up for being himself.
His conclusions came easily, and they were brutally clear: fuck Xavier with his underhanded manipulations. Fuck Summers who thought it all boiled down to spit polish and calisthenics. And more than anything, fuck Bobby Drake who lied and lied until reality was a swirling maelstrom of expedience and self-preservation. Fuck Bobby Drake who would tear down the walls of heaven before he’d admit to himself that he was a craven hypocrite who used everyone that loved him as props in his own private drama of self-deception.
As they approached his neighborhood, Bobby leaned forward between the seats to give Logan directions. John, in the front passenger seat, wouldn’t look at him, but in his peripheral vision, he could see Bobby’s smooth, pale hand with its long expressive fingers, gesturing right or left as he pointed out various landmarks. Bobby seemed genuinely excited, as if he had forgotten that their home had just been invaded by fucking commandos. John longed for that ejection button.
“Yeah, Mike and I used to hang out in this park and just talk and talk,” Bobby was explaining to Rogue with a nauseating air of nostalgia. “Our school is just around the corner. I wish there was time to show you —”
“There isn’t,” Logan said definitively. “Which way at the lights?”
“Left,” Bobby said a little deflated, but then he perked up as he pointed to a strip mall on their right. “Oh! That’s where I get my ’boarding gear!”
“Looks nice,” Rogue said politely and John rolled his eyes. Maybe it was time to cut through some of the bullshit.
“Hey, tour guide,” he said. “What are your parents going to say when we show up in our underwear first thing on a Sunday?”
“I think they won’t be there,” Bobby said. “Mom’s been dragging everyone to church lately, if you can believe it.”
Rogue said, “My family went every week. Didn’t yours?”
“Not since I was a little kid. But lately, mom’s been really enthusiastic about it. Um, I actually think maybe she’s trying to find real estate clients there.”
John snorted. “American spirituality is alive and well in Massachusetts.” He looked out the window at the gaudy, overbuilt suburban homes with their overwrought columns and their stone walkways which meandered in sad imitation of something organic. “Where does Mike live?” he asked.
“See that TV tower? Just to the west of that.”
“Let’s go there.”
“What? Why?”
“Drake, come on! Your parents are jerks. And they don’t even know you’re a mutant! At least the Haddads will have some sympathy. They’ve been to the school. We won’t have to explain ourselves.”
Logan looked in the rear view mirror. “He has a point, Bobby. What do you say?”
John could feel Bobby’s scowl without even turning around. “No. Mrs. Haddad hates me. We’ll go to my house. What’s your problem, John? My folks will be cool. You’ll like them, Rogue. Honest.”
Rogue’s voice was all honey as she spoke. “Maybe it’s a good time to tell them, Bobby honey. About you, I mean.”
Bobby stammered. “Rogue! No, I… It’s not the right time!” John stifled a laugh. She could upset Drake without even trying. It was a skill he wished to acquire. “Take the next left, Logan,” Bobby said testily; but then he was all eagerness again: “Hey, see that building? That’s where my Math Champs classes were! Oh, right here Logan. This is my street.”
They headed down another anonymous, curving road and Bobby started drumming nervously on the back of John’s seat. John gritted his teeth and said nothing. After the cafeteria incident and all the fallout from that, he was scared of his temper. If he wasn’t careful, he’d burn something big time and then they’d kick him out of school for sure. Despite all his bravado with Derek, Doug and Jones, he realized he wasn’t ready for that. Freefall was fine… until you hit the ground. He stared at the manicured lawns, turned brown and desolate in the dying months of the year, the bushes wrapped liked mummies. He hated this place. He hated that Bobby was glad to be back.
***
Kitty’s return to consciousness was stiffness, hunger and cold. After fleeing into the woods behind the mansion, she had found shelter in a small tool shed. Curling as tight as she could, she was able to use the large duffle coat as a sleeping bag. Despite her shivering, she had been desperate for a profound sleep where she could hide from danger and from guilt. Now she was awake, and there was no escaping the reality of her fate. Early morning light was creeping through the cracks in the wall. She’d been jolted awake twice by helicopters passing overhead, but now everything was still. She phased her head through the door of the shed and, seeing nothing moving in the woods besides a squirrel, she emerged.
Maybe I’m the only survivor, she mused. Maybe they’re all dead. Panic gripped her at the thought, but then she calmed down. She spoke out loud, though quietly, into the chill morning air. “They’re not dead. The soldiers were using tranquilizer guns. They’re taking prisoners. I wish I knew for what.” For the first time since the attack, she felt like her brain was working. If she could just stay calm, she’d be okay. Some of the students might have escaped through the emergency hatch. The tunnels let out on the other side of the property, near the old sugar shack. She figured she was pretty close to the woodland path that led there, and set off uphill through the dense bush, slipping out of her big boots more than once.
Having a plan calmed her further. At the crest of the hill, she looked back at the house and she could see soldiers standing guard. Were they in the woods looking for survivors? She’d have to be careful. She found the path, and fifteen minutes later, she saw the sugar shack. There was no sign of life, but she approached cautiously, praying that the soldiers weren’t monitoring the security cameras that were somewhere out here. Suddenly, a flock of chickadees flew out of the trees and surrounded her, diving and chirping loudly. She dropped to her haunches in surprise, but then remembered she could phase. With birds passing noisily through here, she stood and looked around, and just then Doug Ramsey, in pajamas and a bright red scarf, jumped out from behind a woodpile.
“Kitty,” he yelled. He ran to her and threw himself into her arms. “Oh my God, I thought they got you, too!” The chickadees continued their assault and Doug shouted, “Derek, call off your birds, it’s just Kitty!” She looked over Doug’s shoulder and saw Derek’s head pop up behind the wood pile. The birds returned to the trees and Doug laughed grimly. “This feels like a Hitchcock film!”
“When in reality, it’s ‘Schindler’s List,’” Kitty responded. She saw students appearing at the door of the sugar shack and a wave of relief washed over her. But their faces were haggard, their emotions flattened. She seemed to be the oldest one around and that meant she better take charge. The thought exhausted her. Then she saw Peter standing in the door, naked from the waist up, in full metal form — the Colossus in the harbor that would protect them from invasion. Without a word, she walked away from Doug and up to the tall young man. She dropped her head against the cold gleam of his chest and said quietly, “I’m really, really glad to see you.” Peter wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
His kind, deep voice sounded weary. “Come on inside and get warm,” he told her.
The survivors of the attack were fewer than she had hoped. Where was Bobby? Was Rogue here? There was Fred, but what about Terry? And, Ohmygod… Artie! Did they get Artie? The group was gathered around Roberto who was powered up, his body a pure-black silhouette. His energy corona lit the large, empty expanse of the sugar shack with a pale radiance. He was emitting enough heat to keep everyone from freezing, and Peter brought Kitty close to the center of the circle to warm up. Jones lay unconscious on the ground before them, wrapped in a blanket. There was an atmosphere of grim survival. The students’ eyes were red from crying or vacant with shock.
“Sorry we haven’t got any food for you,” Clarice said. “We had to give whatever chips and stuff we had to Roberto to keep his fires stoked.”
“I am sorry,” he replied. Unnervingly, his eyes and teeth appeared from the darkness of his face in a smile that offered little reassurance. “I promise I make everyone a big pot of Feijoada tonight.”
“We better get back to the mansion by tonight,” Fred complained. “We’ll all starve to death out here.”
“Kitty,” Doug said, appearing beside her. “Over in the corner there…” She followed his pointing finger and saw a dark shape sitting alone, far from Roberto’s warming light. She got up and walked to the wolf; it turned its head away as she approached.
“Rahne,” she said quietly. “I’m glad you made it.” The wolf dropped to the ground, refusing eye contact. Kitty was about to reach out and pat her as if it were her bichon frisé back home. She almost laughed, which would have been really inappropriate. “Come on, Rahne, you need to get human again. It’s not doing anyone any good if you hide in the corner. We’re all feeling like shit, you know?” The wolf sat up and whimpered. “Oh, hold on,” Kitty said, understanding. She pulled off the duffel coat and wrapped it around the wolf’s narrow shoulders. “There. Now you won’t give the boy’s a thrill.” She stood and turned away to give the shape-changer some privacy. A moment later, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and she turned to find Rahne standing there, a single tear running down her cheek.
“I’m so useless, Kitty,” Rahne said, her voice hoarse as it always was after her transformation. “You and Jubilee were in trouble and I-I just ran away!”
Kitty was surprised at her own anger. “Shut up, okay? No one expects anything from you. You never even use your power! It’s me that should have saved Jubilee.” Rahne gave a little sob and pulled the coat tighter around her. Kitty knew she was being a bitch, but she couldn’t deal with babysitting Rahne now. “Look, I’m sorry. Just go sit with everyone over where it’s warm.”
Rahne walked away and Kitty circled around the perimeter of the room to join Peter, kneeling on the ground beside Neal Shaara who was lying on a wooden bench. Flea was beside Peter, practically hanging off his neck. “Hey, Flea, you doing okay?” she asked. The boy nodded automatically. His eyes had the same haunted deadness as the others’. She looked down at Neal whose brown face was unusually pale. “What happened to you, Shaara?” she asked.
“Tranquilizer gun. I am feeling better now.”
Peter smiled. “Yeah, except every time he stands up, he pukes.”
“Heh, then do us a favor, Neal, and stay down,” she said with a smile. She turned to Peter. “You been armored up all night?”
“I want to be prepared,” he answered. “And the metal protects me from the cold. Unfortunately, this form uses up more energy. I’m starting to get tired.”
“You got the students out. That’s amazing.”
“Everyone did their part. They’re brave kids,” he said. “I just hope no one’s really hurt.”
“John!” Neal exclaimed weakly. “You should have seen him, Kitty! He saved me and Derek. I-I have been wrong about him. I thought he was a coward.”
Kitty was amazed. She’d never seen Shaara anything but contemptuous of John Allerdyce. Apparently, she and Rahne weren’t the only ones with a burden of guilt. How could any of them ever be the same again, she wondered. “Where is John?”
Peter said, “Fred saw him with Bobby and Rogue, but then no one knows what happened after that.” He stood up. “Flea, I need to talk to Kitty. Go sit with Doug. Maybe he can help you with your trigonometry. It’ll be okay. Go on.”
Peter walked Kitty back outside where he dismissed Derek and Sam from guard duty. Sam seemed unusually monosyllabic. “What’s with him?” Kitty asked when they were alone.
Peter shook his head. “Terry. The soldiers took her.”
“Shit. If she hadn’t screamed, I bet they would have gotten a lot more of us.” She shivered in the cold air. “Where’s Logan, Peter?”
“He was fighting the soldiers. I guess he’s either captured or…” He let the sentence hang. She shivered and Peter said, “You gave Rahne your coat, didn’t you? You must be cold. Maybe Doug can lend you his scarf.”
“I’m okay. Look, we have to do something. These kids need help. Should we sneak them off the property? Go to the police maybe?”
“We can’t take the chance. After the assassination attempt on the President, we don’t know how much we can trust the authorities. What if we all end up in some kind of detention?”
“Is there a mutant Guantanamo yet?”
“Why don’t you ask Magneto?” The bitterness of his response caught her by surprise. He put a big metal hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to think this through all night. You’re right; they need shelter and food — and soon.”
“The house is still surrounded by soldiers. Why haven’t they come after us in the woods?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t figure we’re still here. Maybe they’re waiting for orders.”
“Look, they’ll be guarding the doors,” she said. “But if you can get me near any wall, I can phase into the mansion. We need food, blankets —”
“It’s too dangerous, Kitty,” he said after a pause, and she felt like he was testing her resolve. Fine, she always passed tests.
“Well, let’s at least try, Peter! We have some Level 3 mutants here. Neal’s down for the count, but Sam, Roberto… It’s a decent little army.”
“Roberto’s been powered up for hours; he’s weak now. Sam… is too emotional to be relied on.”
“Well, Derek has his birds, and there’s Lizzy, Fred —”
“Up against trained soldiers, Kitty? They’re just children! It’s out of the question.”
“As if you and I are even old enough vote.”
“It’s different. We’re the New X-Men.”
She didn’t correct him. “Okay, Colossus, so it’s you and me. And you’re right, we need to leave some strong ones here to protect the others.”
“Right. We’ve established a good perimeter, and we have early warning… as you saw.” He smiled for the first time.
“And if Shaara can keep his lunch down… Shit, I wish Jubilee was here.” Kitty remembered Jubilee during the attack, fearless and furious, and she almost started crying. She dug her nails into her palm to clear her mind, and together, she and Peter planned their action.
***
At last, the Phoenix was flying. True, she was merely a mind inside a mind inside a machine; but after eons enslaved to gravity, she had finally left the earth. The conveyance was laughably unsubtle, burning through quantities of combustibles just to stay aloft. The inelegance of it frustrated her terribly. It was far more enjoyable to use Jeangrey’s telepathy to probe the other minds in the “jet.” These newly evolved beings, the “mutants,” represented a fascinating leap forward for the dominant species of her world. The Phoenix felt proud of these foster children. True, some of them were merely humans with showier plumage, but some held true potential for transformation. The absorber, for instance. If she weren’t so scared of taking what was hers by right, she could become a being of awesome beauty.
Mmm, and the fire dancer. He was closer to chaos than any of them. She could taste the blaze of anger the day’s events had set off in him. Much of his confusion was about the endotherm. What an unworthy object of so much emotion. Let your anger burn through your confusion, Child! She was sorely tempted to ignite the flame source in his belly so that he could birth his own cleansing fires. Best of all, he hated Xavier. Oh, Little Fire, what fun we could have. But like Jeangrey, he wasn’t yet ready.
She sensed the presence of the hostiles before the jet’s mind informed the mutants. They had the capacity to destroy the jet. The Phoenix weighed her options even as the mutants awoke belatedly to their peril. Explosive projectiles were heading their way. She tested the strength of Jeangrey’s mind. It was almost ready. Still, if she were to suddenly incarnate, the psychic shock might kill the host. Something gentler, then. Perhaps she was ready for direct communication…
*JEANGREY. YOU MUST REACH OUT.*
*Who…? Who is this? Professor?*
The barriers that Xavier had constructed had once been sufficient to keep the Phoenix locked down in small corner of Jeangrey’s mind, but now they were gossamer. Now they existed only through her sufferance.
*YOU KNOW WHO I AM, JEANGREY. I AM YOU. I AM THE PART THAT HAS WAITED.*
*I don’t understand. Your voice is mine, but —*
*ENOUGH. YOU KNOW THERE IS NO TIME. DO YOU FEEL THE PROJECTILES? THE… “MISSILES?”*
*Yes… I don’t understand, but I do feel them. There! I have one. This is amazing, but I don’t understand the mechanics. I’ve never had esper capabilities. How can I both visualize and —*
*SHHH, SHHHHH. STILL YOUR THOUGHTS. THE UNIVERSE IS ONLY AS FAR AWAY AS YOUR CONCEPTION OF IT. ALL THAT IS THERE IS HERE. IT IS YOURS TO MANIPULATE. DO YOU KNOW THIS TO BE TRUE?*
*I think so. Yes.*
*THEN DESTROY.*
The Phoenix felt the missile explode. The smallest of ignitions to one who had caused the death of suns. Still, it was the next key to the next door to freedom.
***
Kitty phased back out through the wall, carrying a heavy pile of folded blankets. The location they had picked for their own raid on the mansion was on the North side, in a shadowed alley where the ground floor lay at the bottom of a hill. Between the topography and some advantageous bushes, they had as much protection for their operation as they were going to find anywhere. Kitty was breathing hard as she crouched with her loot behind the big box of ice salt that was already full and ready for the first snows of the year. She had never phased as much material as she had today, and it was exhausting. But the adrenaline thrill of defying their oppressors kept her going. She pulled off Doug’s red scarf and draped it over the top of the box before crouching low again. That was Peter’s signal to come down from the tree line and pick up her load.
She had already brought out four cartons of granola bars and a big box of milk powder, as well as four flashlights and six pairs of boots. If only she dared penetrate the mansion deeper, she would look for one of the X-phones and try to reach the teachers. But the soldiers were everywhere, and all her new-found bravery popped like so many soap-bubbles if she got too close to them.
She heard the sound of Peter’s fast and stealthy approach and she moved over to make room for his big form behind the small shelter. “Excellent!” he said, checking out the blankets. “You’re doing really well, Kitty.”
She smiled, but then slapped his metal arm. “Hey, code names in the field, Colossus.”
“You don’t have —”
“Shadowcat. I’m Shadowcat.”
“I like it! Sounds like you’re an international art thief.” Kitty grinned at him, but then she stopped in surprise, suddenly seeing something in his unguarded smile. He liked her. Like that. Even in his metal face she could see it. Why hadn’t she ever noticed before? A moment of embarrassed silence followed. Looking away from her, he took the pile of blankets in his big arms. “Uh, okay then,” he said. “Just a bit more and we’ll head back. You must be getting tired. You scared?”
“Not really so much anymore,” she answered, looking down at the ground. Then she looked up again to see if he still had that look. She wasn’t sure. “I better get going.”
He stood up and hurried across the gap towards the trees.
“Peter! Uh, Colossus,” she called and he stopped halfway across the gap and looked back. “What should I get next? Clothing or more food?”
The harsh voice broke through the perfection of the moment: “Stand clear!” it said, and they both turned in shock to see three soldiers, some 20 meters away, one with some kind of shoulder-mounted launcher. “Fire!” he shouted and something shot from the tube. It bounced off Peter’s metal chest with a loud clang and he fell on his ass. Kitty watched in fascinated horror as the device bounced a few feet away. There was a short pause before it exploded.
The world turned the wrong way up and time lost its meaning. Kitty found herself on the ground, disoriented, her ears ringing. She had no memory of phasing, but she must have since the salt box had been blown backwards, and much of it was occupying the same space as her body. She pulled herself to her feet and stared numbly at Peter’s fallen body. He had reverted to flesh and blood form and he lay twisted and unmoving, half-buried in the torn-up earth.
She was moving before she realized it, running to him, falling to her knees beside him and clearing the mud away from his face. “Peter!” she was shouting, but the sound of her own voice was hardly audible over the rush and ring in her ears. She could see no damage other than a bloody nose. And his chest was moving! He was alive! She jumped when she realized one of the soldiers was standing above them. She twisted around and met a pair of clear, blue eyes that looked, frankly, insane. His weapon was out and aimed. “We should waste these two!” he shouted back to the others. There was a crazy exultation in his voice, a mirthless laugh that was every nightmare she had ever known: “I’m serious! No one’ll know. These pieces of shit have been fucking with us all night! Time for a bit of payback.” Kitty huddled closer to Peter, too scared to move.
“Shut it Wierzbowski,” answered one of the soldiers. “We are not authorized to —”
“Fuck that,” the one named Wierzbowski answered. “You think anyone cares? Muties aren’t human, Hendricks! Three of these animals killed my sister! There’s nothing human in their hearts.” Kitty was suddenly very cold. Could she save them from the soldier’s hatred? She tried to phase, but her head was still reeling, and she was just too tired. Her body remained stubbornly corporeal. “Come on,” the man continued. “We could have some fun with the cunt and then waste them both!”
“No, soldier,” came a familiar voice. “I think you’ve had quite enough ‘fun’ today.” She looked up, brushing the hair away from her eyes and blinking back tears. There stood Hank McCoy, crisp in his navy suit, a white carnation in the lapel. Behind him were two assistants, equally professional and impressive, one talking intently into a cell phone, the other checking a Blackberry. Kitty wondered if she were hallucinating. Could there really be any more happy endings? “Ms. Pryde, are you all right?” Dr. McCoy called and moved towards them.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she shouted hoarsely. “But Peter —”
“Do not approach the prisoners!” said Wierzbowski, raising his gun.
McCoy’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Soldier, may I suggest you stand down? Actually, ‘suggestion,’ is just my way of being polite.” With a horrible roar, the quiet, erudite man leaped into the air, covering three meters in a single, savage bound. As he landed on Wierzbowski’s chest with his left foot, his right deftly kicked the gun away into the trees. The other soldiers had their weapons out and Kitty heard them click into readiness.
“That’s enough! Holster your weapons!” They all turned to find another soldier, a grey-haired man with a belly, hiking across the grass on bowl legs. The man marched up to McCoy who was now standing on the fallen Wierzbowski, one foot poised lightly on his throat. “Civilian, this operation is none of your business.”
“I am Henry McCoy, Department of Mutant Affairs, and I beg to differ. Lieutenant, your attack on this school is unwarranted, reprehensible and, I might add, over.”
“You have no idea how high up this goes. You don’t want to mess with my boss.”
“Mr. Stryker? Please, he’s a boy scout who got too big for his brown shorts. Ms. Lenhardt?” One of McCoy’s assistants passed the Blackberry to the Lieutenant who grabbed it in a meaty paw and held it at arm’s length, squinting far-sightedly at the text. As he read, McCoy looked down at his captive. “Oh, I’m sorry, have I been standing on your windpipe?” He stepped off and Wierzbowski scrambled to his feet with a snarl. “Be smart, young man,” McCoy warned.
“Lieutenant, this is bullshit!” Wierzbowski barked.
“Shut the hell up,” the Lieutenant muttered as he handed the Blackberry back to the assistant, glaring ineffectually. “All right, troops! We’re pulling out of here. I want everyone by the front steps NOW!”
“The fuck, Lieutenant!” Wierzbowski moaned.
“NOW!”
The soldiers followed their departing superior, glaring back angrily at the mutants.
“Ms. Lenhardt,” McCoy said. “Follow and remind them — politely of course — that they are to be off premises in fifteen minutes with no further property damage… Or else I will rip off their testicles with my teeth. Mr. Nkansah, have we found the esteemed Mr. Stryker?”
The assistant folded the cell phone. “No, Dr. McCoy. He’s slipped off the grid completely.”
“Damn,” McCoy muttered. He came forward to kneel on the ground beside Kitty. He put one of his massive arms around her and drew her close.
“The other students?” he asked quietly. “All captured?”
“No, most of them are out in the sugar shack. Peter and I were getting supplies. Nine are unaccounted for. And Wolverine is missing, too.”
“We’ll get them back, don’t worry.” He bent down and patted Peter’s cheek with a gentle, oversized hand “Young man? Are you still with us?”
Peter’s eyes blinked and when they opened, Kitty gave a cry of delight. “Holy shit, are you okay?”
Peter propped himself up on his elbows. “Yes, fine, I think.”
“They hit you with a fucking grenade, Rasputin!” she said, grinning, a renewed cascade of tears streaming down her face.
“Indeed?” McCoy said. “You are like this school, Mr. Rasputin. Our enemies may strike a blow, but it will not fall.”
Peter reached up and brushed some mud from Kitty’s cheek and she blushed. Her senses felt flooded by the proximity of his naked torso. Peter pulled back his hand and cleared his throat. “Dr. McCoy, where are the X-Men?”
“Getting themselves in hot water as usual, I suspect,” he responded lightly, but no one had the heart to laugh.
“Oh, Dr. McCoy! Dr. McCoy!”
They turned and saw the school’s cook, Margit De Man, running up the driveway towards them. Her usually immaculate grey hair had escaped its clips and flew behind her in a patterns of chaos. She ran up to them with her arms wide, as if she could hug them all at once. “Kitty, Peter, thank God! Dr. McCoy, the soldiers are all gone?”
“Yes, Ms. De Man, all gone now. The mansion is secure.”
Her Dutch accent was thicker than usual. “But the children! They have all been taken?” Her eyes shone with tears and there was mud on her brow. Somehow, the image of the perennially reserved and unassailably confident woman reduced to near-hysteria was too much for Kitty. She looked away, but what her eyes fell on was the once-dignified façade of the mansion, just as compromised. Shattered windows, broken trellises, grappling hooks stuck into ancestral stone — her heart, which had been buoyed by their rescue, sank again.
“Most of the kids are fine, Margit,” Peter said. “They spent the night up at the sugar shack. We’re going to get them now.”
Kitty turned back and watched the change come over the woman. She looked appalled. She blew her nose on a blue handkerchief and wiped her eyes with her knuckles. “In the sugar shack? But they must be hungry… And frozen to the core!” She set her jaw. “Soup,” she declared. “I must prepare soup.” They watched as she straightened her jacket and climbed the steps, her ample behind rocking purposefully.