He was going to be sick. He'd done this a million times, or so it seemed, in the last few weeks, but it never got any better. Each time he had to wade through the floods of dried carcasses, he felt sick to his stomach, and cursed his healing factor for not including nausea to the long list of injuries it could heal.

He knew that wasn't it...not entirely anyway. True, it pained him to see how terribly thin the people beneath his feet were. What was even worse though, was that every time he looked into one of their faces, he could have sworn it was Marie. It lasted but a brief moment, but the impact was long standing.

It'd been almost a good two months since he'd heard about the Red Cross centers being over run, and their nurses taken captive. Since then, he'd joined with the group going from camp to camp to aid surivors, in hopes of finding Marie sooner. So far, after having been to at least six different camps, he was beginning to give up hope. None of the forms, dead or alive, was his Marie. He was beginning to hope he could find her, just so he could put closure to this whole situation.

As if to answer his plea, the man in charge of the group Wolverine was with called him over. He stood, wiping his sweat bombarded forehead and stalked over there. He kept his head high, looking anywhere but at the huddled masses of corpses strewn out over the land. Still, it was no use. His sensitive senses instantly picked up on the god-awful smell, indenting a permanent scowl of sorts into his features. "Yes sir?"

"Take a few men and go into the women's barracks. If we don't spread out soon, at least three forths of the people still alive will end up dead before we reach them." Offering nothing but a nod in reply, Wolverine called Scott Summers, Remy Lebeau, and two others that he hadn't really known much before now, and started toward the barracks.

The hallways were narrow...a nightmare to any claustrophobic. Even someone like himself who wasn't afraid of inclosed places could have trouble. The air was stuffy and cold, hanging heavily on his shoulders. The only sounds echoing through the place were the footsteps he and his soldiers were making. Logan faintly breathed, staring down at all the doors they'd have to enter in just a moment. "All right, you two, go that way." He pointed down the opposite hallway. "Each one of you take a side. Check for anyone still living." He waited for them to depart before turning back to a second hallway. "Lebeau, Summers, same for this hallway." After they departed he took the final stretch of rooms for himself, moving in and out slowly.

The women in there were a tragic sight. Most of the ones he came upon were already dead. Their stomachs all caved inward, clearly showing signs of starvation. Just then he remembered all the joy he'd taken in fighting people, killing people, and it wiped away the strength he had to hold up his head. He was not proud of himself for what he'd done, but he knew he couldn't change things. Not the past anyway. He could change himself for the future...but would it be enough?

"Wolverine!" He spun around and quickly exited the room he'd been in.

"What is it?" He was edging his way over to where the Cajun voice was calling him.

"I found one! She still alive!" He picked up his pace, jogging over to the room and entering slowly. It was darker than the other, for it was on the other side of the building, away from what little sun was showing. It cast a deep shadow on the form over which Remy was hovering.

"All right, get outta here. There're more rooms to check. Lebeau, take the hall I was doing. Summers, go get more help, then continue on with this one." Right as Scott began to depart, Wolverine grabbed him by his shoulder. "Get a medic in here, now." Not waiting for a response, Logan turned back to the poor creature before him. The last person on his mind at the moment was Marie, yet, upon closer inspection, that's exactly who it was. "Marie...?" Letting out a string of curses, he carefully took her face in his hands, after being sure they were gloved, and turned her face to look at him. She looked more a stranger to him now than when he'd first walked into the room.

Her face was covered in bruises...one lightly circling her left eye, one encompassing her jaw bone, and a third, surrounding her right cheek. Her eyes were slightly open, yet he knew she wasn't awake, nor was she dead. He ran his thumb gently over her lips, now turning a pale blue coloring due to lack of heat. The next minute, he shrugged out of his jacket and carefully pulled it around her. "L-Logan...?" She couldn't know how relieved he was to hear her speaking...

"Hey darlin'...you just hang tight. We're gonna get you help..." Her response was no more than a faint nod. Lifting her limp body into his arms, he was surprised at how much lighter she was than last time he'd held her. Surprised and horrified all at once. He was careful to hold down his emotions so that he didn't hold her tighter and possibly hurt her, as he made his way out of the barracks. The others he'd brought in had already returned and were weaving in and out of the rooms, some bearing good news, others not. He barely paid them heed. At the moment, he knew his destination, he knew how to get there, and he knew that he had to get there soon. That was all that was going through his mind at the moment.

Grabbing the nearest medic he could, he pulled him into the tent that Logan had set up to sleep in at nights. "You are going to stay here, and you are going to take care of her, do you hear me?" The raw desperation, mixed with blind hatred for the ones who did this to Marie so frightened the poor man before Logan that all he could do was nod. "I don't care what anybody says to you. If they try and tell you otherwise, you tell them to come talk to me about it...you got me?"

"Y-Yes sir." The man's eyes were wide as Logan, the same man who had all but lashed out at him in savagery, gently set the woman down upon the sleeping bags within the tent.

"Good." Taking one last glance at Marie, Logan climbed out of the tent and looked around. He didn't want to continue doing this. He wanted to stay in that tent and be the first thing Marie saw when she woke up. He wanted to hold her hand and brush the hair from her face and tell her everything would be all right because he was there for her, now and always. But he couldn't. Not in his right mind. He wasn't the only one with a lover who lay hurt, starving, and beaten because of this Nazi cruelty. It wouldn't be fair to sit back and care for his own needs when others were out there, huddled against the dead, shivering in the cold, waiting for salvation that may not come in time...