26. This is Radio Free Seattle!
Out on the highway, Max awoke with a start. Alec pulled over sharply, and she stumbled off the bike. She sank down in the tall grass at the side of the road. She was feverish and vague. "I want to drive," she said crossly.
"You're not well enough," he said. "Hop on the back like a good little girl."
She looked up at him, "I have a policy. Nobody drives my Ninja but me."
He laughed. "You can enforce that policy tomorrow. Now cooperate with me," he said. "We need to get you patched up." Then he faded away.
"Where did you go just now?" she said a moment later.
"What?" said Alec.
"You had a blackout. I saw it."
"No, I didn't," he said. The sun was rising, and he shuddered. He leaned over and roughly grabbed her arm, pulling her to her toes. "Hurry up," he said shortly. "Get on."
Morning was always pretty, even on sad days. Original Cindy stood on Joshua's front porch, looking at the sky. Most of the pigeons got eaten in the days of chaos after The Pulse, but she heard one now, cooing in the distance. She tried to take that as a good omen. She hadn't slept a wink for worrying about Max, and Logan too. Where were her friends? Were they alive? She didn't know if Alec even had a rescue in him, he was so messed up.
She heard a small noise, and turned to see Joshua, partly hidden in the shadows. It was early. There was nobody around yet. She sketched a wave, and he came out beside her, the weather-beaten floorboards creaking under his weight. She leaned against his great big shoulder. She caught a faint whiff of Joshua's own smell, less an odor than the sweet scent of life, the promise of puppies playing in the sunshiny grass. She thought about how cruel it was to keep him cooped up in a cage. They could stand there another minute, in the early morning light, before Joshua had to hurry inside to hide.
Logan finally had to turn off the main road and pull over, he was shaking so badly. He got out of the car and took a few steps into the field, taking deep breaths. When a guy steeled himself to make the greatest romantic gesture of all time, only to be saved at the last second by a smirking, gore-spattered super-trooper, it took a moment or two to switch gears.
He hoped that Alec was exhibiting a semblance of sanity now, and that it had been the right thing to let him speed off into the night with Max. Max was terribly injured, and she needed to be looked after, not harassed.
Logan couldn't really think any complex thoughts. He was too tired. The wind kicked up, and he headed back to his car. He made a wish that today would be a better day.
Max opened her eyes, thinking she was still White's prisoner. Then she remembered, and sat up with a groan. She was in bed. A big messy bed. She was wearing only her bra and underpants, which she found disturbing. Her shoulder burned, but the dressing was fresh. In general, she felt cleaned up and tended to, but the room was close and stuffy. The twisted bedclothes had that special man aroma that came from not changing the sheets.
Alec was at the window with his back to her, peering out the blinds. He was still wearing the Familiar's combat costume, looking lean and predatory. He seemed like he was on sentry duty, which made her feel anxious. Surely they were in the clear? She found she couldn't remember much after arriving at Doctor Carr's office.
"Alec?" she said.
"Hey, Max," he said, turning. "You're up."
"I don't mean to be picky," she said, covering her breasts with her good arm, "but where are my clothes?" She was thinking that if she'd known she was going to be tortured and stripped, she would have worn less revealing underwear.
He smiled. "We had to cut off your shirt to get at that shoulder. It's not a bad wound, by the way. White just wanted to clip your wing."
"And?" she said.
"And I figured you might as well be comfortable," he said. "I was a perfect gentleman. Come on, Max. It's me, Alec."
She found she wasn't much comforted. She was feeling kind of creepy. She wanted to lock herself in a quiet room, and not let anybody touch her for a while. She lay back in the bed. She was in rough shape. She hadn't felt this bad since her heart transplant. "Thanks for getting us out of there," she said. "Things were looking pretty grim. How did you know?"
He rubbed his forehead, like he had a headache. "I don't know," he said. "I think OC came and got me."
"OC," Max said, surprised. She looked at him, but he didn't say anything else. Max left it. She would bust his chops later, when she got back on her feet.
Alec went back to the window. Over his shoulder he said, "I notice you haven't asked about Logan yet."
She got scared, fast. "What about Logan? Is he okay? Where is he?"
"I have no idea." Alec shrugged. "We got separated."
"Where's your phone? We can try calling him." She stood, and was immediately dizzy.
"Your first thought wasn't of Logan," he said, stripping off the tac vest.
"What?" she said, irritated.
He turned to face her. "It was of me. You said my name." He pulled off his dark sweater, and tossed it in the corner.
"That's because you were standing right there!" she said. She felt Alec was being petty and cheap. The events of the previous night were clear in her mind. She was still reeling from the fact that Logan had been prepared to lay down his life for her.
Alec padded toward her, lithely, scarily. She stumbled backwards in disquiet, and he caught her arm. Rawly, he pulled her to him, and then he kissed her.
She felt herself relax into the kiss. She was hurt and tired, and it was a dark, sweet kiss. Maybe something in his blood called to her. Then with an upward elbow strike, she drove him back.
"What do you think you're doing?" she yelled.
"Forget Logan," he said, gasping. "Forget he ever existed. We were made for each other, Max. Literally made for each other. You and me."
Logan listened to the radio as he drove. After The Pulse, radio had enjoyed a resurgence in popularity. The FCC had been in disarray, and the airwaves were crammed with guerilla broadcasts. Now, under martial law, the programming was strictly regulated and much less interesting, but it was company in the lonely morning.
He was wondering if he should have let Alec go back after White. At the time, Logan's rational had been that Max was badly injured, and they had to get her to safety. On the way in, Alec had been lucky. In a rematch, he was just as likely to get creamed. Then again, Alec was an experienced assassin, who by all appearances very much enjoyed his work. Maybe winding him up and sending him after White would have been just the ticket.
With his hands on the wheel, Logan leaned forward and looked at the sky, which had taken on a nicotine yellow cast. Looks like rain, he thought. That'll be a nice change.
He was listening to the Seattle local news with half an ear, when a name caught his attention. He turned up the volume.
She rolled backward across the bed. He sore shoulder sang out, but it was the fastest way to her trousers. She snatched them off a chair. She stepped into them and snapped, "Keep your hands off me!"
She snagged her boots in one hand, and ran into the front room. Alec followed. She dropped her boots and hit him with a flat fist. He grabbed at her and she danced back, snapping a side kick. He blocked her with his forearm. She kicked again, a front thrust, and he caught her calf, which was the problem with kicking. He yanked her to him, and hooked her other ankle. She fell on her back, saying "Ooof!"
He leapt on top of her, which was what she'd been most afraid of; he was bigger and stronger. He pinned her wrists with one hand, fumbling at her waistband. She struggled, grunting, "Get off!"
She finally squirmed to her side. He had a hand on her neck, but she managed to roll away. She crab-walked and put some space between them. She allowed herself to fall back against the floor, and drew in her legs, kicking up and around, bringing her feet down sharply. She was able to kip up, landing on her feet. She jumped out of his reach, panting.
"You're a rapist!" she screamed at him. He looked momentarily surprised. Then he advanced on her again, and she struck him in the face with the heel of her palm. He tried another hold, and she blocked him. She lunged at the door, smashing it open with her good shoulder. Wounded, barefoot and shirtless, she ran out into the street.
To be continued. . .