James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).
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XIX – A Promise KeptLogan took a deep breath as the lead guard placed his hand on the doorknob, preparing to open the front door of the federal detention center so Logan could be transported to the courthouse. It appeared as if all of the government's security precautions had been wasted – Logan could hear the enraged throng through the door, screaming for the briefest glimpse of Kilroy. Some admired his courage and named him a hero and visionary; others called him a traitor, a criminal who needed to be put down as soon as his brief show-trial was complete.
"Everyone get ready," the lead guard grumbled. Logan felt four bodies press in more closely against him and heard the faint clicks of half-dozen safeties being taken off of the marshals' sidearms. This is it, Logan told himself. Time to face the music.
The door was thrown open and blinding sunlight poured inside, causing Logan's vision to become momentarily hazy. "Kill the bastard!" he heard a man yell from his right.
"Be brave, Mr. Cale," a woman said reassuringly from his left, just as his eyes began to adjust to the light. He looked at the woman and almost gasped when he recognized Syl. She smiled at him, a forced smile that did little to banish the overwhelming despair in the transgenic's eyes. Logan could already see tears starting to trickle down Syl's face.
Then came the shock of having the wind knocked out of him. A brief moment later he heard the thunderous report of a weapon, and screams erupted as he fell to the pavement. "We will have vengeance on all who oppose us!" Logan heard a familiar voice cry out. "Fe'nos tol! Fe'nos tol!" Several more gunshots rang out, and Logan's body shuddered as a heavy weight collapse across his legs. One of the marshals got shot, he realized. I wish that hadn't happened.
He looked up again, hoping to see Syl, and smiled as he locked gazes with her again. She was standing as still as a statue, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, completely oblivious to the chaos that had erupted around her. As Logan lay there, he began to grow aware of a warm, wet feeling spreading across his chest. Gunshot wound, he decided, remembering how it had felt the last time he'd been shot. Doesn't really hurt as bad this time. Maybe I'm starting to get used to it… That thought brought a smile to his face, and he noted that his apparent amusement darkened Syl's gaze. Then she was swept away as a sea of blue uniforms descended upon him, forming a protective circle as one of the men began looking over him.
"It's bad," one of the marshals reported as he ripped off the flack jacket and Logan's blood-soaked shirt. I wonder what kind of bullets he was using, Logan thought, noting that it was amazing the bullet had passed so easily through the vest.
"We need a medic, now!" another voice called out.
"Do--" Logan muttered, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.
"Settle down," the marshal said softly. He grabbed Logan's hand, holding it reassuringly as he locked his warm, soothing stare onto Logan's. He's been in this situation before, Logan decided. He's had someone die in his arms before. Poor kid . . . he can't be more than twenty years old.
"We're losing him!" another voice called out. Logan noticed how cold it was getting, and suddenly, something started to well up within him. I wasn't cold like this last time, he decided. It wasn't like this. I'm dying . . . oh God, I'm dying.
"Max…" he gasped, looking around for any sign of the X5. His vision was getting blurry and breathing was growing into a struggle. She could be right above me and I wouldn't know, Logan decided, fighting to get his eyes to focus.
"Settle down, Mr. Cale," the young marshal said to him.
"Who--"
"My name's Jack," the young man answered. "I'll stay with you. Don't worry."
"Syl…" Logan thought back on Syl's face, the misery that had been there when he was shot. Thanks for coming by, he thought, hoping that he could somehow telepathically project his gratitude to his bodyguard. Thanks for letting me see you again. Logan's body trembled, and he heard Jack's voice cry out.
"He's going into arrest," the young man reported. "He's not breathing, either. Where the hell are the medics?" Logan felt his head leaned back, and he felt a mouth press up against his. Max? he wondered. Two sharp breaths blew into his lungs, and he realized it was probably Jack's lips as he started CPR. Logan's ribs contracted repeatedly under Jack's continued efforts, but he noted with sadness that the blur before his eyes was growing darker.
I don't want this, he reminded himself. Why did it have to be this way?
"Finally," Jack yelled, his voice starting to recede. Or am I receding? Logan wondered. He's probably right where he was just a minute ago. I'm the only one who's going anywhere.
"Oh hell," he heard a new voice call out. "Charge to 200." Logan felt something cold against his chest, and then the new voice called out, "Clear!" A wave of warm light shot through Logan, momentarily banishing the cold darkness that was steadily enveloping him, promising never to leave. "Get the atropine and charge to 300." Defibrillator, Logan realized. It isn't gonna work. His aim's gotta be flawless from that range. "Clear!" Another flash of warmth and light, but this time it vanished far more quickly.
I'm so sorry, Max, Logan lamented silently. There's so much I wanted to say, so much advice I wish I could have given you. I wish . . . I wish we had another chance. Without Lydecker and his people tracking you down, without White and the Familiars trying to kill you, and without the paranoia of humanity demanding a martyr before they'll come to accept your people. I wish…
"I'm still here," Logan heard Jack whisper into his ear. In his mind, Jack's voice became Max's, and Logan allowed himself to relax, to take that leap of faith and let go of the cliff he'd been clinging to with every fiber of his being.
"I'm still here," she assured him as he fell into whatever it was that waited for him. "I'll always be here."
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Sometimes it seems like it happened to someone else, like maybe it was a story I heard. It's been an unimaginable three years, and for all I've seen and done, for all the friends I've made and lost along the way, my stay in Seattle is ending much the way it began – living on the run, always looking over my shoulder.
Hope is for losers. It's a con job people trip behind 'til they finally get a grip on the cold, hard truth. Still, I hope that the few friends I have left will be okay without me here to watch out for them. Original Cindy, Sketchy, Joshua . . . and I guess even Normal, too. They're really all that's left of the ones I love, at least for the time being. That'll change soon enough, though.
So here I am at the top of the Space Needle, looking down on Seattle the way I've done so many damn times in the past. This time, though, I guess it's good-bye.
To be continued………………………………
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Author's Endnote: This chapter was originally intended to be part of the previous chapter, but as you may have noticed, Chapter 18 was rather long. My solution: break off the end of that chapter and put it here. This also has the added benefit of placing Logan center-stage in this chapter. I think he deserved the limelight a bit. Hope it didn't seem too choppy this way.