Logan crouched behind a snowdrift. Alex leaned against the thin trunk of the nearest tree. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. They were far enough from the helicopter for him to catch only the lingering tang of oil and fuel. In front of them, was an old airport, full of cold, spilt, oil, and unused jet fuel. But the dominant smell, overshadowing and nearly obliterating them, was her. Warm, alive, and exciting.
"The airfield is just over the rise. There's a Bowing seven thirty-seven, seven hundred class I think, sitting on the runway. By the smell, I think it's just been fueled," she looked back over her shoulder at him, "Ready?"
Before he could answer, she slipped away. Logan watched her go, nearly loosing her in the shadows. She moved easily across the snow, barely seeming to break the surface. Unlike Logan, who had to trudge after her, sinking shin deep in brittle snow. He suddenly felt very old.
By the time he made his way to the tarmac, Alex had completely vanished.
He stepped gratefully out of the snow. Summers' suit had not been made for winter conditions in Alberta. Before he could take another step, his feet when out from under him, "Shit."
A hand grabbed his collar under the chin, barely stopping him from falling on his ass.
Logan looked down at Alex, realizing she had been standing there the entire time. Her face away from him, her hair black in the moonlight, she had blended nearly perfectly into the black tarmac.
"Be careful." Her voice was low, and harsh, but when she removed her warm fingers from inside his collar, she smooth the nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt. Logan wondered if she could send more mixed signals if she tried. Women. "Come on."
Logan watched again as she nearly dissolved into the tarmac, easily making her way towards the landing gear. He followed her more slowly. She might not have any trouble making her way over the ice sheet, but without his ice skates, it wasn't quite as easy for him.
He eventually made his way over to the landing gear without falling, and had to use his nose to find her crouched by the tires, nearly lost in the smell of the salt that had been spread over the runway.
"Wait here," she whispered.
Where was he going to go? Where was she going to go, for that matter?
Logan searched the surrounding area in the dim light, hoping they hadn't attracted any attention on their way across the snow and tarmac. Then again, a fight he could handle; sneaking and crawling wasn't his thing. And it would be a good chance to show Little-Miss-Perfect that he was good for something other than ordering around.
He looked back to the wheels. Alex wasn't there.
A movement above him made him look up.
His jaw nearly hit the icy ground. Alex was crawling up the plane like a bug, with no visible equipment. What the…?
He was still staring when, what appeared to be a white rope, shot over the wing and attached itself to the ground.
He stepped closer. About the diameter of a nickel, it felt vaguely soft, even through his glove. Pulling his hand away, he brought his fingers to his nose. It smelled of…spider webbing. Who did she think she was? Spiderman?
She poked her head over the edge of the wing, "Are you coming?"
Shaking his head, he grabbed the rope, surprised at how secure it felt. He pulled himself up, hand over hand.
When he reached the top, she held out her right hand, her left hand still holding the rope. Her grip was firm around his upper arm. She didn't let go when both of his feet were placed on the top of the wing, which was probably a good thing. She might not have a problem keeping her balance, but the metal of the wing was covered in a thin lair of ice, and Summers' boots didn't have the best grip.
She yanked on the rope, pulling it free from whatever had secured it to the ground. He watched the rope recoil into the base of her palm. He blinked as the end of the rope disappeared into the hand. She balled her fist twice before moving towards the door. Logan followed.
He glanced down at the exterior handle, then up at her.
"Why are there handles on out side? I didn't think they loaded people through the doors above the wings."
"They don't," she said from where she had stationed herself looking in through the window. "But it's easier to just make one door for all six emergency exits."
She had a point.
"Now," she said, gesturing at him. Planting his feet, he pulled the door open, staggering under the weight as it came off in his arms. She slipped past him into the plane.
He had to shift the door to see into the cabin. It took him a moment to locate her. She was crouched in the front stewardess area. She straightened and moved towards him, stepping over the body of the guard.
Leaving him sprawled on the floor, she walked back towards Logan. She took the door from him from the other side. "Are you coming in? You're letting in a draft."
Shaking his head, he let go of the door and moved around it.
As he made his way to the guard, he realized the plane was almost full of unconscious kids, most around fourteen.
Bending over the guard, he found a pulse. There was no visible sign of trauma, no reason for him to be unconscious.
He looked up to see Alex pulling the door back into place. She walked away from him down the plane, checking on the kids. He did some quick calculations. Six kids per row, twenty-four rows. A hundred and forty-for kids. Damn.
As she crouched down beside him, she didn't look too pleased, "He's not here."
"What?"
"Richard, he's not on the plane."
"Shit."
Footsteps echoed up the metal stairs through the open door beside them.
"Bathroom, now," she mouthed more than said the words.
Logan grabbed the guard under the arms and pulled him across the carpeted floor. Alex held the door open, then slipped in behind him. Logan dumped the unconscious man on the toilet then turned to find himself face to face with Alex. The bathroom wasn't big enough for three, leaving the lip of the shallow counter biting into his back, and Alex pressed to his front, her hands on his chest, his own instinctively going around her waist.
The outer door slammed.
"Where's Ford?" the voice was male and had a European accent.
Logan swore. Alex raised her hand to his face, putting her fingers on his lips. Logan had an insane urge to nibble on them.
Outside, there was a short laugh and an American man answered, "He's in the bathroom again. He should realize he can't eat Martha's cooking."
Logan breathed a sigh of relief, before he heard someone pounding on the door to the cockpit, and the European man saying, "They've got something special planned for the last one. We've got the go."
Immediately the bathroom began to vibrate as the plane quickly accelerated down the runway.
Alex turned her head away from the door, "Oh, shit."
"The airfield is just over the rise. There's a Bowing seven thirty-seven, seven hundred class I think, sitting on the runway. By the smell, I think it's just been fueled," she looked back over her shoulder at him, "Ready?"
Before he could answer, she slipped away. Logan watched her go, nearly loosing her in the shadows. She moved easily across the snow, barely seeming to break the surface. Unlike Logan, who had to trudge after her, sinking shin deep in brittle snow. He suddenly felt very old.
By the time he made his way to the tarmac, Alex had completely vanished.
He stepped gratefully out of the snow. Summers' suit had not been made for winter conditions in Alberta. Before he could take another step, his feet when out from under him, "Shit."
A hand grabbed his collar under the chin, barely stopping him from falling on his ass.
Logan looked down at Alex, realizing she had been standing there the entire time. Her face away from him, her hair black in the moonlight, she had blended nearly perfectly into the black tarmac.
"Be careful." Her voice was low, and harsh, but when she removed her warm fingers from inside his collar, she smooth the nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt. Logan wondered if she could send more mixed signals if she tried. Women. "Come on."
Logan watched again as she nearly dissolved into the tarmac, easily making her way towards the landing gear. He followed her more slowly. She might not have any trouble making her way over the ice sheet, but without his ice skates, it wasn't quite as easy for him.
He eventually made his way over to the landing gear without falling, and had to use his nose to find her crouched by the tires, nearly lost in the smell of the salt that had been spread over the runway.
"Wait here," she whispered.
Where was he going to go? Where was she going to go, for that matter?
Logan searched the surrounding area in the dim light, hoping they hadn't attracted any attention on their way across the snow and tarmac. Then again, a fight he could handle; sneaking and crawling wasn't his thing. And it would be a good chance to show Little-Miss-Perfect that he was good for something other than ordering around.
He looked back to the wheels. Alex wasn't there.
A movement above him made him look up.
His jaw nearly hit the icy ground. Alex was crawling up the plane like a bug, with no visible equipment. What the…?
He was still staring when, what appeared to be a white rope, shot over the wing and attached itself to the ground.
He stepped closer. About the diameter of a nickel, it felt vaguely soft, even through his glove. Pulling his hand away, he brought his fingers to his nose. It smelled of…spider webbing. Who did she think she was? Spiderman?
She poked her head over the edge of the wing, "Are you coming?"
Shaking his head, he grabbed the rope, surprised at how secure it felt. He pulled himself up, hand over hand.
When he reached the top, she held out her right hand, her left hand still holding the rope. Her grip was firm around his upper arm. She didn't let go when both of his feet were placed on the top of the wing, which was probably a good thing. She might not have a problem keeping her balance, but the metal of the wing was covered in a thin lair of ice, and Summers' boots didn't have the best grip.
She yanked on the rope, pulling it free from whatever had secured it to the ground. He watched the rope recoil into the base of her palm. He blinked as the end of the rope disappeared into the hand. She balled her fist twice before moving towards the door. Logan followed.
He glanced down at the exterior handle, then up at her.
"Why are there handles on out side? I didn't think they loaded people through the doors above the wings."
"They don't," she said from where she had stationed herself looking in through the window. "But it's easier to just make one door for all six emergency exits."
She had a point.
"Now," she said, gesturing at him. Planting his feet, he pulled the door open, staggering under the weight as it came off in his arms. She slipped past him into the plane.
He had to shift the door to see into the cabin. It took him a moment to locate her. She was crouched in the front stewardess area. She straightened and moved towards him, stepping over the body of the guard.
Leaving him sprawled on the floor, she walked back towards Logan. She took the door from him from the other side. "Are you coming in? You're letting in a draft."
Shaking his head, he let go of the door and moved around it.
As he made his way to the guard, he realized the plane was almost full of unconscious kids, most around fourteen.
Bending over the guard, he found a pulse. There was no visible sign of trauma, no reason for him to be unconscious.
He looked up to see Alex pulling the door back into place. She walked away from him down the plane, checking on the kids. He did some quick calculations. Six kids per row, twenty-four rows. A hundred and forty-for kids. Damn.
As she crouched down beside him, she didn't look too pleased, "He's not here."
"What?"
"Richard, he's not on the plane."
"Shit."
Footsteps echoed up the metal stairs through the open door beside them.
"Bathroom, now," she mouthed more than said the words.
Logan grabbed the guard under the arms and pulled him across the carpeted floor. Alex held the door open, then slipped in behind him. Logan dumped the unconscious man on the toilet then turned to find himself face to face with Alex. The bathroom wasn't big enough for three, leaving the lip of the shallow counter biting into his back, and Alex pressed to his front, her hands on his chest, his own instinctively going around her waist.
The outer door slammed.
"Where's Ford?" the voice was male and had a European accent.
Logan swore. Alex raised her hand to his face, putting her fingers on his lips. Logan had an insane urge to nibble on them.
Outside, there was a short laugh and an American man answered, "He's in the bathroom again. He should realize he can't eat Martha's cooking."
Logan breathed a sigh of relief, before he heard someone pounding on the door to the cockpit, and the European man saying, "They've got something special planned for the last one. We've got the go."
Immediately the bathroom began to vibrate as the plane quickly accelerated down the runway.
Alex turned her head away from the door, "Oh, shit."
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