Chapter Eight:
There was a motel, not far from Chicago, that had a nasty reputation with the Illinois State Police. It was just one of those places that seemed to draw the worst of society together, as well as lure any number of transients by its cheap rooms and 'no-questions-asked' policy. It was certainly not where one would expect to find a young woman traveling alone without any sort of visible weaponry.
But Charlie was not worried about the people around her. Even if the other guests in this motel considered themselves 'dangerous criminals,' she was contented with their illusions. They really had no idea what it was to be dangerous.
Charlie was sitting cross-legged on the small bed, which crowned her dingy, cramped motel room. She did not mind the stains on the floor or on the walls. She did not mind the strange odors wafting from the mattress beneath the tattered blankets, or the worse smells coming from the dark bathroom. She did not mind the occasional shouting or muffled banging that echoed from the parking lot and the other rooms.
Her entire attention was focused on a large map, which she had unfolded carefully and spread across the end of the bed. It was a road map, showing all the highways and major roads of the central United States. Several routes had been highlighted in yellow, and each marked a road heading north, past the Canadian border.
Charlie stared silently down at the map for a long time before she realized she was crying.
Making no attempt to wipe her eyes, she reached out and touched one finger on a road just east of Chicago. She leaned forward and traced her intended path through the city. The motion was slow as she tried to memorize each county, each highway number, and each small town she would venture through before she reached her destination.
As her finger moved, teardrops rolled down her face and fell onto the map, tracing the path of sorrows she had been following since she was eight-years-old. Stop one...the Shop killed her mother. Stop two...she and her father had run, as long and as far as they could before Rainbird found them. Stop three...she watched her father die at the hands of a man she trusted. Stop four...she destroyed the Shop and ran. Stop five...along on the road, she had destroyed a truck stop when someone tried to mug her. Stop six...stop seven...stop eight...
The list went on and on until she reached Colorado. But I did not stop there. Stop...she met Vincent. Stop...she found out Rainbird was still alive. Stop...a trusted friend of her parents betrayed her. Stop...she watched Vincent die. Stop...she warred with her 'brothers.' Stop...she burned Rainbird to ash... Stop...Stop...Stop...Stop...
"Stop...stop...stop..."
Charlie had been repeating the word for nearly ten minutes before she heard the sound of her own voice.
Enough.
Enough stopping. Now was time to move.
Charlie drew back her arm and held her hand in front of her face. She frowned deeply and flexed her hand into a fist. She focused, and she could feel the fire there. It was an incredible feeling, that sensation of power flowing out of her mind.
Out of my mind, Charlie thought and her features relaxed, Is that what's happening to me? Is that was will happen to me? Could I ever really live without the flames?
She opened her hand and the power faded. Her fingers felt cold. That was good. Cold was good. Charlie stood up and folded up the map in front of her. There was a resolution in her face, evidence of a decision made by someone whose true age was far beyond her years.
She would go to Canada. She would find a place encased in ice and snow. She would lock herself away from everyone else, everything that lives.
And if the wolves tried to stop her, she would show them what the criminals around her did not know. She would show them what it means to be dangerous.
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Victor Creed stood outside the shell of the charred bus, inhaling deeply through his nose, as if trying to catch a scent on the morning air.
He was a tall man, nearly six-foot-five without the additional height provided by his heavy boots. His dark, rather long blonde hair was hanging freely around his face. He stood with his arms folded over his broad chest, and his unshaven face made him look ferial. He was a member of the special task force assigned to find Charlene McGee, and the code name engraved on his metal dog tags was 'Sabretooth.'
Creed ground his teeth with frustration as he waited with waning patience for Logan to emerge from the bus. Marko was en route to their location, as were the other two members of their little team, and Creed knew the hunt would not begin until they all arrived. Logan had been insistent on that, though Creed hardly knew why. He and Logan were the only real trackers in the group. It must have been Stryker's idea, and therefore, Stryker's order.
Creed did not like their current commanding officer and made no secret about it. He figured that was why Stryker never requested his presence at any mission briefing. Not that he minded. Let Logan deal with the 'superiors' and their 'superior' requests. Creed had no tolerance for aged men in the higher ranks who had fought their way to a cushy desk job lecturing true soldiers like himself about how to do their duties.
After a few more minutes, Creed heard Logan exit the bus and sensed him approaching. He turned and stared down at the shorter, dark haired soldier, who looked violently frustrated by his investigation of the burned out Greyhound.
"Where are the others?" Logan said in a rumbling voice, then sniffing the air deeply to clear his lungs.
"Marko should be here in less than fifteen minutes, the rest...in less then ten," Creed replied, smugly amused by Logan's discontent, and motioned toward the bus, "Anything?"
Logan glared over at the taller man, and exhaled heavily, "No. Any trace of the girl has been burned away."
Creed narrowed his eyes and shifted his gaze to the bus, "I'm going to check it out myself...just in case you missed anything."
Logan laughed viciously, "Be my guest. The trail is dead. No scent except for sulfa and ash..." He stared past the bus and ground his teeth, "That's what we follow...sulfa and ash..."
Creed grinned broadly, "Been a while since we've had a real challenge. I hope this bitch runs...and runs hard."
"She will," Logan confirmed, though not as enthusiastically as his teammate, "The only way Rainbird got this kid was with pretty lies and bull shit tricks. Government gave up on findin' her years ago."
"She's outta practice then," Creed remarked, "So why'd they call us in?"
"Because...apparently," Logan said, pointing his middle finger back at the bus, "She's gotta thing for fire. And that make Stryker's other resources nervous."
Creed made a disgruntled noise in his throat, and thought, Sulfa and ash. We'll see how she deals with real predators on her heels...
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Author's note: Okay, minor writer's block so I'm throwing out a request for suggestions. Logan's team so far includes Victor Creed (gotta love Sabretooth) and Cain Marko, both from the X-Men universe. HOWEVER...I am stuck on finding two more additions to their carnivorous group. So, if anybody has any suggestions for two more bad ass, animal like bad guys who could be part of this little squad, let me know. Doesn't need to be a Marvel character, cause y'all know I love the crossovers. Please aid a weary writer... sniff, tears, so pathetic :-)
