Bellwether
37
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Bellwether Chapter Thirty Seven
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™,
Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *random glomp
* InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and
wondermous for archiving/hosting. J
Morgan: *stalkpoke * Readers/Reviewers: Thank
you thank you thank you thank you. So
Theresa did not think twice. The sound
erupted from her throat; it was beyond description, sending a
his ears and mouth open in gasping desperation, Theresa's voice creating a pain
the likes of which he had never imagined existing. Juggernaut grunted but
did not drop her, the red helmet he wore doing something to protect his hearing
from Siryn's psionic
blast. She had to draw a breath, her lungs burning, and when she took
that momentary pause, Juggernaut flipped her off his shoulder and into his arms
as if she were an infant. One meaty hand clamped over her mouth and he
grunted again as she bit him, her teeth barely drawing his attention despite
her effort. He pushed past the prone guard, moving inexorably towards
their point of departure. "Don't suffocate her," Tom snarled as
Juggernaut rounded the corner, heading at relatively high speed towards the
passageway leading to the boat. "Uncover her nose for chrissakes!"
"Sorry," came
the low-voiced reply. Theresa was kicking violently, trying to twist in
his arms, eyes wide and wild as she caught sight of the woman behind her
uncle. Moira looked haggard, not so much tired as worn, leaning against
one of the stark white walls lining the corridors. "
"I think it is in our best interests,
yes." Black Tom smiled kindly at his niece and shushed her with a
low murmur. "If you wouldn't ask so many questions, he wouldn't have
to silence you," he sighed, petting her hair and brushing the fringe from
her eyes. "Now you know better than to scream like that on the boat,
hmmmm? Be a shame if we all were dashed against
the rock and drowned…"
"We'd die of hypothermia first," Moira
put in sullenly. Her hands were bound in front of her but there was
little she could do about getting free. The bonds were too tight and
pulling against them only seemed to make them worse. The case Black Tom
had packed contained, as far as she could tell, her
lap top and vial upon vial of her test results. "The water is
frigid… it's the
loud."
"Be quiet please," Tom intoned, turning
sharply on his heel and leading the trio down the hall. "We don't
have very long and spending it chatting about the climate is not conducive
with his healing factor, Tom knew. Even after a strike on the back of the
head from Juggernaut, one that split his forehead wide open,
prison in no time. The corridor pitched steeply downward and wet
footprints dotted the highly polished tile. Tom was surprised there
weren't more slip marks as they neared the thick metal door that would open to
the boat launch. "Watch your step," he ordered
Juggernaut. "I won't be crushed to death so close to the
end." He heard Theresa's grunt and could only guess at what she was
trying to say. "Are you keeping up, Doctor MacTaggert?"
"Yes," Moira spat, sliding on the damp
floor. Security, obviously, had failed spectacularly. She damned
the island silently, wishing it to sink into the sea and disappear beneath the
waves forever, taking her research with it. "Why do you need me?
Just take the damned research!"
"Ah, you can fill in the gaps," Tom
smiled, tapping the opening mechanism with the tip of his cane.
"Only the author can tell you what her characters are thinking. The
rest is pure conjecture."
Magneto pressed his lips into a thin line.
Mystique's message had been terse and unrevealing and apparently regardless of
the fact he was not the man he once was when it came to physical tasks.
The boat rocked violently and he paused in his efforts to skirt the island. If
I drown, he thought, I'll have to make a special note to haunt her, replete
with rattling chains and bleeding walls. Sensing the right moment, he
maneuvered the boat again, making it around the long finger of rock that
pointed the way to the not too distant shore. He damned the
would be wishing the same firey death on the tropics
if he were in the same situation there. His bones aching and creaking
with every movement, he steered the small craft through the roiling sea, nausea
an ever present specter as he bounced through the chop. Things, he
thought bitterly, had fallen apart. Too many
uncertainties, too many loose canons. He could make out the light
of the dock they had departed from and heaved a thankful breath. When he
reached shore, he would see to it that Mystique was reminded of her
duties. Forcibly.