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Pulverized drywall settled on John’s shoulders as he stepped through the hole he’d just made in the abandoned office block. Marcos was right behind him, his fingertips glowing and ready to unleash his powers at the slightest threat. Bringing up the rear was Lorna, her head on a constant swivel as she checked to make sure nobody was following them.
“Hurry,” she urged. “We don’t have much time before Sentinel Services gets wind of us.”
John concentrated for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t hear anyone. Nobody’s been here in weeks.”
“Maybe they moved on. They got scared, and bolted.” However, the tension in Lorna’s words made it obvious she thought otherwise.
Marcos opened his mouth, but John raised his hand for silence. “Wait - there’s people. Military boots.”
“It’s a trap!” Marcos cursed as the trio bolted for the door, only to pause upon hearing the wail of sirens rapidly approaching.
“Go, go!” urged Lorna, already pulling nails out of the wall to use as ammo. “I’ve got us covered!”
They took the stairs down two at a time, the pounding of their feet echoing the pounding of their chests. As they made it to the ground floor, John froze, the sound of boots on the cheap linoleum reaching him just before they could round the corner. He pressed himself against the wall, Lorna and Marcos following suit.
“ Sentinel Services, get on the ground with your hands on your head! ” A flash-bang clattered into the room, but Lorna whipped it back outside. There was general shouting, then a dull pop as the grenade went off. Shafts of light pierced the open wall, but Marcos absorbed them all. Over the shouting, John heard a voice that made his blood run cold.
“Get out the prototype.”
“They’ve got new tech - fall back!” He yelled in warning, and the other two mutants shared a quick look of panic.
“Where’s the van?”
“Down the block!”
They ran for their escape car as the Sentinels chased after them. Bullets whizzed by them like red-hot hornets, Lorna catching as many as she could and flinging them back at their attackers. Marcos was able to take out an armored truck’s gas tank, but well-armored soldiers continued to pour out of the building like an infestation of cockroaches. Marcos slid over the van’s hood and into the driver’s seat, but when he looked back, Lorna and John were pinned down by gunfire. He cursed again, and adjusting his wing mirror, reflected a beam of light at the gunmen who were pinning down his friends.
“In position?” “Roger that, ready to fire.”
John’s eyes widened as he heard the radio chatter. “Sniper! Get down!”
He tackled Lorna to the ground just as another gunshot rang out, this time from a new direction. The next one tore through the car’s roof, sending a spray of foam out where it struck the seat.
“Marcos, go!” The van was still parked only yards away, but a thicket of bullets was flying along the route, and Lorna was getting winded.
“I’m not leaving you!” He shouted back.
“I said, go !” Lorna shoved at the wheels of the van, sending it screeching away. Marcos could only watch in horror as the van catapulted away, turning back only at the last minute to steer it down a hill. As he did, another grenade flew over the wall where John and Lorna were hiding. John grabbed it and threw it back, but as he did, another gunshot rang out. The explosion brought a large amount of rubble down around them, cutting them off from Sentinel Services. John landed spread-eagled on top of Lorna, who made a noise of exasperation.
“John, get off me, I can’t see!” But when Lorna shoved at John, all she heard was a low groan. She froze - John sounded hurt.
John never got hurt.
“John?” she asked cautiously. “What’s going on?”
John didn’t reply, but rolled onto his side to free Lorna. His breaths were coming in short bursts, and his brow was drawn with pain. Lorna knelt at his side, her hands hovering over him uselessly. “Talk to me.”
“I...I got shot.” There was a note of disbelief in his voice, despite the pain. Lorna noticed that he was clutching his hip, and blood was oozing through his fingers.
“Oh, shit.” She leaned over him and pressed down on the wound, grimacing as the blood squelched over her own hands. A small, strangled cry tore at John’s throat, but he quickly suppressed the noise.
“Shit, ok.” Lorna took a deep breath. “Can you move your leg?”
John jerked his leg a bit experimentally, but his head fell back and he clenched his eyes shut. He groaned again, but this time it sounded frustrated. “No,” he gasped. “Can still feel it, though.”
“Ok, talk me through this, John. How do we get you moving?”
“Puh...Press on my right hip. Here,” he tapped the spot with his free hand, right at the top of his hipbone opposite where he was shot. Lorna obliged, her heart pounding in her chest. Cracking open his eyes, John watched her.
“Any movement?”
Lorna shook her head.
“Good. Ok.” John blew out a long breath. “Pelvis is still intact.”
“Do you want me to take the bullet out?”
“No - Agh !” John moved to sit upright, but froze as the action sent a spike of pain through him. “It’s blocking the blood flow. If it comes out, I’ll bleed out with it. Bone’s probably shattered and hit something important, even if the bullet didn’t.”
“What the hell did they nail you with?” Green light flickered around Lorna’s hand. “It doesn’t feel like any bullet I’ve seen before.”
“Later - we gotta move. They’ll be bringing excavators.”
“Hold still,” Lorna ordered. Shafts of rebar broke free from the building and wove through the air like metal snakes, then wrapped themselves around John’s hips and legs. He hissed as one looped around his wounded hip, but Lorna didn’t flinch. “I’m making you a brace. I can keep you upright, but I can’t move you and block bullets at the same time.”
John nodded, sweat pouring down his face and neck. A damp V was forming at the front of his shirt, and the hem was drenched with blood. “I don’t hear anything else from the sniper - they must be out of bullets.”
“I move you, you cover. Marcos won’t be far - does your phone still work?”
“I think so - left pocket.”
Lorna gingerly fished out the phone, sighing with relief when she saw it was still functional. She dialed Marcos, who picked up immediately.
“John’s hurt. We need pickup.”
“I’ll be there in two minutes,” he replied.
“Make it thirty seconds.” Lorna snapped the phone shut. “You ready?”
John nodded, taking a deep breath. “Give me a bracer on my chest - I need to stay upright.”
“You gonna pass out on me, Mister Marine?” Despite being covered in dirt and scratches, Lorna smirked. A small scoff escaped John, but it morphed into a gasp as he shifted a bit.
“Stay in front of me, and keep going, no matter what you hear,” he said, and ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt. Twisting it back on itself, he raised it up to his mouth, but paused when Lorna wasn’t moving. “Hey - we need to move. The excavators are coming, and I can hear the van.” With that, he stuffed the impromptu gag into his mouth, and nodded encouragingly.
Lorna nodded back. She braced her hands on the ground, then dashed out from behind the pile of rubble. Green auroras surrounded her hands as she lifted John’s improvised brace upright, and it floated a few inches behind her. John screamed through his gag, a low animalistic noise, but he stayed upright and spread his arms, trying to shield Lorna as best he could. Bullets whipped through the air towards the two mutants, but they barely seemed to faze John. Some barely marked his skin, but a few embedded themselves just under the surface like buckshot. John jerked as a higher-caliber bullet caught him a few inches away from his hip wound, his eyes screwed shut.
The van screeched to a halt as it rounded the corner, and Marcos threw open the doors. “Come on!” He yelled. Lorna set John in the back seat as gently as she could, but he still made a pained noise as he dropped the last few inches onto the seat. Slamming the door shut, Lorna crouched in the space between the seats as Marcos floored the gas pedal. They rocketed away, the large pile of rubble preventing Sentinel Services from pursuing them.
“What the hell happened?” Marcos asked, his fingers white on the wheel.
“Some sort of experimental bullet.” Lorna leaned onto John’s wound. “He says his hip’s ok, but he could bleed out.”
“We need to close the wound. Can you get the bullet out?” Marcos’s eyes flicked to the rear view mirror, meeting Lorna’s gaze.
“Yeah. You good, John?”
John nodded, but his skin was an ashen grey instead of its normal tan. Lorna could see his pulse jumping in his neck, going faster than she’d ever seen it as he clenched his jaw.
“Get it out,” he gasped, a pleading note creeping into his voice. “Get it out.”
“Marcos, I need your help.” Lorna’s voice trembled a bit, but her face was set. “He’s gonna start bleeding when I take the bullet out. You need to cauterize the wound.”
“His muscle’s too dense - it’s gonna hurt him.”
“Then make it fast!” Lorna snapped. “It’s another hour back to base, and he’s not gonna make it if we wait! Pull over, we’re doing this now!”
Marcos pulled over at the side of the road. “John, can you hear if they’re after us?”
But John’s head was lolling against the seat cushion, his eyelids fluttering as he danced on the verge of unconsciousness.
“Shit! Lorna, get him out!”
Lorna levitated John out of the backseat, putting him down as gently as she could. He stirred a little, and a faint groan ripped itself from his throat. Still keeping control of the brace, Lorna turned her gaze to Marcos.
“On three. One.”
Marcos blew out a breath and nodded. The tips of his fingers glowed as he steeled himself for the grisly task ahead of him.
“Two.”
His breath coming quickly, John’s eyes fluttered back open, and he stared at his friends glassily.
“John, if you can hear me, this is going to hurt like a bitch. Three.”
One hand outstretched, Lorna anchored John’s brace to the ground, and gestured sharply with the other. Excruciatingly slowly, she dragged the bullet back through its entry wound, her brow furrowed with concentration. John screamed, his body arching like a bow pulled taut. The rebar across his arms groaned in protest, even as Lorna held it in place.
“Just pull it out!”
“I can’t, I’ll just cause more damage!” Lorna’s face contorted with the effort of holding John down. Blood ran down his thigh and pooled in the dirt below him as he screamed again, his voice hoarse as a spasm of pain tore at his body. With a sickening pop, the bullet flew out of John’s hip and onto the grass, silver metal peeking through a web of crimson. A gush of blood followed, the ragged edges of the bullet hole stained almost black. Marcos raised his hands and focused ten thin beams of light on the wound.
Steam rose from the wound as the blood around it boiled, and the air filled with the stench of burning fiber and flesh. John bucked as the wound began to close, beats of sweat standing out on his forehead and running down his neck. Strands of hair stuck to his face as he thrashed and moaned.
“Come on !” Lorna’s hands shook, the green auras that surrounded her hands flickered momentarily. The rebar around John’s arms groaned and bent as he strained against it.
“I’m going...as fast...as I can !” Marcos punctuated the final word with an extra push of power, and a flare of light burst from his hands. As it struck John, the cloth on his pants caught on fire, and with a final gasp, he passed out.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Marcos muttered under his breath as he patted out the flames, wincing at the damage he’d caused. John’s hipbone was now covered in a palm-size burn, the flesh underneath red and angry, but sealed shut. It bled sluggishly as the two mutants stared at it, but John’s chest still rose and fell underneath his rebar cage. Lorna exhaled heavily and shook her hands.
“Strong bastard, aren’t you.” She wobbled on her feet a bit, but waved off Marcos’s concerned step towards her. “I’m fine. Just overexerted myself.” Manipulating the rebar, she loaded John back into the car, then sat in the backseat. “Come on, we’ll need painkillers and antibiotics.”
Marcos hopped into the driver’s seat, casting a glance in the rearview mirror. John’s head rested on Lorna’s leg, and she was idly picking strands of hair out of his face. “He still breathing?”
“Yeah, he’s starting to come around.”
As she spoke, John stirred a bit, his brow furrowing again. He tried to move his arms, but froze when the rebar restrained him.
“Easy, big guy.” Lorna’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “You took a pretty solid hit from some new tech. Me n’ Marcos patched you up, but you lost a lot of blood. Just...take it easy, alright?”
John nodded a bit, his eyes screwed shut. “...Hurts.”
“Yeah, I bet that’s a new feeling for you.” Marcos snorted, but when he looked in the rearview mirror again, there was concern in his eyes.
“Just go back to sleep, John. We’ve got you covered this time.”
A different sort of frown crossed John’s face. “Lorna...you’ve got-”
But Lorna shushed him, stroking his hair back. “Rest.”
As John slipped into unconsciousness, he decided to keep it to himself that he could hear two heartbeats coming from where Lorna was sitting.
“It’s adamantium,” Sage announced, her eyes reflecting the glow of the monitor bank. She held the damaged bullet in her open palm and stared at it with detached curiosity. “They’ll have needed adamantium tools to forge it as well - it must be a leftover from the Weapon X days.”
Marcos swore. “No wonder it did a number on John, that shit’s practically indestructible.”
“Do you think they have more?” Lorna was perched on the edge of the table, one knee hugged to her chest.
“I’ve calculated only a 4.02 percent chance of them reusing this weapon. It’s lost the element of surprise, but they may reconsider it in the future.”
“Is John going to be okay?” Marcos asked, changing the subject.
“His iliac crest is cracked and he lost a lot of blood. Cauterization was a necessary step, if a little extreme. You both saved his life. He’s sleeping now, but when he wakes up I’m sure he’ll be grateful.”
“Thanks, Sage. Keep looking into the bullet, see if they have any more adamantium weapons.” Lorna hopped off the table and headed towards the improvised medbay, Marcos following just behind her. Lying on the cot was John, a bandage wrapped around his leg and torso. He still looked pale, but his breathing was easier and his brow less furrowed. His friends stood by his side, watching him sleep.
“You did good, babe,” Marcos murmured, wrapping his hand around Lorna’s. “You did real good.”
Lorna said nothing, but leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m gonna stay till he wakes up.”
“Me, too.”