Chapter Text
My fault, rolled through Logan’s mind as he stared into the amber liquid swirling at the bottom of his glass. Somehow, what happened at that plant was my fault.
He just had no recollection about why it was his fault or even how he accomplished all that devastation in the first damn place.
He had no memories, whatsoever, in fact.
The only thing he knew with any certainty was his name was Logan.
A fact substantiated not only by the dog tags he wore but the man he met at the nuclear power plant.
Everything else?
Wife, kids, parents?
Complete and utter blank.
His memory started with him waking up at that nuclear power plant.
What led to his unconsciousness was in the same void as everything else about him and his life.
The dark-haired man who claimed he was the one who brought him there informed him he was the cause of the devastation, something authorities weren’t likely to appreciate, and that they needed to leave before they arrived for that reason.
Seemed logical to Logan given he had no explanation for what happened or why.
They came upon a dead woman as they ran towards a small plane sitting nearby. Logan had no idea who she was but could only assume she had been killed during his apparent rampage.
Who she was… he had no idea.
That, too, was off in the void.
Guilt swirled with the whiskey sloshing around in his burning belly.
Added to the regret bowing his shoulders.
Logan raised his glass and drained it in one long swallow.
Someone once asked if he drank to forget.
No, he told them.
He drank in hopes to remember.
Put a name to the lifeless face he saw awake or asleep.
Piece the blanks together to tell him who he was, where he came from, when he met the man who claimed he was a friend, why he destroyed that nuclear power plant… and how he did it without killing himself in the process.
“Hey, Logan,” came from behind him. “You up for another match? Fifty bucks in it for you.”
Fighting, next to sitting at a bar and drinking watered down whiskey while brooding over the mystery of him, was just about the only thing Logan seemed good at.
Maybe the reason for it was related to his dog tags.
They indicated he served in the military.
What branch?
Where?
He hadn’t a clue.
All he knew was he could take a mountain of punishment and come back for more.
“Yeah,” he said as he set his empty glass on the bar, “I’m in.”
Fifty bucks was fifty bucks, after all.
…
Three hours and a hundred bucks richer, Logan exited the bar. His jaw, ribs, and back ached from where the last bloke, a behemoth appropriately named Tank pummeled the shit out of him.
Nothing he wouldn’t recover from.
Hell, one asshole stabbed him with a switchblade during a fight, and it didn’t do more than tickle.
His seeming invulnerability was another mystery.
As were the steel claws which burst from his knuckles whenever he lost control of his temper.
Which was often.
Everything outside the bar was still, silent.
Not unusual given it was the middle of the night and colder than a witch’s tit.
Suited him perfectly.
Temperature didn’t affect him.
Why?
Not a damned clue.
Logan stuck a cigar between his teeth as he trudged over to where his camper sat.
Wasn’t much but it was home.
Allowed him the freedom to wander the country at his leisure, work odd jobs when and where he wanted, fight if he was interested or just lose himself in the wild tundra for days, weeks, months at a time.
He unlocked the drivers side door but froze when a coppery sweet smell drifted by him.
Blood, he realized as the hair on the back of his neck bristled with a mix of anticipation and unease. And a lot of it from the smell of it.
Whether it was human or animal, he couldn’t tell.
His own ran cold when his ears picked up the unmistakable sound of a woman screaming.
Fear and pain.
Without thinking of his own safety and well-being, Logan darted off into the woods at the back of the bar, heart pounding a hard staccato against his ribs, breath shards of ice lodged in his throat, fear pulsing under his skin, and fury boiling in his belly.
Bears, cougars, wolves and coyotes were not the only dangers here.
Two-legged predators prowled these woods, as well.
Logan faintly recalled talk in the bar about a local woman being snatched from her car a few nights ago.
There wouldn’t be a second if he had anything to say about it.
A coppery stench hit him soon as he burst through some snow-covered brush and skidded to a halt. His belly revolted at the sight which greeted him.
Mangled and macerated body parts were strewn around the clearing.
Trees were splattered in red, the snow coated in it.
What had not sprayed out as the figure was ripped apart formed an icy pool beneath their headless torso.
Jesus Christ… rolled through Logan’s mind as bile surged, hot and foamy into his mouth.
He had never seen a body ripped apart like this before.
Least, he didn’t think he had.
A body brutally ripped to pieces wasn’t something easily forgotten in his mind.
Even amnesia can’t erase something like this...
Once the shock off, Logan started to consider what had done this.
Bears, cougars, wolves and coyotes would attack a human if they were scared enough, hungry enough or felt themselves threatened.
They wouldn’t tear a human to pieces, though.
Meaning whatever did this wasn’t an animal.
Not in the typical sense of the word, anyway.
While the violence of the attack was animalistic in nature, a human committed the act itself.
An extremely large one if the boot prints leading away from the clearing were any indication of the attacker's size.
Who is this asshole? he wondered as his belly pitched again. A copycat of Richard Cottingham?
A baby wailing somewhere nearby froze his breath in his chest.
No, rolled through Logan’s mind as he turned his head in the direction of the cries. Not a kid.
Whoever — whatever — tore their mother or father into pieces wasn’t going to do the same to their kid.
Logan tore into the brush, following the sounds of the cries. Less than a minute later he came upon a tan sedan buried nose first in a snowy bank.
An eighth of a mile from the clearing, he realized as he slowed to a stop.
A blown tire on the passenger rear revealed how the car ended up in the ditch.
Icy roads, inexperienced driver, and a blowout usually resulted in these sorts of accidents.
Logan approached the car slowly, senses on high alert, body tensed in readiness in case whoever murdered the owner of the vehicle decided to try him next.
He spotted claw marks across the trunk lid.
More ran down along the driver side rear towards the drivers' side front door.
Which had been ripped off its hinges and flung a few feet away.
Who the hell is this asshole? Logan found himself wondering again as the claws fixed to his bones bubbled beneath his knuckles as his temper surged.
Better question, he realized as he stared at the boot prints leading away from the car, what the hell is he?
Because this fella was not human.
Not by any means.
The driver had been yanked from the car by their hair and drug away.
A fact confirmed by the clumps of brown hair hanging off the bare branches like tinsel and the bloody trail which led into the trees.
Another shrill cry came from inside the car.
Louder and more insistent.
Logan moved to the rear driver door, and with his heart in his throat, peered in through the dirty window.
There, strapped into a carseat, was an infant.
Thankfully unharmed.
Can’t say the same for their mom or dad…
Who met a fate nobody deserved.
The baby’s face was red as Logan’s shirt and scrunched up in a furious little mask.
“Hey, Bub,” he said as he opened the door and leaned inside the freezing cab, “let’s quit that fussing, eh?”
The wails immediately ceased to Logan’s profound relief. Eyes green as fresh spring grass met his as a toothless smile curved little lips.
Chubby legs kicked and arms waved in clear excitement at not being alone any longer.
Not that he could blame the tyke.
They were here, strapped into a carseat, on a deserted road, in the middle of the night, with a madman on the loose who already brutally murdered their folks.
“Let’s get you the hell outta here, huh?”
The infant cooed at him.
Clearly agreeing with him.
It took a couple of seconds for Logan to figure out how to release the contraption the baby was strapped in from the belts used to secure the thing to the seat.
Once he got it freed, he gently lifted the seat free and made to exit the car. Before he shut the door, he spotted a white bag with colorful balloons and fluffy white dogs in party hats on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
Might need that, he decided as he grabbed the strap. At least until I can figure out what to do with the little tyke.
Especially since calling the sheriff wasn’t an option.
Too many questions he couldn’t answer and a possible warrant out for what he did at that nuclear power plant.
Him raising the infant also wasn’t in the cards.
He was a bum who drove around in a beat-up camper and got into fights in dive bars for cash or fun.
Hardly the environment to bring a kid up in.
He wasn’t exactly dad material, anyway.
Least, he didn’t think he was.
For now, though, he was all the kiddo had.
“Guess that makes me better than nothing,” he said to them as he made his way back to the bar.
Another coo was his response.