by Eden Maguire
I ran to throw my arms around Phoenix, my heart thudding as if I was the one who had run down from the ridge. 'I heard there were intruders.
Was anyone up there?'
He shook his head, resting his head on my shoulder for a moment before pul ing away. 'No one. Dean was mistaken. Now let me get out of these wet clothes.'
I watched him peel off his T-shirt and fling it on to the table, then I picked up a towel from the back of a chair and laid it across his broad shoulders. 'When did it start to rain?' I asked.
'A couple of minutes back.' He towel ed his hair roughly as I took in every centimetre of his smooth torso. 'What are you staring at?' he asked with his little intimate grin.
'You!' I was in his arms again and we were kissing, I was experiencing the marble coldness of his skin and, at the same time, the heat of his passion. 'What do you expect when you strip half naked in front of me?'
He kissed me again, long and hard. 'I got back here as fast as I could. I 98
saw Hunter.'
'He's angry with me,' I confessed. 'But then, what's new? How bad is
the storm? Wil the Beautiful Dead have to leave?'
Phoenix shook his head. 'It's wild out there but there's no thunder and lightning, no electrical stuff.'
So no danger to their supernatural powers. Phoenix and the others could stay on the far side and ride out the wind and rain.
'Maybe I can stay with you until the storm blows over?' I suggested.
'Don't get up your hopes,' he replied, running his fingers over my face
and down my neck to the hol ow at the base of my throat. 'Isn't Hunter planning to get you back home before midnight?'
'How did you know ... oh, OK, you read his mind. That's why you looked mad. But I'l tel him he can't send me home in this.'
'Actual y, he can.' Hunter himself had flung open the door and found us locked together. Our passionate embrace obviously left him unmoved.
'You had your time with Summer, Darina. Now it's time to leave.'
'I don't believe you!' I groaned. I could see Hunter over Phoenix's shoulder, a lock of long grey hair whipped across his cheek by the wind, his eyes fixed on me.
'Summer doesn't agree that Fichtner is your man.' As Hunter came into the room, he must have given Phoenix the silent order to step back from me. I felt Phoenix's body stiffen as he released me. 'How about you, Darina? Do you stick with your serial-kil er scenario?'
'I do.' Briefly I wished that Phoenix would stand up to the overlord, just once. Couldn't he resist the order, even for a second?
Phoenix caught niy thought and quickly looked down at the rug in embarrassment.
'I'm sorry I know how it is,' I whispered.
He looked up and put on a smile for me, glanced towards Hunter and
took another silent instruction to leave the room.
I planned to protest, but Hunter zapped that thought away. Instead I sat
down by the fire in a resentful slouch.
'I want you to go home and get some sleep,' he told me. 'You need to
be up early, to fol ow up the alternative JakB theory.' 99
This focused my stil -wandering mind and I waited for more. 'You saw Summer's kil er?'
'From under a basebal cap,' I reminded him. 'And he was wearing
aviator shades.'
'So you need to take a look at JakB. Is he too tal , too short, too heavy, too skinny?'
This made sense. 'You're right. He's been hassling Hannah, not taking no for an answer. I expect he'l show up again soon.'
'Why not throw him some bait? Reply to him on Summer's website, tel him you can get him a concert ticket.'
'Fix up a meeting?'
'Take a look at him from a distance. No need to get too close.' 'OK.'
'Meanwhile, stay in touch with Jardine and let him check out the Oscar Thorne deal.'
'You reckon it's too dangerous for me?' Foolishly I imagined that
Hunter was looking out for me in warning me away from the underbel y of El erton society.
He laughed. 'I mean, let the cops do the work because they have a network of contacts, something solid to go on. Let them go ahead and interview Thorne in his prison cel .'
'Doh!' I pretended to beat my forehead with the flat of my palm. Dummy, Darina, for thinking that Hunter cared!
'Now go,' the overlord instructed, opening the door again and waiting for me to leave.
Unbelievable! Hunter had forced me out on to the hil side in the worst storm this spring. Rain lashed down from the night sky, driving against me as I battled towards the ridge. My denim jacket was no protection and
I was soon soaked to the skin.
Phoenix, for pity's sake, lend me a hand! Somebody, help!
The more I leaned into the wind and rain, the stronger it seemed to
grow. Water was rushing down the slope in rivulets, dragging loose
pebbles with it. A gust of wind tore up a sapling and sent it crashing against the trunk of an older, sturdier tree. I thought I would never make it to the water tower, and when I did I found that the whole ancient, rusty structure creaked and swayed so much that I dare not take shelter. Instead, I stumbled on.
This wil teach you a lesson! I told myself. In future, even if you 100
suspect Hunter's playing mind games, don't ever think about defying
Hunter over the Marie and Hester thing!
It was pitch black, the heavens had opened, the wind was savage. I'd be lucky not to catch my death of cold.
I was under the stand of aspens, about thirty metres from my car when I spotted the other vehicle parked by the trees I usual y used for cover.
It was a smal car, a Honda like the one Logan drove. I would hardly have seen it except that it was white. The wind tore through the leaves overhead, ripping into me with the force of a tornado. A branch snapped and fel to the ground, just missing the Honda.
Now I was divided - should I get in my car and drive the hel out, or should I check out the mystery vehicle? And how had Phoenix and Dean missed it when they were out on patrol? Did it mean that it had just arrived? If so, where was the driver?
Check it out, I told myself, my heart in my mouth and searching for an explanation of why I was here in case it turned out that I needed one. I went unwil ingly, I can tel you.
I got close to the white car, close enough to squint through the dark
and check the registration plate. Logan 's number!
I stood trying to absorb this fact. Logan's car was parked at the end of the Foxton track where no one except me and a few hunters ever came. It was night-time, the middle of a bad storm. Everything led to the conclusion that he'd fol owed me here.
And I thought you were over me, I said out loud in a burst of anger. We agreed I could never look at you that way.
Way back in the past, when I was looking for answers for Jonas, Logan and I had had this talk: Him: I love you, Darina. Me: But I love Phoenix. Him: Phoenix is dead.
Me: I stil love him. I'l love him for ever.
It broke Logan's heart for a while, but eventual y I thought he accepted the way it was. Lately he was even dating Jordan, wasn't he?
But this was definitely Logan's car, no doubt about it. And it was
empty. I opened the driver's door to make certain, felt the wind almost rip 101
it off its hinges before I managed to force it shut again. The rain hammered on the hood and ran in torrents from under the wheel arches.
So he'd fol owed me and Hunter. Maybe he'd been driving through Centennial at the point just after Hunter showed up, seen him sitting next to me, giving me a hard time over my unwelcome curiosity. And Logan had wondered who the hel Hunter was and what he wanted. It would be typical of Logan to fol ow at a distance in case I needed him.
But where was he now? I raised my voice to bring him back to his car. 'Logan, where are you?'
There was no answer, only the wind howling through the aspens, the
rain drummin
g on to the roof and the hood.
And then another thought struck me. Was Logan the intruder Dean had heard?
No sway. Phoenix said they didn't find any far-siders.
Maybe they did and he was lying. Anyway, maybe they set up the barrier, the force field to keep them out, just in case. Had Logan got caught up in that by mistake?
I felt my stomach wrench into knots as I left the car and staggered past the rock towards the top of the ridge. 'Logan, it's me, Darina!'
I was sure that was what had happened - the Beautiful Dead had thrown the beating wings and skul s at Logan, sent him crazy, zapped his memory clean and abandoned him to the storm. And it was my fault.
I reached a rocky ledge in the pouring rain, clung to a tree trunk as a blast of wind wrenched me off my feet. I watched as, twenty metres behind me, the same blast rocked Logan's car from side to side.
I'm out of here! A new thought struck me that I should leave while I could. What reasons could I give Logan if he found me out here? Surely it was better to leave his memory of the whole incident zombie-wiped and let him find his own way home. But I couldn't do it - he might be in danger and I couldn't desert him. So I held on to the tree and yel ed his name.
I was closer to him than I knew. I just needed to glance down ten metres to the foot of the ledge to see a body slumped against a boulder.
At first I thought it was garbage - a tent ripped up by the wind and 102
tossed against the rock, a piece of tarpaulin from the back of a hunter's truck. But no, I knew I was fooling myself. 'Logan?' I whispered as I clambered down the slope. I reached his side and bent over him, lifting
his jacket col ar clear of his face.
His eyes were open but I knew he was seriously hurt. 'Don't try to move,' I whispered.
He closed his eyes, opened them again, as if he was checking that he wasn't hal ucinating.
'It's OK.' I knew it wasn't, even though there was no sign of blood. 'I'm here.'
'The wind,' he murmured.
'I know. You're OK. Don't move.' I knew he couldn't.
He lay on his back in the rain, looking up at me. 'The wind.'
'I know it pushed you over the edge. Don't worry, I'l get you out of here.'
'Or maybe I was pushed.' He said this so faintly I thought I'd
imagined it. Then he sighed and closed his eyes.
'Logan, stay awake! We're going to get out, you hear!'
His eyes flickered open. 'The wind,' he whispered again.
'That's right. It's a bad storm.' He looked so weak that I felt his neck for a pulse then leaned down to listen to his breathing.
He whispered in my ear. 'Darina, I never wanted anyone except you.'
Donna and Iceman came to help me get Logan to my car. They didn't speak as they appeared in their halos of silver light, they just made me stand to one side and lifted him as if he weighed no more than a feather. They kept him flat on his back and carried him on their shoulders, letting his arms hang down. He groaned as they set him down in the car.
'Drive,' Iceman told me before he zapped Logan's mind clear of the
last few minutes. Then he closed the door and he and Donna dematerialized into the darkness.
Panic squeezed my heart. Logan lay slumped beside me, his head fal en back against the hooped metal rest, his eyes almost closed. I turned
on the ignition and the wipers, reversed from under the trees, hearing the tyres crunch on the shale as I swung round to face the dirt road. 'Hang on, 103
Logan,' I pleaded. 'Talk to me. Stay awake.'
What did I do?'
You didn't do anything. You got caught in a storm, you fel .' I was on the track, trying to avoid the ruts and hol ows. I had to get Logan to a doctor. He had to keep his eyes open. 'What were you doing here?' I asked.
'I was out at Foxton with Lucas and some other guys. I saw you drive
by.'
And you had to fol ow me!' I cried.
My car hit a ridge, we rattled and rol ed down the next stretch, but the necklace of Foxton lights came into view, and I told Logan we were almost on the highway. 'Hang on,' I pleaded. I would break any limit, drive through any red light to get him to the hospital.
Up ahead, the spray from passing trucks rose in clouds, caught in my headlights as I waited for a gap in the traffic. The yel ow indicator light flashed on-off, on-off, lighting up Logan's face and throwing it back into darkness.
He'd lost consciousness by the time we reached the hospital. His head had tilted towards me, his eyes were closed.
The paramedics came and took him out of the car. They stretchered
him into the ER, hooked him up to machines, ran the first tests.
'He's going to be OK,' I told a nurse under the bright lights.
He nodded. 'You see the woman at the desk? Go talk to her. We'l take good care of your buddy.'
They needed to know Logan's name, she told me. How old was lie?
Where did his parents live?
I could see Logan through a glass partition. He lay under a green sheet, surrounded by machines and medics. Then they rol ed screens around him.
'Logan Lavel e,' I told her. 'No mother, only a father. They live on
West Seventy-Ninth, it's the street next to mine.'
Logan's dad came to the hospital at two a.m. He'd been drinking at Mike Hamil 's house until the smal hours, had arrived home to an urgent message that he should cal the hospital. By the time I saw him in the corridor outside Logan's room, he was halfway sober.
'Mr Lavel e, my name is David Hoffmann. I'm taking care of Logan.'
The doctor rested a hand on his shoulder and led him down the corridor. 104
'Your boy sustained a serious head injury in a fal . The scan shows damage to the skul and some pressure on the frontal lobe of the brain ...'
I sat there feeling sick in my stomach, trying to control my breathing. The lights seemed too bright, the floor too shiny. I put my hand to my eyes and covered them, until I heard the doctor come back with Logan's dad.
'We'l do everything we can,' he promised. 'When can I see him?' Byron Lavel e asked.
'We're running a scan. I'l fetch you when we're through.'
As the doctor disappeared down the corridor, Logan's dad sat heavily beside me. He was dressed in his work clothes, with two days'
stubble on his chin. I noticed that the pointed Western boots he always wore were dusty and scuffed. I closed my eyes with a feeling of total hopelessness.
We got through to four-thirty a.m. By now Laura and Jim were both at the hospital with me. Jim had taken Logan's dad to a family room on the sixth floor while Laura sat and held my hand in the corridor. This is because of me,' I told her.
She put her hand up to stop me. 'Don't talk. Save it for later.'
The hospital had already told us that they planned surgery the next day. 'We have a tube in there to drain fluid from inside the skul and ease the pressure. The scan shows a blood clot. He's on anti-coagulant
medication. We hope the surgery wil remove the clot altogether.'
And if it doesn't?' Byron Lavel e had asked.
Dr Hoffmann had tilted his head to one side then shrugged.
'Logan drove through the storm after me,' I said to Laura. 'He was scared I was driving into trouble.'
'That's Logan,' she sighed. 'Always looking out for you.'
'He told me he never wanted anyone except me. Word for word, that's what he said.'
Laura stared straight ahead, her face drained of colour. She didn't ask me the obvious question, which was why was I out at Foxton in the first place? She didn't say, 'Poor Logan.' She didn't say anything.
10,
The thing was, Phoenix had lied to me. He'd told me they hadn't found any far-siders up on the ridge while al the time Logan had been there, searching for me. That was why he and Dean had set up the winged barrier. But Phoenix hadn't given me those facts.
I sat in the hospital corridor, unable to erase the pic
ture from my mind
- Logan getting out of his car, leaving the shelter of the aspens and staggering onto the ridge. Logan battered by the wind and rain, and then the Beautiful Dead wings, fol owed by skul s crowding in on him, terror ripping into his brain. He would put up his hands and crouch down to protect himself, he would lose his balance and fal over a sheer drop. It would feel like someone had pushed him.
The fal - a mighty blast from behind, a moment of shock then everything in slow motion ... the tipping forward into black emptiness, the drop into thin air.
'Come home,' Laura pleaded with me. It was Tuesday midday. Logan's surgery was due to start at one-thirty p.m.
'I want to stay here.'
'Listen to your mom,' Dr Hoffmann advised. He was a young guy just out of med school - nervous, a little out of his depth. 'Go home and rest up. Logan wil be in theatre al afternoon.'
'I'l be here anyway,' Byron muttered.
They took him off to the family room again where he could wait in peace.
'Come home, Darina.' Mom was begging me. 'You can be back here when Logan comes round from the anaesthetic.'
I looked tip at Hoffmann. 'Can I see him before I leave?'
He nodded and showed me into Logan's room, which was ful of monitors flashing numbers and graphs that showed heartbeat, pulse rate, blood pressure, whatever.
Logan lay on the bed, eyes closed, with an oxygen mask over his
mouth and nose. More tubes fed into his arm, plus they'd positioned
stickers and wires over his heart. 106
'Logan?' I crept to the bedside and leaned over him.
'Go ahead.' The doctor encouraged me to speak. 'There's a chance he can hear you even though he's in a coma. But don't expect any response.' He left me alone with the patient.
'Hey,' I breathed. 'How are you doing? ... They're taking good care of you ... You're going to come through this ...'
The machines beeped and flickered their vital messages across the
screens. Logan lay total y stil , his face drained of colour, his thick brown hair combed back from his forehead. I touched his cheek. 'Stay with us, Logan,' I whispered. 'I need you, you hear?'
He died anyway my Logan. My poor Logan died in the cold, dark night
trying to help me. I couldn't get my head around the fact that he was dead and I was alive - Logan, who should have had a whole happy, wonderful life ahead of him.
