::X-Men:: In The Claws Of An Angel ::Wolverine::

Chapter Six.

The inside of the camper began to warm by 7:30 AM, despite its running AC unit, which gently woke me out of my sleep. I stretched my long limbs out on the couch, letting out a groan of content as my muscles relaxed.

As my body and mind transitioned, I tried my best to ignore the haunting events from the night before, but they were just too intense to set aside.

My eyes glued themselves to the ceiling as I relived the sound of the men's voices, and the looks on everyone's terrified faces...

But the thing that stuck with me most was the gunman's painfully tight grip on my arm as he dragged me to my then seemingly inevitable death. My hand instinctively shot up to the spot on my arm his fingers had wrapped around, rubbing the sensitive skin... It was still sore, no doubt at least a little bruised, but I didn't want to look at it yet.

I sighed and gently pressed my palms to my groggy eyes, thinking of how lucky I was to have coaxed my telekinesis to work in my favor. I wished I could do that all the time, and wondered why I couldn't...

"You just need practice." Logan's raspy voice echoed inside my head, the image of his smiling face across the table from me at Denny's flashing along with it.

That's when I slowly sat up, realizing Logan and I hadn't said one word to each other since the incident, other than a brief "Goodnight."

A small yawn escaped from my lips as I peered about the camper, listening for the sound of Logan's soft, dull snore that I'd become familier with over the past few nights. I waited a second, hearing nothing but the whirring of the AC unit, and the faint sound of birds chirping outside.

I stood up, and my bare feet padded across the camper's floor, over to the tiny booth-like table to the right where the window was. I crawled up into the left side of the booth, leaning past a cloud of dust particles floating in a beam of early morning sunlight peeping through the thin curtains as I pushed them aside.

The leak of sunlight turned into a flood when I moved the soft, yellowing, used-to-be-white fabric, illuminating the inside of the camper. I squinted as my eyes adjusted, then peered outside, scanning the area.

All the way to the left, I could see the worn tire marks in the grass of the trail we had taken late last night. We were on a public campsite, Buck's Run Camping Community, to be exact. Logan had payed a $15 fee for three nights of camping, then drove at least 30 minutes out into the grounds, just to make extra sure we weren't too close to any other campers.

Far out in the distance, past a cluster of mossy trees and across a wide, open field of browning grass, I could see a glimpse of smoke rising from another campsite's fire. My stomach started to growl at the thought of the breakfast they were most likely cooking, but I ignored it.

I turned my head to the right, peering at a small, natural spring a few yards away. The water was clear and sparkly, and Logan's two wicker chairs were set up next to it. In the middle of them, a firepit was made with stones placed in a circle, and some dirt stirred up in the middle.

The entire area was shaded by tall, leafy trees. I felt my eyebrows scrunch up as I realized Logan was no where to be seen, but he must have gotten up early and put the chairs out.

I backed away from the window, letting the curtains drop back down again. Crawling back out of the booth and retracing my steps back to the couch, I noticed a small paper laying on the end table, next to the clock.

"Hm..?" I hummed to myself as I reached out and grasped the paper, holding it up to look at it.

It was a note, written in Logan's scratchy handwriting. I could hear his voice in my head as my eyes passed over the words.