Uncanny X-Men 1943

Chapter 22

On the outskirts of Saint-Omer, the team came across an abandoned cottage.

"How much further?" Emma asked, doing a quick psi-scan of the area.

"Twenty-something miles," Logan replied. "Have to check the map."

"All right," Emma said, "We'll take a break. Half an hour. Have something to eat."

The sun was setting, and the night was getting cold fast, and all were glad to step inside out of the wind. There was a larger room at the front of the cottage, with a wooden table and a few stools. Logan, Remy, Elizabeth and Warren set about making themselves at home, arranging their torches for the best amount of lighting, and pulling out what remained of their rations to share. Emma went into one of the two smaller rooms at the back and closed the door.

"Is she - ?"

"Let her be," Elizabeth said, making a note to ensure there was enough rations left for Emma.

Elizabeth and the boys were glad just to sit and rest their feet for a while. Their remaining rations, one tin of beef, one tin of mystery cabbage-something remaining from their haul from the German truck, a little hard cheese and a little chocolate, afforded a measly supper, but having skipped lunch, they enjoyed it all the same.

"All right gentlemen," Elizabeth said, standing up, "Time to wash up and head - " Elizabeth grabbed the table as she felt a sudden surge of psychic energy.

"Woah, Betsy..." Warren said, grabbing her arm.

"Bets? You right?"

"Elizabeth?"

"Emma..." Elizabeth breathed. As soon as it had come on, the psychic energy disappeared. "Stay there," Elizabeth ordered, as she grabbed her torch and hurried into the room where Emma had secluded herself. "What was that?" she ordered as she flung open the door.

Emma sat on the side of a bed-frame, doubled over, her head in her hands.

"Emma?" Elizabeth asked as she closed the door and knelt down in front of Emma, "What did you just do?"

Emma swallowed and raised her head a little. She was drenched with sweat and looked deathly pale, even in the golden torchlight. "They're coming..." she murmured.

"What did you do?" Elizabeth asked, placing her torch in a nook in the wall, and gently lowering Emma to the floor, afraid she would otherwise collapse.

"Morning, Calais..."

"Who?"

"And they made it. Tell Remy... it worked."

"Tell Remy yourself," Elizabeth snapped, fighting back fear. "What's going on? Because I will not be the only one who felt that. That - that was like a damned beacon, Emma. And we're so close, we're so - oh."

Emma lay down on the floor, curling her knees up to her chest. "Why do you think I waited so long?" she whispered.

Elizabeth looked around the small room. It had been striped of all belongings, and the window was boarded up. "I could have helped."

"You are."

"No, I mean - just, rest. We - we have time. We have a few hours," Elizabeth said, and positioned Emma's coat better around her legs. There was nothing for a pillow. "You have one more trick. You always do. Your agendas have agendas. What's going on?"

"Get to Calais by dawn..."

"We're damn well taking you with us."

"Oh darling," Emma chuckled then coughed, "I have no intention of dying - or of staying in this... this wasteland - a moment longer than needs be..."