JUNE 2002 - #17

The dangers of a small town . . . Part Two: Where the Streets Have No Name by Paul Hahn

It's cold in Canada. Like, really cold. Like, freezing cold.

But Logan couldn't feel it anymore. The biting cold winds all the way up had numbed his face. He slowed his bike, coasting down the main road of town. It was a very small area. He moved slowly.

People stopped suddenly as he passed by. They froze and just looked at him. It was a strange feeling to Logan. So many eyes looked upon him. There was a mixture of feelings from the people . . . a little bit of caution . . . a little bit of curiosity . . . but an overwhelming amount of fear. He could almost smell it.

He spotted a small saloon and rolled his bike over to it. He parked it and shut the engine off. He was running on empty. He took a mental note: be sure to fill up the tank soon. Never know when you'll need a fast getaway.

He got off his bike and walked slowly through the door to the saloon. It was a small place . . . a bar, some tables littered throughout. Some light smoke in the air, decent lighting. It was far from a shady place.

As Logan walked towards the bar, he noticed a few people stand suddenly and hurry out. When he sat down at the bar, the people around him stood up and left. The bartender looked very nervous before approaching.

"Need somethin', stranger?" the bartender asked. He was an older man, with gray hair.

"I'll take a brew," Logan said quietly, pulling a cigar out of his jacket pocket. "Whatever's on tap."

The bar tender nodded and grabbed a glass. He looked over Logan carefully as he poured him a beer. Logan looked him right back over.

"There ya go," the bartender said, handing Logan the mug.

"Thanks," he replied. "Got a light?"

The bartender reached down below the bar and pulled out a match. He struck it on the bar's edge and gave it over. Logan lit the cigar as it was in his mouth, having previously bit off the end. He puffed a few times till it was lit, then shook out the match. The bartender was still watching him carefully, standing right in front of him.

"Nice place ya got here," Logan said with a straight face, eyeing his beer. He noticed two other men get up and leave.

"Thanks," the bartender replied.

"Why's everyone so spooked?" Logan asked after taking a gulp.

"We're not used to strangers around here," was the answer.

Logan nodded. "The town's pretty far north. A bit outta the way."

"That it is," the older man nodded. "So why're you here?"

Logan couldn't help but grin. "You're a pretty direct fella."

"Small talk bores me."

Logan grinned again. "I grew up in Canada . . . but I've been livin' in the States lately. Got a little bored there . . . decided to go back 'home', and do some drivin'."

"Just goin' wherever the roads take ya, huh?"

"Pretty much," Logan said. He knew the old man didn't buy a single word of it. "So . . . what do people do around here?"

"Work in bars," the old man's sad voice ruined the joke. "People fish . . . hunt . . . make things."

"Sounds kinda peaceful."

"It is. Part o' the reason folks don't take kindly to strangers. A stranger might . . . disrupt the peace."

"I'm not lookin' for any trouble," Logan said. "Just lookin' for a place to crash for the night . . . and some gas for my hog."

"There's an inn a few blocks north," the man replied. "Gas station's a couple blocks east of there."

"Thanks," Logan nodded, drinking down more of his beer.

"You'll be leavin' tomorrow then?" the man asked.

"I suppose," Logan shrugged. "Unless I like the town. Might want to stay awhile."

The old man's facial expression suddenly changed . . . almost to that of fear. "There's no reason to stick around here . . . plenty of country to see other places. We'd just bore ya. Maybe you should head east . . . there's a nice little town not too far from here you might like better."

Logan nodded. "Thanks for the advice. How much for the beer?"

"On the house."

"Thanks, pops."

Logan stood up and walked back outside to his bike. The street seemed completely devoid of life, except for one man across the street who sat there, watching him. Logan got back on his bike, but it wouldn't start. Gas was gone.

Logan shrugged and walked the bike along the street, hoping to reach the gas station.

There's definitely somethin' weird goin' on here. Not quite sure what. But that old man seemed very eager to have me move on. Sounds t'me like he's hiding something. Maybe something about Weapon X . . .

"rrrrRAAAAAA!!!!"

Creed . . . did Creed murder Silver Fox? Murder the woman Logan . . . loved? The woman Logan barely even remembers.

"Mister?" a woman's voice asked.

Logan turned quickly to her, startled.

"S-Sorry," she said. She had black hair and brown eyes. She watched him curiously. "Didn't mean to startle you . . . but you were just . . . standing there like that. I just wanted to see if you were . . . alright."

"I'm fine," Logan replied. "Just got caught up in thought."

"Oh," the woman said. "Okay."

"Hey," Logan said. "You're the first person to approach me here. Everyone else has kinda run away. What's your excuse?"

"I own the inn," she said. "Name's Margaret. Everyone calls me Maggie, though. I took over the place when my mom died last year. I kinda depend on strangers for a living."

Logan nodded. She was young . . . probably in her early twenties. First friendly face he'd seen since he left New York . . . since . . . Jean.

He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking of Jean. He had to get her out of his head. There were too many other things going on at that moment.

"Well, I'd be interested in a room," Logan said. "For the night, at least."

"I'd be more than happy to help you, Mister . . . ?"

"Logan," he said.

"Mister Logan," she smiled. "Come on . . . "

Logan nodded, letting her take the lead. Soon they were at the inn. It was a small place, very old, made mostly out of wood. Two stories, only.

"Well, you missed supper . . . comin' in so late an' all," she said. "But breakfast is served at eight a.m. every mornin'. Let me show you to your room."

Logan parked the bike outside and followed her in. He went up a set of creaky wooden steps, following her lead, down a small hallway to a small room. It had a single bed, night stand, dresser, and desk.

"The bathroom's down the hall," she said. "We don't have a shower, though. The town's gotta ration water, and showers are kinda few and far between."

Huh, Logan thought. She smells clean enough. So did the bartender. These people have good hygiene, and they all seem pretty healthy. No lack of food, either.

"Is the room satisfactory?"

"It's nice," Logan nodded.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Nah," he said. "I was riding for a long time . . . I'm thinkin' I'll just call it a night."

She shrugged. "Well then, have a good night, mister Logan."

Logan gave her a small smile as she walked out the room and closed the door behind her. He walked over to the far corner of the room, which had two windows. He looked out to the town below. Nothing seemed to be going on.

I've got an eerie feeling about this place. I'm thinkin' I'll lie down for a few hours . . . maybe catch some sleep. Then late night, do some explorin'. See if this clue Psylocke got from Random was worth lookin' into.

Logan walked back over to the bed, laid down, and began to dream.

"No one can quit Weapon X . . . "

He sat up and shook his head. Time to get to the bottom o' this.

He got up out of bed and put his jacket on. He walked out of his room quietly and carefully, walking slowly towards the outside. Once outside he began sniffing the air, using his heightened senses to get a better feel for his surroundings.

It was cold. Really cold.

He shivered. Then he turned west. The bartender had told him about the gas station to the East, or the town to the East. It wasn't much to go on, but maybe what he wanted was somewhere west.

He walked along slowly and quietly. The only light was that of the moon and the stars. His senses were working overtime, checking to see if he was being watched. He seemed to be in the clear.

So he kept walking, looking about. The town seemed normal enough on the surface. But he couldn't shake that feeling. It could've been just the hint from Random playing with his mind . . . but no; there had to be something here.

He walked for what seemed to be a long way and a long time. He was getting very cold. He thought about turning back, when something caught his eye. He kept walking, and noticed a cliff.

Huh, he thought. A beach was supposed to be a bit north . . . but a cliff? A sheer drop off? That was a bit odd. So he walked closer. And he walked up to the edge of the cliff and looked down.

His eyes went wide. Down below the cliff was a large, snow-covered valley. And on that flat area was a large military complex with gates and towers.

"Now I'm on ta somethin' . . . "