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Free for a Second
by Vicki Lew
August 2001

Part Thirteen

Two hours before...

Ya should've seen this comin', girl ... Ya're trained for this sorta inside betrayal and 'trust no one' shit, Rogue chided herself mentally.

This was reward for not paying attention, she thought as she threw herself to the ground. Failing to dodge the onslaught in time, a bullet catching her in the shoulderblade. The force knocked the wind out of the young woman, and she collapsed to the floor. Rolling over to her side fast, Rogue found cover behind a drinks machine in the corridor. Another spray of bullets came flying by, and she sorted out her options quickly. Her mind was confused as her shoulder burned painfully.

Reaching over to the wound, her hand came away bloody. She cursed; she'd been shot despite the bulletproof vest. Rogue tore the armour off and inspected it. Biting down on a furious scream, she discovered that the vest was a dud, and threw it aside.

Count the rounds, and take my chances while they reload, she told herself. Readying her two handguns, she sprang out, hurling herself into the air sideways, and firing at her former team mates. She slid across the hallway as she hit the ground, making her way into a sideroom. "Ah know what you're up to, Portman. Your sick little game; ya want me riddled with holes, bleedin' like a stuck pig and unable to move, so that this bunch o'merry men can leave me behind waitin' for the inevitable big blow-up.'

Not if she could help it, of course.

Her assailants followed suit into the room, firing as she lunged for cover amongst the huge steel filing cabinets. Rogue was doing fine until a bullet ricocheted against the metal and lodged itself painfully into her left thigh. For a moment she stumbled but managed to avoid getting hit fatally.

Rogue pressed herself behind a cabinet and rammed new cartridges into her firearms. She looked down at her leg, and cursed when she found that the bullet hadn't managed its exit. It was buried in her thigh.

All that trainin' gone, just because of a man and one night of mindless fuckin'!! The injured woman didn't know who she was madder at - Remy LeBeau, Portman or her silly self.

Her ears picked up footsteps approaching her, and gut instinct told her to lash out, surprising the Operative and disarming him. She wrapped her arm around his neck and twisted, hard. The man's body dropped lifelessly to the floor. Wasting no time, Rogue fired at the remaining Operatives as she ran, aiming for their heads since hitting the bulletproof vests would prove futile. She took out another of her enemies before another bullet hit her in the side; her wounded leg was slowing her down.

Stumbling out of the room, Rogue limped along the corridor, trying to make her way out of the complex before it blew up. Static crackled over her intercom, and she heard Portman's grating laughter in her ear.

"Losing your touch, Sabine?" he jeered. "Just put the gun to your temple and pull the trigger. It'll be easier on you. Goodbye, Sabine." Over the intercom she could distinctly hear a mechanical voice counting down from five in the background.

"Fuck you, Portman!!" she screamed as she felt the ground shake with the explosions ... Dieu!

Present time...

I hiss as de red hot metal burns my hand. Kickin' another sheet of shrivelled metal aside, I close my eyes dismally. If she was here when dis place went kaboom, den I guess I could stop searchin'.

"Detective Devereaux, one of the boys found something."

I turned to face de young officer, adknowledging my false identity. I strode over to where he pointed and kneeled t'get a closer look. It was a manhole, and its cover had been pushed aside, leavin' it open

De officer pointed out beside the hole, "Got a pretty big pool of blood here, Detective." I dipped m'fingers in de dark liquid. It was blood, alright. "Someone must've got outta there through the sewage ... We've got a couple of guys checking the area."

I t'ink I know who dat someone is.

She shook with effort to keep moving, constantly looking around to make sure she was not being followed. Her heart pumped wildly, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She felt light-headed, and everything seemed surreal. She could hardly feel anything, but the coppery tang of blood that kept filling her nostrils told her she was bleeding like the stuck pig, just as Portman had hoped.

Turning into an alley, Rogue decided that she was far enough from the sirens to check on her wounds. A homeless man stared at her, and exited promptly in fear upon seeing the blood.

Ah must be losin' my touch with men, she joked as she bent down to check the pile of assorted junk the scruffy man had left behind in his haste. Picking out a couple of rags, she slid down slowly to the dusty asphalt and dug out the torch from her utility belt.

She focused on her wounded thigh first, using the rags to form a temporary bandage. The bullet was going to have to come out, but later, not now. Next, she went to the back of her shoulder, stretching to apply another rag to the shot wound. She winced as she did so. Something in her right side fucking hurt; she looked down at her lower torso.

And froze.

Adrenaline had prevented her from feeling the huge pice of shrapnel lodged deep between her lower ribs. Blood bubbled as it oozed out of the gaping wound.

"Fuck," Sabine swore half-heartedly. Gathering her thoughts, she quickly bandaged her shoulder and grabbed the rugged coat that was amongst the junk. Tugging the garment on to hide her state, the wounded woman struggled to her feet and hurried out of the alley.

Continued in Chapter Fourteen.

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