Shoot First, Ask Questions Later
Chapter 2
by
Barbara Metzger



Thank God for lunchtime, Elma thought as she started for her small office near the back of the main exhibit hall. Children were just dandy, just not in such large doses. Her stomach started growling as she thought of the leftover chili she had stashed in the breakroom fridge yesterday.

Now that the children had left, the museum was pretty quiet. Just the way she liked it. She noticed movement to her left as she hurried past the reconstructed 1700's Indian village in the middle of the large wood paneled room. Partially hidden from view behind a teepee and preserved foliage, someone gripped the edge of one of the displays, acting peculiar, as if in pain. The guy from the coke machine. She started to circle around the camp reconstruction to offer help when he seemed to pull together.

She thought about turning around and continuing on to her office. Something about him stopped her. Maybe she was a sucker for muscular guys in jeans and leather jackets. Maybe she was just a sucker. She ambled over on the pretense of asking what he thought of the museum.

He was oblivious to her presence, intensely interested in a picture of Wolverine Canyon rock art. She watched him as he held his hand fisted before him. 'You know, if you concentrate hard enough, claws might pop out.'

The man seemed slightly surprised at her choice of words and to hear her from so close a distance, as if she had snuck up on him.

She didn't know how she knew that, but she had always been good at reading people. That's why she didn't like people. Too many hidden agendas. Her mother always told her she was too intuitive for her own good.

She couldn't get a full reading on him. She knew she only skimmed the surface. He was an ocean of mystery. She didn't think she could have read anything on him had he not been so preoccupied. Hmmm...

'What?!' He quickly brought his hand down.

'Claws...you know...don't stare so hard at the picture,' she nervously laughed. 'You'll burn a hole.' He squinted his eyes as if a bright spotlight was aimed directly at him and looked at her.

'It's a joke' she wrinkled her forehead as she pointed to the pictograph photo.

Logan came back into the world and focused his eyes. The woman from the other room. He hadn't really paid much attention to her when she was acting the part of tour guide, but now...up close he noticed an uncommon beauty about her. Nothing stunning, but...her eyes held such depth...and fire. An old soul. An old pain in the ass, if she wanted, too. She came up to his shoulders and had to tilt her head up slightly to talk to him.

'Get out much?' She was starting to think he was a borderline nutcase wrapped up to look normal.

Logan realized he was silently staring and mentally slapped himself. He threw her a crooked grin. 'Ms. Bang Bang---'

'Lord, what did I do wrong,' she sighed as she spread her arms and raised her palms skyward. 'No. Elma. Elma Shoots First.' She raised an eyebrow daring him to crack a joke. Man...Ms. Bang Bang was a seriously bad idea.

Never one to beat around the bush, he said the first thing that came to mind. 'Aren't you sort of a wise ass to be working with the nice museum public?'

Elma couldn't help but like the guy, a little. 'I'm sweeter on paydays...You got a name, or are you gonna let me file you away as the soda machine guy?'

His mind jumped back to the entertainingly chaotic scene from earlier. 'Well...Elma...' He shaped his hand like an 'L', aimed at a stuffed deer to his right, took a crack shot then blew imaginary smoke from the barrel, 'I'm Wolverine.' He held a straight face as long as he could, then busted up laughing.

'Your name's not exactly John Smith either,' she said a little miffed. She was thankful Ms. Bang Bang would die with him when he left. She looked at him with her arms crossed. 'Wolverine, eh...You serious?' She glanced at the Wolverine Canyon placard. Her stomach grumbled louder.

This time it was his turn to look affronted. 'It's a nickname, darlin'.' 'Well...Wolverine,' she dragged out. As dashing a brute as he looked, she was hungry, he was weird, had a smart mouth, and his eyes were too piercing. 'I'd love to stay and chat with you but I'm starving...soooo...nice to have met ya.' She turned around half way through her goodbye, strode through a pair of louvered doors and disappeared, leaving the strange scent of brewed coffee behind.

What the hell just happened here.

He wondered momentarily if that was how he came across to others. He stood there leaning on one leg and absently rubbing his overgrown chops.

He was a little intrigued at being brushed off.

His eyes had followed to where she had disappeared, and unwittingly smiled. He stared at the doors that were left pushed open.

Elma's head suddenly popped around the corner at him, 'I told you not to stare,' she began, subconsciously happy that she did catch him still staring.

'You'll go blind.' Then disappeared with a mocking smile.

Man, she was a work of art.

He'd never met anyone who could play his game as well...well, almost as well, as him. He took a certain pride in being able to throw people off. Logan wasn't gonna let some slip of a girl get the last word on him. He swaggered over to where she had gone then stopped in mid-stride as her phone rang.

Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring.

Elma debated answering.

Ring. Ring.

She mentally counted. One potato, two potato, three potato...

Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring.

She narrowed her eyes, growled and gave in.

The ring kinda reminded him that as fun as this was, it wasn't what he was here for. He was about to spin on his heel and just forget the whole thing, realizing how schoolboyish he was acting, when he overheard 'date talk.'

'No, I won't see you tonight,' Elma muttered as she cradled the receiver on her shoulder and tried to keep her increasingly grouchy stomach under control. The attempt only managed to make her mood more biting.

'I've had a long, hard day.' Elma sighed and propped her boots up on the corner of her desk to lean back in the chair. 'No, I won't see you now either.'

'Jack,' she warned. 'I'm serious. I'm going to go over and do a little pre-photodocumentation vacation on your site. Don't cha want your initials recorded on some little dry, boring journal in the Smithsonian 40 years after you're dead?'

'Really,' she laughed. 'Grant me more of your wisdom.'

Logan couldn't walk away now, even if he wanted to. He wanted to hear more of her spitfire and brimstone. He actually found himself enjoying it. He tried to imagine who was on the other line and frowned. Although she didn't seem to be an item with the unknown voice, her words made him inexplicably jealous.

'Why has everyone been calling me a smart ass today?' She rolled her eyes. 'Look, I promise to have dinner with you before you leave for San Diego, ok?'

'I promise!' She humphed.

Jack was a sweet guy, but she didn't reciprocate his obviously deeper affections. That's all she could think of to say. He was a sweet guy. Visions of unbridled passion did not come to mind.

Her mind drifted back to the granite pillar she ran into.

Wolverine

Physically...she fanned herself and sighed.

Mentally...she whistled and made circular motions near her temple.

'Look now, before I go, all I want to know is...' she brought both hands out as if to shake hands and emphasize her words to her physically absent audience. This movement is also referred to as 'The Bob Dole.' 'Do these designs have anything to do with Wolverine Canyon?'

Logan's ears perked up.

Paydirt.

'Because if they do, it's gonna mean...a shitload...of new answers.' His answer confirmed her suspicions and she sported a big, wide, fine looking smile. Like a cat...anticipating the chase.

The frozen silent figure outside of Elma's door soaked up everything. Wolverine Canyon, directions, theories, rumors, and most importantly, when she was planning on showing up to photodocument. He had just enough time to get there before her. He silently slipped away.

Is this what he had been searching for. He was for damn sure gonna find out. Nothing ever got in the way of his first priority.

He was gone before he could hear her end the phone conversation, as only she could.

* * * * *


Number One was a good dog. He rolled over. He didn't pull at his leash when taken for a walk. And most importantly, he loved his master. He always came when his master called him. And he always played catch. Sometimes he loved catch so much he played it by himself.

Poised, Number One looked at his master and shook like a little ball of electricity anticipating another try at catching the strange white animal, ball, stick. He didn't know what. They always disappeared when they hit the ground. They were fast.

Bobby's arm pitched. Number One dashed as close under and parallel to the object's trajectory as he could. He was gonna get this one. He was. He surged forward and turned his head up and behind him. The white thing flew past like a Frisbee. He reached as far out ahead of him as his neck would stretch and.splat! It hit the ground and disappeared. Number One sniffed the ground around the impact.

No scent. No sign. Nothing.

He whined a little in confusion then happily turned around, his tongue hanging sloppily out, and racehorsed it back to his master for another go.

Bobby threw another snowball into the line of trees across from the tribal museum. Every now and then he wrinkled his nose and looked back at the big double-doored entrance. He hated museums. They were so boring. Nothing but big clay pots, lots of reading, old scratchy videos, and lots of adults that somehow knew when he was about to touch something he wasn't supposed to.

He threw another snowball.

'Come on Number one!' he cried. 'Engage! Engage!'

Number One flew like a bullet into the trees across the road.

He wondered how long it would take for his parents to realize he was gone. After hearing that story the tour guide told, he just couldn't stand it. His parents told him how lucky they were to stumble in at the same time as a tour group. They'd be able to tag along and get 'The inside scoop.' All he knew is that he was a big kid now. Almost 9, and he wasn't gonna hang around with any 3rd grade babies.

His eyes scanned for sign of his dog.

'Come on Number one, hurry up!'

There was no sign of him on the road. He couldn't really see into the trees because they were so densely packed together they almost looked like a solid wall of greens and browns.

'Number One! Lets go!'

He was probably off christening a rock, but couldn't help worry something had happened. There were a lot of hunter's traps out and about. Subconsciously he knew there wouldn't be any traps this close to a road.

Number One always came when called. He had trained him since puppyhood. He had earned 'most improved' in dog training class. Bobby exhaled.

Things never went his way.

He started for the small bank of snow piled under the trees. Nothing. He carefully placed his feet on the top of the snow as he crunched and sunk his way slowly over the top of the bank.

Bobby's eyes widened as he saw what no kid his age, or adult should ever see. He couldn't shut his eyes as he started heaving and vomited over the pure white snow. It was awful.

Indistinguishable remains were strewn over a large patch of red snow. What ever did this was inhuman. Bobby let loose a piercing scream.

And just kept screaming.

And screaming.



CHAPTERS:   1   2   3   4




All references to characters belonging to the X-Men Universe are (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities. All rights reserved. Any reproduction, duplication or distribution of these materials in any form is expressly prohibited. No money is being made from this archive. All images are also (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities; they are not mine. This website, its operators and any content used on this site relating to the X-Men are not authorized by Marvel, Fox, etc. I am not, nor do I claim to be affiliated with any of these entities in any way.