Chapter Text
Atlas’s lips move as she counts the seconds it takes for the convoy to reappear in the rearview mirror. All this time, the sun has been getting steadily lower. Now, there isn’t even a sliver of it behind the trees, and it’s getting harder to see the road. Regardless, Atlas doesn’t dare turn on the headlights.
Domino slips back in through the rear window, but Atlas is still counting seconds. Headlights finally erupt through the cloud of black smoke behind them, and several more pairs follow swiftly after.
“Dammit, don’t they ever quit?” Domino frowns.
“They must want that thumb drive.”
“Yeah. We really need to get the hell off this mountain.”
Atlas shakes her head. “No, we just need them to think we did.”
Domino gives her a weird look.
The truck shudders in protest as Atlas knocks it up to the next gear and speeds faster towards the approaching curve. By now, everyone knows to brace as she sails up the hill and around the bend, throwing mud and gravel as the convoy’s headlights disappear behind the turn. The trees are no less thick around them, but every few hundred yards Atlas glimpses mailboxes flashing by. Turn offs and side roads grow in frequency from every few miles to every few hundred yards.
Getting back to civilization, Atlas thinks, eyes darting at the blur of road signs in the dark, all sporting unfamiliar names.
As they ford the next hill, everyone in the truck bed feels their stomach rise in their throat from the speed. The transmission whines in protest as she changes gears, pushing for more power.
“Come on, baby—come on, baby—just a little more,” Atlas grits through her teeth, pushing on the steering wheel like it’ll help the truck go faster.
She glances in her mirror, watching for headlights to reappear as they round the top of the next hill. She glimpses a sliver of headlight coming around the corner before disappearing over the—
“Deer-deer-deer-deer-DEER!” Domino screams, suddenly bracing.
Atlas’s eyes snap forward in time to see the cluster of brown shapes peppering the road ahead. Half a dozen heads lift and turn but don’t move.
Atlas slams the brakes and yanks the wheel. The truck and everyone in it screams. Something metallic thunks and lurches in the undercarriage. The tires lock. Atlas tries to turn the wheel, but it won’t budge. The truck sails off the embankment into pitch dark. A hundred tractor ruts go in every direction around them, appearing as if from thin air. Atlas frantically pumps the brakes, but nothing is responding.
A structure rises quickly into view as a back tire clips the frame of a tractor, jolting the truck straight and sapping a huge chunk of their speed. Colossus wedges himself down while Deadpool and BoneEater hold on to him for dear life. The structure comes into view to reveal the towering face of an ancient, dilapidated barn coming up on them like a looming giant. Atlas and Domino scream as the truck slams through the barn doors, skidding and then slamming to a stop against the grill of a gargantuan, half-century-old combine harvester, throwing everyone forward and slamming the airbags into both of their faces.
The barn doors slam fully open and then swing back around and shut, knocking down a bar that slips neatly into the barricade lock, sealing the barn doors shut as if nothing ever happened.
The engine finally dies at the same time all the screaming subsides. The airbags slowly deflate, leaving them in absolute, strangling darkness.
No one speaks. No one breathes.
All heads turn as, through the gaps in the old wooden walls, headlights and roaring engines blast by less than thirty yards away, and in seconds they are left in excruciating silence.
All the steam leaves Atlas in a trembling rush. She pries her hands off the wheel, shaking, ears ringing from the blast of the airbags. It’s not until that very second Atlas realizes she’s smiling. Domino, wide eyed in the dark, sees Atlas’s face and grins, too. Their panting devolves into winded gasps and then into laughter, and Atlas and Domino hug.
Atlas staggers out of the cab, legs numb from adrenaline, and catches herself on a work bench. Deadpool hops out the side, and the suspension lifts with Colossus stepping out the back; Domino helps a trembling BoneEater down from the tailgate by the light of her phone screen.
Deadpool is in Atlas’s face before she’s ready for him, grabbing and squeezing her by the shoulders.
“That—Was—AMAZING! Oh my god, you’re like if Vin Diesel had a crazy lovechild with Mad Max! That was insane and terrifying and you’re out of your goddamn mind and you’re my hero!” Deadpool twists suddenly and levels a finger at Colossus, stopping the hulk in his tracks as he comes around the truck. “And you! If you don’t marry this crazy bitch, I f*cking will!”
Colossus is taken aback, but Atlas couldn’t care less. She reaches for him, and Colossus grabs her and pulls her in, crushing her against his chest. His metal is freezing but she doesn’t care, just wants him to hold her tighter and never let her go. He checks her over. Atlas is dirty, her skin is cold, smells like mud and gunpowder, and her hair is an absolute mess. Were she anyone else, Colossus might think she’d been seriously injured. He knows better, but he worries anyway.
“Are you hurt, Atlas?”
“No, I’m fine, just rattled. Your hand, is it . . . ?”
He flexes his hand where she can see. In the dim glow of the cabin light, she sees the black marks all scuffed and smeared from the pistol exploding in his hand, obvious signs of pitting where there was once smooth metal. It stings like a monster and he has some difficulty making a fist, but it’s nothing that won’t mend on its own with time. He neglects to mention the dent on the side of his head unless she brings it up.
“And BoneEater?” Atlas looks around. “BoneEater, are you—?”
Domino comes around the back of the truck with the lanky form of BoneEater supported by an arm across her shoulders. They hobble, favoring one leg, but are otherwise unhurt.
“How about I drive next time, yeah?” BoneEater says, exasperated.
Atlas smiles, relief washing away the last lingering shards of adrenaline.
Atlas cranes her head up, panning the flashlight in her teeth as she struggles to trace the leak back to its source. Everything is smothered in muck and bits of rock and gravel. She reaches up, feeling blindly as hot oil spills down her wrist, elbow, and shoulder, staining her sleeve beyond repair. A few drops splatter on her cheek, the heat of them momentarily chasing off the cold before they, too, begin to cool and coagulate. Finally, Atlas’s fingertips locate the source of the leak: a sharp, jagged crack where none should ever be on an engine.
“f*ck,” she cusses, the flashlight muffling her speech.
Deadpool slides up beside her and shines his own light on the spot, struggling to even see her hands amidst it all.
“Find it?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“Give it to me straight, doc. Is she gonna make it?”
Atlas sighs, frustrated and unable to give much of an answer. She pulls herself up on the undercarriage and reaches her arm in deeper, following the crack to where it leads: all the way up to the valve cover which is, similarly, cracked open. Resigned, Atlas sighs and knocks her fist on the bottom of the engine case where blood red transmission fluid drips slowly down, mixing with a puddle of shiny black oil.
She takes the flashlight out of her mouth.
“Time of death: 2115 hours,” she says, wiping her cheek on the back of her wrist.
“sh*t.”
Atlas shoulder-crawls out from underneath the truck, and once she’s clear Colossus lowers the front-end back down onto its tires. The suspension groans as if in pain as the weight settles. She wipes her arms with some old rags they found, but all Atlas manages to do is smear the oil with all the dirt already on her. f*ck, she needs a shower. Atlas pulls her jacket on, hoping the added layer will fend off the cold from further seeping into her bones.
“Sorry, big guy. Looks like she ran her last race tonight,” Atlas says, looking sympathetically at Colossus.
Colossus looks solemnly at his truck. Peppered with bullet holes and broken glass, the suspension sits lower than it should, and the front tires face separate directions. He pats the hood gingerly, like saying goodbye to a friend.
“So, what’s the plan now?” Domino asks, seated on a sawhorse with her legs kicking beneath her. Beside her, BoneEater sits on a five-gallon bucket, laptop casting their boney features in a nightmarish under-glow.
“The plan is still what the plan was: find the mutant factory and shut ‘em down. That part’s not changing,” Deadpool says.
“Sure, but what’s the plan for right now? We’re stuck in an abandoned barn in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, with no means of transportation, no food or water, and no one looking for us who doesn’t want us dead.”
“That’s . . . a pretty solid summary of our problems,” BoneEater says.
“Thanks, sweetie. Also, it’s gonna get pretty freaking cold tonight and even if the truck wasn’t dead we can’t all fit in the cab.”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve got a couple snack bars in my bag. As for the cold, there’s got to be something in here we can use to keep warm,” Atlas says, already beginning to pan her light around at the tools surrounding them.
“And if there’s not?” BoneEater asks. The cold wouldn’t actually bother them, but it will definitely bother everyone else.
“We could cuddle?” Deadpool suggests, hopeful.
Colossus and Domino respond in unison, “No.”
“Absolutely not,” Domino adds.
“Jesus, no hesitation, huh?” Deadpool pouts.
Atlas shakes her head. “Let’s see if there’s anything here first, then we can decide if hypothermia is worth it or not.”
They separate to look around. BoneEater climbs a rickety wooden ladder to check the upper hayloft, Domino checks the storage area beneath, Deadpool takes the western tool area, and Atlas and Colossus take the east side. As they look around, Atlas debates the logistics of burning the diesel in the truck and if having Domino around means a fire won’t spread and burn down the barn with them inside it. Probably not worth the risk, she figures.
Colossus checks high while she searches low. Everything is coated in a generous layer of dust and cobwebs. Despite the tractor ruts outside, this barn clearly hasn’t been used for much in ages. Under a work bench, she finds rusty sheers, a mummified rat, a hand siphon pump, and other bits and bobs she hardly recognizes. She gives some old oil cans a shake but only hears rust rattling around like sand. Colossus produces what looks to be an early 1900s style oil lamp from a top shelf. There’s no wick to speak of and the oil reservoir is empty anyway.
“Anyone find anything?” Colossus asks aloud.
Deadpool and Domino both sound off in the negative.
“I found some owl bones!” BoneEater calls out excitedly. A crushing-popping-grinding sound follows.
“Good for you, buddy,” Deadpool responds.
Atlas chuckles, a bit jealous they could find something to eat in a place like this. Then a heavy, cold hand lays on her shoulder, and Atlas looks up at Colossus.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he quietly asks.
“Yeah, I’m good. Better than the others, anyway. I haven’t driven like that in years. It’s kinda cool to know I’ve still got it,” Atlas says. Her belly still flips recalling those wild turns.
“Not what I. . . .” He hesitates briefly, then continues, “I saw the gun. The one you, uhm, ate.”
Her stomach drops. Even now Atlas still tastes grit and gunpowder in her teeth.
“Oh. . . . Yeah. Sorry. I, uh, I didn’t really have time to think about it. I just reacted.”
“You knew it wouldn’t hurt you?”
“Uh, so. . . . That . . . wasn’t the first time I’ve been shot in the face.” His eyes go wide, and Atlas quickly continues, “It goes back to when I used to drive shipments back home. Sometimes—well, sometimes clients didn’t like my rate. Or that I was a mutant. If negotiations failed, which they always did because I didn’t ever negotiate, they’d try to intimidate me. Usually that meant pulling a gun on me. I called my share of bluffs in those days, but I’ll admit that was the first time I ever had a gun in my mouth.”
Rather than reassure him, horror seeps into his features as she explains.
“You didn’t know if it could kill you?” Colossus exclaims, less quiet.
Atlas rubs the back of her neck. “Well, I guess I kinda did know. I mean, in a way. You, uh. . . .” She drops her voice down low as heat creeps into her cheeks and ears. “I mean, I survived having you in my mouth, didn’t I?”
Colossus gawks for a beat until her words sink in, then he covers his face as it boils with embarrassment. Atlas giggles.
“Hey, I think I got something!” Domino calls out.
The three of them converge on her spot. BoneEater hangs over the edge of the hayloft looking down, a twig-like long bone extending from their teeth like a strand of wheat. Domino shines her phone light on a metal cylinder sticking halfway out from under a blue tarp. Colossus lifts the tarp to inspect the find, and his expression perks up. He shakes the cage at the top of the cylinder as if to check it’s still sturdy.
“Is a kerosene heater. This is perfect! We just need fuel,” he says excitedly.
“Would diesel work?” Atlas asks.
Deadpool shines his light on the tarp and then yanks it all the way back. A cloud of dust bursts into the air, and when it finally settles there are five metal jugs labeled in huge, faded red letters: KEROSENE. Warning: Highly Flammable.
Deadpool looks to Domino.
“Have I told you today how cool that is?” he says.
She smiles ear to ear. “Hmmm, you could say it more often.”
