CHAPTER 116 – THE RIVER AND THE STORM
The raft was a patchwork of logs lashed with vine, half-sinking even in calm water. Now it bobbed downstream under a swollen red sky, the jungle vanishing behind them in shadows.
Night fell quick and thick. The air grew heavy, damp with the weight of a storm not yet born.
Logan sniffed the air, lips curling. "Trouble brewin'."
Cyclops didn't look back, hands steady on the crude tiller. "How bad?"
"Bad enough I'd rather be drunk," Logan muttered.
The first gust came like a slap. The river rippled with whitecaps. Then the rain, sudden, violent, hammering the raft like fists.
"Hold tight!" Cyclops barked. "Colossus— keep that side steady!"
Colossus braced his metal form against the lash of the current. Logs groaned but held. "Da! But I cannot hold the river back forever!"
Banshee let out a long, controlled cry — not enough to wreck the raft, but enough to push against the tilting waves. "She'll sink us yet, lads, if Storm doesn't—"
"I know," Storm snapped, her voice already trembling with strain. She rose at the center of the raft, cloak whipping, eyes glowing. Her hands spread wide, and the winds shifted, just barely carving a bubble of calm air around them.
The rain hissed against it, the storm shrieking like a beast denied its prey.
Sweat ran down Storm's temples. "I can… hold it… but only so long."
Nightcrawler crouched beside her, tail curled tight. "Do not push too far, Ororo! You nearly drowned saving Garokk—"
Her jaw clenched. "I will not let the storm claim us!"
Logan lit a cigar under the shelter of his hand, the rain snuffed it instantly. He growled, flicking the soggy stump into the river. "Figures. Always when I need a smoke."
Sunfire scowled. "You think this is funny?"
Logan smirked through the downpour. "What else am I gonna do, bub? Cry about it? Leave that to Summers."
Cyclops spun on him, visor glowing red through the rain. "Keep your mouth shut, Wolverine, and row!"
Logan's claws snikted out. He slammed them into the log beside him, dragging like an oar, cutting the current with steel. "There. Happy?"
The raft bucked. A log snapped loose, tearing half-free. Thunderbird dove on it, muscles straining, holding it in place with a grunt.
"Get me rope!" he bellowed.
Banshee slid beside him, hands fumbling with the soaked vines. "Here, lad—"
The log lurched, nearly pulling Thunderbird overboard. For a heartbeat his hands slipped. Nightcrawler bamfed — smoke, sulfur, then reappeared with Thunderbird by the collar, back on the raft.
Thunderbird swore, slamming his fist into the wood. "Damn it— I had it!"
Nightcrawler grinned, panting. "You are welcome, ja?"
The thunder cracked overhead, drowning them all out.
Storm screamed, lightning flashing from her hands to split a wave in half. For a moment the river calmed, their bubble of safety widening. Her knees shook.
"I… cannot…"
Logan's soul-scent caught it — the fear rolling off her, not of failure but of burial, the darkness rising. He clenched his jaw. 'She's at her limit. Same as when she let go of Garokk. Not again. Not now.'
"Hold on, Ro!" he shouted. "We're not lettin' this river take us!"
The raft tilted. Banshee howled against the wind, his sonic cry countering the push, steering them just enough to keep afloat.
Colossus roared in Russian, his steel arms holding logs together through sheer force.
Cyclops barked orders until his voice broke.
The storm raged, clawing and screaming for them.
Then—
A light.
Distant. Flickering on the horizon.
Cyclops blinked through the rain. "Do you see that?"
Sunfire narrowed his eyes. "Not lightning. Too steady."
Nightcrawler's tail lashed. "Mein Gott… a ship. A real ship!"
Logan's grin was feral, rain plastering his hair to his face. "Told ya, Summers. We ain't dyin' out here. Not tonight."
The X-Men raised their voices, screaming over the storm. They beat the water, banged the logs, Banshee's cry sharpened into a desperate beacon.
The ship drew nearer. Lights spread across its deck. A horn bellowed back through the storm.
And for the first time in hours, hope punched through the rain.
The X-Men clung to the wreck of their raft, battered and soaked to the bone, but alive. And in the distance — salvation.
The storm howled one last time, but it had lost.