"And the false imprisonment of mutants?" Jean asked.

"I haven't seen anything to support that," Scott said. "The one mutant we have met seems to believe she should be here, and I don't think anyone is compelling her to feel that way. I don't think anyone could."

"I agree." Rogue shook her head. "Suzy is crazy."

"Crazy enough to know we were impostors," Scott said. "And crazy enough to help us."

"I trust my source," Logan said again. "Besides, you seem to be implying that this Maguire had something to do with our situation. I'll buy that. He might be a mutant, or he could have orchestrated hiring one to gun us out of our bodies. But, how could some doctor arrange to set up the kinds of rumors that got us out here in the first place?"

"He didn't have to make up the general stuff," Rogue said. "We did find pockets of mutant and human tension inside the city."

"And he's a doctor. All he has to do is talk long enough, and someone will eventually spread the story."

"I still don't like it," Logan said.

"You never like anything," Scott said. "And right now, I'm less concerned with details. We need to get out of here."

"Stage one of that plan has been completed," Kurt said. "Now we must make a run for it."

Not something he looked forward to, but at the moment, it was all they could do. Stuck inside the bodies of strangers, without any real rights or resources ...

Kurt sighed, wondering once again if he had gone soft. So many in the world, mutant and human alike, suffered indignities at the hands of others. His situation was no worse, and at least he had friends with him. At least he still knew who he was, even if the flesh was different.

It was a very small comfort.

7.

FIFTEEN MINUTES UNTIL FULL DARK. THEY DECIDED to wait Logan, unable to sit still, immediately crept back up the stairs to listen at the second-floor door. He did not hear anything. Did not smell anything. He had no idea if that mutant woman had kept her promise and still watched this door. He felt like someone had plugged up his nose and ears, and while he missed his clawsa"that fine ability to slice and dicea"it was those two lost senses that bothered him the most.

Ain't no use moping over things you can't change. Just be glad you're still alive and make the best of it Because the alternative meant a long slow rot in this G.o.dforsaken hole and he would rather die trying to escape than stay here one more minute. The hospital stirred up memories, what few he had, and none of them were pleasant.

He did not hear an alarm, but as he stood with his ear pressed to the door and pretended he was still a whole mana"without b.r.e.a.s.t.sa"he heard the distant slam of a door and the sound of running. A m.u.f.fled shout, more pounding feet, bangs and thumpsa"a very loud "d.a.m.n"a" and then, finally, a shuffling noise just beyond his door and the sense that, yes, someone had been standing there all along. Logan wished he had something to make a barricade with. His thick skull would probably do the trick.

He crept back down the stairs. The old laundry room was so dark by this time he had trouble seeing. He ran into a tall solid body and said, "Jeannie?"

"Yes, Logan." Her voice was quiet, solemn. The others were gathered below the window. Scott had his fist wrapped in one of the canvas sacks.

"Game's up," he told her, and everyone stopped and looked at him.

"They've begun looking for us?" Scott asked.

"Yup."

"Lovely," Jean said.

Logan frowned and gestured at the window. "You going to fit through there, darlin'?"

"I'll make it. It's better than staying here."

"Yeah," he said, wondering what her new body smelled like. "How do you like being a man?"

"I'm discovering that it's the same as being a woman, except for certain anatomical differences."

"You'll have to get Scott to educate you on the finer points."

"I suppose," she said, but her voice was dull. Logan fumbled in the dark for her hand. Her new skin was rough, the touch masculine, but he forced himself to think of the woman inside and found it was not so difficult "Hey," he said. "Any tips for me?"

That brought a moment of soft laughter. "Have you tried going to the bathroom yet?"

"No."

"Ask me that question after you do." She stepped toward the others and Logan was forced to let go of her hand. He watched Jean touch Scott's slender shouldera" the blackmail opportunity of a lifetimea"and she said, "Let me break the window."

"No," Scott said. Logan grinned. The X-Men's team leader barely cleared five feet and his hands were small and delicate.

"Go on, Cyke," he said. "Be the woman in the relationship."

Rogue coughed. Jean shot him a venomous glare. "You don't have a healing factor, mister. Watch what you say."

"Sure thing," he said.

"Jean," Scott began, but she blew out her breath and s.n.a.t.c.hed a sheet of canvas from the floor. Wrapping up her hand, she pushed Scott out of the way with a not-so- gentle nudge and slammed her fist through the gla.s.s. Logan bit back another smile. He loved a woman who knew how to use her hands.

Jean cleared the gla.s.s away, shoving canvas out the window and covering the broken gla.s.s so that it was safe to climb out into the hospital's yard. She tried to be quiet, but it bothered Logan that her work was all he could hear, that there was nothing else, no layered sensations like he usually encountered: sounds upon sounds, blanketed upon one another so that his mind had to peel back and taste each individual mark of man or beast or object.

His hearing, however, was still good enough to catch a m.u.f.fled angry shout.

"What was that?" Rogue asked, and Logan cracked open the door to peer into the darkness of the stairwell. Far above him he heard hinges creak, and then Suzy began raising h.e.l.l with her voice.

Logan shut the door and leaned against it. "We need to go. Now."

"They shouldn't have found us this fast," Scott muttered.

"They haven't found us yet," Jean said, and grabbed Scott's arm. "Up you go, sweetheart."

"No," he said, but Jean grabbed her husband under his arms and lifted him up to the window. Scott did not fight her, but Logan saw the conflict on his scrunched-up face: embarra.s.sment, anger, worry. He scrabbled through the window and Logan heard gla.s.s crunch beneath the canvas.

Jean gestured at Logan. "Come on. Smallest ones go first."

Logan heard a scuffling sound behind the door, followed by a quick attempt to push it open. Logan threw himself backward, digging his heels into the ground, bracing the door shut. Fists banged against metal, and he felt the vibrations through his body.

"I could use some help here," he growled.

Rogue slammed her shoulder against the door and said, "Go on now. I'll hold this."

"You and what army?"

"Logan!" Jean barked. She already had Kurt pushed halfway through the window. Rogue gasped as the door slammed hard against her body, opening; Logan stumbled. He turned and saw flashlight beams streak the darkness; the outline of a hand and heada"

a"and then the door opened even farther and three men pushed through. Logan threw himself amongst them, fists out, kicking and punching. He bit an ear, tasted blood. Someone grabbed his waist and pulled hard; he heard shouting, Jean's deep voice, the high yell of the man bleeding into Logan s mouth.

Rogue grabbed the man holding Logan and threw herself backward. Logan was carried with them both, but the nurse released him before they hit the ground and he rolled right up against another nurse, who grappled with Jean. Logan slammed his heels against the man's knees. He cried out, falling, and Jean moved with his head in her hands and she slammed him into the floor. Above her, Kurt scrambled down from the window, Scott hanging after him.

There was one man left. Logan felt air move against his neck and he turned just in time to see the nurse swing a flashlight at his knees. Kurt pushed him out of the way but moved too slow; he took the blow and his gasp seemed like the clearest most ringing sound Logan had heard since waking up in this place.

Logan threw himself on the nurse, wresting away the flashlight with a cool catch of his wrist. Several blows latera"fast and brutal and infinitely satisfyinga"the man went still. Logan stared down at that slack face, breathing so hard he thought his lungs might burst.

"Kurt," he growled. "You okay?"

"Ja," he whispered, but his voice was strained. Logan stood up. The rest of the team, seen in the reflection of the flashlights, looked unharmed.

"Jean," Scott said, hoa.r.s.e. The upper half of his body hung precariously through the window.

"I'm fine," she said, taking two long strides to the doors and shutting them. She grabbed Logan's wrist as she returned to the window, dragging him with her. She gave him no time to protest, simply grabbed him under his arms and pushed him up to the window. It was a weird sensation, being hauled off his feet that way. Scott pulled him past the edge of the concrete holding wall into the gra.s.s.

Kurt was next, hissing only once as he pa.s.sed through the window. Logan and Scott helped him crawl onto the gra.s.s. Rogue appeared behind him, though she had a harder time squeezing through. Breathing hard, casting nervous glances around the darkened yard, they waited for Jean. She did not come through the window.

"Jean!" Scott whispered. She did not say anything, but Logan heard large objects moving, along with some thumping sounds. He imagined her barricading the door with bodies.

Her dark hands finally appeared, grappling for a hold on the cement. Everyone reached down and pulled, struggling to get her through the window.

"Come on," Logan muttered, grunting as he searched for a better hold on Jean's body. She gasped, wriggling hard. Behind her, distant, Logan thought he heard shouting.

"They're coming," she gasped, and then screwed up her face as she writhed her way through the small opening and threw herself onto the gra.s.s. Logan and Scott grabbed her wrists and began running even before she completely had her feet under her. Logan heard a m.u.f.fled shout from behind them.

Trying to keep to the darkest parts of the yard, Scott led them toward the fence. Kurt did the best he could to keep up, but it was clear that the pain in his knee was near crippling. Logan stayed with him, pulling his arm over his shoulders and hauling him faster. He heard more shouting, distant but in transit, and then they were at the fence at a spot next to a tree and Scott fell to his knees, scrabbling.

"She said it was here," Scott muttered, wrenching at the chain link. "By the tree."

Logan looked up and down the line, but he did not see another tree. The yard was barren of anything but gra.s.s. He saw beams of light bobbing.

"No time left," he said. "Scott."

But Scott made a low noise and suddenly there was a gap, tiny, and Logan shoved Kurt down on his stomach and pushed him through. He grabbed Rogue next, and then Jean, pushing on her feet to help her slither under. The flashlights were closer now, so close, and Logan dove through, sc.r.a.ping his body and face. Rogue and Jean grabbed his hands, pulling him the rest of the way, and then they did the same for Scott so that his small woman's body looked like it was flying beneath the fence.

They ran. The nursing staff and security were so close Logan could make out the expressions on their faces, and somewhere near he heard sirens. The area around the hospital was residential; they disappeared into the shadows of a tree-lined street and then Logan whistled and made them follow him down a back alley behind a row of houses, running, running, the sirens getting louder, and there were lights on in the houses, all of them, people awake and doing things, and that was good because it served as sharp contrast to the quiet places, the still and silent, like one small home at the end of the block that was dark and had no car in the narrow driveway.

The owner was a gardener, with a particular fondness for big bushy flowering plants that provided wonderful cover when one lay amongst them. Ferns tickled Logan's nose; he inhaled deeply, savoring what little he could of the scent. It was like smelling freedom.

"What next?" Rogue whispered. Sirens blasted the air and then pa.s.sed, two cars in succession.

"We need to get back to the jet," Scott said. "That's our first priority."

Logan grunted. "Sorry, Cyke, but I disagree. There's no guarantee the jet's still there. We need to go prepared. Different clothes, at the very least. We also need to lay low for a couple hours. Once the excitement has died down, it'll be safer to go to the park."

"It's close," Scott argued. "One of us could go alone."

"No," Jean said. "I think Logan is right. If whoever is responsible for this went so far as to take our bodies, we have to a.s.sume he took everything else as well. If not, then the jet will still be there when we're ready to find it."

"The jet is our only way home," Scott said.

"That doesn't matter if we lose each other," Jean said, and then, softer, "Don't do this."

He sighed, and looked sideways at Logan. "Are you thinking about that house? They might have a security system."

"Maybe," Logan said, though he did not think the neighborhood looked wealthy enough for that kind of advanced precaution. The hyperparanoid, the ones who had the money to spare on installing alarm systems, usually lived in more glamorous places. "Looks empty. It may be our best bet."

Logan did not wait for approval. He slithered out of the bushes, keeping low to the ground as he ran the short distance across the garden to the back door. He felt someone behind him. Scott.

"You'll need this," he said, handing Logan a little wire that had already been twisted up and primed. Logan grunted his thanks and used the pick to jimmy the lock until it clicked. Careful, holding his breath, he turned the k.n.o.b and opened the door only enough to feel along the edge of the door frame. He found a loose chain, an extra dead bolt. It was a good sign that neither lock was in use.

Logan crept into the house, testing the stillness with his senses, listening as hard as he ever had in his life. He moved from the kitchen to the living room, and from there to the stairs; slowly, painstakingly traveling up to the second floor. Scott did not join him.

The rooms upstairs were empty. Three bedrooms, one of which had been converted to an office. Another evidently belonged to a teenage girl and the third was a master suite with its own bathroom. Logan returned downstairs. Scott stood by the front door, sorting mail that had been pushed through the slot.

"There's quite a bit here," he said quietly. "At least three days old. Vacation?"

"I hope they don't come back tonight," Logan said. "I'll get the others."

Careful, watchful for witnesses, the rest of the team entered the house. Kurt immediately found a soft chair and sank into it with a sigh.

"Take nothing but clothes," Scott told them. "Anything you think won't be missed."

Logan's first inclination was to go for the husband's belongings, but Jean quickly steered him and Scott into the wife's messy pile, as well as the daughter's room.

"I don't want to wear this bra anymore," Logan complained to Rogue, who pulled a long sleeved crew neck and some jeans from the closet.

"You better wear it," Rogue said. "Girl like you needs one.

He decided not to respond to that. He grabbed a blouse from the mother's wardrobe, but had to go to the teen's room for jeans and underwear that fit. He hated hying things on. It was miserable.

They dressed quickly, and were soon presentable enough to go into any public place and not immediately be a.s.sociated with a mental hospital. Or a hospital of any kind. They looked normal, like average people of middle income. Not rich by any means, but unthreatening in their lack of money. The kind no one paid attention to.

They took turns using the bathroom. Logan did not enjoy the experience, nor did he care much for looking into the mirror. He could not avoid his face: the golden hair, the soft cheeks and full lips.

When he left the bathroom he walked across the room to the window. He saw a police cruiser roll slowly down the street with its lights off. Past the house, the cop snapped on a floodlight, sweeping the lawn and bushes.

Rogue joined Logan at the window and he felt her stop breathing for a moment.

"This is going to be a hard night," she said.

"Yeah," he said. "You got all the uniforms?"