TITLE: The Well of Souls (tentative, for now)
AUTHOR: Jersey13
DISCLAIMERS: Stargate: Atlantis is copyrighted by MGM and is not mine. This was written just for fun, and I'm not making any money from writing it.
RATING: PG-13 (may be changed to R if later chapters turn out the way I think they will)
WARNINGS: Some violence, frightening and icky situations.
INSPIRATION: This is my first try at writing creepy fic. Carson is just so sweet and nice that I couldn't resist writing this. Inspiration for this story comes from reading Flah7's creepy fics. I love creepy SGA. Thanks, Flah7! Thanks also to Leighanners, Miyth, and TJuk from Gateworld!
Whumping for everybody!
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Dr. Rodney McKay shifted the uncomfortable weight of the pack he carried on his shoulders for the sixth time since having to lift it off the floor. Why Colonel Sheppard had insisted that he carry all of Beckett's extra first aid supplies was beyond him, and it put him in an even more irritable mood than he was normally in on most other days allocated for off-world exploration missions. He rolled his eyes and shifted his feet impatiently as the process of dialing the Stargate from Atlantis to their destination seemed to take longer than it usually did.
All he wanted was to simply finish the rescue mission as quickly as possible and then come back home so he could resume his research. Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Dr. Carson Beckett, and Colonel John Sheppard all waited patiently beside him for the Stargate to open. Just as Rodney thought he might have been about to start tapping his feet with impatience, the event horizon of the wormhole burst through the center of the Stargate with its customary water-like surface.
Without hesitation, the team of five stepped through the Stargate to their destination. Rodney groaned with contempt as he found himself stepping out of the other side of the Stargate at an odd angle and almost fell into the soft mud, his feet making loud squelching noises as he stumbled forward. The Stargate had been leaning forward at an angle, about ten degrees forward, which was the cause of his momentary disorientation. He sighed heavily as he realized that he should have worn boots instead; his comfortable hiking shoes were now likely ruined.
Rodney's gaze shifted from his shoes to the landscape surrounding them. Blackened, vine-covered trees with no leaves grew in clumps at the edges of the murky yellow-brown swamp water that surrounded the Stargate. Algae could be seen on the surface where his vision wasn't obscured by a thick, viscous mist that hung in the still air. The only hint of green was a few clumps of grass that clung to the rutted sides of a gravel path. On that path laid a young man, lying absolutely still; it was the man in the video feed that the MALP had recorded with its camera the first time the wormhole had opened to that world.
There was absolutely no way Colonel Sheppard would be able to convince him to cross the swamp to get to him. Dr. Beckett, however, was unfazed by the eerie scenery. He strode confidently through the murky water over to the path. Rodney felt a little better, though, after seeing that the water had only really been a few inches deep as Carson waded through it.
"Rodney, I might need those medical supplies you're carrying." Carson was trying to wait patiently as Rodney carefully stepped through the muck in an effort to join him with Colonel Sheppard, Ronon, and Teyla following close behind. A surreptitiously well-placed root managed to snag the toes of his left foot and caught on his laces, causing him to lose his balance. He swayed for a moment, flailing out his arms in an effort to regain his balance, but ultimately failed. He listed off to his right side and landed bottom-first in the water.
The dead weight of his pack made it difficult for him to lift himself out of the ice cold muddy water, which somehow managed to seep into his trousers and through the back his shirt. He clenched his eyes against the chill of the water seeping into his clothing and was grateful to see helping hands being offered by Colonel Sheppard and Ronon. Rodney was yanked to his feet quickly and started to shiver as water dripped from his pack and trousers.
Carson stood and looked on in annoyance, swearing Scottish curses under his breath as he removed the boxes from the pack on Rodney's back and hoping that they had been sealed well enough to prevent the water from ruining it. Upon opening them up, he inspected their contents and found them in good order, then slipped on a pair of gloves. He carefully kneeled down and felt the young man's wrist for a pulse, then checked his neck to be sure, but found none. Even after listening carefully with his stethoscope, he found no sign of life.
"He's dead," Carson stated as he examined the cold, lifeless body for evidence of trauma. His frown deepened as he spied bruises under a loose, simple collar of plainly woven fabric. "It looks like he might have been strangled, and not long ago by the looks of it. Rigor mortis has only just begun to set in."
Colonel Sheppard turned to face the direction of Ronon and Teyla, who had moved around to get a better look at what laid in either direction of the path. "Ronon, do you think you can figure out which direction his attacker might have gone?"
Ronon gazed down at the ruts and the jumbled, muddy footprints in the gravel, turning in place for a moment, then motioned toward Sheppard's right along the path. "They went that way."
"C'mon, Doc," Sheppard muttered as Carson took off his gloves and closed his medical kit. "Stay close."
Rodney had taken off his jacket to wring out the remaining water and jogged to catch up, taking up position next to Carson as Sheppard and Teyla readied their weapons and took point, with Ronon bringing up the rear. Water sloshed around in his shoes as he walked, but at least he didn't feel quite so cold any more. The wetness was starting to make his pants feel warm and sticky, and he certainly didn't look forward to the rash he was positive would result from the wet fabric chafing the inside of his legs as he walked.
It remained eerily silent in the still air and murky water surrounding them. Without even the sound of toads croaking or crickets chirping, something about it just didn't quite seem normal. None of them could bring themselves to speak, and the sound of a swiftly-moving creek and fish jumping at the surface of water could be heard to one side as they walked past. Water raged through a small channel in a torrent, as if somewhere not too far away a deluge of rain was washing away the mud and grime from the world.
As the path curved away from the creek, it widened a bit and the ruts became deeper, more-or-less obviously made by primitive wagons. Their shoes and boots crunched loudly underfoot, slicing through the eerie silence as pebbles became scarcer and rocks and stones became more common.
Through the mist that hung delicately in the air, Sheppard managed to see the outskirts of a barricade. Upon further inspection, though, it had long remained in a decrepit condition, and a guard post that looked to have once stood in front of it was a fallen-down mess that hadn't yet been cleaned up. Beyond the barricade, the old mud brick homes with thatched wood roofs were in shambles. Fire pits were dark and full of many layers of gooey, wet soot that spoke of at least several days passed without having been lit. The stables, still full of hay, housed no horses or similar creatures.
They decided to break up into two groups and searched the village for signs of life. Carson, Rodney, and Ronon wandered off to the left, John and Teyla wandered to the right. Passing by and looking through burnt homes and barren fields of small vegetables that looked like spiny cucumbers, they found no sign of anyone.
John and Teyla were circling back around to rejoin the others when off to his left John thought he saw a peculiar bundle of cloth in his peripheral vision not too far from where the free-flowing creek snaked around the furthest edges of the village. He stopped, slowly stepped closer, and saw a patch of matted, dark brown hair protruding out from underneath an arm. It was a person; more specifically, a woman.
He tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping that she would rouse on her own. When she didn't, John slowly pulled her onto her back. Her pale, light-green eyes stared blankly at the gray sky from deeply sunken eye sockets set in an unnaturally pale and delicate face. She was drenched in sweat, the linen cloth of her clothing clung loosely to her body, and her hands were thoroughly coated with some kind of slimy green mucus.
Sheppard touched his radio. "Beckett, you better get over here. I found someone just outside the village and she looks pretty sick."
"We'll be right there," Carson's voice answered over his headset.
A sudden movement from the young woman startled him. Her arms reached out for something or someone in front of her that wasn't there, and the movement flung gobs of mucus from her hands everywhere. Some of it managed to splatter onto John's shoulders and chin.
"Ugh!" he exclaimed, using one of his sleeves to wipe his face. Teyla came back to his side as the vibration of bounding footsteps on the gravel echoed behind her.
"Get out o' the way!" Carson bellowed as he approached, Ronon and Rodney close on his heels. He opened up his medical kit, slipped on a fresh pair of gloves, and tried to examine her, but the flailing of her arms was keeping his hands busy. "Could you give me a hand, Colonel?"
John tried to accommodate the doctor, but every time he tried to hold her arms down at her side, carefully avoiding contaminating himself with the nasty gunk on her hands, the sheer power of her strength surprised him. She then threw him off of her like a sack of potatoes and tried to stand up. Carson tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder to calm her down, but she instead knocked it away and tackled him roughly to the ground.
Her mucus covered hands curled around his neck as she began to strangle him, causing Carson's breath to catch in his lungs and his face to turn red. No matter how hard he tried to yank her hands away, her grip on his neck was too strong, and she would not budge. Even Teyla, Rodney, and John's combined strength trying to pull her off of him didn't seem to work very well.
Stars and lights passed through Carson's vision as the hum of a stunner coming alive sounded behind him. Ronon calmly fired the weapon and stunned the young woman into unconsciousness. He reached for her collar with one hand and helped Sheppard yank her prostrate form off from over top of Carson.
Ronon peered down at the Scot, towering over him. "You okay?"
Carson sucked great draughts of the thick swamp air into his lungs as he coughed and rolled onto his side to make it easier to breathe. As he struggled for breath, Teyla took a few tentative steps backward as she peered into the dense thicket of trees closer to the creek's bank. Dozens of dark, grimy figures that had been unseen leaning against trees or lying in the mud started to climb to unsteady feet. They moved slowly and intentionally closer, one step at a time.
"Hello?" Teyla called out to them cautiously. "Are you the people that live here?"
As they slowly and steadily crept closer, John and Rodney stood up at Teyla's side to see what was going on. Pale green eyes set deeply in pale white faces stared back at them unwaveringly, not uttering a word. The fingers on their hands twitched nervously, all dripping gooey green mucus into the mud.
"Maybe we should just get the hell out of here," Rodney said nervously.
Colonel Sheppard turned and scooped up Carson's medical kit, shoving it into Rodney's hands. "I tend to agree."
John and Ronon dragged Carson up to his feet, and as Carson struggled to regain his breath, the group of sick villagers started moving as one, running at full speed towards them.
Sheppard and Teyla raised their P90 machine guns and aimed at the crowd. "Start running!" Sheppard ordered to the rest of the team.
They paused for a moment, hoping that seeing them raise their weapons would scare the crazed villagers into halting their pursuit. When it became obvious that they had no intention of stopping, he fired a few hesitant rounds into the chest of the one in the lead. The man wasn't even fazed by the injury.
He immediately emptied his entire clip of ammunition into the crowd, and Teyla did the same. All sixty bullets from both clips in the machine guns managed to find their marks on at least a dozen of their targets, but didn't do much more than cause one of them to trip and fall. They watched in horror as even he pushed himself up from the gravel and once again began running.
John ran for all he was worth. If bullets couldn't slow these things down, much less stop them, they had a serious problem.
