Written for the Sheppard HC LJ challenge using the prompt "elements", this is a short fic that turned into something of an epic. Unusually for me, I have planned out this fic in advance and have held off from posting it until I have it mostly written. Updates will therefore – stand back in amazement! – be quick and regular as the first two main chapters are already written and the third (and hopefully final) is in progress.

This fic is something of a departure for me in that, instead of diving straight into the action, I have made more of an attempt to build the story up slowly… hence there is more of a team fic feel to this one. I'd be interested to know what people think of this attempt at a new style so all feedback and constructive criticism, as ever, gratefully received.

The noise was unlike anything he had ever heard.

The wind didn't just gust and shriek like in bad storms he'd experienced back on Earth; it roared and growled. The noise was deep and angry and absolutely terrifying. He huddled in the gloom, bodies packed in tightly around him, and listened to the wind stalk them, rattling and shaking the buildings above, snarling its discontent at being robbed of its prey.

The faces around him were pale, pinched with fear and dreadful anticipation. They huddled together in the darkness, hunched over, instinctively cringing from the howling noise above, the imminent threat of violent destruction. He found himself flinching along with them as something crashed loudly overhead; the roar of the wind was so close, so loud, that he fought the urge to cover his ears.

His heart was racing, fear and adrenalin singing in his veins. He was surrounded by people, crushed together in this small, cramped space, and yet he'd never felt more alone. Alone and terrified. He wished desperately that his team – his friends – were with him. As scared as he was, as much as the awful tempest raging outside made him fear for his life, the overriding concern that tightened his chest and made it hard to breathe was for his friends; for the first time in his life, he understood what people meant when they said that the worst thing was not knowing.

He felt utterly helpless, trapped here with a group of strangers in a dark, noisy room, hot and stale with the smell of sweat and fear. He looked around him at the frightened faces and didn't recognise a single one. None of the council members were in this shelter; it was just he and a group of terrified villagers. Even the burly young man who had grabbed him on the street, pulling him unwillingly down the rough-hewn stone steps into hot, stuffy darkness, was a stranger to him.

He'd last seen Ronon and Teyla running for a shelter further down the street, the tall Satedan towering above the crowd of panicked villagers as they were swept along, his long dreadlocks whipping viciously in the building wind.

And Sheppard? His last sight before he'd been dragged to the relative safety of the shelter had been of Sheppard running into a building at the far end of the street. He'd shouted – screamed even – after him but the vicious wind had ripped the words from his lips, spiralling them away into nothingness. He doubted Sheppard had even heard him.

The wind shrieked and thrummed and the building overhead creaked ominously. A woman nearby clutched her child to her legs and whimpered, turning her face fearfully from the rough ceiling that was all that stood between them and the awesome force of the storm.

He had no idea how much time had passed, how long he'd been trapped here in the crowded shelter. The unwelcome press of bodies all around him only added to his discomfort, his desperate impatience to get out of here, to find his friends. He could feel the beginnings of claustrophobia pulling at him, a flutter of panic building in his chest, when suddenly, without warning, the awful, dreadful noise simply stopped.

The vicious, hungry growl just died away and the sudden absence of noise seemed almost as loud as the noise itself. They were left in hushed silence, the frightened, huddled people in the shelter staring up at the ceiling in fear and desperate hope, holding their breath as they wondered was it really, truly over? In the oppressive silence of the aftermath, Rodney fancied he could hear his own heart pounding, his pulse thundering in his ears as a welter of emotions – relief, anger, impatience, fear – flooded through him. The building above them creaked and settled, breaking the silence, and the sense of hushed tension in the shelter snapped, noise welling up as the spell of silence was broken, a babble of voices raised in thanks, in panic, in relief, in sobs.

He was one of the first to emerge from the shelter.

It was like stepping into a different world. The bustling, colourful village that they had arrived in just a few short hours ago was gone. In its place stood a battered, desolate place, a ghost town of empty streets and ruined buildings. Shattered glass littered the streets, debris cracking underfoot as he stumbled disbelievingly out into the bright, glaring light of a clear blue sky. Somewhere in the distance a child was crying.

He was snapped out of his daze by a sharp cracking sound and he spun on his heel to see the building under which he had been sheltering shift and settle, timbers groaning in protest. There were shrieks and urgently raised voices as the villagers staggering out of the underground shelter panicked and rushed to get everyone out. Rodney stared at the building in disbelief; the wood and tile roof was completely gone. Every window was shattered, the empty frames cracked and bent, the bare windows like ragged wounds in the sagging face of the building. The smooth plaster front of the edifice was cracked and crumbling, large chunks littering the dirt street at his feet, the rough stone construction showing through gaping holes. The entire house was listing slightly to one side and, even as he watched, it creaked and moved and settled again, dust rising into the air as the panicked villagers tripped over each other in their haste to escape the shelter below.

He stumbled backwards, away from the unsteady building, feeling equally off-balance. He felt strangely numb, stunned by the devastation all around him, by the sheer force of destruction that had ripped through this quiet town, and by the realisation of just how close he had come to ugly, growling death.

"Rodney!"

He felt his heart almost stop with relief at the familiar voice and he turned to see Teyla breaking away from a group of villagers emerging from another shelter, Ronon at her side. He moved to meet them, his legs feeling oddly shaky under him.

They came together in the middle of the debris-strewn street and for one brief moment he could have hugged them. Teyla's expressive face showed the same relief that made him feel almost light-headed, her wide smile tinged with concern as she looked him over. "You are unhurt?"

He nodded shakily and his voice cracked when he tried to speak. "I'm fine. I'm okay. You guys?"

"We're good." Ronon's voice was tight, impatient, and his eyes were scanning the wreckage of the village as he asked, "Where's Sheppard?"

"Oh, god!" The relief at finding his team mates alive and unharmed drained from him in a flash as the dreadful fear he had endured in the shelter flooded back, ripping him out of his shocked numbness.

"He went.." He spun around, trying to find his bearings in the ruins of the village. "He ran that way and went into…"

He gestured down the street where he'd last seen Sheppard and his words faltered as he realised that the building into which he'd seen Sheppard disappear was no longer there. Where once had stood a sturdy, two-storey, stone-built house now lay a twisted pile of rubble.

"Oh, no…"

TBC...