Cauchemar- A Stargate: Atlantis short story
John Sheppard was back on Earth. He was surrounded by fire… and screaming. Screams of pain, of anguish, of fear, of death. The many hideous sounds of suffering came together in a sickening cacophony of howls, cries and shouts, echoed a million times in his tortured mind. The floor was a mass of jagged rubble, the sky a blood-red lake of fetid black clouds. The Wraith were on Earth. The others had been killed when the Wraith broke through the gate. Sheppard had escaped. He had ran into the deepest corridors of the city and waited. He had waited until the Wraith had found Earth. Then he had followed them through the gate. To Earth. To the new feeding ground. He ran across the street, the taste of blood pervading his tongue. Across the road, the withered husks of several Wraith victims, aged beyond recognition in just a few seconds, lay dead among the ruins. Sheppard kept on running. Turning a corner, he saw a Wraith warrior standing over a limp grey body, and it saw him. It opened fire with a hail of blue energy bolts. Sheppard was struck twice in the chest and fell to the floor, his head spinning…
John's eyes snapped open suddenly. He found himself back in his bed on Atlantis, his face and hair dripping with sweat. He relaxed and lay back against his pillow. Safe? Not yet. He would never be safe. No-one would be. The Wraith would come eventually, and then even he might not survive. Atlantis was not safe. And neither was Earth…