Chapter 2:
Beta: J.A.B. – but any mistakes remaining are my own.
Spoilers: SG-1 Enemy Mine, everything from Atlantis Season 1 and everything up to Michael are fair game.
A/N: This is a shorter chapter – only 7 pages – but I thought it was a good stopping point. Yay! Cliffhangers!
Warnings: Language, Violence and some very disturbing situations and references. Some places in the story might be hurl worthy!
-------
With the sounds of the gunfight fading, John felt motion and hard hands on his ankles. The feeling of being dragged over the ground as debris jabbed into the back of his head was disorientating.
Sheppard was awake enough to realize that whatever was dragging him was strong . . . and nearly silent in the forest.
When the motion stopped, Sheppard's chin was grabbed in a bruising grip.
He opened his blurry eyes and looking into a cruel looking face that made his soul want to crawl away.
"Who are you?" asked the looming creature, its dark, textured skin rough against John's jaw.
The . . . thing was covered in a fine fur, had a mouth full of long teeth and John could feel the scrape of nails or claws on his jaw. The eyes were an unnatural yellow color with narrow pupils.
It wore a brief scrap of black leather around its middle, showing off ropey muscles and hard tendons. Long, fine white threads were woven into the creature's scalp near the pointed ears. From them hung six multi color beads and a twist of dry, red grass.
Just like the L.P.—
The Colonel gasped as the grip tightened causing tiny pricks in his flesh. He felt a trickle of blood and he knew that there would be a bruise later.
"Who are you!" asked the creature in a low, growling voice as it pushed closer to John's face, the thing's breath foul and fetid.
Sheppard didn't answer, not able to gather his addled brain for a response, causing the thing to hiss in displeasure.
It looked around the area as if considering what to do and then the hard grip on John's chin changed to cover his left temple. "I will know. One way or the other."
The shaft of pain hit Sheppard right between his eyes. Despite the hold on his head, John's body bowed off the ground, trying to get away from the agony.
The thing held him down with little problem.
Sheppard tried to reach for his weapons and a hard hand scratched at him, knocking his grip away from the help.
From his relief.
It was like the experience with the Wraith Queen, but different—more painful and sharp.
That was the last clear thought he had before he screamed, causing some of the native birds to take to the air in fright.
-------
Ronon was impressed. After a full day of hunting, he still couldn't pin down McKay.
If his time in Atlantis had taught him anything, it was that these people from Earth could be surprisingly resourceful. Even the ones that seemed like cowards—often they were the most dangerous to hunt.
Cornered and frightened animals often fought the hardest and the dirtiest. The desperation to live caused even a small thing to fight like a quarnarc beast sometimes.
It seemed that everywhere the tall warrior went, the sarcastic scientist had just been there . . . and left in a hurry.
It was another near miss at the mess when Ronon's radio popped with a calm voice of one of the control room techs.
"Ronon Dex, Dr. McKay, and Teyla . . . please report to the conference room. ASAP."
ASAP was a word that had confused Ronon in the beginning, until one of the Marines explained what an acronym was. Of course, Ronon still kicked the Marine's ass during practice, but he was grateful for the Earth English lesson.
He was part way to the conference room when he grinned widely.
McKay would be there.
No near miss this time.
-------
Sheppard lay panting, his head felt swollen and hot. The Colonel could feel the warm trickle of blood from his nose as it ran across his upper lip and down his right cheek to drip to the ground.
John wondered if all the Pegasus Galaxy things digging around in his brain would cause eventual brain damage.
McKay would probably argue he was already brain damaged.
"You had pain," remarked the creature, its claws still extended and its body still tense.
"What . . . gave it away," slurred John as he tried to roll over on his stomach. Just in case he threw up—again.
"There is a shadow over your thoughts. It feels like death."
"Yeah, yeah," muttered Sheppard as the world started to blur and then faded away into a black haze.
-------
Dr. Weir was tense when Sheppard's team arrived in the conference room. Major Lorne was scruffy, with streaks of blood and dirt across his face as he sat in the seat to her left.
As they entered, McKay was not so subtly sidling away from Ronon, trying to put Teyla in the middle. As hard as the scientist tried to get away, Ronon matched him move for move with that wide creepy grin of his.
Ronon leaned around Teyla and took a deep breath.
"Did you just smell me?" squawked McKay, his hands flapping at the Satedan. "Stay away from me, you depraved Conan rip off!"
Ronon just leaned in closer to McKay's face and took another deep breath, causing McKay to stumble back.
Then the warrior frowned.
"Gentleman, if you have the time—we have a situation," said Elizabeth in a hard, worried voice.
McKay and Ronon turned to see Dr. Weir and the battered Major Lorne up close for the first time.
Teyla stepped past the two now silent and confused men. "Dr. Weir, what has happened?" She glanced at Major Lorne. "Has something happened to Colonel Sheppard?"
"In a word—yes. Major Lorne will brief you on what happened, and then I want you all ready to participate in a search and rescue mission."
"But Sheppard didn't want us out in the field," said McKay quietly.
Dr. Weir crossed her arms tightly. "Colonel Sheppard is not here at the moment, is he? Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes."
-------
When Sheppard awoke again, he wasn't sure where he was and what had happened.
He could remember flashes of pain and a musky smell . . .
John tried to call out, but all that came out was a breathy sound barely loud enough to reach his own ears. He was a hundred percent sure he wasn't thinking the words instead of speaking them; he just couldn't gather the strength to make himself heard.
He coughed and tried again. "Lorne?"
The first thing that he saw when he finally pried open his eyes was the piercing sunlight through copper leaves. It was like an ice pick to his brain, so he quickly dragged his hand up to shield his face.
The second thing he saw was the creature hovering over him. The yellow gaze almost made him try to crawl away as his memories of the mind probe came rushing back.
His head was still killing him. All he wanted was to be able to reach out to push away the pain that was drilling into the back of his eyes and causing him to feel sick.
Sheppard resisted the urge to flinch back when the creature hovering over him reached out a clawed hand to touch his cheek. The thing made a grinding sound. "Do you understand me now?"
Instead of answering him, Sheppard pushed away as violently as he could, rolled over onto his stomach, and then tried to stand. It wasn't easy since he seemed to have misplaced his balance somewhere, but he felt a lot better when he finally make it to his feet.
He reached for his weapons to find them gone, so he tried to get in a defensive posture in case the thing attacked.
Not that he could defend himself even though he was now basically standing. A stiff wind could knock him back down if he didn't concentrate on keeping the sky above and the ground below.
Now that John was standing, the thing also straightened up and the CO of the Atlantis military contingent noticed that the creature was shorter than he was. It barely reached his sternum.
Probably not even four foot tall.
"Who are you? Do you work with the Pale Ones? Are you the one that came through the Gateway before?" snarled the thing, clearly not impressed by the Colonel's show of bravado.
Sheppard rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to keep his balance. "I'm not answering your questions . . . until you tell me what happened to my men."
A hard fist in the face was John's answer.
--------
Sheppard was being dragged again, twigs and grass plucking at his clothing and hair.
He groaned. When the hell did it get so fashionable to drag the commanding CO of Atlantis around like a sack of potatoes?
His legs were dropped suddenly, causing a shudder of pain in his heels and legs.
A rough hand jerked him up into a sitting position and shook him harshly. "Eat! I need you alive for the questioning."
Sheppard looked around to see a crude camp with a small fire and a shelter. He also saw his weapons in an isolated pile by a small tree on the very edge of the camp. Far enough away that he wasn't sure he would be able to make it without the creature skewering him with its claws.
Damn, he felt weak.
A wooden bowl of grey and black meat appeared before Sheppard's face and he took it tentively, a scowl on his tired and bruised face. "I don't think—"
"Eat!"
John started picking at the meat with little enthusiasm. It was too chewy for his liking so he took the opportunity to look around and saw more bone and bead displays in the nearby trees.
"You going to tell me why I'm here?" asked John with a nod to the trees.
The creature grunted and shook its head, causing the beads on the thread to clack together. "You came through the Gateway on your own. I am just trying to find out what you want."
Sheppard straightened. "Want? Nothing. We didn't even know this place was inhabited."
The yellow-eyed creature just ate, using his long claws like a fork to spear the stringy, undercooked meat.
Sheppard looked at the bones that hung like strung puppets in the trees—especially the ones with long claws. "Those are your people," he said suddenly.
The thing shrugged. "Some. It is a warning to the Pale Ones not to come here. Death is waiting for them here."
"The Pale Ones?"
The meat finished, Sheppard's captor wiped its sharp claws on the grass. "Tall, pale, big teeth—eats without using their mouths."
"The Wraith?" asked John. "I saw some of their . . . bodies in the first tree. Where you attacked me."
"You were a stranger ignoring the warning. You should know better, it is written in the trees. Only someone who is blind would not know this is protected land."
"I don't even know what you are!" exclaimed John, his head starting to throb again.
"Ungue—we are Ungue. It is a name well known to the . . . Wraith, as you call them. We kill everyone we come across. Enemies . . . and good eating."
With a horrified look, Sheppard shakily put down his bowl. "Wraith?" he asked in a sick voice. "You gave me Wraith meat?"
The thing just grinned, its fangs dimpling its bottom lip.
The bowl clattered away as John kicked out, the gristly meat flying onto the ground.
John retched in disgust until the Ungue grabbed him by his shoulder in a hard grip. It hissed at the spoiled meat and bared its pointy teeth in anger. "Rest time is over! Now, tell me who you are and what you want!"
Too tired to scream this time, John could only moan as a new spike of hot pain hit his brain.
Then a low, caterwauling scream cut through the trees . . . and the thing that hovered over Sheppard cringed back in fear—
TBC . . .