A/N: Believe it or not, folks, this is the calm before the storm. It's going to go progressively downhill from here. Flah7, I hope you're proud of me!
John watched with a concerned gaze as Carson finally began to stir from his exhausted stupor. Dragging him all the way to the river's edge hadn't been easy, not even with both his and Rodney's combined efforts. The soft babbling of the waters beyond the shore was soothing and camouflaged their voices as they spoke. A hushed silence seemed to be common in the forest, almost as if they were being watched, especially when they had been on the move.
The sky had been dark for some time, and the temperature was dropping quickly. Rodney was lying on the ground with his head on his arms trying not to aggravate the harsh bruises ringing them as he dozed while John kept watch. Cuts and bruises were present on all of their wrists and arms, but were especially prevalent on Carson. The Wraith must have had some kind of special interest in him to have kept him so much longer than Rodney or John himself. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in there, but Rodney had been brought out just a few hours afterward.
They had discovered the river of potable water together and also that the boundaries of the forest were enclosed by a force field, but two days had passed with no sign of rescue. They'd tried to set up an ambush as a few more hapless victims were brought out at about the same time each day, victims who disappeared from where they were laid down far too quickly for his comfort, but the Wraith were too careful for that plan to work. Their captors' stunners were always at the ready, as they had found out the hard way. It was on the evening of their second day there that they had dragged out Carson. They had moved quickly to make sure that he didn't disappear as well, and if the Wraith had noticed their approach, they displayed no sign of caring.
John could not imagine that anyone else from his team would have been able to live much longer with that kind of neglect, and he prayed that Teyla and Ronon were not still inside the compound. He hated that feeling of helplessness, of not knowing what the hell was going on, so he pushed those thoughts from his mind as he knelt down at Carson's side. He was very weak, only just barely able to move. Leaning over to the edge of the river, John scooped up some water and allowed it to dribble through his fingers onto the parched lips.
Carson's eyes slowly opened, the cool sensation of the water soothing him, and he cautiously licked his lips with a dry and thirst-swollen tongue. "Colonel Sheppard?"
John frowned at the hoarseness in his friend's voice. "Yeah, Carson, I'm here. Are you alright?"
"Och," Carson gasped, his Scottish accent a bit more pronounced than usual, and brought a hand up to rub at his eyes. A look of pure relief crossed his features as he sat back and looked around, finding that he wasn't trapped in a tiny, cramped cell or strapped to a table. "I just had the most horrible nightmare."
"That was no nightmare, I'm afraid," John said despondently as he helped pull his friend up into a sitting position.
The worried and despaired appearance returned as Carson looked down at his wrists, reminded of the cuts and bruises. He stared unflinchingly for some time before he delicately maneuvered himself around enough to dip his hands into the water and drink. The coolness felt good on his wrists which still stung every time he moved his hands, but he was quite cold. After drinking his fill, he curled himself up into a ball and began to shiver. His pangs of hunger were also returning, but even if they had been able to offer him anything he still had no desire to eat.
John was at a loss to do anything to help as he looked down at the bruising that ringed his own wrists. They were just faint shadows in the darkness compared to Carson's injuries, and he tried to consider for a moment just how he had managed to obtain them, but remembered nothing of what happened before waking in the forest. As he looked around through the vast expanse of trees, he saw a dense bank of fog starting to move in, and then Rodney was suddenly looking up at him expectantly.
He spoke dejectedly and seemed annoyed at having been woken up by their conversation, but tried not to show it. "So, what do we do now?"
"I don't know," John replied. Frustration started to creep into his voice. "Frankly, I'm out of ideas for the moment."
"Wonderful," Rodney scoffed as he brought his knees up to his chest and folded his arms around himself for warmth.
They were still only wearing the simple black t-shirts that they had accustomed themselves to wearing under their jackets and combat vests, which had been taken from them all by the Wraith. The chill in the air was enough to make even the hardiest of soldiers shiver without protection.
"You're the scientist," Sheppard shot back at him with annoyance. "I don't hear you coming up with anything."
"Well, it's freezing," he complained irately, starting to shiver. "How about starting another fire? Or did you forget your survival training booklet back with the firewood back at our last camp site?"
An eerie, guttural howl suddenly echoed through the trees far in the distance on the other side of the river. McKay's head craned around fearfully like a radar dish, trying to discern the direction from which it had come, but the sound seemed to echo from everywhere at once. He rubbed at his arms futilely for warmth, trying to ignore it as his shivering continued. Icy tendrils of fear made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"How exactly do you expect to find more firewood?" John asked after the howl had faded, giving him an exasperated glare. "It's pitch-black, if you haven't noticed. I can barely see that you and Carson are sitting right in front of me, much less see any twigs or sticks lying on the ground. So unless you want to go searching for firewood by the light near the compound, I suggest you stop complaining."
An annoyed grunt was the only response, and so John just let the argument drop. The cold didn't bother Rodney enough yet to want to go anywhere near that Wraith infested hell hole. He watched as Carson's silhouette climbed to unsteady feet and began to walk away, but neither of them questioned him. When nature calls, one must answer.
Rodney simply sat and shivered miserably as the temperature continued to drop, grateful that there were no more sounds following the howl. The last time they'd heard anything like it, it was the night that he and Sheppard had first arrived there. They had just finished setting up camp by the river for the evening when darkness had fallen quickly, much more quickly than on Earth or even Atlantis. The howl had echoed eerily through the trees and within minutes had been followed by the sounds of guttural growling, shredding cloth, and shrieks of pain. Rodney dove behind a rotting log as John grabbed a flaming branch from the fire, ready to wield it defensively.
But whatever the creatures were that had been out there, they had become silent again after a few minutes and apparently were not concerned with the two humans that had been huddled up by the fire. It had ended as swiftly as it began, and so John had lowered the flaming branch back into the fire as Rodney's head peeked up over the edge of the log. they listened intently, but neither of them heard anything more the rest of the night and there had been no other signs of activity from the creatures since.
Shifting his weight uncomfortably, the coldness of the soft grass grazed his back where his t-shirt had bunched up and exposed his skin, making him itch. His wrists were hurting, too, and Rodney did not remember ever being quite so miserable before, even when he had been in the puddle jumper that crashed and sank into the ocean. At least then the environment had been familiar and somewhat controllable, even if it had been at the cost of what little precious power reserves had remained. And what was taking Carson so long? He'd been gone at least fifteen minutes now.
Sheppard peered through the black depths of the forest, apparently having begun to wonder himself. He hoped that Carson hadn't gotten lost, but even if he had, there would be no point in going out there to look for him until morning. They'd only end up getting lost themselves. He breathed a sigh of relief as a few minutes later he heard footsteps in the undergrowth padding toward their camp. John was amazed at Carson's skill in finding his way through the dark; not a single dry twig snapped under his shoes.
"What the…" John mumbled as the sound of a small pile of wood being dropped at his feet startled him. "I thought you just went out to relieve yourself. How the hell did you manage to find all this wood?"
"I did," he replied matter-of-factly. "T'was right there scattered on the ground as I was walkin' back, so I just picked it up on my way."
Rodney shook his head disbelievingly. "There's no way you could have seen it on the ground in all this darkness. I can't even see my own hand in front of my face."
"The moon is comin' out," Carson said, pointing through the canopy of the trees in some arbitrary direction at something in the blackness that neither of his friends could discern. A small smile cracked his lips, also unseen. "Mum always made me eat my carrots when I was younger. She always said it would give me good vision at night, but I hated them. Maybe it's not all hogwash after all."
"I happen to like carrots," Rodney mumbled with a sharp pang of hunger, then decided that he'd rather conserve his energy than argue, at least until Sheppard could start up the fire. He'd already pulled a piece of flint from his pocket and was trying to strike it against a rough piece of steel to light some kindling. After a few more tries, a fire was soon ablaze before them.
"Jesus Christ, Carson!" McKay exclaimed after finally having had a good look at him by the light of the fire. He was never one to leave well enough alone. "What the hell happened to you in there?"
John had intended to be thoughtful and not ask, but Rodney never had the tact to think twice about what he said, even to people that he liked. Carson looked down at himself in confusion; he hadn't thought he'd looked that bad until he remembered his wrists. Rubbing at them self-consciously, his expression turned grim. He didn't really want to talk about it.
"I don't remember any of it," John admitted uncomfortably. He didn't really want to talk about it either, but it was possible that Carson might remember something that could help them escape. "You were in there a lot longer than either of us, though. Do you remember anything?"
"Aye," Carson sighed, gazing absently into the fire and nodding affirmatively. "I do."
"Well?" Rodney demanded impatiently when he didn't immediately speak up. "I don't remember any of it either, and I'd really like to know how I got all those bruises, too."
Carson recounted his tale as best he could remember, brutally honest and vividly describing each detail. A hardened, solemn expression prevailed over John's face, and Rodney cringed horrifically throughout the telling of the story. When he was finished, the forest was again overcome with a hushed silence, interrupted only by the occasional crackling of the fire. None of them would be getting any sleep that night.