So sorry for the delay in posting this next chapter, college summer sessions are brutal and my beta was on vacation.
Chapter 3
Beckett lost all connection with his body as he twisted and turned through the freezing nothingness of the wormhole...then, instead of the expected comfort and warmth of rematerialization and reconnection with the world as it should be, he found himself flying toward the forward section of the jumper, crashing into the back of one of the rear jump seats. His eyes snapped shut and his head whipped back with the force of the impact, and then the breath left his body as a heavy weight crashed into his stomach. Objects flew, rolled and bounced past him, metal groaned and screeched like the brakes of a locomotive on rusted tracks.
When gravity stabilized and he was able to lift his head off of the seat back and open his eyes, the jumper's power was dead, the interior bathed in shadow, and John Sheppard was curled in his lap, coughing up blood. He supported John's head with his arm while he took a quick inventory. The single IV they'd managed to start had been ripped out, the O2 mask torn away, and blood was leaking a gory trail onto the floor from compression bandages that had been thrown into disarray.
Beckett heard a muffled sob and one of his nurse's arms dropped into view on the other side of the bulkhead that separated the benches in the rear compartment from the fore. She must have become airborne in the crash and the thick internal bulkhead was the only thing that kept her from sailing forward to a sure and ugly death. He called to her and received a garbled answer. Two on the Glasgow Coma Scale for verbal responses. Eye and motor responses would have to wait for later.
Ronon had managed to end up crumpled and unconscious against the opposite jump seat, a small trail of blood oozing from a cut beneath one eye. But of McKay, Teyla and the other nurse, there was no sign.
Sheppard's breath caught in his throat and he choked, more blood coating his lips and dripping from the side of his face. The man's very lifeforce leaking out by the second and now he had to worry about aspiration as well. Dammit to hell! One or more of the bullets must have perforated Sheppard's stomach or upper GI tract. Beckett furiously scanned his immediate area. No trauma kit, no bandages, no IVs, no oxygen, and no intubation kit. Were they even back on Atlantis? He reached for his radio and it was gone too.
He needed to get up, He needed to get help. He had no way of knowing how many more had been seriously injured in this crash. For all he knew, he could be seriously injured himself and it was just being suppressed beneath a massive surge of adrenaline.
He heard moans coming from the front of the jumper, and distantly, the echo of Elizabeth's frantic voice, calling for emergency teams. So, they'd made it back home, at least. As Sheppard's breathing rasped and faltered, the alluring comfort of home receded into the background.
Suddenly, Ronon was on him, grabbing his arm. The runner could convey his thoughts without uttering a single word. What do I need to do?
Lord help us all, son. Beckett wasted no time rolling Sheppard off his lap with the Satedan's help. Basic first aid was instinctual. He lifted Sheppard's neck and checked his respiration. None of the primary inspiratory muscles were working to expand his ribcage and create the negative pressure required for spontaneous breathing. He bent low and forced in a breath, watching for the upward movement of the ribcage, then he wiped John's blood from his lips as he felt for a pulse at the carotid. Tachycardic, but still there. Blood pressure was probably bottoming out, too. His own carbon dioxide sats would be a little high due to fear, but with each breath, it would get Sheppard's chemoreceptors working. He bent for another breath, and another until he lost count.
Finally, Ronon pushed him out of the way and he collapsed back against the seat, exhausted and slumping. He needed to find the trauma supplies, the oxygen and intubation kit, because lord knew how long it would take for a rescue. One doctor locked in a jumper with a boatload of patients and little to no supplies was grim, indeed.
After a moment's rest, Beckett scrambled up and smashed his head into the corner of the open panel Rodney had been working on. He grabbed onto it with his blood covered, sticky fingers until the vertigo stopped, then stumbled into the forward section, trusting that Ronon could support Sheppard for a few moments.
Immediately, he came upon his other nurse. She was bent sideways around the central console at an ungodly angle that the vertebral column and its stabilizing structures were not meant for. He reached down and closed her blankly staring eyes, not even bothering to check for a pulse. The pilot had been thrown out of his seat to impact with the forward screen, the force smashing his skull and leaving a pattern of red spattered across the clear crystal glass.
Rodney and Teyla had become wedged in front of the copilot's chair in a tangle of arms and legs. As they began to move sluggishly, he tried to still them with a touch and quiet word, not knowing what their injuries might be. Teyla was aware enough to acknowledge him with a slight nod, and Beckett was eased to see how quickly her own instincts kicked in when she turned to Rodney as he fussed unintelligibly.
Through the front window, Beckett could see internal structural materials and fractured pieces of Ancient writing from a few of the stairs in Atlantis' main control room that had collapsed and wrapped themselves around the jumper. Only small cracks of light shone through at odd angles where the staircase allowed scant illumination from above. In the shadows of the forward section, Beckett saw a flash of orange beneath the pilot's seat and he lunged for the trauma kit, rushing back to Sheppard and Ronon just as the rear hatch began to slowly break open, the ramp descending with a squeal of abused metal.
Light filtered into the dark jumper and medical personnel swarmed inside to triage the wounded. Beckett blinked and tried to readjust. As CMO, he needed to take control. He started barking orders, directing his crew, until someone latched onto his arm and led him from the jumper. He looked at his hands and his clothes. Was all of that blood Sheppard's, or was some of it his? He wasn't sure. He looked to the side a bit dazed. Zelenka was standing near the jumper's rounded bulkhead, staring at him with wide eyes, clutching a computer pad that was connected to an external panel with several sets of glowing cables.
Elizabeth stood nearby in heated discussion with Kavanagh, arms crossed in displeasure while the pony-tailed buffoon continued his tirade. Something about engine instabilities and explosive weapons, the simultaneous breakdown of multiple fail-safes, and the unfortunate timing of an extremely powerful shaped charge following the jumper through the wormhole.
When Elizabeth saw him standing there, outside the jumper, covered in blood, she held up a hand to stifle Kavanagh's rant and the American cut off with a frustrated sigh. "Carson?" she called out, head canted to the side. She moved toward him as if he were a frightened animal.
That was all he remembered before he hit the floor.
TBC...If you like this, let me know.