Contains a graphic death.
Ch 4 Jacket
oOo
John
He stopped... could go no further at that moment; what was in front of him had brought him to an unsteady halt.
It was Rodney's jacket, he was certain of that... the colour and insignia unmistakable.
Was it possible that McKay had an allergic reaction? Had someone found the scientist and covered him reverently with his own jacket? Could his friend be dead? Is this how it would end?
All these questions buzzed through Sheppard's head, as he stood not ten feet from the shrouded body on the ground. The jacket covered everything from the waist up, and John felt fear crawling in his belly.
Go over there, John. Lift a corner... have a peep... go on... Find out who it is...
Find that it is, in fact, your team mate, that your search is over, and that today you will bring another friend home in a body bag.
He had to make a real effort, at that point, not to descend into despair, and he deliberately dropped the two field packs and prepared himself to face, what was at that point, his greatest fear:
That he was too late...
oOo
Rodney
He first heard of it when he was making peanut butter sandwiches, in the kitchen, and nobody knew. He had tipped out all the bread onto the counter, selected two nice pieces, and was using a steak knife to spread the golden stickiness. He had almost got the lacerated sandwich to his mouth, when his mother's voice came drifting along the hallway.
Quickly ducking into the pantry, clutching the flapping crusts, he closed the door noiselessly behind him hoping that his mother wouldn't need tea bags, which were on the shelf right by his nose.
Two familiar voices, entered the kitchen with a clatter.
His heart sank when he realised Mrs Parry was with her... he could be trapped in the pantry for days.
Mrs Parry was upset; she was wailing like a cat at midnight.
Wail...
"It was horrible... his eyes bugged out... and the sound, Rose.. "
Wail...
Rodney leant on the door and it opened a tiny crack, his left eye stuck itself sideways to the gap.
Mrs Parry had both of her hands around her own throat and was twisting them back and forth. Her mouth hung open and her tongue lolled. Her eyes rolled around her head - Rodney thought she was trying and failing to go cross-eyed.
His mother was frantically putting on coffee (Thank God, he thought), all the while watching her neighbour nervously as if she was a bomb about to go off.
"Then the doctor said, "Listen, Laverne. It's the death rattle..."", and Mrs Parry nodded her coiffured head gravely.
She leant forward and grasped his mother's hand in hers; Rodney thought he detected a flinch on his mother's part.
"There's no other sound on earth like the death rattle of a soul on it's way to redemption.", she pronounced, dabbing at her weasel eyes.
"Now, now, Laverne...", soothed Rose McKay, " ...you just take as long as you need, honey.", and she skillfully extricated her hand.
Rodney groaned...
Good thing he'd had that sandwich... it was going to be a long night.
It wasn't until some years later that a ten year old Rodney had asked his cousin, Victor, about the fascinating and also terrifying subject of death.
Victor was a socially maladjusted fourteen year old... with a moustache. Rodney was afraid he might admire and aspire to be like Victor, but he didn't have the confidence - or the facial hair.
Victor's smile was poisonous; "If they hear that noise, they know you're gonna croak. My dad says, that's when they close the curtains and call the preacher."
At the time, Rodney had hoped never to hear the sound for himself, but here he was now, by the side of a total stranger, and he knew for certain that was exactly what he was hearing.
The man was middle aged, balding, and wore a smart suit of clothes. These, however, were irreparably marred by the metal pole that had impaled him through the chest.
With blood at his lips and trembling dreadfully, he had gasped out words. Most of them, Rodney didn't understand; a name... Mishka, was it?
Rodney was holding a pale, cold hand not wanting to desert this man, but feeling like an intruder at this most intimately personal event...
Because the man was dying... should have been dead already; that he had survived this long was just cruel chance.
After the words, came desperate, short breaths followed by agonisingly long exhales, accompanied by a horrible rending sound that Rodney found almost impossible to bear.
At last, though, the shuddering ended and the man was still.
McKay lay the slack hand down gently. Maybe he could have found help for this man, but he had arrived only in time to witness his broken last words and his painful passing.
The staring eyes were the worst thing. They looked straight at him, wide open in death as they had been in those final moments of life.
He felt a whimper begin, somewhere in his throat, deep and painful, and his heart faltered, as if wanting to stop. He swallowed, trying to prevent the strangled sound from leaving his lips. He was afraid that if it got out, it would be more of a scream than a whimper.
His limbs shaking, he squirmed out of his jacket, hesitating before moving towards the body. In one quick movement he threw the jacket, and the eyes no longer stared through him.
Rodney could go no further, for the time being at least. He had walked away from what had been the main cluster of buildings, and was in a ruined courtyard garden, it's blooms faded by a layer of brick dust.
He found a red, padded chair in a flower bed and eased his aching body into it. Now facing away from the destruction, he could see a copse of trees beyond iron railings, and he felt the painful vice on his heart relax a little.
Trying desperately to get his thoughts in order, he let his head drop forward into his hands. He could smell the tang of old blood on them, and he grimaced. He had lost the ability to think. What to do now seemed an easy enough question, but try as he might, his mind would not engage in order to answer it.
Whatever had spurred him on half an hour ago, had now evaporated leaving him exhausted and at the very end of his endurance. The blood on his fingers testified to his struggles to save others, but now it was he himself that needed saving, and there was no one here to take on that burden. Sheppard would be in Atlantis now, knowing nothing of the day's events. He could expect no rescue from there - not in the near future anyway.
I want to go home, he thought.
Someone... show me home...
Earlier he had felt the sun warm on his back, now he was chilled, and he felt a shiver rattle through him.
"Sir, can you walk?"
"Come with us..."
"Turlow, find a bearer..."
Blinking, he realised he was no longer alone...
...and suddenly, in a startling revelation that made his chest hurt and his eyes prickle, he wished John Sheppard was there.
Never had he missed Sheppard so much; he would take charge, send all these people away, no more crap would have to be dealt with today.
Many things were muddled for Rodney right now, but one thing he knew...John would get him home, of that he was certain.
"I don't need this.. just wanna go.. home. Where is it?"
He knew he wasn't making sense and it frustrated him, his face twisted and he rubbed frantically at his forehead, as if it would help unjumble his scrambled brain. His headache had escalated, if that was even possible. He remembered having a stitch in his side like the one he had now, years ago, after downing a full bottle of ice cold soda. But he knew he'd done no such thing recently, as his mouth felt paper dry and his thirst was abominable.
He thought for a moment of the water in his pack, but after checking by patting listlessly at his shoulders, he found he no longer had it.
John's gonna be mad with you...
He felt rather than saw two of the figures advance toward him. Others were hauling stretchers and he could see more of the paraphenalia of hospitals and doctors, that he just could not deal with now.
Summoning all his strength and outrage, he shouted,
"No!", which to his relief, saw the gray-coated figures draw back - probably to regroup, he thought... they would be back, no doubt, with hypodermics ready.
"Don't... touch me... don't.."
He just didn't want to be taken. They were trying to take him somewhere.. somewhere that wasn't home, and McKay knew, that without John, he would have to find his own way...
...and then quiet words fell into his consciousness, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he would be saved.
"Hey, buddy... what's up?"
oOo
TBC and thankyou for your encouraging reviews...