Escape
Cainwen: I am so sorry it took so long to update! Life has exploded in my face, making a difficult chapter even more difficult.
Wraith: WHY DO YOU KEEP TALKING!
Steve Plushie glares and cracks knuckles omniously
Cainwen: Okay, okay. Thank you to Amaruk, who saw fit to bestow upon my unworthy story a Steve Plushie, and so has added another task master to the one staring over my shoulder. This chapter is unbeta-ed, so please forgive grammar spazzes, they will be corrected. Thanks to all you lovely kind reviewers, I'm sorry I was unable to respond to you all. This chapter was a bit difficult to write, since the director saw fit to make these scenes rather choppy, so I had to fill in the blanks.
both wraith lay hands on either shoulder in warning
Cainwen: laughs nervously Enjoy!
He looks up at me, and tosses me something. I automatically catch it in my hand, and I look at it. He has given me the keys to my shackles—perhaps he does trust me to a degree, or perhaps he does not want their noise to give away our presence. I look at him, for many thoughts are running through my mind at once, but then I begin to unlock the hated shackles, ridding myself of them as quickly as may be. I shake off those that bind my ankles, and straighten.
John Sheppard is watching me, unsure of me. What does he see when he sees me? Does he see a captive? Does he see a monster? Does he see a demon? For a moment, we look into each other's eyes, and I wonder, does he see me? A father, a husband, a friend and a brother?
But he looks away again and I know what it is he sees—a monster, who knows how to escape.
He steps towards me, a gun from his guards in each of his hands. He looks at me, and I wonder if he has decided that I am too much a monster, too much a demon for him to trust, if he will kill me and then escape as best he can, for there is a hardness in his eyes. He pauses, and then offers me the handle of one of the guns—a gesture of trust, that he gives me a weapon. We are on equal footing, each able to destroy the other.
"Which way?" he asks, his voice devoid of the boyish excitement that had been there before. He is simply a soldier now, wary and calculating.
I am tired, and the bullets in my chest send out lances of white-hot pain—the life of the guard was not enough, but I know I must ignore the pain, and concentrate if I am ever to see the stars again. I think back, bringing into my mind an image of this place as it was when I first was brought here.
"This way," I say, and I wonder if he hears the haggardness, the exhaustion, the pain in my voice. And I wonder, how are we to make it out? He is old, and in pain from my feeding, despite my best efforts. My wounds, which once would have been minimal, are now most serious, for I am very weak, so long have I starved.
I lead him away from the cells, following the shadows, listening for men, around corners, but always up, always towards the surface.
As we go, it becomes painfully clear to me that neither of us is fit to do this. Sheppard's footsteps are shuffled; I can hear him stumble from time to time. His breathing is laboured, and I when I turn to look at him, his hand is on his chest where I fed. Remorse wells up in me like a flood, and I would do anything to take that wound from him.
Gilleasbachen, would that I could have taken your place! I mourn him every moment of my life. I failed my child! An unforgivable sin. How could I have let them take you? I should have fought beside you, my son. I should have protested even louder than you the death—
Lost in my thoughts, I fail to notice the approaching footsteps. But Sheppard hears, and pulls me behind a wide column, shooting me a look, as though wondering why I did not hear it. I give him an icy stare. It is all I can do. I cannot tell him how he brings back memories of my son, nor that I am unsure if I remember where the stargate is.
I cautiously glance around the column, and see there are at least two guards. Are they looking for us? Has the captor realized our escape yet? No, he cannot yet know—it took several minutes to get to the torture chamber, so we should have at least a few minutes more before he becomes suspicious.
As we wait for the approaching footsteps and Sheppard peers around his side of the column to see if there are more men, I look at the weapon he has place in my hand. So hard, so cold, so lifeless. The weapons of the wraith are like our ships, living, breathing, many organisms living together to form the weapon. But this, I think as I run my fingers over the barrel, captivated by the way the sparse light glints on the surface, this is lifeless, and has no purpose other than to kill.
Sheppard catches me examining the weapon, and I realize too late that I had it pointed at his head. He pushes the gun down, and gives me an exasperated look. He realized as soon as he had pushed it down that I was not threatening him, merely curious, and I laugh to myself as I think how he must have seen me! A monster captivated by a shiny piece of metal, even as we try to escape this hell with our lives.
He rolls his eyes as I cock my head by way of apology, then presses a button on the communication device he stole from one of his guards. It crackles, and I can hear similar sounds coming from the same direction as the approaching guards. He gestures to me that he will attack the guard as he comes around the right of the column, and I am to get the one that comes around the left.
Their footsteps stop just short of the pillar we hide behind, and John presses the button again, causing the devices to crackle again. He spins around the pillar, knife in hand, and I hear it pierce the guard as I attack the other. I grasp his shoulder and his head, and snap his neck—a quick death, he had no time to feel the pain. He did not deserve such an easy death: his should have been long and painful…no, that is wrong. None deserve death to slowly consume them. Excepting the captor, and the queens.
The sound of a gun, and pain tears into my side. I roar as I feel the metal pierce skin, shatter bone, and explode within me. Blood flows from the two holes in my side like water from a burst dam. I turn to face my attacker, still holding the dead guard with one hand, and snarl in rage, looking from him to the wounds in my side. His eyes are hard and when he sees that I am not about to attack immediately, he turns and fires at where I know Sheppard to be, though I cannot see him, for a column blocks my view.
As he continues to fire at Sheppard, fear and guilt sweep through me, swirling with pain and threatening to drown me as I try to rid myself of the dead man, for my sleeve has been ensnared by something on his uniform. If Sheppard were to die, it would be as though I had failed Gillesbachan…again…had allowed him to die again.
As I finally free myself, I hear the sound of a different gun being fired, and the man the shot me falls to the ground, his red blood soaking his uniform and pooling on the floor around him.
I hurry over to Sheppard, for I fear that he may still have been hit.
Dark blood soaks the ground, and I let out a scream of anguish as I see my son lying dead, his throat sliced.
"Amhalghaidh!" I fall to my knees beside my son, and hold him in my arms, weeping inspite of the glares of the murders. This was my son! He was not yet one hundred. He still could in some way depend on bread for sustance, not yet dependent on humans.
What have we become?
He has used the man he killed as a shield, by I can see that he was hit in the leg—blood trickles through his withered fingers, but he lives, and I see the determined light in his eyes. He looks at my side, and I glance down, and almost touch them—two holes. I do not need to look at them, for I can feel the hot metal deep with in me. They have done great damage, and unless I feed soon on one much stronger than Sheppard, I know my life will flow out of those holes.
I will see my wife again…"It will heal," I say, and point down one of the corridors. "This way."
I lead the way, crouching low to ease the pain, slow the bleeding. My blood will not clot as does humans'—the wraith rely on their ability to heal the wound, close the arteries and veins. But I am very weak, and my body will not waste precious life to heal arteries, for it must use the same energy to keep my heart beating.