[Updated 30/08/2017]
Chapter Ten: Run Boy, Run
O'Neill rested his chin on his chest, placed hands on his hips, and closed his eyes. A stifled exasperated sigh followed as he fought against the raging war inside of him. His thoughts and emotions were all over the place. They were like tidal waves tossing back and forth, while he, the dinghy, fought to stay afloat.
Slowly but surely, he opened his eyelids, lifted his head and gazed about the area.
Heavy mist stretched in all directions obscuring his vision. Amidst it, thin tall trees disappeared into the blanket up above, while moss and lone barbed branches protruding here and there, covered them from root until where the descended cloud began. A dense carpet of shrubbery mixed with ferns and moss encompassed the muddy forest floor, accompanied with some dead tree trunks, crawling with insects.
No footpath visible and no signs of life either.
To Jack it was nothing new, he had seen his fair share of forests, chased his fair share of Jaffa through them too. Trees, trees and more trees, it wasn't extravagant nor was it a pretty picture.
Before him on the ground, stood a large bottle of water along with a bundle, its four corners tied up with a red cord. This he surmised to be supplies and as if on cue, his stomach growled. He could not remember the last time he had eaten, or sat down to assess things without fighting for his life, or enduring pressure to face his past. The last experience still clung to his consciousness, and he really hated lingering. Some things were off-limits, the previous topic included.
His boots progressed forward, stopped alongside the supplies. The bottle was the first thing chosen as it drifted from the ground, lid detached with a pop, and the liquid spilled down his throat, washing away the dryness on his palate and clenching his thirst. After three large swigs, the water bottle received its lid and descended back to its place.
O'Neill's back muscles protested as his one knee made an indent in the clammy soil. His slender fingers grabbed the one end of the red cord and pulled, quivering slightly as it resisted, then suddenly released as it submitted to the process. Three corners of the bundle sunk down, while the fourth one followed suit and fell in the opposite direction creating a gap to observe the contents. Jack unfolded the rest of the corners, noting that the bundle's brownish material was large enough to sit on. The damp spot forming on his knee settled the consideration, so he quickly removed the contents and spread the metre-by-metre cloth on the ground. Before taking a seat, the Colonel scanned the surroundings, and after confirming he was the only one there, sank down into a seated position. The Berretta rustled as it left its holster and moved down to the cloth next to his relaxed leg, whilst his left knee remained propped up.
The food lay scattered before him – freshly baked bread already smeared with butter, native fruits resembling apples, berries and pears, a mixture of nuts and dry meat sliced in jerky pieces. All of which was neatly wrapped in their own separate bags, large enough to resemble earth's version of a medium sized paper bag.
Not too savvy, just hope it's not my last meal.
A thin smile quirked his lips, as he tilted the bag with nuts into his right palm. Rustling followed suit combined with an instantaneous stomach growl.
Yeah, yeah, be patient.
Leaning back, Jack threw a few nuts into his mouth, savouring the taste as he chewed.
Must be off the top nuts if I'm chatting to myself.
The munching stopped shortly thereafter, how do I even know if what I'm eating is real? Could be rocks or sand . . . ooo, I know, monkey nuts.
A slight cough worked its way through his lips as O'Neill stifled a laugh and coinciding choke. His mind had showed him something he really did not want to know, for he tossed the remaining nuts back in the packet, and grabbed a fruit instead.
No harm in a fruit, is there?
O'Neill cursed under his breath as Snow White immediately came to mind, and before he could put a stop to it, a few more children's stories bombarded his mind, including Goldilocks, Hansel, Gretel, and Aladdin.
"Oy!" His left hand collided with his forehead in annoyance, and then his fingers glided down his face, as he glanced the forest. Or Red Riding Hood!
"Well done Jack ol' boy, you've just spoiled your own lunch." O'Neill mocked as he observed the apple shaped fruit in disgust and placed it back with the others.
The meat and bread remained, but he had suddenly lost his appetite. It seemed as if the fairy-tale recollections had reminded him of his predicament – amidst a cacophony of scenarios, he felt truly lost, and he despised it, just like he did this encased woodland. It may be quiet, but in the silence, a battle raged profoundly within his soul.
The soldier knew something or someone outside of this disorientated world was manipulating him, forcing him to face things he normally managed with efficient self-control. He failed to pinpoint the source. He was stuck in the dark, on the hunt for a needle in a haystack. An impossible task, since it was a blind man's pursuit.
A slight quiver rippled through his body, which was nothing new for the veteran. Jack O'Neill was familiar with physical pain; accustomed to enduring emotional distress, however, the application of said trauma was agonizingly painful. Experiencing frequent and diverse feelings both internally and externally, he felt like a tempest. A storm created by something beyond his understanding, beyond his natural ability to survive. Everything that was Jonathan Jack O'Neill had come alive in this deranged world. He hoped SG1 had escaped this pain, he did not wish it upon either of them or anyone else.
Jack exhaled loudly, shattering his self-pity and quickly changed the subject. Smiling slyly, he gazed at the murky treetops.
"Ya know. You're getting sloppy in your transitions." He taunted. "Don't blame ya; I am a tough nut to crack."
"Jonathannnnn!" His first name came from the west, slivering through the forest.
Frozen to the spot, his heart skipped a beat, whilst gooseflesh cascaded his body. After calming himself, O'Neill swallowed hard, and then coolly replied.
"Haven't heard that name in a while. Must have dug rather deep to find it." Laughter rattled in his chest, "No surprise there." His expression snarled as he shouted in irritation, "Apparently, I'm an open book!"
"SSSSStand!" The snakelike voice sternly demanded.
"I'm fine thank you. Heard resting is good for the soul."
A sardonic smile covered the truth as Jack contained the trepidation he faced. The ghostly voice had travelled through landscape and flesh alike as if it alone existed, and he was the hindrance.
Go on ahead and make me. I'm so not the intruder here, more like a prisoner.
All of a sudden, the Protector's soft warning echoed in his mind, "Your bravado won't help you with what's to come. The next time you decide to die, you will remain so."
Okay, so maybe I shouldn't taunt the beast.
"Run . . . run . . . runnnnnn!" The voice softly recited from the south. "Run booooy! Run Jaaackkkk! Run . . . run . . . run . . . ruuunnnn!"
The ghoulish mantra ended a pitch higher, sounding as if came it from its throat. The hair on his neck raised in concordance, and grabbing for his sidearm, he cocked it.
A fresh bout of fear triggered within.
His head jerked to the right, eyes expanding in distress, for the sudden sound of an army stomping the mud, reverberated underneath him, and reverberated within his inert body. Paralysed, Jack frantically combed the obscure forest with his weapon. He saw nobody within the mist, which had heedlessly thickened around him, the trees nothing more than shadowy sticks.
The dampened thumping continued as the chanting fell in with its rhythm. "Jaaaackkk! Ruuuuunnnn! Run . . . run . . . runnnn . . . booooy!" Gaining in momentum, it changed in direction, coming from the east then from the north.
What the . . . Jack screamed on the inside.
An unforeseen streak blurred to the north in the depths of the murky forest, finally beckoning the Colonel to his feet. The gun hastily trailed behind.
To his left, another dark streak ran by and the weapon jerked in its direction. It was so fast, Jack had no time to aim or focus on what he had spotted.
In the background, the chilling voice, and marching continued, until another voice joined the mocking, resounding from a fourth streak. "JAAAACCCKKK!"
"RUUUNNNN!" Another voice added from the south, sounding closer than the previous one.
His fear increased, squeezing the air from his lungs. His breathing racked his body, shoulders rising and falling in conjunction with the panic tearing at his psyche. Sweat now beaded his forehead and ran down his cheeks, whilst he wildly reacted to the provoking voices. They seemed to increase once the main voice reiterated its mantra, the trudging still undaunted in the backdrop.
"RUNNNN!" Cried one deep voice.
"JAAACKKKK!" A female called out.
"BOOOOY!" Growled another fierce voice.
Caught between the mocking and the blurring streaks, Jack desperately sought to shield his ears and scream at the top of his lungs. Shout for it to stop, implore for his sanity. Yet nothing materialised. He remained stagnant.
Have to focus.
The thought repeated in his mind, as his eyes darted from left to right in pursuit of the smudges, when something in his mind snapped like a fraught cord, and he did what the voices demanded. He sprinted from his spot, the soles of his boots slipping on the mossy forest floor, and he ran thoughtless not knowing who followed, not caring if he got struck in the process. He needed to escape, get as far away as possible.
Feet resembling a fleeing deer and body impersonating a chasing jaguar, he ran for his life, like the wind. His beating heart drilled his chest, rapid breathing echoed loudly in his sphere, and his muscles moved as if a wound up toy.
The forest reeled by in a blur, the stomping faded away, leaving behind the slivering voice and tracking streaks in the shadows. All the while Jack O'Neill yelled desperately in his mind, frightened, frantic, and ensnared.
Run, run, run, run . . . Jack!