An Eye for an Eye10
"Easy, easy now." John tugged on the reins, slowing his steed. It was mid-morning. Sunlight slanted against the hills behind them, streaming ahead to light their way across the barren landscape. Snow glittered on the land and a wind whipped round the little group.
John adjusted his hat, surveying the bleak landscape ahead of them. He could feel Moira pressed up against him, her arms securely around his waist.
"What is it?" Rodney stopped his horse next to John's. "We were making excellent time."
"Something ain't right."
"What? Well, of course nothing is right! We're frozen, possibly lost and miles from any modicum of civilization! Not to mention we have a lady who's been injured and needs to be in a safe place, not out here in this Godforsaken country!" Rodney glanced at Moira. The schoolmarm was silent, staring at the distances as she sat behind John. Rodney returned his gaze to John but the lawman was still staring ahead, gaze narrowed. "Are we just going to sit there while you ruminate on what is possibly wrong or are we going to make the journey to town?"
"He's right." Ronon had joined them and was staring ahead too, adjusting the rifle at his shoulder.
There was nothing out here. The land stretched on ahead of them, a vast plain only dotted by gentle slopes and narrow depressions. The mountains were behind them, casting long shadows. There were few trees. Scrub littered the land.
Rodney swallowed. He eyed the distance but could see nothing but snow-covered ground and snowy scrub as far as the eye could see. "What is it?" he demanded. He was angry and nervous. "I don't see anything!"
"Exactly," John said.
"Yup," Ronon agreed.
"What?" Rodney sighed and shook his head. He stared round, blinking against the brightness of the snow in the sunlight.
"There's nothing."
"Well, yes! We've been traveling for miles and miles through nothing!" Rodney protested.
"There's no tracks. Look." Ronon pointed.
Rodney stared, about to make a cutting remark when the observation halted him. The snow was unbroken. It was a clean slate of white, not trodden by any animals or other travelers. The wind whisked up flakes into miniature flurries. "And what's the significance of that?"
"There oughta be some tracks. But there's nothing. Nothing at all," John explained. "It's like…like a dead area. Moy?" he asked over his shoulder.
Moira was silent, huddling against his back as the cold flapped his black coat around her. The ride had been uncomfortable, jarring her aches and injuries but she had remained silent as she cuddled up to John and wished she was home. She opened her eyes to view the white blandness around them. "What?"
John touched her hand at his waist. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked quietly.
"I just want to go home," she answered softly.
John could hear the weariness and discomfort in her voice. There was an underlying sadness that puzzled him. He stroked her fingers. "We're on our way," he assured. He eyed the landscape again as she shifted behind him, cuddling up against him as if to hide. "Whaddya think?"
Ronon grunted a reply and shrugged.
"Think of what?" Rodney exclaimed. "What is the significance of this? I see no danger ahead of us! We need to get Mrs. Sumner to a doctor for proper medical care and I require a decent meal!" he fumed. "Are we going to sit here gawking at the snow or ride?"
John smiled at the scientist's rant. He met Ronon's gaze and nodded. The tracker urged his horse ahead of the group, scouting the landscape with a keen eye. "Let's ride, as Mr. McKay suggested," John lazily noted.
"That's Doctor McKay and it's about time, sheriff!" Rodney quietly swore and rode after the tracker, fuming.
John snorted. He glanced over his shoulder. For a split second he thought he saw a figure in the distance, a black shadow against the overwhelming whiteness, but when he blinked it was gone.
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"Whoa, whoa," John said, voice low as he tugged on the reins of his horse. The men paused on the edge of town, assessing. Everything looked fine. People were going about their daily business, passing to and fro across the street. Men in heavy coats and hats along with women in bustling skirts and wearied expressions filled the sidewalks. Horses snorted in the cold air.
Work had begun on the sheriff's building. Already the burnt out remains were being replaced with a new wooden wall. Beams crisscrossed and the steady sound of hammers and saws filled the air. The cacophony of men's voices rose and fell with the work.
It seemed ordinary. It seemed like just another day in the Vegas settlement. It was as if nothing remarkable had occurred when in fact something had, at least to John and the people with him. He fingered the sheriff's gold badge on his vest. It was dusty and scratched but still there.
He wondered if it would still be there once people learned what he had done. However justified it was still murder, plain and simple.
"John?" Moira shifted behind him. "I just want to go home. Please, John." Moira was fighting a wave of nausea and dizziness. The town blurred in her vision and she felt in danger of falling off the horse. She blinked fiercely to clear her sight and her head.
She would much rather be at home to take care of herself than to be subjected to an examination by the doctor, however well-meaning.
"All right, sweetheart," he soothed. He eyed his companions. "Get situated in the hotel. I'll be back soon. Make sure that Beckett is all right and have him come by Mrs. Sumner's place in—"
"No. I don't need Carson! I just need to get home," Moira insisted. Her grasp tightened around John's waist as if to prove her point. "If you won't take me I will find my own way!" She loosened her hold on him, preparing to slide off the horse but John caught her hands at his waist.
"I'll take you home, Moira, now settle! Have Beckett make a house call in one hour," John continued, ignoring her request. "If he's not up to it bring him by carriage anyway," he added with a frown. No matter how injured the doctor was Moira was faring far worse, although she tried to deny it.
"What about that Ford fella, whatever he is?" asked Ronon. He was scowling. He hated towns. He hated settlements of any kind. He preferred the outdoors and open spaces to this crowded noise of crawling humanity. Already suspicious looks were being cast his way, as always.
He would much rather be out hunting that wendigo than be bottled up in town.
"We'll deal with him soon." John still had his doubts about the tracker's story, but he knew he couldn't discount what Ronon had told him.
"And the Pinkerton?" asked Rodney, looking around nervously. He wondered if the Pinkerton was already at the scene of the crash site and no doubt removing all evidence of both the alien creatures and the extraordinary ship that had brought them here from the stars. He cursed the obliteration of all of that knowledge and discovery.
He would much rather be investigating the crash site with a proper team, or better yet be back in a properly civilized city with modern amenities.
"Him too. Jes stay clear of him." John touched his spurs to his horse and rode through town.