Ronon rushed forward ahead of Ankera when he recognized the hallway where they'd split off from the others. He'd hated leaving behind Beckett, Teyla, and Sheppard, but he also knew there'd been no other option. Ankera and McKay raced along behind him, trying to keep up. The distraction had been a success, but they still had to move quickly if they had any hope of escaping.
He rounded a corner, watching for guards and the small hallway that Teyla and the others had ducked into. Within seconds, he spotted it, but as he turned the corner and saw Teyla and Beckett staring into the small room they'd been hiding in, Ronon felt his heart twist in his chest. He could tell by their stance that something was wrong. Something was seriously, seriously wrong.
"What happened?" He yelled as he approached. Teyla turned toward him, shock and grief warring across her face. "Teyla?" He yelled again harshly, trying to shake her out of her fugue to figure out what had happened. Teyla stepped back and nodded toward the sealed door.
Ronon slid to a stop in front of the door, almost shoving Beckett out of the way. He pressed his face against the glass in shock at the nightmare playing out in front of his eyes. A second later, he snarled, grabbing for his gun and aiming it at the window. Beckett and Teyla jumped back as he shot at the door, but despite how close he was to his target, and the power of his weapon, his shot had no effect.
He aimed again, but before he could get off another shot, Ankera was running toward him.
"Stop, wait. What has happened? What are you doing?" The green-skinned alien cried. Ronon stepped back, allowing Ankera to look through the window. How many minutes had Sheppard been in there? How long could he survive? Ronon looked over at Beckett, who stood with McKay and Teyla in a desperate huddle.
"They are flooding out the exterior rooms," Ankera said as he peered wide-eyed and shuddering at Sheppard's body.
"Why?" Ronon asked, but on some detached, strategic level, he already understood the answer.
"They hope to draw us out of hiding, and leave no place for us to hide. They will work systematically through the halls, flooding the rooms until we have nowhere to run."
"Help him!" McKay suddenly yelled, jumping forward to grab Ankera by his jacket. "Open the door."
"Humans cannot breathe in water." Ankera shrugged away from McKay's grasp, his face etched in confusion. "He cannot breathe in water. What do you hope for now?"
"It takes awhile for a man to drown," Beckett answered. "It's only been a couple of minutes at the most."
Ankera looked at the door for a moment, as if struggling with the decision. Ronon fought the urge to smack the alien. Or shoot him. Something. Finally, Ankera looked at the team clustered around the door.
"I will see if I can drain the water and open the door. There is the risk, though, that the guards will be monitoring. No doubt they will notice this room not holding its water, giving away our position."
"We'll take our chances," Ronon growled.
Ankera flinched but began moving toward the main hallway. He paused at the threshold, looking for signs of their pursuers before disappearing around the corner.
"I'm following him," McKay said. His eyes kept flickering toward the door that held Sheppard in death's grip. Without another word, he spun around and marched down the hallway.
Ronon watched the scientist until the man disappeared around the corner. Part of him wanted to follow McKay, to make sure he was okay. The other half of him couldn't leave the hallway, not with his team leader and friend minutes—maybe even seconds—away from death on the other side of the door.
He turned to face the window, resting his hands against the wall and keeping his friend's body in sight.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Carson Beckett stared at the door, unblinking. He couldn't bring himself to stare through the window the way Ronon was and watch his friend drown, but neither could he move far from the door. He was ready to jump through it at the first opportunity.
How long had it been? Two minutes, three, four? The longer they waited, the less chance John had of surviving. Assuming that chance hadn't already passed. John had been in bad shape to begin with, which wouldn't help his chances of survival.
Carson shook himself, trying in vain to rid himself of these thoughts. John was a survivor—he'd learned that for himself almost as soon as he'd met the man. If anyone could survive, it would be him.
Ronon stood up straighter, and Carson and Teyla leapt forward to see what had caused his sudden change in demeanor. The water level was dropping fast—going where, Carson couldn't tell, but in a few seconds the room was empty. John's body had come to rest face down in the center of the room.
The three of them took a step back as the door slid open, but then they were piling in as fast as they could possibly move. Ronon was the first to reach John, and he reached out a hand almost tentatively.
"Turn him over," Carson choked out. Ronon and Teyla rolled John none to gently as Carson kneeled next to the colonel's head. Now was not the time to worry about other injuries. Every second counted. If…when Carson was sure John was breathing, then he would worry about the rest.
He leaned forward, pressing his hand against the pulse point in his neck, then grabbing his wrist, then pressing his ear against John's chest.
"He's not breathing; I can't find a pulse," he said, answering the silent questions on the faces of John's teammates. "Teyla—" he began, but she was already moving, already tilting John's head back to open his airway. Carson positioned his hands over the colonel's chest and began compressions, counting out loud then nodding at Teyla to breathe. He paused occasionally to check for a pulse, but John Sheppard was completely unresponsive beneath him.
McKay entered the room, followed by Ankera. Carson heard them moving behind him but he refused to take his attention away from his patient.
"How long?" Rodney asked, but his voice sounded distant. Carson continued to press. One, two, three, four, five. His arms were beginning to ache, and he cringed when they slipped a little and one of John's ribs gave way under the pressure. Teyla continued to do mouth-to-mouth at Carson's direction, but the tears flowed unabated down her face.
Carson stopped, shaking out his hands and pressing his ear against John's chest. He moved up to his head, feeling for a pulse and trying not to look at John's ashen face, the skin around his lips distinctly blue. He took a deep breath, and looked up at Sheppard's team.
Teyla shuddered, barely stifling her sobs as she turned away. Ronon stared down at John in shock, not blinking, not quite believing what was happening before his eyes. Rodney staggered backward into the wall, his knees shaking as he shook his head. Carson watched his mouth open and close as if he was trying to say something, but no sound came out.
"I did say that humans cannot breathe underwater," Ankera said quietly. Carson started at the words. Ankera was alien, so maybe there was some misunderstanding in the tone, but the doctor suddenly found himself shaking in anger and indignation that some stranger could be so cold about announcing the death of his friend.
"No," Carson yelled. "It's not over yet." He began pressing John's chest with renewed vigor.
"Doc?" Ronon's voice broke through his ire, but he shook it off. He grabbed John's head, tilting it back to breathe life into John's lungs. He moved back to doing compressions, taking a second to find the correct position before pushing with as much force as he dared. In the back of his mind, with clinical detachment, he calculated how long John had been in the water, how long he'd been trying to resuscitate him, how long he could reasonably continue to try, what the chances were for success. He thought it, but his heart screamed louder and he fought death.
He moved forward to breathe for John again, getting in one breath before he felt arms around him pulling him away. He shoved whoever it was away—Rodney? Ronon?—and tilted John's head back, giving him another breath. As he leaned forward to breathe again, Sheppard suddenly jerked underneath his hands.
Carson paused at the sudden movement. The hands on his arms—Ronon's—also stopped. Time seemed to stretch out forever, but it couldn't have been more than another second before John started gagging and choking. Carson rolled his limp body to the side as the man began expelling the water he'd inhaled. He rubbed John's back, willing him to drag in breath after desperate breath.
Teyla was suddenly there, holding John's hand and rubbing his face gently. The colonel's breathing finally began to settle down, and Carson reached with shaking hands to feel for his pulse. The beat was weak, but it was there, struggling for life, and the doctor almost sagged into himself in relief. Rodney dropped down into the huddle around their team leader, spreading a blanket over John's wet, shivering body. Carson looked up in confusion at the sudden appearance of the blanket, and Rodney nodded toward Ankera.
The alien stood away from the group, holding a second blanket—which Ronon ripped out of his hands and tucked around John—and stared at the man who had been dead only a few seconds earlier in open wonder.
"How is this possible?" He asked.
"Human life's not so easy to quantify and categorize into your little computer files, is it?" Rodney spit out. They had wrapped John in the blankets and Teyla held him in her arms. His head rested in the crook between her neck and shoulder, and she rubbed his arms and chest as if she could soothe his ragged breathing.
Carson ignored Rodney and Ankera. He wished once again he had his medical bag, his stethoscope, anything. Instead, he shushed the others and pressed his ear against John's chest to listen to the man's breathing. John was alive and breathing, but he was unconscious and shocky. The bandages covering his eye were sagging and wet, but it was easier to leave them for the moment. He turned to the others.
"We need to get him back to Atlantis, now."