"Finally," John murmured to himself when he saw the yellow twirling lights reflecting off the wet pavement ahead of them. He was more than ready to stop moving and get out of the weather. His side and face ached from the blows Vance landed, and the itch tickling the back of his skull told him Rodney wasn't in much better shape.
They rounded the bend in the road, and John saw a tow truck backed up to the wrecked sedan. As John watched, a winch lifted the back of the wrecked car and slowly flipped it back over on its wheels.
"Looks like Pete's here," Ritchie said with a glance at John. "I'll go on ahead and tell him we need to get a few things from the car before he takes it."
"We'll be right behind you," John replied and turned to Rodney a few paces behind him. "How're you doing?" he asked once Rodney caught up.
"I'm tired, I'm cold, I ache, and I'm hungry," Rodney replied. "I should know better by now than to take a vacation with you."
John smiled and tugged on Rodney's good arm. "You enjoyed Niagara Falls."
Rodney gave him a noncommittal grunt and fell into step beside John.
"You had fun, and I have the pictures to prove it," John replied. "Come on. A shower and a hot meal, and you'll change your mind."
Rodney studied the trees as they walked and said, "Vance is still out there, you know. He knows where we are. He's not going to stop coming after us."
John pursed his lips in a frown. "Yeah, I know. I'll call Landry once we get to Ritchie's house."
"And until then?" Rodney asked. "We still need to get to Rochester. I'm supposed to give a presentation on Saturday."
Jim grimaced at the reminder of the conference. "That might not be a good idea."
Rodney frowned and adjusted his hold on his right arm. "What do you suggest I do, just not show up?"
John heard the frustration under the pain and held up his hand. "Like you said, Vance is still out there. He knows about the conference. There's no point in giving him an easy shot at us." He glanced at Rodney and added, "Besides, I thought you weren't that interested in mingling with those people anyway."
Rodney scowled. "As much as I know what sort of reception I'm walking into, I need to do this." He stopped and stared out at the trees with a pensive expression. "Whatever reputation I still have depends on it," he whispered, and John wondered if McKay meant to say that last part out loud.
Rodney shook himself a moment later and turned to John, "Besides, I doubt Vance is going to do anything in the middle of a science symposium," he finished.
"Maybe," John replied. He stopped next to the brown SUV emblazoned with a county sheriff star and watched as Ritchie talked to the tow truck driver.
What would Vance do next? he wondered. That was the ten-thousand-dollar question. Would he run? Try to get out of New York before John could call in reinforcements? John grimaced at the idea of Vance getting away again. They couldn't spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulder any time they were on Earth.
Of course, the alternative was Vance making another attempt now when he and McKay were more vulnerable thanks to injuries and isolation from the SGC. John glanced over at Rodney huddled against the truck next to him with his arms wrapped around his chest and shook his head. There were no good options here, he realised.
Ritchie followed the tow truck driver over to the crumpled sedan. The driver reached inside, pulled out the battered computer bag, and handed it to Ritchie, then took a crowbar off the back of the tow truck. He popped the trunk, and Ritchie pulled out John's backpack, Rodney's carryall, and the garment bag with their suits.
How did Vance find out about the conference? John wondered. How many people did Vance have working for him this time? Was there someone else in the SGC feeding him information? John knew Landry had conducted a sweep of personnel assigned to the base after Vance's last attempt but had someone slipped through the cracks? It was the only thing he could think of to explain how Vance knew they were coming to New York.
John felt Rodney jostle his arm and looked up as Ritchie waved to the tow truck driver, then hefted the bags and walked over to John's side.
"Pete will take the car back to his garage," Ritchie said. He unlocked the SUV and opened the back door. John motioned to Rodney, who climbed inside, sat behind the front passenger seat, and closed his eyes. Ritchie dropped their bags on the seat next to him. "You can call the rental company in the morning. Let them know what happened."
John settled in the front passenger seat with a groan, as much from the feeling of finally not moving as much as the idea of having to explain to Landry they had totalled the car. He really hoped Harriman had bought the full insurance coverage.
"You sure you're okay, Cap?" Ritchie sat behind the wheel, gave John a measured look, and then glanced at McKay sitting in the back seat. "I can take you guys to the clinic over in -"
John held up a hand, and Ritchie stopped speaking. "First, I'm not your commanding officer anymore," John said with a smile. "You can call me John."
Ritchie glanced at John with a smile. "Kinda strange, but I can do that. John." He started the SUV and pulled away from the shoulder. "Everyone around here just calls me Nate."
"All right then, Nate," John replied, "As for a doctor, there's no need. I'm pretty sure it's nothing but bruises. Might have you take a look at McKay's shoulder, though."
"Excuse me?" Rodney asked from the backseat. "And how is Nate here qualified to diagnose a paper cut, much less a dislocated shoulder?"
John twisted around in his seat and grimaced as his ribs pulled. "He has advanced first aid training. He patched up my guys in Afghanistan more than once so we could get back to base. Trust me, he'll know what to do."
Rodney grunted and settled back in his seat.
"I thought you said you were a doctor?" Nate said and glanced at Rodney from the rear-view mirror.
"Not that kind of doctor," Rodney replied.
Nate shrugged and concentrated on driving through the snow. He turned down a one-lane road several minutes later and said, "Farm is just up here."
He turned again, this time onto a dirt road and a few minutes later stopped the SUV in front of a detached two-car garage with a pair of floodlights mounted over the wide garage door.
"Nice place," John said as he climbed out of the truck. He glanced from a patch of grass in front of the two-story house to the line of trees across the road and nodded to Ritchie.
"Thanks," Nate replied. "Part of the reason I decided to come home. My family has been working the land around here for almost a hundred years."
The house was a long rectangle made of brick with a wide porch encircling the front of the house. The front door stood in the middle of the long side of the house with windows on either side. More windows lined the upper story, and chimneys jutted from the two narrower ends.
Nate grabbed the bags from the back of the SUV and walked up the steps to the front door. "I'll show you where you can get cleaned up," he said as he opened the front door.
The front door opened on a short entryway with a coat rack and a shelf on one side. A second door at the other end of the entryway opened into the rest of the house. Ritchie paused long enough to take off his coat, store his handgun in the lockbox on the shelf, and then open the inner door.
John shed his coat, helped McKay with his, then followed Nate into the rest of the house. He walked into a living room with a pair of leather sofas and a matching recliner on one side of the room. A large-screen television was mounted on the wall in the opposite corner between the two front windows. A long table with eight chairs sat in the room to John's left, with a low sideboard running the length of the inner wall. Several pictures, family photos from what John could see, hung on the wall over the sideboard. A doorway at the other end of the room presumably led to the kitchen. A staircase behind the sofas led to the second floor.
"There are two extra bedrooms upstairs," Nate said as he led the way up the stairs. "There's a bathroom at the top of the stairs where you can get cleaned up."
John stopped on a landing near the top of the stairs and looked out the window. A barn sat a short distance away, with plowed fields surrounding it. "What do you grow?" John asked as he looked out at the fields just starting to blush with green behind the barn.
"Lately? Mostly weeds," Nate replied. He stopped next to John and pointed out the window. "The field behind the barn is corn. The field on the other side of the house is supposed to be wheat. But like I said, I'm not much of a farmer."
Nate turned and climbed the last few stairs, passed the open door to the bathroom, and opened the two doors on his left. A linen closet was built into the wall at the end of the short hall, and there was a third door on the right next to the bathroom that was closed.
John followed Ritchie inside the first room, and Nate dropped their bags on the end of the bed. He left the room and returned a moment later with bed sheets, blankets, and towels. "Get cleaned up. I'll find something for supper and bring up the first aid kit."
"Thanks," John said as Nate stepped out of the room.
"No problem," Nate replied with a glance at John and then Rodney. "Let me know if you want me to take a look at that," he added with a nod at McKay's shoulder.
John waited until he heard Nate on the stairs and turned to Rodney. "Go shower," he said with a nod at the bathroom across the hall. "Once you're done, I want Ritc … Nate to look at you."
"I don't -" Rodney started to argue, but John shook his head.
"I know you're hurting," John told him. "Let him help."
Rodney scowled but nodded. "Fine. As long as you let him check those ribs." Rodney nodded at the hand John had pressed against his side.
"Deal," John replied and watched as Rodney walked across the hall. "And don't use all of the hot water!"
Rodney smirked and closed the bathroom door.
John walked into Rodney's room an hour later, feeling more like himself thanks to the shower and clean clothes. The heat of the shower had done wonders for his aching muscles, and he stood in the doorway watching as Nate examined Rodney's shoulder.
Nate felt along the joint as he moved Rodney's arm with his other hand. "I think John was right," he said as he let go of McKay's arm. "Your shoulder was only partially dislocated in the accident, and it feels like it resolved itself." He picked up a sling. "The joint is still swollen. It's probably too late for ice packs to do much, but it can't hurt to try. Immobilising it will help too."
Rodney glowered at the sling as he pulled on a shirt. Nate helped him settle his arm in the sling and turned to John. "How are you doing? Rodney said something about a problem with your ribs?"
John gave Rodney a piercing look, but McKay ignored him and stood, pulling on the strap for the sling as he moved out of the way. "I don't think I cracked anything," John said as he sat down on the end of the bed.
Nate ran his hand over John's side, pressing in a few places as he felt along John's ribs. He stepped back a few minutes later and nodded. "Nothing feels displaced," he said. "Some ice and painkillers are about the best I can offer."
"And something to eat?" Rodney asked with a hopeful expression. "I'm starving."
Nate smiled and led the way out of the bedroom. "I've got some stew reheating on the stove. Once you've eaten, we can figure out what to do about Vance."
~*~*~*~ SGA ~*~*~*~
A few hours later, John sat at the long dining room table, lost in thought. The sun had nearly set, lighting the dining room with a soft glow from the window on the other side of the table. He hadn't bothered with turning on the light in the room. McKay was asleep on one of the leather sofas in the other room, and Nate had disappeared upstairs.
They had talked about what to do about Vance while they ate but hadn't made much progress. Without knowing where Vance was or what he planned to do next, there wasn't much they could do. The best Nate could offer was to alert the sheriff's department that Vance might still be in the area and drive them over to Rochester in the morning.
John's call to General Landry had gone about as well. Landry promised to inform the IOA of Vance's whereabouts, but John suspected it would take at least a day, maybe more, to mobilise a team and send them to New York. Landry agreed to have Harriman deal with the rental company and have another car waiting for them when they arrived in Rochester.
John leant back in the chair and stared at McKay's broken laptop sitting at the end of the table. Rodney had spent a fruitless thirty minutes trying to get the computer to work before he had given up.
"Hopefully, the hard drive with my presentation is still intact," he had muttered more to himself than John or Nate and had retired to the sofa.
John still wasn't convinced they should attend the conference but had agreed to find a computer store where McKay could replace the computer in time for his lecture. He spotted a familiar envelope under the computer bag, and smiled when he recognised the logo for Niagara Falls State Park stamped in one of the corners.
He pulled out the four pictures, two sets of two images, out of the envelope, and looked at them. The first picture was of the two of them standing side-by-side, John with one arm draped over Rodney's shoulders, and both of them smiling for the camera.
The other image was a more candid shot of Rodney leaning on the railing of the tour boat, watching the water thunder into the basin nearby while John stood next to him, pointing to something in front of them. The expression on Rodney's face was one of fascination and happiness, not an expression John was used to seeing where Rodney was concerned. McKay had no problem letting anyone around him know about his frustration, or impatience, or his fears. It was rare to see this other side of him.
John looked up from his study of the pictures when a light turned on in the living room. A second lamp turned on a moment later, and then Nate walked into the dining room.
"I thought you were upstairs," John said as Nate flicked the switch for the light fixture over the table.
Nate nodded. "Wanted to get the spare beds made up for you two," he said as he walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. "Hang on, I put on some coffee before I left, I'll be right back."
John nodded and watched as Nate disappeared.
He was back a few minutes later, carrying two cups and a pot of coffee. "Not sure how comfortable Rodney is going to be sleeping on that couch," Nate said as he poured coffee into each of the cups, set the pot to one side, and sat down across from John.
John glanced at McKay, then picked up one of the cups. "I'll need to wake him up before too long, otherwise he'll be complaining for days about how much his back hurts."
Nate chuckled and warmed his hands on his coffee cup. He glanced at the pictures scattered in front of John and picked up the image of the pair of them standing side-by-side. "I guess I see now why Vance wants to kill him," he said with a glance over at John.
John sighed and pushed his cup away. "It's complicated."
Nate snorted. "Yeah, I've heard that a lot today." He handed the picture to John. "I think it's good," Nate said a moment later. He gave John a careful look and added, "I guess that explains why you're so different now compared to back then."
"Different?" John gave him a suspicious look.
"Mmm," Nate replied, ignoring the look. "You're, I don't know how to explain it. You're happier now, I guess." He sipped his coffee and added, "Before you were always kind of distant, separate from the rest of us."
John shook his head and drank some of his coffee. He didn't think he was that different from how he'd been in Afghanistan, then he remembered a conversation he'd had with Ford on the mainland.
"Teyla and I were talking a while back, is all. She mentioned something about family not being just about blood."
"Ahh," John said noncommittally as he turned back to the water, felt Ford watching him, and just waited.
"Anyway," Ford said, and John could almost hear him tip-toeing around his point. "I think it's good, sir. He's changed these last couple of months. He seems happier than when we first got here."
John smiled.
"So do you, sir," Ford finished.
John looked down at the coffee in his cup and thought about everything that had happened since that conversation with Ford on the beach. Maybe he had changed, he decided.
"It wasn't much of a secret, you know," Nate said after a short silence. He stacked the pictures together, put them back in the envelope, and handed the envelope to John. He clasped his hands on the table in front of him and added. "We all knew you never got any mail from home. Made the fact that you worked so damned hard to make sure we always came back from a mission all the more impressive."
John grunted and finished his coffee. He poured himself another cup and tried to think of a way to change the subject.
"So he's …" Nate drawled. He glanced at Rodney asleep on the sofa and raised an eyebrow.
"Family," John admitted with a glance at Nate. "In a lot of ways, he's been more of a brother to me than David these last few years."
Nate pursed his lips and nodded. "Explains why he has your coin, then." He looked over at John and added, "So that is why Vance is so interested in him, isn't it? He knows what Rodney there means to you. Vance kills him, and then you know how it feels to lose a family member?"
"Something like that," John said.
Ritchie shook his head. "Scotty would never have wanted that."
"No," John agreed. "But all Vance sees is a way to make me hurt the way he's been hurt."
The leather sofa creaked as Rodney shifted in his sleep.
Nate glanced into the living room. "Gotta say, though, he doesn't look like your typical soldier material." He looked over at John, the question clear in his expression.
"Rodney isn't a soldier," John replied. "He's a scientist."
"Lots of scars for a scientist," Nate said, giving John a skeptical look. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say those scars on his arm were from some sort of torture."
John winced and looked down at his hands. As one part of him tried to formulate an answer Ritchie might believe, another part was grateful McKay was asleep. Vance hunting them was bad enough, no reason to dredge up memories of Kolya as well.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Nate said. He finished his coffee and set the cup aside. "You two are mixed up in something classified way above a mere county sheriff's deputy."
John gave him a crooked smile and looked up as Rodney twitched on the sofa and sat up, looking around. John watched as he sniffed the air and saw the hopeful expression on Rodney's face as he pushed himself off the couch.
"What are you two talking about?" Rodney asked. "Do we have a plan for dealing with Vance?" He winced as he stood, putting weight on his bruised foot, limped over to the dining room table, and sat down next to John.
John shook his head. "I thought you were asleep. I told Nate I was planning on just leaving you there for the night."
"Funny," Rodney replied and tugged on the strap for the sling. "Do you have any idea what sleeping on a sofa all night would do to my back?"
John gave Nate an I-told-you-so look, and Ritchie smiled.
Rodney missed the silent conversation and waved a hand at John before John could reply. "I smelt coffee," he added and stared longingly at the pot and then John's cup.
John rolled his eyes and pushed the cup in front of Rodney. He saw the grin Nate tried to hide behind his hand and glared across the table, daring Ritchie to say anything as Rodney drained the coffee cup.
Nate took the hint and stood. "I'm going to go take a quick look around and then lock up for the night."
He opened the front door, and John heard the crack of a rifle moments before a bullet embedded itself in the entryway wall. Nate ducked, and John jumped to his feet as Ritchie slammed the front door closed and threw the bolt. He closed the inner door next and turned that lock as well.
"You can stop wondering where Vance is," Nate said as he drew the curtains on the front windows.
John heard another shot and the glass in the front window shattered.
One of the windows in the dining room broke at the same time, and John pushed McKay to the floor.
"And I think he brought friends," Nate added as more shots rang out.
~*~*~*~ SGA ~*~*~*~
Ronon felt his impatience growing as Thompson's attempts to open the door continued to fail. A part of him idly wondered if, for all of his complaints and claims of solving impossible problems, McKay would have had better luck. Maybe McKay's act wasn't all ego-stroking, Ronon thought to himself as Thompson muttered curses under his breath, dropped the wires in his hand, and glowered at the hole in the wall.
"The power has to be getting into the room somehow," Thompson said more to the wall than Ronon.
He stuck his hand back in the wall, grimaced, and pulled another bundle of wires out of the hole. Ronon watched as Thompson separated the wires from the semi-organic tendrils they were attached to and picked two seemingly at random. He touched the two wires together and jumped back when sparks shots from the wires. He then touched the wires to the wall and nodded when the one in his left hand sparked again.
"Yes! Okay," Thompson said, rubbing his forehead. "That's something, at least."
"Well?" Ronon asked, adjusting his hold as Beckett leant against him.
Thompson glanced behind him, and Ronon noted the pain lines around Thompson's eyes. "I'm, umm, I think I'm getting there," he said and held up the wire in his left hand. "I think this runs power into the room. That's why it sparked. All I have to do is figure out which of these," he waved his other hand at the wires and tendrils spilling out of the hole in the wall, "controls the door, and I think I can get us out of here."
"How much longer?"
Thompson shook his head. "Another few minutes? Maybe? This wiring is like nothing I've ever seen before."
Ronon waited until Thompson turned back toward the wall before he pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. His head was pounding, his chest felt tight, and his stomach rolled if he moved his head too much. He glanced down at Beckett and frowned when he saw Beckett's eyes were closed again.
"Hey, Doc," he said and jostled Beckett. "You gotta stay awake, remember?"
"Hmm," Beckett muttered but opened his eyes. "We're still here?" he muttered as he looked around the room.
"Yeah," Ronon replied. "But Thompson thinks he's close to getting us out." He gave Thompson a stern look.
Thompson turned and nodded. "Almost there," he said with a reassuring smile.
Beckett nodded, tried to pull himself more upright, but sagged against Ronon again a few seconds later.
"Hurry up," Ronon growled at Thompson.
"Yeah," Thompson replied and went back to work.
Thompson tried two other combinations with the wires, but nothing happened other than more sparking. After his third attempt, Ronon's patience ran out.
"This isn't working," he growled and pushed Beckett into Thompson's arms.
Ronon pulled his particle gun out of its holster, made sure it was on its highest setting, and aimed it at the wall. He hoped a few shots from the weapon would have more effect now that there was a sizable hole in the wall, and he would be able to blast their way out of the room. If nothing else, shooting at the wall would relieve some of his pent up frustration, not only at the delay but also at finding himself in a trap.
"Move," he ordered Thompson and waved him away from the wall with the weapon.
"I don't think -" Thompson started to argue but stopped when the door whispered open.
Ronon stared at the opening for a moment then turned to Thompson. "What did you do?"
Thompson shook his head and adjusted his hold on Beckett. "Pretty sure I didn't do anything. Maybe the door was programmed to reopen after a certain amount of time?"
"Doesn't make sense," Ronon replied. He stood in the doorway, the particle weapon raised and peered down the hall in both directions. "Something else is going on."
"Like what?" Thompson asked. He half-carried Beckett out of the room, sat him down in the hall, and went back inside the room. He came out a moment later, carrying his pack in one hand and his P-90 in the other.
"Not sure," Ronon replied. He glanced back at Thompson and nodded his head at Beckett. "We need to get back to the control room. Warn Teyla and the others."
Thompson clipped his pack and P-90 to his tac-vest, then bent and pulled Beckett to his feet. Ronon handed off the medical pack to Thompson, who looped it over his shoulder and nodded.
Ronon nodded back and took his time as he led the way down the corridor. He passed the room with the skeletons and paused at the intersection of two hallways. He looked down one direction, then the other, the particle weapon always at the ready. Contrary to Thompson's idea that the door just opened, Ronon suspected the Wraith had planned to ambush anyone not overcome by the gas and was determined to be ready for any new attack.
He heard footsteps coming from somewhere in front of them and growled under his breath when his suspicions appeared to be confirmed.
"Wait here," he ordered Thompson and took a few steps down the hall.
He kept his back pressed against the wall as he stalked down the hall to another junction. He cocked his head, listening for more sounds of the footsteps and tried to determine which hallway the Wraith were coming from. After several long seconds, he no longer heard the footsteps. He peered down the hallway in both directions, and when he didn't see anyone either, he lowered the particle weapon and turned back to where he had left Thompson and Beckett.
"Ronon?" Beckett said as Ronon stopped next to Thompson. "Is something the matter?"
Ronon was pleased to see Beckett looked more alert. He was standing on his own with the medical pack clipped to his vest. Beckett's eyes didn't have the glassy, distant look any longer, and when Ronon checked the nearby walls, he didn't see any of the strange pods.
Ronon shook his head. "Thought I heard something." He studied Beckett for a moment, then asked. "How're you feeling?"
Beckett rubbed his forehead. "The headache is still there, and it feels like there's a weight on my chest. What about you two?" he asked with a glance from Ronon to Thompson.
"Still hard to breathe," Thompson replied. "But I don't feel like I'm going to be sick anymore."
"That's something at least," Beckett said and turned to Ronon.
"Still have a headache," Ronon grudgingly admitted.
"Have you seen more of those pods?" Beckett asked.
Ronon pointed back the way they had come then toward the opposite end of the corridor. "They seem to be placed at junctions."
"Which would allow the gas to disperse more evenly through the corridors," Beckett said with a nod as he peered down the hallway. "We are all feeling a little better because we're outside the confines of an enclosed space. I think as long as we don't linger where there are any pods and don't go into any rooms where we could get trapped, we should be all right long enough to get back outside."
"The sooner we're out of here, the better," Ronon said and started walking.
They moved faster now that they felt better, but Ronon still stopped at each junction and made sure their route was still clear.
"The control room should be down the next corridor," Ronon said. He paused long enough to check the hallway in both directions and had taken a step forward when he heard footsteps coming in their direction from the opposite hallway.
"Back," he ordered in a low hiss and pushed Beckett back down the hall. "Someone is coming this way."
"How many?" Thompson asked and checked the magazine for the P-90.
"No more than two," Ronon replied. He checked the settings for the particle weapon.
Thompson nodded and knelt on the floor, the P-90 aimed down the corridor.
Ronon stood on the other side of the hallway, the particle weapon aimed and ready. "Stay behind me," he told Beckett.
Beckett swallowed hard and held his Beretta in his hands.
"Almost," Ronon murmured as the footsteps came closer. "Almost."
"They must be somewhere in this direction," a voice said, and Ronon relaxed.
"Hold fire," Ronon said and lowered the particle weapon.
"What?" Thompson asked. "Why?"
"It's Teyla."
Thompson lowered the P-90 at the same time Teyla and Garcia walked around the corner.
"Ronon!" Teyla said with a relieved smile when Ronon stepped into the middle of the hallway. "We have been looking for you. Are you all right?" she asked with a glance at Ronon, then Thompson and Beckett.
"We've had better days, lass," Beckett said with a tired sigh, and holstered the Beretta.
"We could say the same," Garcia replied with a nod at Thompson.
"I assume you are aware of the gas?" Teyla asked. She nodded at the pod hanging a few feet away.
"Yeah," Ronon replied. "We noticed it after getting stuck in one of the rooms back there."
"We think this is all a trap left by the Wraith for the Ancients," Beckett added.
Teyla nodded. "We believed the same."
"Where are the others?" Thompson asked.
"Daley and Masters are taking Doctor Zelenka and the scientists back to the 'gate," Garcia reported.
"How are you two feeling?" Beckett asked. "Any adverse reactions to the gas?"
"I have a headache," Teyla admitted.
"Masters was sick," Garcia added with a glance at Thompson. "Once we got him out of the control room, he seemed better, though."
"Before anyone goes back to Atlantis, I need to talk to Elizabeth," Beckett said. "Doctor Cortes will need to set up a quarantine space where we can all be evaluated."
"Why?" Ronon asked.
"We are only assuming this is just a gas," Beckett replied. "We need to make sure that's all it is and that there's not some sort of pathogen as well that could infect the rest of the city."
Ronon gave the pod at the other end of the hall a suspicious glare.
"Garcia? You know the way back to the entrance?" Thompson asked.
Garcia nodded. "The route from the control room is marked. We just have to get back there."
"Fine, take point," Thompson said. "I've got our six."
"On it," Garcia said and led the way back toward the control room.
Ronon followed Garcia and heard Beckett and Teyla talking behind him.
"I'm not sure how we escaped the room we were in," Beckett said as they walked. "Derek was trying to do something with the wiring for the door, but it wasn't working. The next thing we knew, the door simply opened."
"That may have been because of me," Teyla replied.
"Oh?"
"The door to the main control room sealed as well," Teyla explained. "Doctor Zelenka suggested I might have better success using the control console than either himself or Doctor Chaudhri."
"Because of your Wraith DNA," Beckett said with a nod. "That makes sense."
"His idea worked. With assistance from Doctor Chaudhri, I was able to find the correct systems and open the door. We thought it was only for the control room, but it would appear we were able to open all of the doors within the facility."
"For which, we are very grateful," Beckett told her.
"Daley to Sergeant Garcia," Ronon heard over the open radio channel a few minutes later.
Garcia stopped and glanced back at Thompson. Thompson nodded, and Garcia tapped his earpiece. "Garcia here."
"We're back at the 'gate," Daley reported.
"Understood," Garcia replied. "Any trouble?"
"No, Sarge," Daley replied. "All quiet out here."
"Teyla and I found Thompson and the others," Garcia said. "We're on our way to you now."
Beckett tapped his radio and asked, "Caitlin, how is everyone feeling?"
"Better now that we are out of the building," Daley replied after a short pause. "Doctor DeCampo says she's no longer feeling dizzy, and Corporal Masters doesn't look as pale as before."
Beckett nodded. "Good, good. We still need to take precautions. Please inform Doctor Weir I want full quarantine procedures in place before we return."
"Sir?" Daley asked.
"Just being careful," Beckett assured her.
"Yes, sir," Daley said.
"We should be back at the 'gate within the hour," Garcia said.
"Understood, Sarge. Daley out."
~*~*~*~ SGA ~*~*~*~
Rodney ducked as another bullet embedded itself in the wall behind the sideboard. He heard glass shatter in the living room and glanced at John crouched beside him.
"How many?" Sheppard called into the living room.
"Hard to say," Ritchie replied. "At least three, maybe as many as five."
"Great," John muttered under his breath. He turned to Rodney. "Stay here and stay down," he said and crawled under the table.
John sat with his back against the wall next to the window, brushed the heavy drape to one side, and peeked out the window. More shots were fired at the window, and John was forced to duck again when the bullets hit the wall over Rodney's head.
"Are you trying to get one of us killed?" Rodney demanded with a glance up at the new holes in the wall behind him.
"I need to know how many shooters are out there, Rodney," John replied. He glanced at Ritchie and added, "I counted three. Looks like they're all armed with rifles."
Ritchie nodded. "I've got another three over here. There might be a fourth back near the trees. It's hard to say. We need to do something before we lose the light or they surround the house."
John looked around the room with a frown. "Any weapons?"
"There's a gun safe in the basement. I keep a couple of hunting rifles in it and some spare ammunition." Ritchie nodded at the front entryway. "There's also the lockbox with my service weapon."
"I know you're in there, Sheppard," Vance yelled from the front of the house. "Do yourself a favor and give up. You can't win."
"I don't suppose there's any way to call for backup?" John asked, ignoring the taunt.
Ritchie shook his head. "Radio is in the truck, and cell phones don't get a signal out here," he replied. "There's a phone in the kitchen. I can try that."
"Do it," John said and twitched the curtain again.
Ritchie nodded and gave Rodney a reassuring smile as he crawled into the dining room then disappeared into the kitchen.
"We're going to need a plan B if Nate can't get through to the sheriff's office," John said as he peeked out the window. He let go of the drape when several pictures fell off the wall as more rounds shot through the broken front windows.
"Would you stop doing that!" Rodney cried as he ducked away from the falling glass. He sat up, looked over at John, and didn't like the serious expression he saw on Sheppard's face.
"I hope you aren't seriously considering giving yourself up," Rodney said with a glare in John's direction.
Sheppard shook his head. "No, there's no guarantee Vance would let you and Nate go if I did."
"That's not what I meant," Rodney replied with a scowl. He started to add something about stupid plans but stopped when Ritchie scurried back into the room.
"No joy," Ritchie said, and winced as Rodney heard a loud crash in the living room. "The phone is dead. One of Vance's men must have cut the line."
"Neighbors?" Rodney asked. "Someone must have heard all this racket."
Nate shook his head. "The closest house is a little over two miles away as the crow flies. Doubt anyone would hear the shots. Even if they did, they might not call it in. Folks tend to mind their own business out here."
"Great," Rodney grumbled and glanced at John. "What was that you were saying about a plan B?"
"I'm still working on it," John admitted and looked around the room.
"Well, think faster," Rodney said as something on the sideboard shattered. He ducked as bits of ceramic and glass rained down on them.
"Kill the lights," John ordered. "Maybe they'll stop shooting if they can't see a target.
"On it," Ritchie said. He stood, bent nearly double and hurried across the dining room, turning off the light over the dining room table and then the one remaining lamp in the living room.
"I don't think that worked!" Rodney exclaimed as a fresh barrage of gunfire echoed around the house.
The shooting stopped, and a few seconds later, Vance yelled, "There's nowhere for you to go, Sheppard! Even with your buddy from the sheriff's office, we still have you outnumbered. And we've made sure no one is coming to your rescue."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rodney asked.
"Probably that they've somehow blocked the road leading to the house just in case someone did call the sheriff's office to report the gunfire," Ritchie replied.
"Which means we're on our own," John said.
"I'll get the rifles from the safe," Ritchie said and disappeared again.
"There are only two guns. What am I supposed to do?" Rodney asked as John peered out the window.
There was no answering gunfire this time, and Rodney realised Sheppard's plan to turn off all the lights may have worked after all.
"Nothing," John replied. "You stay behind me, and you stay down."
"I can -"
"No," John told him with a stern look. "You are not a soldier."
"You and Ritchie can't take on all of them yourselves," Rodney tried to argue, but Sheppard shook his head.
"No," John growled, and Rodney saw a flare of anger in Sheppard's expression. "End of discussion." His expression softened, and he added, "It's not Wraith or some other Pegasus galaxy monster out there. Those are people. Human beings. You've never had to kill a person, Rodney, and that's not going to change now."
Rodney saw the determined expression on John's face and relented. "Fine," he mumbled.
Ritchie returned with two rifles under one arm and a couple of boxes of ammunition in his other hand. "Here," he said and handed Sheppard one of the rifles and one of the boxes. "How do you want to play this?" he asked as he loaded the other rifle.
John took the rifle and ammunition and nodded at the stairs. "We have the high ground," he said. "All six still seem to be more or less in front of the house."
"The bedrooms you two are using face in that direction," Ritchie said.
"Okay, we each take a room," John replied. "I'll keep McKay with me. It won't take them long to figure out what we're up to and scatter, so make every shot count."
Ritchie nodded and led the way upstairs.
Rodney followed John into the first room. He walked over to the window and peeked through the curtain while John stopped near the bed. There wasn't much light outside, but he saw Ritchie's SUV parked in front of the garage. He caught a glimpse of a man crouched near the truck's rear bumper while another stood against one of the trees across the yard.
"What do you see?" John asked as he loaded the rifle.
"One man near the truck, another in the trees," Rodney reported.
John nodded and moved Rodney away from the window. "Stay down," he said, then parted the curtain and cranked open the window.
Rodney sat on the floor between the bed and the wall near the door with his knees pulled up to his chest.
The window was low enough to the floor that John could brace the barrel on the window sill and crouch behind the rifle instead of needing to stand.
Some protection, at least, Rodney thought to himself as John sighted along the rifle and pulled the trigger.
The sound of the shot echoed in the small room, and Rodney winced as he shrugged out of the sling and plugged his ears.
John fired several shots before he was forced back from the window with his back against the wall as answering fire from outside pelted the upper floor of the house. One of the shots shattered the window, and Sheppard ducked away from the flying glass, then turned back to the window and returned fire.
"Got two of them," John said with a glance at Rodney as he sat on the floor reloading the rifle. "I think Nate got another one."
Rodney nodded. He was about to ask where the rest of the men were when he heard glass shatter in the hallway.
"Damn it," John growled and crawled toward the door. "Stay here," he ordered with a glance back at Rodney.
Rodney scooted over to the door and watched as John crept down the short flight of steps to the landing. The window looking out onto the back of the house was broken, and Rodney heard the crunch of glass as John crouched in front of the window and took a quick look outside.
"One of them made it to the back of the house," John called.
"Two more down in front," Ritchie replied.
John rested the barrel of the rifle on the window sill, waited a few seconds and fired. "Clear in back!" he reported a moment later and stood.
Ritchie came out of the other bedroom, and Rodney noticed the shooting outside had stopped.
"That's six," Ritchie said and stopped next to John on the landing. "If there was another one hiding in the trees, we're missing someone."
Rodney slipped out of the bedroom and stood at the top of the stairs.
John nodded as he checked the rifle. "Three guesses as to who."
"Vance," Rodney replied. "So did he run, or is he still out there, waiting for us to drop our guard?"
"Good question," John replied and started down the stairs. "And only one way to find out."
"You can't be seriously considering going out there!" Rodney exclaimed. "If Vance is still out there, that's exactly what he wants."
John turned around and looked back at Rodney. "We don't have much choice, Rodney," he replied. "Nate and I will check the perimeter. You can stay here."
Rodney swallowed and shook his head. "No."
"McKay," John said, and Rodney heard the command tone in his voice.
"We still need to call for help," Rodney argued and grasped the stair bannister in one hand while he held his right arm against his chest. "I can use the radio in the SUV while you two look around."
Sheppard pursed his lips, and Rodney noticed Ritchie watching them from the corner of his eye.
"Fine," John replied.
Ritchie studied them a moment longer, then turned to Rodney. "The radio should be on the right channel already. All you need to do is ask for Dispatch and tell them you have a 10-33 at the Ritchie Farm."
"10-33?" Rodney asked.
"Officer needs assistance," Ritchie said.
"You don't have a code for 'revenge-seeking psychopath is about to kill all of us, send help now'?"
Ritchie turned with a grim smile. "Yep, 10-33."
Rodney shook his head and followed the others back down the stairs.
Surprisingly, one of the lamps in the living room had survived the barrage, and Ritchie clicked it on as he walked past it. Rodney noticed the sofa he'd been sleeping on earlier was riddled with holes, as was the recliner. The rest of the front room was littered with broken glass from the windows. Several pictures were on the floor, and the television that had been mounted on the wall in the corner was now a mass of broken components on the floor.
That must have been the crash earlier, Rodney thought as John stopped on one side of the door.
John aimed the rifle out the door and nodded to Ritchie.
Ritchie unlocked the inside door, then stopped next to the outer door. When John was in position, Ritchie opened that door, and they both stepped outside, weapons raised.
Rodney held his breath, waiting for the hail of bullets that would cut down both men, but when nothing happened after several seconds, he blew out the breath and followed John outside.
"Anything?" John asked with a glance at Ritchie.
"I've got a body near the back of the truck," Ritchie replied.
"I've got you," John murmured.
Ritchie nodded and kept his rifle aimed at the trees as he jumped off the porch. He walked over to the side of the SUV, slid his back along the vehicle, then knelt next to the body on the ground. He felt at the man's neck, then turned and made a cutting motion across his throat.
John stepped off the porch and turned toward the trees. "Get to the radio," he said with a quick glance at Rodney. "Once you're done, get back in the house."
Rodney nodded and watched as John and Ritchie disappeared into the trees across from the house. Once they disappeared, he limped down the stairs and walked over to the truck. He had his hand on the passenger-side door handle when he heard a voice behind him.
"Doctor McKay, how good to see you again," Vance sneered.
Rodney turned around and swallowed when he saw Vance standing a couple of meters away near the front of the house, with a pistol pointed at Rodney's chest.
"I believe we have some unfinished business, you and I," Vance finished and cocked the pistol in his hand.