It certainly wasn't the first time he'd had to patch himself up in the field, Sheppard reflected as he used his teeth to help tear open a packet of Celox left-handed, and it wasn't even the first time he'd had to treat his own gunshot wound, but at least when he'd done it back on earth he could be reasonably certain that the enemy he was evading wasn't planning to sacrifice him to an ancient goddess in exchange for a bountiful harvest of not-quite-corn.
After giving once more once-over to his surroundings, he slowed his jog to a walk and poured the contents of the packet into the hole in his upper arm. When it was all in, he pressed his hand over the wound, trying to ignore the odd feeling of the powder turning into a gel in his arm as it mixed with the blood. At least Celox didn't burn like QuikClot did, though whether his arm was even capable of feeling more pain at this point was up for debate.
The bullet- and he'd have to find out if these people where in league with the Genii, at some point when he wasn't covered in his own blood- was still lodged in the wound, which was admittedly stemming the bleeding somewhat, as there was no exit would, but he'd have preferred that the bullet had been caught by something other than his humerus.
Said bone was definitely fractured, and at this point he could only hope that it hadn't completely shattered.
Unfortunately, based on the multiple sharp pains spread around the cavity that the bullet had created, pains that had seemed to move around as his arm was jostled during the initial sprint away from the village, he wasn't holding out much hope in that department.
Carson was going to have a hell of a time getting the fracture set, Sheppard considered as he sped back up, settling into a light jog and continuing to scan the treeline for any sign of natural danger, his captors, or a good enough hiding spot to stop long enough to properly wrap and splint his arm.
He'd missed at least two check-ins with his team by now, who should have alerted Atlantis as soon as he missed the first, but he wasn't counting on anyone being able to find him in these forests. In addition to the density of the trees, the locals had some sort of technology that was interfering with the life-signs detectors.
Tracking him the old-fashioned way was likely to be a no-go as well, even without factoring in the danger that the locals posed. Sheppard had survived on nothing but his evasion skills more than once while stranded behind enemy lines in the past, and the fact that he was alive to be in this situation at all was testament to his skills in the matter. Unfortunately, the same actions that meant the enemy would have trouble finding him would give just as much trouble to any potential rescuers.
If he could find a high enough vantage point, it was possible a puddle jumper might pick him up on its scanner, but it would come at the risk of potentially being seen by any locals still after him.
Not that there seemed to be any high ground readily available, anyway. He couldn't exactly climb a tree with one arm, and the ground he was traversing was remaining stubbornly flat.
He did seem to be coming up on a river, however. As he got closer, he could see that it was flowing fairly slowly, away from the village, and seemed to be only a few feet deep, at least in this stretch. He slowed as he approached it, wary of the open view that the river banks would provide to anyone along its banks, but there was no sign of anybody nearby.
He stuck his hand in the water. Warm enough to be safe, if not entirely pleasant.
He stepped back from the river, into the relative seclusion of the trees, stripped off his boots and socks. His captors had taken his vest and weapons, but had left his clothing. Apparently the sacrifice didn't need to be nude, or in any sort of ceremonial dress, just unarmed. He'd been in worse situations with less to work with.
Lacking a proper bandage to use, he tied the two socks together, before tying them around his arm, giving slight protection to the now semi-hardened Celox filling his wound. Then, he picked up his boots, tied the laces together so that they wouldn't separate, and stepped back towards the river.
He checked again for any signs of people on the shoreline, but it was still clear. Cautiously, he stepped into the water, and waited for a moment.
Nothing.
Careful not to jostle his arm any more than absolutely necessary, and not to get water near his wound or in his boots, he laid down in the water, floating on his back, and dug one heel into the river as an anchor while he settled his boots onto his chest, and his injured arm onto his boots.
Once he was confident that neither was in danger of falling into the water, he lifted his heel out of the sand, letting the river take him further from the village. The ride would go far for making it even more difficult to track him, and the river was wide enough that it should be easily visible from a jumper. He'd have to be careful not to take it too far and risk getting lost, but for now it seemed like his best bet for continuing to put distance between himself and his captors while also putting as little strain on his injured arm as possible.
At this point, the list of planets where the locals had tried to sacrifice him or his team was starting to get a bit ridiculous. He bet NASA never had to put up with this kind of thing.
