Pulling off his hood, Teal'c watched the dance of life and death before him, gracefully performed by Colonel Hill. With concise orders to Major Jameson, they moved as if one, working on O'Neill's body, breathing life where little remained.
O'Neill's airway was cleared and an endotracheal tube was efficiently placed. An Ambu bag quickly followed, the Major's squeezes keeping perfect time and Colonel Hill's cardiac compressions providing the counterpoint. It was a familiar routine—too familiar—and every time the finality of death awaited, hovering overhead, drifting in and out like the clouds passing overhead.
"Carter, I need you," Hill said, his voice clipped and she moved immediately to his side, finding his rhythm and continuing without a dropped beat.
Turning, the Colonel dug into his gear, a stethoscope emerging along with several vials and needles. His movements were precise, not a second wasted as he prepared the solution, flicking out the bubbles in the syringe.
"Hold everything for a minute," he said and the stethoscope found its way to O'Neill's chest, Colonel Hill listening in the silence.
He checked once, and then again, before nodding, allowing the symphony of life to continue. Pulling O'Neill's BDU shirt away from his shoulder, he shoved the dirty black T-shirt to the side. A quick swipe of an antiseptic wipe and the needle slid home.
Another nod a minute later and they stopped, Colonel Hill checking again. He signaled for Major Jameson to continue
"We have a pulse. Let's move him out. But Ed, I need you to keep up the bag. I'm not hearing any ventilations." The Colonel glanced at the assembled search teams, his gaze lingering on the still encrusted bodies in the next clearing. "We're going to have to put him on a stretcher in order to move him. It'll be slow going since we have to keep up with the Ambu bag, but we have no choice. I'll stabilize him as best as I can at the camp, but then we have to move him and Wales to the SGC as soon as possible."
No one argued, most too shocked by the events to do more than trail behind, following the crisp commands of Colonel Hill. For Major Carter, some of those scientists were her friends in addition to co-workers, her pale expression and clenched jaw her only outward reaction to the events that had transpired. The smudge of dirt along her cheek only emphasized her waxen complexion.
Daniel Jackson merely watched, still slumped on the ground, the sound device cradled in his hands, as O'Neill was transferred to the stretcher. But once they began moving, he scrambled to his feet and handed the device to Peterson, refusing to simply walk alongside, insisting on sharing the load.
Colonel Hill did not argue with him, nodding to Major Warren who finally stepped side, giving the archeologist his spot.
And with a tired sigh, they moved forward, Major Carter quietly radioing ahead, alerting the remaining personnel to be ready to move out. The camp would remain until another team returned to strike it down.
There were other things of far greater importance that had to be accomplished.
The dead could wait.
XXX
Standing in the middle of the med tent, Daniel let the medics move around him, his eyes fixed on the two patients before him—both unconscious, both on life support, neither breathing on their own.
They were alive, he kept telling himself, but what if this was it? What if, after everything that they'd been through, their conditions never improved?
This wasn't life; it was waiting to die.
Daniel closed his eyes, blocking the sight of his friend lying so still, but the images were burned on his brain—the paleness, the dirt, the blood. And Colonel Hill refused to say anything more about the blood, which only made him worry more.
"Daniel?"
The voice was quiet and kind and he forced his lids open, turning his head to meet the young Lieutenant's gaze.
"Major Carter wanted you in the lab," Peterson said a few beats later, his tone apologetic.
Daniel nodded slowly and moved toward the door, his booted feet dragging, the instinct to look over his shoulder too hard to ignore.
His last glimpse of the room nearly stole his breath away: Peterson standing, his shoulders slumped as he stared at Jack and Wales; the medics swarming the room packing everything in sight; Major Jameson continuously monitoring the patients, jotting down notes in their respective charts, his face closed off.
The sound of death filled the air, Daniel's whispered words lost to the atmosphere.
"I'm sorry, Jack."
XXX
Although Sam had thought that nothing short of a bulldozer or the end of the world as we know it would move Daniel from the Colonel's side, when she had asked Peterson to get the archeologist she'd known it was a good idea.
Watching him outside the caves and on the way back to camp, she could see it in his features and his posture.
He was blaming himself.
In a way, his actions did play a large part in their current circumstances. But what's done was done and there was no going back. Even the Colonel would tell him to get his head out of his ass at this point.
If things got worse for the Colonel…it might be better for Daniel to pull back now, at least a little. He was close, too close, but weren't they all?
She was glad—and a little surprised honestly—that he'd joined her in the lab and she'd gotten him to help her pack up some of the reports. He was good at organization and if she could get his mind off of the Colonel for a little while, it would be a good thing.
But even now, as they walked back to the gate, the two-stretcher caravan weaving its way through the forest, his gaze rarely left the Colonel's litter.
If she were honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she wasn't paying attention to much of anything else either.
Teal'c, though, was paying attention to everything—especially the swarm of bugs heading their way.
Stepping up beside her, matching her stride, Teal'c spoke, his voice low, but emphatic. "Major Carter, we need to hurry."
"What?" she turned to him, only half listening, stumbling a little as her foot caught on a rock.
"We are being followed."
Raising an eyebrow, she glanced up at the Jaffa before turning to glance behind the caravan.
Teal'c was right.
"Holy Hannah," Sam muttered, her eyes growing wide as a dark patch drifted on the air, heading in their direction and getting closer. "Is that what I think it is?"
"If you perceive it to be the dust entity, I believe you are correct. We must hurry."
"But we're not in the caves, Teal'c. We should be safe."
"I do not believe so, Major Carter. The entity carries a poison that affects its victims, but there must be another aspect to it as well, perhaps similar to the nishta Seth used to control his servants. I believe the entity must use it to send its victims into a confused state, eventually leading them into its lair. How else do you believe that six team members—scientists and military personnel—were convinced to enter when some had not returned? What force propelled O'Neill further into the caves even though it may have been against his better judgment to enter?"
"We can't move much faster," Sam said, realizing just how far away from the Stargate they were.
"Perhaps if we use the device…"
"Of course," Sam said, gesturing for Peterson to move closer. He'd packed the sound device in one of the packs at the camp when she'd insisted that they needed to take it home. "I need the device."
As soon as Colonel Hill saw her pause in the middle of the trail, he immediately called out to her. "Major, is there a problem?"
"Get Colonel O'Neill and Major Wales to the Stargate. We're just going to take care of a little bug problem we seem to have picked up."
"Problem…?" he began, but stopped and Sam looked up at him, watching as his eyes widened. "Is that…?"
"Yes. We'll cover your six, but try to move a little faster if you can."
"You'll get no argument from me, Major," Hill said, turning back to the still moving caravan, shouting orders as he strode forward.
Sam turned back to the device that she was digging out of Peterson's pack. "I need to get a pair of earplugs," she said, glancing up at the Jaffa who, she noted, was placing an earplug in his ear, the other ear protected from the earpiece of his radio. "Teal'c…"
"Major Carter, my symbiote protects me from the poison this entity emits. Keep the caravan moving. I shall endeavor to hold off the entity so you can reach the Stargate safely."
She nodded once, slowly, seeing the logic in his statement and handed him the sound device. He quickly moved back the way they came, fading into the foliage of the forest.
By the time they reached the Gate, nearly two hours later, after several stops—some to change those on stretcher duty, other times to check the patients—she was exhausted. They'd been on their feet with little time for food, water, or sleep and the emotional toll of the day weighed heavily on every member of the search and rescue contingent.
She'd passed command over to Lieutenant Colonel Harper, who'd met them halfway, and he hadn't argued, taking one look at her and nodding once before turning to talk to Colonel Hill.
Standing on the stone platform of the Stargate, Sam glanced back, waiting not so patiently for the Jaffa. She'd radioed him several minutes ago and he'd indicated that he was near the gate. But, where was he? With the wormhole already open, the rest of the team just stepping through, she wasn't about ready to leave him behind, but she was eager to leave. She reached for the radio again, but movement at the edge of the clearing caught her eye and Teal'c broke through the foliage, running toward the Stargate, a grim smile on his face.
He nodded once, indicating the job had been completed, and stepped through the event horizon.
Sam sighed and followed him through.
She'd gotten the job done.
But at what cost?
XXX
Glancing down at the Gateroom from the Level 27 briefing room, General Hammond watched as the decon teams finished up, the device Major Carter created on P3S-295 coming to further use.
General George Hammond was still waiting for word from the infirmary now nearly four hours after the search and rescue teams had gated home, the two stretchers a sad reminder of the mission and the dangers that they faced everyday.
After a very brief report from Major Carter and Lieutenant Colonel Harper, he'd ordered the returning personnel and the rooms and hallways they used decontaminated immediately. There was no way that infestation would come to Earth if he had any say in the matter.
But even as watched the teams below, he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. There were letters to be written and from what he saw of the two survivors, two more names night be added to his list.
Shaking his head he stepped away from the window, his feet already taking him to the elevator and then to the infirmary. The lights were dim, the main ward quiet, the beds empty.
His footsteps echoed harshly on the concrete as he continued on, pausing at the door to Doctor Fraiser's office, her light on, but the room vacant. A passing nurse stopped when she saw him pause, pointing him down the hall toward the intensive care ward. Nodding his thanks, he continued on, his heart hammering in his chest, his concern and worry rising to an even greater height than before.
Stepping inside, he caught sight of the petite Doctor standing at the end of one of the beds, scribbling notes into a chart. He moved toward her, his steps loud in the relative silence of the ward, and she glanced up, weariness etched into her face.
He stopped next to her, his eyes resting on the still figure in the bed before him, various wires and tubes coming out of every possible place—and then some—the pale, drawn features peaceful in unconsciousness.
Sliding to the left, another figure lay amid the same hardware.
Two survivors.
"Doctor—" he began, but a raised hand from Fraiser made him pause.
Tucking the chart into the bin at the foot of O'Neill's bed, she gestured for him to follow her, leading him into the hallway as she pointed a nurse in the direction of her two patients. She finally stopped, leaning against the wall, taking a deep breath and running a hand across her face. "Sorry, Sir, but for conversations like these it's best that we do them out here."
"What's your diagnosis?"
"I can tell you what we do know," she said and Hammond nodded, not liking the tone of her voice. "Both Colonel O'Neill and Major Wales are suffering from oxygen deprivation due partially to their encasement in that dust or dirt Major Carter reported, but that does not even begin to explain why they can't breathe on their own. I have both of them on full life support right now and I'm waiting for their blood tests to come back so I can get a better idea of how to treat them. And, on top of that, Colonel O'Neill has a nasty cut on his leg, but that should heal easily enough."
She paused, releasing a long breath. "There is one other thing."
"What?"
"Major Hill mentioned using the sound device on the Colonel, and that there had been some blood. I took a closer look at his ears earlier and it appears as if there is a small puncture in both of his eardrums."
"Which means?"
"That, most likely, he had some kind of hearing loss, but I won't know for sure until he regain consciousness. The tear isn't large and probably will heal quickly, but only time will tell."
"What do you think—" Hammond began, but stopped when Fraiser began to shake her head.
"Honestly, Sir, until I get some more information I'm just treating the symptoms, not the cause. I should know more in a few hours."
Hammond nodded, his jaw set. He didn't like what he heard, but there were some things he couldn't push and this was one of them. "Very well. You'll inform me as soon as you can?"
"Of course, General."
Glancing around, he realized something else was missing. "Where's SG-1?"
"In bed I hope. I sent the entire delegation of them to bed after their post-mission checks. They were dead on their feet and no good to anyone."
He smiled, knowing the truth in those words and the power she wielded so effortlessly. She was the original immovable object when it came to her patients and no one—not even SG-1—was going to stand in her way.
XXX
Deep in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain, past several locked doors and security checkpoints, a small vault quietly stood.
It was non-descript, really, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, if ordinariness could be evaluated on a sliding scale of one to ten, with ten being the highest, this vault would be a forty-two.
That very fact made it the most unlikely of places for something to happen.
But inside that very fault, sometime in the middle of the night, a small block twitched.
One block became two.
Two became four.
Four became eight.
Eight became sixteen.
Sixteen became thirty-two.
And before a single Asgard blink the sound of clicking could be heard—but there was no one listening.
XXX
It was dark and quiet.
Too quiet.
Too dark.
But he could feel them.
He could feel everything, from the hands against his skin to the pinch of needles and tubes in places best forgotten. He wanted to scream, to move, to tell them somehow that he was here and awake and alive, but he couldn't.
Trapped again, but this time within a body that refused to obey his commands.
Helpless.
And what was even worse, he'd never lost consciousness.
He felt everything, heard everything, until they'd done something and then everything had changed, as if the scales had tipped sideways and he fell into a dark, deep abyss where light and sound could not reach.
And then he felt his heart stop beating and his lungs release their last breath.
He came back to his senses, a tube down his throat, the rising and falling of his chest a gentle reminder that he was alive. But how could that be true? He'd felt himself die, hadn't he?
The shifting breezes against his face, caressed him and gently rocked him. At first he thought it a dream, but the cold of the wormhole had dispelled that notion.
As did the careless touches as he was stripped naked, poked and prodded until he knew what a pincushion felt like.
But through it all, not a sound did he hear.
He knew he was home. There was no mistaking the feel of the infirmary—the tubes, the wires, and the needles galore. The occasional brush of fingers against his wrist or forehead and he knew that Doctor Fraiser was watching over him.
He was alive, but trapped in a living nightmare.
And in the silence and the dark he screamed, but there was no one to hear.
XXX
Daniel poked his head around the door, his eyes resting on the two beds at the far end of the ward. Glancing around once again, he finally crept in, approaching the beds with soft footfalls. The attending nurse looked up from her desk that sat a few feet away from Jack's bed. Her expression of disapproval wasn't unexpected.
"I thought Doctor Fraiser told you to get some sleep?" Anne Matthews said, her voice low as she suspiciously eyed the cup he placed in front of her.
"That was eight hours ago," Daniel said, leaning on the desk, cupping his own mug of coffee in his hands.
She narrowed her eyes at him before commenting. "From the looks of things, you should still be in bed."
"Anne…" he whined, although she did have a point. He'd looked at himself in the bathroom before sneaking down here and Daniel did have to admit that he looked a little worn around the edges.
"Doctor Fraiser specifically said you were to stay out of here for twenty-four hours. Now, I know you heard her because you made a face as soon as the words left her mouth. I would suggest leaving this general vicinity before Doctor Fraiser comes back."
"Come on, just five minutes."
"Daniel…" she sighed, shaking her head. "What good is five minutes going to do? It's not like he's going to know you're here. He's unconscious."
"Anne, come on?" He flashed her a smile, one he knew had desperation written all over it.
"Fine. Five minutes, but if Doctor Fraiser—"
"I'll take the blame, don't worry," he said, already moving to Jack's bedside. "I bribed you with coffee."
"I know," she said, taking a sip of the beverage. "And I have the feeling that this isn't going to be the first cup, so from now on make it light and sweet, will you?"