Chapter Sixteen

No One Gets Left Behind


"Time to rise and shine, McKay," Sheppard said with an edge of desperation. "You've got to quit being such a drama queen."

Sheppard had drifted off during the night, still holding McKay, and when he woke, his arms were stiff and sore, and he was cold; colder still was the body cradled in his lap. John laid the man down gently, and arched Rodney's head back, preparing to do CPR, when Beckett tugged his arm away.

"It's no use, Major. He's dead," he said, voice flat, and face ravaged with emotion. He hadn't slept the night away, and knew the end result.

Sheppard shrugged off Beckett's hold, turning back to McKay, and preparing to do it anyway, when he felt the body resist. Rigidity was setting in. He swallowed convulsively, trying to hold it all in. God, this was McKay, a man that never quit moving, never quit talking…to see him still, and silent like this…he lurched to his feet, and stumbled to a tree, holding on to it for all his worth.

John wasn't a crying man. He didn't show emotions, he bottled them up, and tucked them away in a place where they stayed until he had to let them out in broken rage, but that time wasn't now. Right now, he was bottling, and bottling for all he could, as if his life depended on it, because he knew that it did, and so did Beckett's. He felt his fingernails dig into the woody bark, and felt the sharp sting of slivers poke into his skin. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to ever happen. He had accepted the possibility of death, for himself, but not McKay. Rodney was a scientist, not a military officer. He wasn't going to be the one to die, but he had.

"We're taking him with us," Sheppard said, finally, barely contained but steady nonetheless.

Beckett nodded wordlessly. Carson knew Sheppard and McKay had grown close. The two had developed a friendship from the start, that despite it's rocky instability, managed to take hold, like a battered plant above the tree lineon a mountain top; beaten, and blown, but still standing. Lately it'd taken some hits, weathered some storms, but it had stood. He wondered how Sheppard would recover from this, assuming they managed to live, which wasn't looking good.

"We can rig a travois out of some branches," Carson suggested.

John nodded, and started yanking vines to bind the shafts of wood together. Having something to do helped Sheppard take his mind off the purpose of the action.

It took the better part of the morning to rig the contraption to the point of passing inspection. Carson settled McKay's body, and Sheppard helped tie it down. They had nothing to cover him with, so McKay often stared at the two while they worked. That was the thing with the dead, their eyes tend to stay open, even after you shut them.

"You ready?" Sheppard asked Carson, after they had finished, and drunk some water.

Beckett wasn't, but that's not an option. "Aye, let's get this over with."

They moved out, Sheppard taking first shift, dragging the rig with vines looped, forming a harness on his shoulders. Beckett led for the first time since he'd become embroiled in this adventure turned disaster. He broke a trail inland; they'd agreed to continue to keep away from the river, trying to avoid predators that would be seeking out water.


"Major, we need to stop," Beckett called, breathing hard, and his body was drenched in sweat.

They had swapped out the travois, and Carson was pulling it through the underbrush, a task that was grueling under normal circumstances, but the Major was setting a pace that'd drive a herd of cattle into the ground.

Sheppard paused, and looked back, noticing the beet faced Doctor, his shirt stained, and soaked from his sweat. "Ten more minutes," he said. He hated to stop. When they stopped, he had to stare at reality.

"No, Major, not ten more minutes," Beckett said tiredly, and he was already slipping the harness off, and letting himself drop beside it. "I can't go another step."

For a moment, Carson worried that Sheppard was going to take the harness, and keep plugging away. However, John came back, and dropped beside the Doctor. "You need the rest," Beckett told him. "We both do."

Sheppard was breathing almost as hard as Carson. Breaking the path for the littler was hard work. But, something else looked off. Beckett was alarmed at the Major's pasty appearance. "What is it? It's the bug bite, isn't it?" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

John didn't even deny it; he just nodded miserably, turning to face Beckett. "I'm sorry Doc. I'm so sorry for getting you into this mess."

"It's not your fault. You've done everything you can."

"You shouldn't have come through the gate," Sheppard said.

Beckett swore. "And where would you be then?"

"Dead," John didn't hesitate in his answer. "But you wouldn't be. Looks like the outcome is going to be the same, whether you had come or not."

"Stop being so fatalistic. And even if you do die, even if I die, we will have died doing what we do, and that's giving it everything we have," Beckett said passionately, his brogue strong.

"It's not fatalistic! I'm preparing for the worst," Sheppard defended. Was he being fatalistic? Had he given up?

"You're preparing to roll over and quit," Beckett accused. "What would McKay say?"

"That'd I'd better find a way out of here, and it was all my fault."

Carson winced. "After that," he tried again.

That made Sheppard stop, and consider, because he knew what McKay would say after the bluster, and the whining. "He'd say pull it together, and get the hell out of here, and that he knew I could do it," he admitted. "After complaining about his blood sugar."

"Bloody well, he would, so suck it up, Major, because I'm stuck in this with you, and I have no intention of dying today!"

Sheppard couldn't help the small glimmer of a smile at the thought of Carson Beckett, universal cheerleader. "Thanks, Doc," and he meant it. The timid doctor had a fire in him, and when the going got tough, the Doctor kept going strong with the best of them.

Beckett couldn't help the sigh of relief. "Anytime. Now, let's get some water, and hit the trail."

"Trail?"


Sheppard was pulling the litter again, Beckett trudged ahead, pulling vines out of the way, and trying to clear the ground to make it easier going, but it didn't help much. McKay was heavy, and the effort to drag him was taking its toll, a price in flesh that he'd continue to pay, willingly.

He was so tired. In all his life, he'd never felt this bone weary, soul sucking, feeling that he just couldn't go on. He did, though. One foot, then the other, and always moving inexorably forward, towards what end, he couldn't see. He watched Beckett's muscles rippling underneath his shirt, and became hypnotized, because he was so tired.

The midday had come, and passed, and late afternoon was leaving. The jungle had taken its ounce of life. They had traversed to the river off and on, drinking as needed, and always working back away, and continuing the path, hoping for what he wasn't sure. A clearing? A way out? Sheppard began to suspect there wasn't a way out. There had been no sign of a break. He wondered if they weren't going in circles.

The forest was still a beautiful place; it wasn't that anything had changed in respect to the vibrant colors, and squalling noises of animal life. The sun still filtered through on beams of opportunity, breaking through the treetops with determination to scour and give life; but for them, the life wasn't given, it was being taken.

He was growing weaker. That bug that had gotten him had done something, disease, infection, hard to say. He hadn't bothered to have Beckett look at it, and Carson hadn't asked. They both understood that it didn't matter. It wasn't going to kill him today, maybe not tomorrow, but the day after, possibly. And if they were still here, maybe it was for the best. Gigno wasn't far. He was messing with them, and this was all part of his test.

Sheppard wondered if maybe the test was permanently fatal, or maybe it was only temporary. Gigno was an Ancient. Maybe he could do something about McKay. Maybe, the old guy had already ascended McKay. Maybe was for children, and old people. He wasn't going to think about what might be.

"Major?"

Sheppard kept walking, only coming to a halt when he ran into Beckett. He stared uncomprehending, until he realized Carson had stopped. "What?" he asked stupidly. He felt slow, lost.

Carson's features were sad, and lonely. Beckett knew Sheppard was going to join McKay soon, and he'd be left, without hope. He didn't know if this was the plan the old man had set in motion, or if things had gone horribly wrong. He did know that he was afraid. He hadn't wanted to lose Rodney. He didn't want to lose the Major. He didn't want to die alone. "We need to look for shelter," he said instead of everything else he was feeling.

"Does it matter?" John asked, taking the time to look around. It all looked the same now.

Beckett wanted to say it did, but he knew it didn't. In that, Sheppard was dead on. Shelter was only a false hope, a mockery of an illusion. "No," he sighed. "I guess not."

Sheppard seemed to shake off some of the fugue he'd fallen into. "Let's get some water, maybe start a fire. It should hold off the animals."

Carson nodded, reaching forward to take the straps from John. "Let me, Major."

John released it reluctantly, but turned to forge the way to the river. He found a spot that was reasonably clear, and they put McKay south of them, downwind. A dead body being dragged through a moist, hot climate didn't make for good preservation.

Carson helped gather firewood, although it wasn't an easy task. They had to stick to slender branches, which could dry out when the rain didn't fall. Thicker logs never seemed to shake the water. They found a larger fallen tree trunk to turn on its side, and sit against. There were big, creamy mushrooms growing on the dead log, and Sheppard wondered if they were poisonous. He knocked them to the ground, viciously, with more force than he intended. It was a reaction based on his thoughts, and his disgust with himself.

They had a feeble fire burning. It cast short, stunted shadows, as the light faded away without protest. John didn't know what to say. He could feel a weakness growing in his muscles, a shortness of breath that wasn't going away. Beckett was staring at the sparks fluttering away into the air, and a trail of weeping smoke rising above their heads. He knew Carson was as lost in thought and worry as he was.

But, he felt he should say something. He'd moped. He'd sulked, and felt sorry for himself, and Beckett, and McKay, for the entire day. He couldn't do it any longer. "What's the first thing you'll do when we get back?" he asked, his voice startling them both in its loudness, amongst the hushed night.

Carson didn't look like he wanted to come out and play, but he stared at the Major for a beat, before he gave in, and said, "A shower. I want the longest, hottest shower that I've ever had."

"What about a bed?" Sheppard asked. He'd agree shower would be a first. "A real, soft, luxurious bed. And I'd tell Weir not to wake me up for at least three days."

"Luxurious bed?" Beckett snorted. "Major, we are talking about Atlantis, right?"

"After this, anything that isn't a floor, is luxurious," Sheppard said ruefully.

"You'd even sleep in the infirmary?" Beckett prodded.

He had to chuckle at that. He would. It reminded him of a Doctor Suess book. I'd sleep in a house, I'd sleep with a mouse, I'd sleep in the infirmary, and even with a canary. Now he was just losing it.

Sheppard was about to explain the source of his laugh to Beckett, who was staring at him oddly, when he heard it; a heavy breathing, deep, and low, in the thicket to their left. He only had time to realize they were in danger, when a huge beast leapt out towards them, and went straight for Beckett, just like any predator would. They went for the weakest link, and even with Sheppard falling ill to the bug bite, Beckett was still the one who could put up the least fight.

The animal looked like the mother of the one they'd killed; larger and more powerful, and it was dragging Beckett, who was screaming in pain and fear. John pulled his knife and leapt, not thinking twice, plunging the knife into the thick hide.

The cougar howled, and released Carson, trying to turn on Sheppard, who jumped to the side, and grabbed for a stick they had pulled up to use as firewood. The beast paced before him, a dance of death, searching for John's weaknesses, even as he prepared to defend from the onslaught.

Here, the cougar made a critical error. It had focused all it's attention on Sheppard, forgetting the one it'd left on the ground, maimed and bleeding. But Carson had struggled to his feet, and found another large branch, and just as it made a run for Sheppard, Carson threw the stick with all he had left, distracting it just enough when it hit home, that John slid in, and under, shoving the knife up, inside the animals belly, to the hilt of the blade, a death thrust, and both man and beast knew it.

The cougar fell like someone had cut the strings to its soul instantaneously, dropping on Sheppard, who was unable to dodge out of the way. He felt the air forced out of his lungs, and he fought against the suffocating weight. He scrambled against the silky haired body, and managed to push it far enough over, that he wedged himself out from under it.

"Beckett!" he hollered, immediately after freeing himself.

"Here," a small answer.

Sheppard searched for the source in the dark, the fire had been turned over in the fight, and the night was as dark as any blackness John had ever seen before. He grabbed for the lighter in his pocket, and pulled his thumb shakily across the flint wheel, sparking the bright candle-like flame.

Carson lay not far from where John was, broken and bleeding on the ground. Sheppard crawled to his side, not knowing what to touch, or tend first. Blood was seeping out Beckett's nose, and mouth, and his stomach was a mass of red gore. "Doc, you've got a problem here," he said, not knowing the right words.

Beckett coughed, rosy red blood seeping out more from the action. "Don't give up," he fought for a breath, "Please, Major…don't…"

Sheppard fought against the horrible feeling. "Don't you die on me, damn it! Don't…" He placed a useless hand against the open wound on Beckett's stomach, feeling the heat from Beckett's life, pouring out at a rate that John knew was going to end it soon. Already he saw the Doctor's eyes fixed above his shoulder, staring out at a night that had become eternal.

John dropped his hand, slicked in blood, and let the lighter snuff out. He stood up, as broken in spirit, as the Doctor's body was physically. "You sadistic son of a bitch!" he shouted to the sky. He knew Gigno was watching. He knew the old man had done this, through design or purpose, he was behind it, and if the last thing he did was curse the Ancient, then that was what he'd do. "I'm still here! Come and get me, damn you!"

Sheppard shouted words he couldn't remember, and shouted till his voice was hoarse, and quiet, even through his screams. He dropped to his knees, exhausted, and stared at the drying blood on his hands, that only looked a darker black in the inky night. He knew it was there. Knew it'd always be there.

He dragged Beckett's body over to McKay's, resting them beside each other, and then he laid down beside them. He wasn't going to play Gigno's game anymore. He breathed heavy, and listened to the noises around. He watched the stars glitter dimly, and wondered which one was Atlantis. Which one he'd never see again. He didn't know what would happen in the morning. He didn't know if Gigno would get him, when his refusal to do any more became obvious, of if he'd wither away, and their skeletons would bleach from exposure together. It would be monument to their lost lives, to their friendship, because he wasn't going to leave Beckett and McKay to rot out here alone and he couldn't drag both. This was it. The end of the road. He closed his eyes, and said a final prayer, to his God, and let the sleep of the weary take him away from this place of death and loneliness.


AN: Just a few words, firstly, the reviews, wow, you guys are fantastic and totally spoiling me! Stunned by the amount of comments and enjoyed every one, so thank you! Secondly, I did want to explain one thing here. Some of you might be thinking Sheppard would never give up, and I agree with you, but in the context of the story, he knows he's being had, and he's basically cutting off Gigno's macabre attempts. I tried to convey that through foreshadowing, but just in case I didn't quite hit that, wanted to explain a little more for everyone. I'm going to be finishing this off in short order, so hang in there, not much more!