THE TRENCH
PART FIVE (Continued)
"The people on this planet aren't very friendly, Major!" McKay shouted again, and this time Sheppard was able to hear the sound of weapons fire in the background.
Crap.
"Where are you? And where's—"
"Over my shoulder, Major." McKay's breathing was heavy across the comm. link—like he'd just been running. "She's alive, just…unconscious. Got hit by a…dart from a blowpipe, I think. Something that knocked her out… but she seems fine." He pulled in a deep breath to compensate for the shallow pants he'd been interrupting his speech with, "I'm almost to the…bridge….Where are…Damn it! They're right behind me! I was hoping the rain—"
And the comm link died at the same time that gun shots echoed over the link and then, a half second later, echoed in the distance. He heard both the shots of revolvers, and the answering fire from a P90. Sheppard swore, guessing the distance to be at least a mile. How did they get so far apart? He looked back at Ford, measuring the young man's level of consciousness by his half slitted eyes. Ford was barely with him.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
Ford didn't even have the strength to say no—he just shook his head a little. Sheppard grimaced, then stood up, staring unhappily up at the top of the ditch, thankful for the brim of the hat keeping the last drops of rain from his face. Though the side they'd come down was angled, the mud pretty much negated any chance of climbing back up that way if he had to carry Ford. He couldn't even see if anyone was approaching their position.
The whole situation frustrated him. He couldn't put Ford over his shoulder with a belly wound. And he was too heavy to carry in his arms for more than a few hundred yards. Damn it!
"Okay, okay, think," he looked up and down the ditch, seeing nothing but more mud and the slackening rain. How far was he from the gate?
Where was the gate?
Different question, how far was McKay from the gate?
The gunfire had stopped a minute or so ago. The last shots had been from the P90. He hoped that was a good thing. The rain had stopped as well, leaving the world eerily quiet except for the dripping streams running down the muddy walls, and the water trickling past his feet. The sun burst fully back to life overhead.
"McKay," he hit the link again, "how far are you from the gate?"
There was static for a second, then, "What?"
A breath he hadn't known he was holding escaped the major, relieved to know that McKay was still alive, and, hopefully, Teyla too. "How far are you from—"
"Nearly…there…." McKay was breathing heavily, obviously struggling to run and carry Teyla at the same time. "Just…nearing the bridge."
The bridge! Thank God. "Put her through the gate, tell Weir to send reinforcements, then get over here. I need you."
Static answered him, then, "What? I can't just push her—"
"Roll her, I don't care. I can't carry Ford by myself!"
"Ford? But…roll her? Damnit, damnit, damnit…." He punctuated the swears with gunfire from his P90, and Sheppard winced at the report of the locals' own inferior but still effective weapons. The shots stopped again after a few seconds.
There was a longish pause after that, and Sheppard tried not to get impatient, his eyes on the top of the ditch, praying that he and Ford had gotten lucky and lost their pursuers….Otherwise, they were really exposed down here. Damn it, if only Ford hadn't fallen….
McKay's harsh breathing finally came back over the comm. "I'm crossing the bridge. They're…right….No!" The gunfire seemed louder this time, sending spikes of fear through the major.
"McKay!" Sheppard stared down at Ford, saw the same worry mirrored in the younger man's eyes, even as the lieutenant struggled with his own injuries.
"We're okay; We're across," McKay wheezed, a second later. "I deactivated the bridge before they could follow. Heading for," he took another deep breath, "the trees now. They've…stopped firing."
"You hurt?"
"No. They missed…us both…But if they…have another way to activate the bridge…."
Sheppard grimaced, and he nodded at Ford. That meant McKay was about five minutes run to the gate, through the trees. If the ones chasing them followed McKay across the bridge somehow, then all the way to the gate, though, he'd never be able to dial it in time….
The major took a deep breath, trying to erase the image from his mind of McKay putting Teyla down, then being shot in the back as he started to dial up the DHD.
Hurry Rodney….
Suddenly, McKay's voice was there in his ear. "Okay. I'm…I'm at the gate now. Looks like they didn't," deep breath, "follow me across. They must not…have the means to activate it… without the gene." There was wonder and relief in his voice, and Sheppard gave his own small relived smile as McKay suddenly continued."Did you say Ford's down? Are you all right?" As he spoke, Sheppard heard the telltale sound of the DHD being activated.
"He's got a bullet lodged inside his side somewhere," Sheppard replied, turning his attention back to his present situation now, and to the wounded man with him. "He's not doing so good. I'm fine."
"Where are…hold on." The faint swoosh of the event horizon could be heard. "Atlantis! This is McKay. I'm sending my personal IDC. We've got two medical emergencies. Both Ford and Teyla are hurt. Lower the shield."
And, much more faintly, Sheppard heard the answer—it sounded like Corrigan, "McKay…this is Atlantis….The shield's down, come on through."
McKay's voice seemed unnaturally loud as he reported that he was sending Teyla through, unconscious, and that they needed reinforcements. He was amazingly concise, but, then, that wasn't really surprising. McKay could talk forever, but he also knew well the meaning of "terse" when he was seriously agitated.
When Atlantis replied again, McKay told them he was staying here and quickly warned them about the acidic rain, the bridge, the dampening field and the armed natives. Then, abruptly: "Major," McKay shouted, "where are you?"
"About a mile west of the gate, in the ditch."
"Atlantis, head west from the gate—look for a ditch."
"Not a ditch," Sheppard shouted, "the ditch."
"You mean the trench? You're in the trench? What the hell are you doing in there? And that's not a ditch, major. A ditch is shallow, while a trench—"
"McKay!" Sheppard knew that, normally, he'd have about twenty other different responses to add to that, most involving references to McKay's mother, but he was too damn tired and hadn't the time.
"Right, right, semantics. Atlantis, there's a deep, muddy trench about fifteen feet wide, ten feet deep. Sheppard is in the trench with Ford. Follow it west as soon as you get here. McKay out," and, in the background, the swoosh of the gate shutting down was audible. Then: "Major, I'm on my way."
Sheppard raised his eyebrows, trying to decide if he was surprised that McKay didn't even hesitate to choose helping them than heading through the gate to safety, decided he wasn't, and knelt next to Ford again.
And heard shouting again…but not over the comm. link. Men, yelling to each other…and searching for them. Aw crap. They were after him and Ford again now.
Praying for extra strength, he pulled out his 9mm, got his arms under Ford and cradled him as best he could, grunting with the dead weight. Damn he was heavy! Ford grunted softly, but otherwise didn't react.
Sheppard, meanwhile, prayed his back held out as he did his best to hold the gun in a firing position with Ford resting on top of his arms.
Turning, he half walked, half staggered in an easterly direction along the muddy trench, feet hitting every puddle with amazing accuracy, the smell of sulfur strong in his nostrils.
"Major," McKay's voice came over the comm. link again.
"Yeah?" This time it was Sheppard who was breathing hard.
"How far—"
"No idea, maybe a mile," he took a few breaths, "but I'm headed…your way."
"Gotcha," the scientist shut the link down. Even strained, tired, wet and muddy, Sheppard had to smile at that. Man really needed to learn how to talk over the radio.
Aw shit, he was too old for this. His back was on fire, his shoulders were tingling and his arms were sending serious complaints to his brain. He was pretty sure Ford was unconscious now—the weak grip Ford had on his shoulders, to help keep his balance, had slipped.
The shouts were getting louder.
Breathe, breathe, breathe….
His feet slapped down on the muddy earth. What the hell was this trench for anyhow? It was raining, but there was no stream. What had formed it? Or, more to the point, why had someone dug it?
"Major!" McKay's voice was panicked again.
"What?" Sheppard could barely say the word. Ford was pressed to hard against his rib cage.
"Get out of the trench! NOW!"
McKay punctuated the yell with gunshots. Sheppard skidded to a halt, wishing his panting wasn't so loud in his ears, as he listed to the repeated echo of a 9MM being fired somewhere in the distance barely a half second after he heard the shots over the comm. link. It gave him a bearing on distance. He also got a sense of what McKay was firing at… .
Because the shots were hitting something metal.
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TBC
