Chapter Two

I made a promise, Mr. Frodo – a promise! 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee' and I don't mean to…I don't mean to.

- The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring

The first thing John became aware of was the pain. It was centered in his head, a throbbing spike of pain in his temple, and it pulled him out of the heavy darkness and into the shadowy light. John peeled his eyes open and everything was blurry. He blinked hard to clear his vision and realized he was in the puddle jumper. For a moment he couldn't remember why then the flash of memory hit him and John closed his eyes as he relived the moment of crashing into the mountain.

"McKay?" His voice was barely a croak and even that made his head hurt worse. But he called out again. Louder. "McKay!"

No response.

Shifting a bit, John realized he wasn't sitting upright. He was, in fact, half on his side and he gripped the console to pull himself up, swallowing the nausea that rushed into his throat. And it was then that he realized the jumper was off kilter. They weren't resting on its side, but they were angled halfway between that and right side up. Gazing about the dim interior gave John a feeling of vertigo. But he worked past it and pushed out of the pilot's seat. He had to find McKay and Hicks.

Every movement caused the pain in his temple to spike and John pressed a careful hand to his head, wincing at how tender the area felt. Obviously he had hit his head. He'd suffered a concussion a few years back and he knew his symptoms were similar now, but he didn't have time to deal with it.

Moving carefully away from the cockpit, John realized the inside of the jumper was trashed. Everything had fallen out of place and collected under the benches on the left side of the jumper. Which meant Rodney and Hicks were there also. So John stumbled forward, gripping whatever surface he could to guide his way, until he spotted a tan covered arm. That had to be McKay.

John surged forward until he reached the spot, then he shoved away a backpack to reveal McKay's face. With a shaky hand, John reached out to feel for a pulse. A bit thready, but strong and he heaved a sigh of relief. It was only as John did a sweep down Rodney's body that he realized McKay's legs were pinned by one of the giant silver cases.

"Shit!" John hissed, as he shifted position so he could move it off. It was slow going because the case was heavy and he didn't have a lot of room to maneuver in. By the time John got it set aside, he was drenched in a cold, clammy, sweat. "Rodney!" John said loudly. "Wake up!" He patted McKay's cheek but there was no response.

John was worried, but he had to shift his focus to finding Sergeant Hicks. The rest of the cases had crashed together near the exit, and John stepped over Rodney and shifted them out of the way. He had to stop twice to rest. Once the last case was pushed aside, he found himself staring at Hicks's body.

John didn't have to check the man's pulse to know he was dead. Even from where he stood he could see the twisted angle of a broken neck, and Hicks's eyes were wide open and unseeing. John closed his own eyes for a moment, letting another wave of dizziness pass before standing up to open a compartment and grab a blanket. He spread it over the Sergeant then turned away. Rodney needed attention.

"McKay!" Once back at Rodney's side, John patted his face again. No response. John ran his fingers, carefully, over the back of Rodney's head, searching for injury. He found nothing obvious, which made him all the more worried. Then he ran his hands over Rodney's legs, hoping nothing was broken. But when he touched Rodney's left knee, he heard a soft moan.

John reached behind him, freeing his knife from the sheath on his belt, then he used it to cut open Rodney's pant leg. He winced at the sight. Rodney's knee was grotesquely swollen and mottled purple. That had to hurt like hell. Stepping away from McKay, John searched for the med kit. He found it under one of the benches and made his way back to McKay. A few minutes later he had the knee wrapped. Finishing up just as McKay opened his eyes.

"Ow...dammit!" Rodney slapped away Sheppard's hand. "That hurts!"

John sighed. "Yeah...I'm sure it does. Other than that, how are you feeling?"

Rodney's eyes went wide as they swept around the interior of the jumper. "We crashed."

"We did," John confirmed.

"You okay?" Rodney's eyes locked on Sheppard's face.

John resisted the urge to nod, knowing that to do so would make his aching head hurt worse. "I'm okay," he said firmly. "You banged up your knee pretty bad."

Which focused Rodney on the pain. He cursed as he tried to sit up, then whined a bit, but allowed Sheppard to help him. "Where's Hicks?"

"Didn't make it." John spoke a bit more sharply than he had intended.

"Oh." Rodney went a shade paler, but then he pulled himself together. "So...did you contact Atlantis?"

John blinked at McKay. He hadn't even thought to try. So he scrambled to his feet, only to stumbled down to one knee as a wave of dizziness hit him like a two by four.

Rodney watched him, worry shining in his eyes. "I thought you said you were okay?"

"I'm fine!" John hissed, as he pushed himself back to his feet. Moving slowly, he made his way back to the cockpit. He touched the console and nothing happened. Not that he had really expected it too. "It's dead," John announced, and he heard the heavy flatness of his tone echoing throughout the jumper.

"Yeah...just like we are," Rodney bemoaned.

John glared at him. "We're not dead yet!"

Rodney glared back. "It's just a matter of time, Major. In case you haven't noticed we're trapped in a dead jumper, and given the fact that what caused us to crash has killed all chance of us contacting Atlantis, I think it's a safe assumption to make."

"We'll walk back to the gate," John snapped back. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but damn if he wouldn't do just that, if only to prove McKay wrong.

"Somehow I don't think I'll be doing much walking," Rodney drawled, as he pointed to his knee. "But you go ahead, Major. Good luck and all that."

John got up and made his way back to McKay's side. "You know I won't leave you behind, McKay," he gritted out. "So shut up!"

Rodney opened his mouth to reply but clicked it shut and shook his head. A moment later he asked, "Got a powerbar on you?"

"I'll find one," John replied. He realized they had no way of knowing what time it was, but it was still daylight, that much he could tell looking out of the cockpit window. But he guessed they didn't have but a few hours of daylight left. Which meant he needed to set things up for the night, and there were things he needed to prepare so they could start their trek in the morning. Rising to his feet, John grabbed the nearest backpack and realized it was Rodney's when he unzipped it and it was full of powerbars. He tossed one to McKay then went about searching for his pack and Hicks's.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, as he watched Sheppard moving about the jumper. Moving slowly and almost too carefully. He knew something was wrong.

John found all three packs and started rifling through them. But then he realized this was something Rodney could do so he brought them over to where Mckay was reclining. "I need you to fill my pack with all the food and water we have. One thermal blanket, and all the med supplies that will fit."

Rodney brightened at the mention of the med kit. "Any morphine in there." He was trying not to complain, but his knee hurt like hell.

"I'm sure there is but don't use it yet. You'll need it for the journey."

"What journey?" Rodney looked at him askance. "You aren't honestly planning on walking to the gate? I told you, I can't walk."

John nodded. "I know. But you can ride, right?"

With that he got up and moved to the back of the jumper. He rummaged in one of the compartments and found a shovel and two, six foot, lengths of tarp. Armed with one tarp and the shovel, John manually opened the door and headed out. He squinted in the sunlight, closing his eyes against the sharp stab of pain in his temple. He dropped the shovel and tarp and fumbled in his vest pockets, sighing in relief when he found his sunglasses. They weren't crushed or scratch. John slid them on and it made the light bearable. The ache in is temple eased a bit and he grabbed the shovel again.

He had work to do.

oOo

Rodney was getting worried. He did what Sheppard asked, using the contents of all three packs to load what he could into one. Since his watch wasn't working he didn't know how much time had passed, but he knew it had to be a couple of hours at least. He was just about to attempt crawling to the hatch door when Sheppard appeared. He was covered in dust and looked a bit shaky.

"Where the hell were you?" Rodney demanded.

John ignored him as he climbed into the jumper. There were water bottles in the compartments and he grabbed one and downed half. Only then did he reply. "Digging a grave." He pretended not to notice Rodney wince.

John watched McKay's eyes shift to the blanket covered body that rested near where John was standing. "I'm going to bury Hicks then we'll settle in for the night. I have a project for us."

"What are you talking about?" Rodney was beginning to think that Sheppard had suffered brain damage. First talk of trekking to the gate. Which was stupid on so many levels. All the more so since they had no idea which direction to head in. Now he wanted to do projects? But Sheppard was ignoring him. He was pulling Hick's body out of the jumper and then he was gone again for a while.

"Rodney, wake up!"

Rodney started, then hissed as the movement jarred his knee and pain vibrated through his entire body. "What?" he snapped. "I'm awake!" To the side he muttered, "Sadistic bastard-"

John didn't take offense. "You can sleep later. We have work to do." He dumped the second length of tarp in Rodney's lap then held out his knife. "I need you to cut out eight holes. Four on each side, start at the ends and work your way in, equal distance."

"What the hell do you think you're making?" As Rodney asked he noticed Sheppard had two lengths of branches with him. Maybe eight feet each. They were as thick as his forearm and had been stripped of any branches. Rodney then watched the major rummage in the compartments again, finally digging out a thick loop of cording. And that's when it hit him. "You're building a travois."

"We're building a travois," John corrected. "Eat another power bar, I don't need you going into shock."

Rodney glared at him. "I ate one while you were gone. Actually, at this point, I'm more interested in pain killers. Like...morphine."

John swallowed a sigh as he settled himself on the floor. "No morphine, Rodney. I told you. We're saving it for the trek."

"You don't honestly think you can pull me all the way to gate?" Rodney voiced his disbelief. "In case you've forgotten, Major, we don't even know where the damn gate is."

"We'll find it." John locked eyes with Rodney. "I need you to cut those holes for me. I'll even give you some Tylenol." As he spoke, John pushed to his feet again but listed sharply and had to catch himself on the wall.

He put his head down, gulping in air, trying to fight the rising nausea and came close to losing the battle. After a moment he realized Rodney was talking to him. The words were like white noise, but he could guess what McKay was asking. "I'm...fine," John whispered.

Rodney knew better. Sheppard was pale and shaking and his hair was damp and his skin sheened in a cold sweat. And suddenly, Rodney got sidetracked by the fact that he could still see Sheppard. It was still daylight. "Daylight must last longer here," he said out loud.

John had been thinking the same thing. "Good for us."

"I suppose."

"Start cutting, Rodney. I'll get the Tylenol." John made to move again.

Rodney made a face at him. "I told you it's in the backpack. You told me to put it in there. And I already took some."

John was relieved to hear that. He still felt nauseous and he was tired and he felt gritty. And it was then that he remembered seeing something in the compartment. Wet wipes. He smiled to remember how having them had come about. McKay's concern over germs.

John couldn't remember the exact conversation now, his head felt too fuzzy to think clearly, but he was glad now that it had happened. He retrieved the wipes and used a couple to clean his face and arms. He felt better when he was done and then he realized something. "Mckay...bet you need to pee."

"Oh...yeah." Rodney had almost forgotten about that. He'd meant to mention it earlier but he kept getting sidetracked.

"Come on…I'll help you outside."

John got to his feet and made his way over to McKay. As he bent to loop one of Rodney's arms over his shoulders, John winced. He was already feeling stiff and sore from all the digging and from stripping the tree branches. He was going to be one aching puppy in the morning, but John didn't want to think about that now. He straightened up, hauling McKay to his feet, then helped him hobble out the back of the jumper.

The entire process of getting Rodney outside, over to a nearby bush, then back inside seemed to take hours. By the time he had Rodney settled again, John felt sick and shaky and exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and close his eyes. But they had to get the travois made.

"Cut the holes," he ordered McKay.

Rodney rolled his eyes, because this really was a stupid idea. They would never make it to the gate. He had gotten a look at the area they would have to travel, and no way in hell was Sheppard going to be able to pull him across the steep and rocky terrain.

But, in spite of that fact, Rodney picked up the knife. Then he started talking. Mainly to distract himself from the pain in his leg. And as he talked he cut eight, precisely spaced, holes. When he was done he held out the tarp to Sheppard only to realize that the major was slumped over, unconscious.

"Major!" Rodney felt a spike of panic. He could see that Sheppard was white as a sheet and it hit Rodney then that the major must have suffered a head injury. Which meant he needed to stay awake. "MAJOR!" Rodney could be loud when he wanted to and he put that particular skill to good use. To his relief, Sheppard stirred.

John heard someone yelling at him. He forced his eyes open and peered, blearily, at the fuzzy form across from him. He had to blink to bring it into focus. "McKay," John whispered. "Why...why are you yelling?" As he asked, he pressed a hand to his aching head.

"You have to stay awake, Major," Rodney insisted. "You have to finish making the travois, remember?"

"Travois?" John echoed. What was McKay talking about?

Rodney realized that Sheppard was confused. Short term memory loss was one of the side effects of a serious head injury. Rodney had read up on that years ago. "Major...focus. We have to walk to the gate tomorrow. Well...you have to walk. I can't walk. So you have to finish making the travois so you can pull me."

John frowned then he realized he had a lapful of cording and that Rodney was holding out a length of tarp, and then he remembered where they were. "We...we crashed."

"That's right. We crashed." Rodney felt almost giddy with relief. He tossed the tarp at Sheppard. "Now get with the program. You have to tie the tarp to the tree branches. Oh...and what about a harness?"

"Make it out of the cording and pad it with a few strips of tarping. There's a small length left," John mumbled, without even realizing what he was saying. It was just some vague memory of something he was supposed to know.

Rodney was actually impressed by Sheppard's ingenuity. "You were a boy scout, weren't you?"

John almost laughed at that. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Isn't it? Parents forcing their kids out into the woods to hike and play with poison ivy and stuff. And hey...nothing like teaching a bunch of idiot boys how to make fire without matches." Having never been a boy scout, Rodney had no clue what they really did, but it sounded about right to him.

"It's not like that," John said softly, as he grabbed the first branch and began wrapping the tarp over it so he could bind it with the cording.

Rodney snorted, but it turned into a hiss of pain. "I need more Tylenol." He reached for the backpack.

John looked up at him. "Try to use it sparingly, McKay. We don't know how long we'll be out here."

"Right." Rodney had the bottle in his hand but he dumped it back into the bag. He would deal for now. Sheppard had promised him morphine in the morning. He was tired enough he figured he could sleep anyway. Only to remember that Sheppard needed to stay awake."

"Go to sleep, Rodney," John said softly, as if reading his mind. "I can work faster without you bugging me."

Rodney thought about making a sarcastic comeback but he realized he didn't have the energy. Pain had a way of draining a person. So he let his eyes close. He would nap for a bit then check on Sheppard.

John watched Rodney slip into slumber. Tomorrow was going to be hard on him so he needed to get as much rest as he could. John hoped he would sleep until morning. He then returned his focus to the work at hand only to realize that it was getting dark. He reached for one of the heavy duty flashlights and clicked it on. And for the next few hours John concentrated on tying the tarp onto the branches and making sure it was secure. Then he braided the cording into harness straps. By the time he was finished his fingers felt numb, his muscles felt stiff and sore, and his head throbbed abominably. So John curled up on his side and closed his eyes.

He slept without dreaming.