Chapter 4
Disclaimer: Read the other chapters.
Thanks to the all those that have read and to those few that have left comments. I hope that this chapter breaks up a little of the denseness of the other chapters.
He knew that they would be looking for him soon. It was only a matter of time until his jail break from the imprisoning walls of Beckett's lair became know. Then there would be hell to pay. He knew it hadn't been very wise to sulk away in the aftermath of the death-his arm agreeing loudly with this assessment as another wave of pain shot through the complaining appendage. His upper arm looked, for lack of a better term, as if it had decided that it wanted to become Swiss cheese. There were at least a dozen holes hidden beneath the soon to be saturated gauze. Although Beckett had assured him that none of the projectiles had caused any serious harm–something that the Doctor was still amazed by–he could have sworn that the swipe of cloth was the only thing holding the muscle and skin together. His incessant rubbing of his arms in an attempt to eradicate the cold that seemed to now permanently reside inside his bones hadn't helped any, but he'd been too preoccupied to give this concept much thought. His arm felt awful, but the pain in his heart was worse–it over powered and drove down the physical pain, dominating his mindset.
He'd been walking for a while now, down different hallways and through various parts of the city. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a little voice telling him not to stray too far, but he ignored the voice and continued to aimlessly walk on. Time had lost its meaning as grief and guilt battled each other for space on the agenda for that day's reflections.
A loud creak from a rusty cart being pushed by a nervous looking scientist sent Sheppard's already frayed nerves over the edge and into the past. Instead of a rusted hinge in need of a few drops of oil, Sheppard heard the crack of a pistol. He immediately ducked, reaching for his P-90 as he did so, his eyes scanning the foliage for any sign of the perpetrator.
"Sir, we can't stay here much longer. Pretty soon one of their pot shots is going to find its mark," Lieutenant Ford informed his commanding officer.
"I know that Lieutenant, but we're kinda blocked in at the moment if you haven't noticed," remarked Sheppard. He looked around again at the dense foliage that was doing the dual job of concealing them from their pursuers as well as concealing their pursuers from them. He listened carefully to the sounds that emulated around him trying to judge how many attackers there were and what their positions were.
As if reading his thoughts, Teyla spoke up, "There are five that I can hear directly near us, while there are another three or four some distance back. Those closest to us will discover our position in a matter of minutes."
"Alright, Teyla, Ford, on my signal grab McKay and run as fast as possible to the gate. I want you to dial Atlantis and the three of you to go through the iris as soon as you've sent your IDC."
"What about you, sir?"
"I'm just going to make a little distraction. Don't worry I'll be there before the gate shuts down, you won't even know that I was gone."
"Major, I do not believe that this is a very good plan. What if…"
"I don't have time to argue with you over this right now. Teyla, just do as I say. Alright, get ready to go…GO!"
Sheppard darted through the foliage, P-90 raised in front of him, ready for the battle that was sure to come his way. "Hey knuckleheads this way. Yeah you with the ugly shirt, look over here," he shouted. His shouts having caught the attention of those soldiers closest to the Atlantians, they raised their heads and spotted their quarry. Guns changed trajectories and a volley of shots rang out over the Major's head.
"I'm glad these guys a lousy shots," muttered Sheppard as he turned and ran the opposite direction of the gate, taking with him the bulk of the expedition's problem.
Ford heard the Major's shout to go and snaked one hand beneath that of the semi-conscience scientist's shoulder while Teyla grabbed McKay's other side.
"…Just five more minutes Mom, then I'll get up, I promise…" came the mumbled protest as the scientist was pulled to his feet.
"Sorry, McKay, but Mom's not here and its time to move," answered Ford.
As Sheppard ran interference, the three remaining member of SGA-1 stumbled their way as fast as they could towards the Stargate and their way out of this mess. A warm wind wrapped itself around the three team members and buoyed them on its current, adding some much needed help, as its strong current helped speed them to their goal.
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Sheppard looked behind him and noticed that a large portion of the soldiers were now chasing him through the woods. He weaved side to side, trying to make himself a less likely target to be hit, but even with their poor shooting ability, the odds were stacked against him that eventually one of the soldiers would get off a shot that would find its intended target. He had to get out of their line of sight. Sheppard turned back around intending to locate an inlet where he could duck in so that he was no longer directly in the path of his pursuers, only to be faced with the red-rimmed eyes of Carson Beckett.
Sheppard blinked several times trying to get his mind to understand what he was seeing. The forest was gone, replaced by the grey hallways of Atlantis; a quick look down at his hands showed him that they were empty, no P-90 to be seen. He spun around expecting to see war crazed men, only to look into the very concerned eyes of Doctor Weir. His own eyes widen in confusion as he spun back and forth between the two individuals. "This wasn't happening," he wanted to scream but the words died before they ever reached his lips, getting caught somewhere between his jumbled thoughts and the back of his parched throat.
Carson was talking to him. He knew that from the way that the Doctor's lips were moving and the concern that had snuck into his eyes, but he couldn't hear the words. His senses had begun to shut down as the shock took over and began to consume his system. He saw Carson pointing at this arm and looked.
Red flowed from the wounds whose tenuous closings had reopened during his wanderings and revival. He watched, fascinated, as a single rivet of blood flowed gently down his arm to pool at the elbow, where it slipped slowly sideways and fell drop by drop to the floor. He wondered briefly, why he felt no pain, but the darkness that had begun to encroach on the corners of his vision now filled it completely, and for a brief span of time, John worried no more.
TBC
