FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE
CHAPTER TEN: A JAILBREAK AND A JALOPY
——————————————————————
Connam half carried McKay out of the shack and into the still very black dead of night. Lanterns were lit all around the open space in front of the cabin, deepening the shadows in the sheltering woods and making them appear alive.
Normally, McKay would have been scared out of his mind, but he was just too damn tired. Instead, the scientist wordlessly let Connam carry him over to the wagon and sit him down on the ground near the front, propped up against some of the crates Connam had removed from the interior. Clicking his tongue, the trader nudged his enormous ram-headed horse out of the way and started undoing the cloth on the front of the wagon.
McKay tilted his head, watching curiously as the heavy covering was thrown back, revealing a large boxed in portion of the wagon behind the driver's seat. He hadn't seen it before, but then, he hadn't really been looking for it.
Sitting on the ground, he was also able to see more of the underside of the wagon, and he realized he could see more than axles under there.
Connam grinned at him, grabbed a lantern that he'd placed nearby, and knelt down, shining the light on the underside of the contraption.
McKay's eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. Then he smiled weakly.
"Well, that's unexpected."
The wagon had an exhaust system.
Which meant it had an engine.
It was a goddamn flatbed truck…albeit, circa 1906, but still.
Connam grinned. "Dodge is powerful, but she can only pull so much weight on her own," he explained. "This was originally a truck that my parents acquired when I was still very young, and they converted it into this wagon—essentially camouflaging it so that it wouldn't seem out of place on the less developed worlds they traded with." He tapped the broad, rectangular box behind the driver's seat, "And it served us well for many years. Whenever it broke down, we could usually find someone on Hoff or Harlean or Belkan who could fix it. But with the Cullings and all…," Connam turned, his smile fading a little as he regarded what was obviously his most prized possession, hands almost petting the wagon. "I've been looking for years for someone to fix it. Not having it nearly forced me to leave that speedwheel behind, for example, for fear that Dodge couldn't handle the weight. She did, of course," he glanced over at the dram, "but it slowed us down considerably. She prefers to ride whenever she can." He grinned, and looked at McKay again. "Fact is, if you can fix it, Doctor, I'll be able to get back to the gate in far less time than I said before. Within two hours, for certain. And, in return, not only will I deliver your message, but I will take you as close to the Gate as I can risk without being caught." Connam placed his hands on his hips, grinning now, "So, what do you say?"
McKay still couldn't quite believe it. Part of him was exulting…and another part was thinking about total lack of replacement parts. It wasn't like he had a soldering iron, and this wasn't exactly near a handy junkyard. Swallowing, he held out a hand.
"Help me up," he said.
——————————————————————
Sheppard wrinkled his nose as he stepped lightly down the slick, mold encrusted steps leading down into the dungeons. The staircase spiraled, and he'd been on it for a while, sending deep into the bowels of the Citadel inside the cliff. For some reason, he hadn't really expected the smell—it was as if he were walking down into a pit toilet. He fought his gagging reflex as he descended, keeping his eyes forward and focused and his feet soundly placed on the worn steps. He was wearing the pair of night vision goggles he hadn't traded to Connam, because he didn't want to risk the flashlight on the P90 giving him away to whomever might be seated at the base of this staircase. The green world they created was really not helping his nausea.
The sound of a chair scraping on stone somewhere down below caused him to pause, and he listened for a moment as someone—probably a guard—shuffled around. Then the chair creaked again as whoever it was sat back down.
He had to be close now. A couple more turns, maybe….
Pulling out his knife, Sheppard held it butt first, preparing himself.
There were probably at least two guards. All he had to do was….
BAM!
Sheppard nearly jumped out of his skin as the sound of a door slamming open somewhere down below rocked the narrow staircase and reverberated up the stone walls. It was immediately followed by the sounds of a fierce scuffle, and new sounds of bones breaking and men grunting as they were slammed into walls.
"Ronon, duck!" Teyla's voice echoed up the spiral, the order accompanied by a strange sort of pphhtt-thut!
She'd obviously just thrown the knife she always kept hidden on her ankle at someone. Sheppard loved that knife.
"Thanks," Ronon's deep voice answered her, the sound of his voice also echoing slightly, though less so.
"You're welcome," she answered, almost cheekily. "Travis,are you all right?"
"I'm not dead," came the lawyer's shaky reply. Ronon chuckled.
Teyla spoke again, "Good. Now we need to…Wait. Someone is coming."
As soon as he understood they were executing a prison break, Sheppard had started to bound down the stairs, pulling up on his goggles and turning on the flashlight on his P90. The steps Teyla heard were his.
"Flashlight?" Ronon suddenly said, clearly seeing the beam reflected on the curving staircase first.
"Why, yes it is," Sheppard called, coming around the corner and landing on a straw strewn floor with a massive grin. The base of the staircase opened into a fourteen foot square guardroom, off of which a currently wide-open iron door led deeper into the dungeon area. Ronon and Teyla stood on opposite sides of the room, and between them were four unconscious guards. Doctor Travis was leaning against the doorframe, gripping what looked like a big stick in his hands. The fighting grip Teyla had on her still bloody knife loosened, and she smiled.
"Colonel," she breathed, not hiding her relief. "We were worried."
"Sheppard," Ronon greeted, the large man already moving to relieve the prone guards of the revolvers and knives they carried.
"You were worried," Sheppard chuckled back, pulling out his 9MM from his holster and tossing it to Teyla.
She nodded as she caught it with her free hand, eyeing the dark stains on his clothes, aware they were created by blood. "It has been a long time. We did not know what had happened to you or…" She trailed off, looking behind the colonel to the stairs, as if expecting to see someone else there. Which, of course, she would. Sheppard's joy at finding them alive and well faded instantly.
"He's safe," he said quickly, averting his eyes from hers, pretending to watch Ronon's pilfering. "But I had to leave him in order to come back to rescue you." Teyla tilted her head, knowing him too well—knowing he was holding something back.
"We got tired of waiting," Ronon joked dryly from where he was still kneeling next to a downed guard, putting guns in the pockets of his long coat and sliding a knife inside his belt. Sheppard gave him a wry look in return. When Ronon stood up again, he staggered slightly, and Sheppard realized he saw dried blood on the man's neck.
"You okay?" he asked.
"He was unconscious for several hours, waking up only a little while ago," Teyla answered darkly, looking worriedly at Ronon, who, in turn, just stared back impassively. "Doctor Travis, Doctor Weir and I tried to get him some help, but they ignored our requests."
"I do not think they care much about our well-being," Travis quipped darkly, adjusting the grip he had on his stick.
Teyla grimaced and nodded. "It made the need to effect an escape seem more imperative."
"Speaking of Elizabeth," Sheppard said, looking past her to the open door, "is she still down there?"
"No." Her grimace turned into a real frown as her hand tightened on the 9MM she now carried. "Doctor Travis and she spent several hours cajoling the guards, demanding a doctor for Ronon and information as to what was happening. Finally, someone—a military officer of some kind—came down to speak with us. Doctor Weir demanded an audience with whomever was in charge, to plead our case and perhaps make a deal of some kind, and the officer agreed. He took Doctor Weir with him, but not before she asked us to stay behind to see to Ronon, who was still not awake."
"She wouldn't let me go with her," Travis said, clearly not happy. He was the second most proficient negotiator on Atlantis with his legal background, but too many years as a scientist in a lab had dulled those skills. He had come along to learn from Elizabeth. And now he was afraid they had lost her.
Teyla nodded, and her eyes narrowed, "She was taken a couple of hours ago."
"Okay," Sheppard absorbed this with a nod, and he looked at Ronon. "You feeling well enough to put up a fight?"
Ronon just arched an eyebrow and glanced down at the guards. Sheppard nodded. Man could probably have two broken arms and a peg-leg and he'd still fight better than anyone Sheppard knew.
"Right, gotcha." The colonel looked back to Teyla, "Do you think you can remember where the armory is that Medved showed us yesterday morning?"
"Yes," she answered with complete certainty. Sheppard tried not to think that, in this respect, she reminded him of McKay whenever the man said he could fix something. He shrugged off the thought, already moving onto the next step.
"Right, then I want you and Travis to get down there, find our weapons and our radios—particularly our radios—and then head towards the kitchens. It's a back way in and out of this Citadel. Go outside into the courtyard and find a place where you can watch the main door, and wait for us there--preferably near the meeners."
"The what?" Travis asked.
"The horses," Sheppard explained, he made a circling motion by his head, "with the horns." Teyla, meanwhile, nodded in acceptance.
"Are you sure our things are still there, Sheppard?" Ronon asked, reaching up a little with one hand towards his back as if missing the comfort of the sword he normally had strapped there.
"No, but, then, I didn't know where the dungeons were either, or if you'd be here. Luckily, both they and you were where I expected, with the exception of Elizabeth. Let's just say I'm hoping these people stay predictable."
Teyla nodded, understanding the need for speed over hesitancy at this point. "How will we know where the kitchens are?" she asked.
"Smell. Either that, or follow the servants. Their quarters are all near the kitchens. They're still getting ready for the day, so are probably going to be going back and forth a lot."
"And what about you and me?" Ronon asked.
Sheppard gave him a smile, "We're going after Doctor Weir."
——————————————————————
TBC...there they are!