FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ON THE MOVE
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Connam grimaced, gripping tightly to the shuddering and shaking steering column, trying to keep them in a straight line down the uneven, wagon rutted road. The whole contraption shook and rattled, despite his best efforts to secure everything down. He heard Dodge's plaintive whinny as she was knocked around in back. She didn't like this anymore than he did.
Doctor McKay, on the other hand, appeared fine with it. As if rough rides were something he was used to. The scientist had elected to stay up front, strapped in and gripping hard to whatever he could hold on to.
The new bandage Connam had placed on his leg before they left was already spotting red. It was a wonder the doctor had any more blood left to lose.
The shadows under his eyes, like the shadows under his cheekbones, were black against the pale skin, adding to the ghoulish appearance of the poor man. But the blue eyes stayed gamely open, staring straight ahead.
They were making good time. The wagon, rusty and disused as it had been, was still running. They'd stopped once to refill the radiator with water so far, but otherwise they'd been driving along steadily for near an hour without stopping. At this rate, Connam estimated, they'd be in the proximity of the gate by around 9:00 a.m. or so.
The trader glanced at McKay once, then returned his attention back to the road.
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Sheppard stayed low, knowing Elizabeth and Ronon were doing the same behind him, trying to stay under the edge of the fortified wall atop the Citadel's roof. The three guards up here had gone down with a combination of Ronon's throwing power (a heavy ceramic ball from the governor's rooms had gotten one of them in the head), Sheppard's fists and a rather effective use of a curtain rod by Elizabeth. Propping the guards up against the wall so it appeared to anyone checking down below that they were still conscious, the three escapees moved across the square roof to where they could see the top of a ladder peeking up over the wall.
Upon reaching that section, Sheppard peeked through an arrow slitin the wall at the roof of the next level down, and saw more guards down there. Four of them. None were looking up—they were all looking out and down. The morning sun had yet to reach this far down into the valley, meaning the shadows still afforded the escapees some protection.
He hoped they stayed that way. He turned and grinned at the two people with him.
"Ready?"
Elizabeth gave him a half-hearted smile and hefted her curtain rod, and Ronon gave an almost feral grin in anticipation.
Sheppard was really glad Ronon was on their side.
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They stopped again, now about a third of the way to the gate. McKay watched as Connam poured the second jug of water into the steaming radiator, the older man swearing a little as he tried to avoid the incredible heat coming off the engine.
When he was done, Connam leaned back, looking like he'd just run a mile with the amount of sweat pouring down his face. He shook his head, looking up at the scientist.
"Give it a minute," McKay said softly, his voice a pale comparison to what it had been just six hours ago.
Connam nodded, moving to put the jug into the wagon. When he returned, McKay was peering into the engine, eyes darting around as he inspected the patch up job they'd done to get it working.
"Can I ask you a question?" Connam asked, waiting for the engine to cool down as McKay suggested. The scientist shrugged in reply.
Connam tilted his head. "What changed?"
McKay frowned, looking up at Connam, "I'm sorry?"
"You know I'm not going to take you through the gate, and you know what that means, but you're trying to help your friends anyway. I was wondering...what changed?"
McKay stared at him, then down again at the engine. Finally, he sighed.
"That's just it," he admitted. "I didn't change. I tried to, but I couldn't."
"I don't understand."
McKay grimaced, "Three months ago, the Wraith..." he paused, his brow furrowing a little as if in pain from the memory, "The Wraith nearly destroyed us." He closed his eyes, rubbing a shaking hand against his forehead. "At one point, I thought...Colonel Sheppard was dead. One of the best people I'd ever known, and my best friend. And that the rest of us would soon follow." He let the hand fall, following it with his pale eyes, his voice getting softer as he spoke. "I'd already lost so many that I worked with, whom I was responsible for, and one in particular…I think I could have saved Peter, but I just wasn't fast enough. I couldn't stop it. And our soldiers, dropping all around, trying to protect me, thinking I could save them. Ford…who was just a kid really...he went crazy. And I knew, if I'd only managed to move a little faster, thought quicker, or understood more…." His eyes opened, but the didn't seem to see anything in front of him. "And then, suddenly, the Wraith were gone. And I could think again." He lifted his head, shaking it. "But I kept seeing everyone we'd lost…."
"You felt guilty."
"Survivor's guilt," McKay's upper lip lifted in a sneer. "Sure, that's what they called it, trying to fit it in a nice little box." He shook his head, "But it's more than that. I didn't just survive. Those people were my responsibility. I really did fail them. I'm supposed to be able to fix everything, solve every problem. Sheppard and his men, they think they're there to protect me. They don't see that almost everything I do is also to protect them," he spread a hand out, gesturing at whomever he saw in his head, then let it fall into his lap."Sheppard almost died, and a lot of good people did die, because I couldn't think fast enough, couldn't find another way to save us…."
Connam grimaced, looking down.
"So, I've been trying," McKay said, lowering his head again to look at the hot engine, "not to think about them. To not care. For three months now, I've been trying." He covered his eyes with his hand. "But they come back. In my nightmares. In my sleep. They won't leave me alone. I wake up terrified every time, thinking I've failed them…lost them…didn't try to stop them from dying." He blew the air out of his cheeks, lowered his hands and stared out at the forest.
"I thought," McKay's voice was nearly a whisper now, "that if I was the only one who mattered, that if I became completely self-absorbed, that I would feel it less. Feel their loss less. I couldn't take the pain of it any more, see, and I just wanted to…to…."
"Run away?"
McKay turned his head to see Connam's face. There was understanding in the older man's eyes, a real knowledge. But McKay shook his head.
"Forget." The scientist closed his eyes.
Connam shook his head, "But it doesn't work."
"No," McKay agreed, "it doesn't. Every day, when I wake up, I try to bury them deeper. Mind over matter, you know? Everything that I am is based on the strength of this," he tapped his head. He looked at Connam again. "But I can't do it. They won't stay buried."
Connam nodded. "I see," he said, then, with conviction, added, "and I know."
McKay watched him a moment longer, then nodded.
Connam did know. Probably everyone in this galaxy knew, who had ever suffered and survived at the hands of the Wraith.
Connam suddenly clapped his hands together and rubbed them, looking once more at the engine. "Well, looks cool enough to me. Shall we keep moving?"
McKay just nodded, no longer looking at the Trader.
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"Whoosh," Sheppard whispered, sliding down the last ladder to land with a soft 'whumpf' on the flagstones of the main courtyard. The other two were already pressed against the wall in the shadows, eyes searching for danger, aiming to sneak through a still shadowed archway that would lead them to the side of the Citadel where Teyla and Travis were. It was amazing they'd made it this far without being caught.
Elizabeth still clung to the heavy curtain rod she'd been hefting since she stole the metal object from the governor's suite. Ronon had the large ceramic ball, now rather chipped, in a pocket of his greatcoat. The value of everyday household items. They each now also carried stolen revolvers, but none had dared use them for fear of bringing too much attention to their escape.
Sheppard snuck into the shadow next to them, gave them a thumbs up, and led them around the base of the massive stone structure. Ducking around a few corners and across a rather impressive herb garden, they soon reached the courtyard where the kitchens were. Sheppard stopped them in a corner and pointed across the way to where a huge corral of maybe fifty meeners stood, rather tightly packed in. Weir and Ronon nodded in understanding, and soon they were slinking around the courtyard.
Morning sunlight was bleeding across the roofs of the buildings around them, like molten gold, flaring up when it hit the windows and probably waking the still slumbering people within. It was just after seven in the morning now. The city would soon be fully awake. Down below, the poorer denizens, such as the trademen and the farmers, like the kitchen staff in the Citadel, were doubtless already awake, but up here, in the richer part of the city, the noblemen and wealthier merchants were probably getting a little lie-in.
Sheppard tried not to think about what would happen when the city was fully alive and the soldiers were looking for them in earnest. Right now...he just wanted to get across this last courtyard.
He smiled when he saw a shadow suddenly wave at him and the others.
Within moments that seemed like hours, they were shaking hands with Travis and grinning with Teyla. The Athosian then opened a bag, in which she had placed all their weapons and radios. Ronon's smile grew enormous as he lovingly cradled his sword and gun.
Still, they said no words as the group, now five strong, proceeded to climb out the back of the corral and down a thin, dark alleyway that Teyla and Travis had scouted out while waiting.
Slowly, carefully, ducking into corners every time they heard a noise, never standing quite fully upright and never allowing anything to slow them down, they shifted, slid and scurried their way through the streets of Garillion. Always, they headed downhill, towards the valley floor, to get as far away from the Citadel looming over them as possible.
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The next time Connam stopped to fill the radiator, McKay asked him for two sheets of paper to write on. The trader complied easily, watching as McKay pulled out a rather neat looking pen from his pack. He didn't question the simple device, just smiled impressed as the doctor scribbled two notes very quickly with it.
When Connam closed the engine again and sat back down on the driver's seat, McKay handed him the two notes.
"This one," McKay whispered, his voice a painful croak, "lists the parts you need. When you get to the address I've written at the top," he indicated the Gate Address written across the top of the paper, "ask for Doctor Simpson. She'll take care of what you need."
Connam arched an eyebrow. "She?" It was rare to have a female mechanic.
"She's a great engineer," McKay promised, "One of the best. But don't tell her I said that," he added, a rueful smile on his face.
Connam gave a small smile, and, with a nod, tucked the note inside his shirt. McKay handed him the second note.
"Hand that one," McKay said, "to any soldier you meet that's dressed like me." He smiled a little, then blinked tiredly. Connam nodded again, and unfolded the note. His eyes scanned the page, and then he frowned.
"What is this?" he asked, looking up, "Code?"
McKay gave a short, raspy laugh. "No," he replied, "not exactly. Just tell them it's from me and that they need to get it to Colonel Caldwell. Okay?"
Connam shrugged, "Okay. But...why write in this...way? You don't trust me?"
"Not if you get caught," McKay replied weakly.
Connam actually grinned at that. "Ah, yes, clever. Okay, Doctor McKay. Consider it done. Bargain sealed."
McKay nodded, and leaned back on his seat, closing his eyes, "Thank you."
And Connam set them moving again.
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TBC...