(okay better, remember chapter 5 is under/with chapter 4)
Part 6
"Come on, Doc, move a little faster," Sheppard muttered to the lagging physician, as the group walked single file along a twisting, turning mud path.
Drizzle misted down on them, creating a soft whitish film of moisture on coated shoulders, vests and ball caps.
Sheppard kept his gloved hands wrapped loosely around his P-90 as he surveyed the thick blackness of the surrounding forest. Large trees loomed overhead for as far as the eye could see, expanding around them in all directions. The muddied path wove and tangled its way between the solid trunks as low sweeping branches curled toward the muddied ground before swooping back up.
The heavy, low clouds were camouflaged behind the towering, sweeping branches of the massive trees. Trees stretched and twisted upward, gnarling and entangling their branches with their neighbors as they scratched for the sky.
The path wound and arched east and west, sometimes dipping south before yearning northward. Visibility dimmed to only a few yards. Through a silvery curtain of sheeting drizzle, Sheppard could just make out Ronon's tall frame as the Runner led the way through the forest to the gate.
Teyla followed only a few short feet behind, then McKay and Beckett, leaving Sheppard to bring up the rear.
No one spoke.
The sound of the rain pelting tree needles and the click of branches in the constant breeze filled the night.
Footfalls were dulled by the heavy mud that caked itself to the underside and lateral parts of boots making legs, weary with the added weight. Every footfall flexed aching muscles under saturated clothing.
Cloth clung to damp skin, molding with chilled tissue. With every movement, the soaked cloth peeled back, pulling at standing hair and chaffing tender skin. Wrinkled heels rubbed raw under folded soaked socks as the underside of toes cracked and split. Socks slid forward in damp boots balling in tight wads under toes.
Beckett hunched forward and hacked again. He struggled for breath between intermittent clusters of coughing. His pace suffered as energy was diverted from walking to fighting for breath.
The sounds were intrusive. They felt overtly loud.
Sheppard watched as McKay cringed and peered over his bowed shoulders to stare at him in askance. Rodney kept his neck turtled in tight as protection against the rain and wind. A look of concern and blatant fear seared his clear blue eyes as he squinted against the freezing rain.
They were just halfway to the gate and Sheppard felt the impending sense of doom that was so easily read in McKay's eyes.
"Come on Doc, pick up the pace," Sheppard encouraged as Beckett once again slowed his steps as his chest expanded and shoulders lifted. He fought to haul in painful gasps of air.
They weren't going to make it to the gate.
The drizzle transformed to a hard relentless rain. Freezing fat droplets hurtled toward the planet surface with brutal intensity.
Visibility suddenly reduced itself to only a few scant yards, forcing the five members of SGA team to bunch closer together.
They had been reduced to a single, large, walking target.
A sudden violent clash of thunder exploded overhead.
Guns came up and people halted, dropping their stances, instinctively lowering their centers of gravity and searching the solid surrounding darkness that encased them on the narrow trail.
Sheppard flicked the safety off on his P-90.
Teyla placed her fighting sticks in her bag and hefted her P90. She rolled her shoulders and neck, loosening her muscles, trying to relax and remain impervious to the rain that beat down upon her.
Ronon slowly lifted his pistol from its holster. His eyes roved the impenetrable blackness as instincts screamed.
"Its here." Ronon's soft proclamation came as no surprise, but still hearts quickened and adrenaline levels soared.
Without direction, McKay stepped back and stood with Beckett.
"McKay," Sheppard warned.
"I know, I know," Rodney hissed, letting his eyes search the formless darkness that enveloped them.
"What?" Beckett rasped, fearing he already knew the answer. His skin crawled with the prickly sense of unseen danger.
Broad sheet lightning lit the night as flashing zigzagging bolts spidered across the sky, stretching toward the ground.
For a brief moment of time, the forest around them was lit brighter than a summer's mid afternoon. Bare skeletal trunks stretched for as far as the eye could see in all directions.
Another explosive roll of thunder shook the ground and rattled the teeth of those exposed on the wooded path.
"Colonel?" Telya swung her head left and right searching the East and West sides of the trail leaving the point position to Ronon to watch and their six for the Colonel to keep safe.
"Keep moving," Sheppard whispered, "McKay, Beckett, stick close to one another. If I tell you to do something you do it. Understood?"
Beckett knew the orders were directed to him, "Aye," he whispered softly, the pain in his chest and the ache in his muscles suddenly disappeared.
Carson squinted his eyes trying to make out shapes through the thick curtain of rain, trying to keep an eye on Ronon as the big runner slid in and out of view. Beckett dropped his hand to the revolver strapped low on his hip. The first time he had worn it, it had felt like an anomaly, a sudden unwanted cancerous growth that weighed him down and chafed his skin. Over time, he had come to accept the weapon, even though he loathed its presence. The gun was required, his improving skill essential, he just wished he could avoid situations that proved them indispensable. He unclipped the safety snap that kept the weapon secure in its holster. His reddened right hand hung close to the weapon but left it alone. There was no sense picking at a growth that would not be removed.
Ronon fought the urge that screamed at him to leave the trail and circle around to the East then North. They were being hunted. He could feel it. Something stalked them from behind the cascading shower of rain. Had he been alone, he would have left the trail, circled around and attacked the very thing that mistakenly saw him as prey.
However, he led the others through the forest despite the fact Sheppard and Teyla were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Beckett and McKay would try, but didn't
have the skill or expertise. Ronon's responsibility stretched passed his own personal safety. It was a strange sense of duty toward others he had not felt for almost seven years. Yes, he had kept himself isolated from villages and communities during his years as a runner, but he did it as much for his own safety as for those around him. He needed room to move, to maneuver and there were those fickle and foolish few who would betray him for the empty promises made by Wraith hunters.
The Runner refused to look over his shoulder at the two doctors that trudged forward nestled between the others. They had good instincts, Ronon had seen that time and time again. McKay, though vocal in his dislike for everything but well endowed blondes, was a capable individual, floundering his way successfully through one skirmish after another. Sheppard had reined McKay in and trained him well. It elevated Ronon Dex's opinion of the Colonel that much higher.
Ronon knew Beckett had the instinct to survive, however, the doctor's instincts seemed to pause or short circuit if something presented itself as injured. It had been reported that Beckett had lowered his weapon when confronted with an injured Wraith and had offered it aid even as the Wraith reached for its self-destruct mechanism. However, as with McKay, Beckett had closed ranks around Dr. Weir and had protected her from the invisible creature created by the ancients. Though he fired his gun with his eyes closed he had stood before the creature to protect one of his own even after witnessing the creature's strength and speed. The courage and strength were there, however, the doctor's natural skill needed honing and the confidence that he displayed within the confines of the infirmary and surgery room needed to be uncovered and applied to the field.
Forcing Beckett into military training would not work; Ronon had already witnessed the bullheaded determination the Scot exhibited when bucking against an authority he did not recognize.
Once again, Ronon found himself admiring Sheppard's tact and skill at handling the non-military types and getting them trained and proficient with military weapons and tactics.
McKay and Beckett were civilians, out of their element, out of their respective fields of discipline, however they had the skills to survive. Sheppard was slowly sharpening those skills.
They were by no means helpless.
Ronon kept his eyes forward and tried to see past the shimmering screen of falling rain and deeper into the cloaking blackness of night.
Thunder cracked overhead rattling the small bones of the inner ear.
Lightning flashed once again lighting the area with near blinding brilliance.
The dark grey trunks of rain soaked trees stood out like ghastly sentries. The muddied trail suddenly illuminated showing its endless twisting turning route through the wood.
Ronon felt his pulse race as fear spiked sending his heart hammering wildly in his chest. With dilated eyes, he snapped his head left and right. The creature was dangerously close.
Dex began swinging to his right, bringing his gun up level.
There, at the edge of the tortuous trail, crouched the snarling and hairless Howler. Its broad flattened head hung low just above its outstretched massive front paws. Forelimb muscles stood taut under a yellowish, thick, rhinoceros like hide. Massive haunches were coiled under lean flanks and the sharp delineating ridge of ribs stretched under the sinewy muscles of the thorax. The thick heavy muscles of the skull pulled short triangular ears back. Lips were curled exposing rows of pointed teeth.
Bolt lightning criss-crossed the sky. Sheet lightning strobed without dimming.
The beast screamed as it leaped.
Ronon didn't finish his spin as he dropped to one knee. He was still bringing up his weapon when the lightning blinked out.
Blackness fell upon them like a collapsing drape.
The crash of bodies was deafening in the suffocating darkness.
"Get down!" Sheppard shouted running forward gun held stiff armed before him.
Beckett and McKay dropped to the mud. Teyla stood before them with her P-90 held at chest height.
The cracking sound of Sheppard's P-90 was muffled over the incessant pounding rain and another horrific blast of thunder.
Lightning flashed.
Beckett and McKay stared wide-eyed at the trail ahead of them. "I told you this was a bad idea," Rodney muttered. "No one listens."
"Aye, we do," Beckett mumbled trying to suppress the building explosion of coughs, "just no choice tonight."
"There's always a choice," McKay hissed.
The trail was empty as it wound its way deeper into the forest. The creature was gone.
Sheppard stood over Ronon, his gun tracking where his eyes searched. Ronon lay twisted and folded in the mud unmoving.
"Doc!" Sheppard hollered over the rain. He furtively scanned the brightened trees before the lightning blinked out.
Beckett and McKay scrambled to their feet. They ran and slipped their way toward the fallen runner. Teyla took up position behind them watching their back trail.
The physician immediately felt for a jugular pulse with one hand while assessing the Runner's breathing with his other.
McKay rustled through his vest and pulled out his small flashlight and twisted it on.
"Aye, thanks Rodney," there was a calmness to Beckett's voice that had Sheppard thankful that Weir had chosen the Scot as their CMO. The man kept his cool when things tumbled around him. There were no hysterics, no dramatics, no disbelief or wasted antics. That would come later, when the danger was passed and lights were on and no one else was around. The panic and incredulousness would hit then in the privacy of a calm moment.
Not before then.
When needed, the doc became exceedingly focused and economical. He did his job ignorant of the forces around him. He'd work to protect his patient in amidst chaos and violence. And at one time, Sheppard had wanted to break the Scot of that fierce pinpoint concentration, but had hesitated. It was the same type of fine needled focus that drove Rodney to brilliance. The two mirrored one another; one in hard science where the physical world threatened to collapse or explode around him and destroy those with him; and the other worked with fervor amidst blood, gore and failing individual lives. McKay and Beckett threw themselves with abandon into their individual worlds of expertise with the similar goal of saving lives. Their fine laser focus, their intense scrutiny of the problem at hand often put their lives in peril. It was then that the teams and expedition members proved their loyalty and immense courage. They protected the exposed, vulnerable flanks of McKay and Beckett.
The medical doctor held his light in his teeth as he quickly ran his eyes and hands over Ronon. He hadn't needed to feel for a pulse to know the runner lived, however training dictated rote actions. Ronon's breath crystallized with each exhale. Blood had splashed onto Dex's neck and face. Beckett recognized the splash pattern and piled large square quick clot gauze onto shredded wounds that furrowed Ronon's shoulder. Dex's coat, shirt and chest were torn and mangled, blood soaked the fabric and mingled freely with the falling rain. With bloodied hands, Beckett slapped pad after pad over the wounds and worked quickly to secure them. In his periphery, the doctor took note of the twisted forearm.
It would need implants. Beckett's mind was already running through plate sizes, number of screws and wires that would be needed, what type of immobilizing splint would he utilize. Without meaning too, and with his focus on the bleeding shoulder, images of plates, screws and external fixation devices flashed through his mind like a child's view finder going high speed.
With the shoulder secure, Beckett turned his attention to the lower arm.
Ronon's gun arm was twisted at an awkward angle just below the elbow. The skin remained intact. With a steady hand, Beckett felt for a radial pulse. Educated fingers found nothing. Beckett stole a breath, calmed himself and searched again. Nothing. He moved his muddied fingertips slightly distal…nothing, slightly more proximal---nothing---more medial--- then lateral still searching. Nothing.
"Damn," Carson mumbled. "Rodney switch places with me," Beckett moved around the astrophysicist without waiting for an answer. McKay shuffled with an agility that belied his stature and was up and around Beckett and at Ronon's head waiting for the next set of orders.
"Hold his arm just below the elbow, here," Beckett instructed, putting McKay's cold hands on the Runner's broken arm where he wanted them. "Hold it tight." Without warning, Beckett grabbed Ronon's wrist, gave it a quick solid tug and twist.
Dex screamed arching his back.
Sheppard shot a pained grimace at the trio on the ground and re-affirmed his believe that he hated field medicine. Appreciated it, but hated it.
Rodney ground his teeth and his stomach turned at the feel of bones moving and grating against one another as they ground and fell into place.
Beckett felt for a pulse while maintaining pressure on the wrist.
"Okay, keep the tension Rodney, and hand me that splint," Beckett spoke quietly and encouragingly to McKay. "Doing good Rodney, keep hold a little bit longer." With one hand Beckett secured the runner's newly straightened limb into the hard splint and wrapped it the best he could. He felt for a radial pulse as he worked. It bounded effortlessly if not a little too rapidly under his dirty finger tips.
"Easy lad," Beckett muttered and quickly wrapped the arm within a firm splint the best he could one handed while holding tension on the wrist. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't done with text book precision, but it was done.
"Okay, Rodney let go." The astrophysicist let go and felt the bone edges settle against one another. The pulse remained strong. Carson breathed a sigh of relief. He could repair the bones later.
"Switch with me again, Rodney," Beckett scooted back up near the Runner's head.
A large laceration curved around the runner's forehead to his temple, tangled hair matted the wound as blood streamed and ran down his slack features mixing with the rain and mud. Beckett took the 4x4 gauze pads handed to him by McKay and slapped them over the wound. The blood and rain would adhere them to the laceration.
"Doc?" Sheppard's voice was both asking and warning. He stood at the foot of the runner sweeping the area with his eyes and gun.
Teyla stood opposite and fought to see through the drenching rain.
"He's alive," Beckett answered.
"That's great, but I need him on his feet," Sheppard bit out, well aware that Beckett wouldn't waste time treating a corpse.
"I'm hurrying," Beckett stated.
"Come on, Doc," Sheppard's tense order sparked the atmosphere reminding the doctor that danger still circled them in the shrouding cover of rain and darkness.
"Give me a moment," Beckett whispered as he dug through his pack again looking for smelling salts, knowing that he shouldn't use them but feared what would happen if Ronon did not regain his feet quickly.
"We do not have a moment, Doctor," Teyla added with a note of caution to Beckett not to dally.
Thunder rocked the night.
Lightning sparked the area.
The Howler was in the air, just inches from Sheppard.
Massive extended front legs with lion-like claws collided with the Colonel.