this part was suppose to wait until tomorrow, but I'm riding the bike of Doom and needed something to do. Here it is. I'm no good with slower unless its related to the bike---swimming (I float pretty fast)---running (walking---its all the same speed right?), shoveling (If its snow it'll melt- eventually), Laundry (normally try and wait to see if it jumps in the washer itself).
Part 8
"There it is." Rodney paused at the edge of the forest and stared at the outline of the DHD and gate ring that sat in the middle of a good size grassy glade. Torrential showers obscured any detail and had they not known that the gate was there they might have not seen it at all.
Rain hammered the wilting grass, beating it back down into the saturated soil.
Thunder rolled from their left, increasing in intensity as if building steam. It clashed overhead with vicious intensity.
Beckett unconsciously tightened his grip on Teyla's wrist and ankle, keeping the Athosian more secure across his shoulders and within his grip.
He shrugged slightly tossing her body weight a little more into the air to relieve the pinching pressure on his skin. His soaked jacket and shirt remained stubbornly adhered to his skin keeping it crinkled as Teyla's weight re-settled heavily across his shoulders.
"Go," Ronon nudged Carson out of the trees and into the clearing.
Beckett suddenly had the urge to step back into the trees, into the camouflage of the foliage. He tried to look left and right, but his neck and shoulders were bowed forward and cramped. His head was forced downward, his neck bent by Teyla's unmoving form.
"Come on, Colonel," Rodney muttered and tugged the Colonel with him as he stepped from the cover of the forest and followed Carson across the glade.
As a group, they walked hurriedly toward the DHD. Carson fell behind Rodney and Sheppard as he sunk deeper into the soft ground with each footfall. Mud sucked at his boots, threatening to pull them from his feet and weighting the soles down. His pruned heels slid against his wet socks and the firm stitching of his boots. The tender skin peeled and scraped away leaving unseen rust colored stains on his socks.
Lightning flashed, strobing across the sky. The darkness disappeared as the clearing became startlingly visible.
Nothing stood between them and the gate. It looked deceivingly clear and simple. Only a few more yards to go and they'd be home, back in Atlantis.
Carson couldn't turn and look over his shoulder, but an incredible sense of dread drenched his bones.
Then, Ronon hollered a sharp warning and Beckett's world suddenly turned upside down.
The Satedan was shoved brutally forward, knocking into Beckett, slapping the doctor and his burden solidly to the soggy wilted grass.
They fell with a muted splash as ground water bubbled up around them.
Beckett tried to scramble out from under Teyla's weight, panicking because he could not lift his head from the water to breathe. He heard Rodney shouting and the sounds of a revolver being fired repeatedly.
Beckett's struggles increased as his need to breathe became more urgent. The sense of being trapped magnified as fear for the others heightened. He kicked and twisted and finally freed himself, gasping for breath. He scrambled to his feet just in time to be bowled over a second time.
A crushing weight slammed into his chest flinging him backward, the residual volume of air rushed from his lungs. The back of his head slammed into the ground splashing water and mud into the air only to have it fall back toward him, splattering his face. Bursts of lights danced in his vision.
His body tried to cough, but no air remained in his lungs. He made no sound as he gaped unsuccessfully fighting to breathe.
His chest refused to lift and recoil under the punishing weight that crushed him into the grassy saturated mud.
Weak reflexive coughs threatened to facilitate the cracking of his ribs.
More gunfire split the night.
Thunder burst overhead and lightning flashed down from the sky.
Beckett found himself nose to nose, staring into the blood red irises of the Howler.
He finally managed to drag in a reflexive wheezing breath. The weight on his chest settled heavier, spreading his ribs further apart and stretching intercostals muscles to their limits.
Beckett stared at the curled fangs and pointed incisors. He found himself counting them and wondered why.
"Help." His plaintive quiet squeak barely reached his own ears.
Darkness fell as lightning blinked out.
The sounds of a P-90 split the night.
The devastating weight suddenly left Beckett's chest. The doctor frantically rolled to his front and inhaled a deep recovery breath that triggered violent harsh coughs which stole his wind.
"Move, Carson, move!" Rodney shouted.
Beckett pushed to his hands and knees and grabbed desperately for Teyla. He scrambled to his feet, lightheaded with mini flashes of light erupting in the corners of his vision. He struggled and fought with the limp weight of Teyla. After a moment, with a desperate cry of frustration, Beckett finally managed to heft the Athosian up over his right shoulder.
He doggedly ran for the DHD. He zigzagged unable to get his bearings as dizziness swung his sense of direction to and fro.
"Dial Atlantis, dial the gate!" Rodney yelled as he clutched the P-90 and dragged Sheppard by his coat collar through the soaked grass.
Rain deluged the area.
Beckett briefly wondered what had happened to the Colonel as he struggled to reach the stargate.
He focused solely on the DHD and stumbled his way forward with Teyla in his grip. Carson tripped his way up the stone mantle and fell heavily against the Ancient device. Muddied hands slapped symbols with the unthinking clarity of rote memory.
Rodney could hear the sounds of the chevrons locking into place. He nearly cried in joy when the sounds of a whooshing worm hole competed with the rain.
Beckett pulled his eyes from the settling event horizon and searched the glade for the others. Through the sheets of rain he could see McKay struggle with dragging an unconscious Sheppard by his vest collar.
The runner was nowhere in sight.
Where was Ronon?
"Ronon?" Carson croaked. His hoarse voice cracked like a junior high boy in choir practice.
"Hurry, damn it! Get through the gate!" McKay shouted, backing up, dragging Sheppard one handed and keeping the P-90 aimed at the creature. Beckett followed the line of site of Rodney's gun and found the Satedan.
The Howler stalked, belly low, toward Ronon.
The creature walked with its head slung below its massive shoulders. Heavy strings of saliva strung down from its lower lip. It closed on Ronon, intent on its prey.
"Rodney?" Beckett hollered over the storm.
"Just go! Go Carson, get Teyla out of here," Rodney shouted, not bothering to look over his shoulder at his two friends. He knew Beckett wouldn't leave Teyla vulnerable, thus Carson's protective streak would save both her and his own life.
McKay allowed himself a small smile. At least those two would be spared.
He fired off another burst as the Howler stalked forward, slinging its massive head left and right cautiously closing the distance to the Runner.
McKay tugged Sheppard's unconscious form tight to his feet.
Damn colonel was always playing hero; never giving thought to those around him who might be left behind. At least there was no macho 'So long, Rodney'.
Fresh blood ran down the side of Sheppard's face. He had shoved Rodney out of harm's way, but had earned himself a second solid blow from the Howler for his trouble.
Rodney squeezed the trigger again, forcing the monstrosity back a step, stealing its attention away from Dex.
McKay felt the rain run down between his skin and clothing. He really hated the rain. He'd take snow over rain any day.
Thunder rumbled overhead.
McKay waited for the flash of lightning. He had only a few rounds left. Not enough to get him or Sheppard or Dex to the gate.
They were dead men.
At least Beckett and Teyla would survive. That was something. Something good.
Weir wouldn't send soldiers into an unknown situation, not unless Carson could convince her, and they didn't have the time.
Rodney kept his grip tight on Sheppard's collar, thanking a God he didn't believe in that he would not die alone. He qualified his thanks because he knew it would be a violent and bloody death and that just wasn't fair. He was Rodney McKay and he deserved better. However, what he deserved and what he received was often quite disparate.
Suddenly a thick brogue was speaking at his ear, "here," and Rodney found Teyla's P-90 pushed into the side of his upper arm. "You're a much better shot than I," Beckett muttered.
"Teyla?"
"Through the gate."
"She's going to be angry with you," Rodney stated.
"Aye, that she will," Beckett answered, staring at the Howler.
The doctor judged the distance between himself and Ronon and the distance between Ronon and the creature. They were all too close. "But I'll blame you for it. She'll believe me," Beckett muttered. "I've lost my radio, probably in the stream with Teyla's. I can't contact Elizabeth to send more men through. You have yours?"
Rodney shook his head. It was somewhere in the grass between himself and the Howler. Sheppard's was long gone.
"Right then, I guess we have to do this ourselves, aye?" Beckett whispered keeping his eyes on the creature that remained motionless, hunched to pounce at Ronon.
The Howler appeared to keep a wary eye on the group of three men just yards from it.
"You ready?" McKay asked hefting the fresh P-90 in his hands.
"No," Beckett whined, "jist don't shoot me in the ass."
"Well, it'll be hard to miss," McKay retorted. "It's the third biggest target out there."
"You're a real bastard, Rodney. You know that, don't you?" Beckett asked.
"Yup." McKay wrapped his hands tightly around the weapon and found himself strangely more relaxed.
"Here I go," Beckett whispered and started off at a run toward Ronon.
The creature howled and lunged for the medical doctor foregoing the easy prey of the unmoving Runner, unable to ignore the instinct that directed it to attack a moving body.
Beckett bolted straight for the Satedan. He could hear the sounds of the P-90 firing steadily behind him. He didn't look at the creature that had started charging toward him, he didn't see it dance and jig in the air as Rodney's shots found their marks.
Carson remained fixed on Ronon, ignoring everything around him. He focused on the downed runner like a draped off surgical site of a patient.
Beckett sprinted, pumping his arms in time with his legs. He promised himself that if they should survive by some miracle he would take up interval training.
He closed the distance to the Runner, water splashed up around his sneakers. Muddied water splattered the back of his calves and thighs.
The skin of heels rubbed away as layers of skin were friction burned against the wrinkled socks and boot seams.
Beckett slid on his knees up beside the unconscious warrior and grabbed him from under his arms. Carson scrambled to his feet, hauling the Satedan partially up out of the mud.
With steady legs and fear fueling his muscles, Beckett began backpedaling as quickly as he could for the gate.
The P-90 paused in its firing.
Beckett kept moving backwards, staring over his shoulders at the DHD. He stuttered for purchase on the slick ground. His heart fluttered in his chest. He quietly apologized every time he mistakenly kicked the Runner.
As he ascended the stone slab before the gate, he slipped and fell backward dragging the unconscious Ronon up over his own legs trapping himself.
Beckett panicked.
His breath froze in his chest as he kicked himself free and twisted back to his feet. He dragged Ronon the last few feet before the gate and then log rolled the Satedan through the shimmering event horizon.
Carson stood up and stared back into the clearing. He couldn't hear the P-90 anymore. Was Rodney out of bullets?
Oh God, were Rodney and Sheppard okay?
The medical doctor stepped away from the gate and left the minute glow of the worm hole.
Hard rain lashed the area.
"Rodney?" Beckett called over the torrential down pour. The very sound of his voice frightened him. Instinct silently demanded he keep quiet and not attract attention to himself. The creature prowled out there somewhere beyond the blinding veil of rain after McKay and Sheppard.
"A little help here," McKay's voice sounded strained as it competed with the violent storm.
"Where is it?" Beckett asked as he stumbled off the apron and onto the soggy grass following the sound of Rodney's voice.
"Still here," McKay's forced casual voice was unnerving.
Beckett jogged through the freezing rain to where he could make out the silhouettes of the astrophysicist and the Colonel.
He slowed to a walk and then a halt.
Ground water puddled up around his boots and seeped through his laces.
"Rodney?" Beckett asked tentatively. He spared a glance at his two friends and then stared at the creature that snarled and coiled only a few yards away.
Blood and puncture holes marred the Howler's furless body. The erect ears were pulled back flat against the broad skull and snarling lips revealed rows of dangerously curved and pointed teeth. Six incisors on the bottom seven on the top.
Beckett knew because he had counted them. His own thought processes frightened him at times.
Blood dripped from the creature's punctured eye socket.
"Rodney?" Beckett stood beside McKay staring at the Howler. "I think you managed to anger it.---There a reason you've stopped there?" The physician indicated with his head to various wounds that dotted the Howler.
"It's jammed," McKay answered still clutching Teyla's P-90, "Ronon?"
"Through the gate," Beckett whispered.
"You better go," McKay stated quietly and with a surprisingly even voice.
"Not likely. Not without you," Beckett answered just as steadfast.
"Gun's jammed."
"Aye," Beckett whispered as he stepped closer to McKay and Sheppard. The colonel remained motionless at McKay's feet blood and rain sheeted his face. Rodney still gripped the colonel's collars in his left hand. "Take mine," Beckett slowly unholstered his revolver. "Give me the Colonel."
"I don't think I can get my grip loose," Rodney muttered with a touch of panic in his voice.
Beckett shifted his eyes to the white knuckled grip McKay had twisted in Sheppard's coat collar.
It was a death grip.
McKay had no conscious control over it, not any more. Muscles were contracted and knotted. They were corded under the skin with no conscious ability to relax them.
"You know how to fire that thing, right?" McKay asked.
"A bit," Beckett answered.
McKay shot Beckett a frightened glare, "Sheppard gave you a gun without teaching you how to use it?"
"Don't be daft man," Beckett returned hotly. "I know how to shoot it. I just don't know which hand has better aim."
"What?" McKay's incredulous answer was nearly drowned out by the beating rain.
"Aye, I'm equally bad with both hands," Beckett explained somewhat pitifully as he kept his squinted eyes on the creature. He brightened slightly and turned to McKay with a tentative grin, "I'm a bit better with bird shot, ya know."
The Howler eyed the two men. Its muscles tensed.
"We're dead men," McKay muttered and then whimpered slightly. "Imminent doom just doesn't set well with me."
"Aye," Carson commiserated and rubbed his belly, "Especially just after dinner."
Beckett and McKay stood shoulder to shoulder in the soaking rain staring at the creature with the Colonel crumpled at their feet.
Thunder rolled overhead. Rain sheeted down from the sky with punishing force.
Lightning flashed before the noise dissipated.
The creature lunged, howling with near paralyzing force.
Beckett lifted the gun and began firing madly.