WORST CASE SCENARIO - by NotTasha
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CHAPTER 12: HOW TO ESCAPE FROM A TUNNEL FIRE
McKay was already on the floor, and the colonel fell on top of him as the wave of heat rolled over them and their world was filled with a horrific rushing roaring noise.
Sheppard dropped the P90 as he went down, and its light went out.
In the blackness, John kept as low as he could, feeling the heat at his back, feeling incredible warmth roll off the metal door. The air felt crisp. He expected the room to illuminate by the glow of the fire, but the space remained dark, the door sealed tightly behind them.
Thank God… thank God! Sheppard thought. It was a fire door! Probably designed for such a thing, as if the Netarters had suspected that a tunnel fire might have been in their future. Good… good… good for them.
What the hell had happened?
He crouched lower, pressing McKay downward as he sought the cooler air at the floor, hoping that the door didn't melt, that the fire didn't suck out all their oxygen, that the flames didn't get in around the door, that they wouldn't be cooked in this Dutch Oven.
Beneath him, in the darkness, Rodney gasped like a fish.
"Calm down!" Sheppard ordered, his head just above Rodney's ear. He squeezed his eyes shut as if he feared his eyeballs would be fried in the heat otherwise. "Damn it, McKay! You're using up all our oxygen!" He shoved his weight against the man to keep them both down.
McKay made a pathetic cry, and weakly tried to fight him off.
The heat was incredible – the sound was unbelievable – a consuming whoosh. And Sheppard swore he could hear the screams of a million lobsters as they flash fried.
And then the strange rushing noise faded. Sheppard didn't move, listening in the hot hot room as sweat ran down his face and Rodney continued to gasp. Heat made the door pop and groan strangely.
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Everything came down on them. Teyla covered her head and pressed into the space under the toppled table. Splintered bits of wood fell like hail -- glass shards, planks, broken furniture. She tried to make herself smaller as she was pummeled by flying bits of tavern.
The air was hot – painfully hot. Her nostrils filled with smoke. Her mouth felt filled with ashes. She choked and coughed on it. She couldn't breathe. Her ears rang.
She felt as if she'd been tossed in a maelstrom, physically shoved downward by the noise.
And in a matter of seconds, it was over. The painful heat moved on and she heard her own breathing. Things still clattered and crunched around her and she kept herself small in her space.
And then, everything quieted.
Quickly, she categorized her latest hurts. Nothing broken but, undoubtedly, she was going to be a lot more sore.
"Ronon!" she called as the last fragments fell, clattering around her. "Ronon!" Her heart raced and her voice sounded muffled.
She thought she heard a growl. Quickly, she forced her way out of her hiding space. Boards and bits of wallpaper and cloth fell away. She blinked at the unexpected brightness around her. Her legs protested as she stood to climb out of the hole. Wood clattered as she found her way through the ruins.
She drew in a deep breath to fortify her against the aches.
The tavern's roof was gone, leaving a pile of debris up to her knees. Smoke rose up at the back of the room. The air was filled with the smell of burn and destruction. The nice little tavern was torn apart. The change was astonishing.
"Ronon?" she called again, frowning at the way her voice sounded. She scanned the area, looking for him, and when a pile of broken wood slats moved, she stepped immediately toward it.
She was there as quickly as she could negotiate the unsteady terrain, her muscles protesting against their latest beating. Streaks of blood ran down her arms where glass and sharp shards of wood and cut at her. Her hair fell into her eyes and she brushed it away in annoyance.
She shifted the debris, quickly uncovering the stunned man, who'd found cover beneath a couple of chairs. He'd been saved from the worst of the explosion, but the new mottling of scrapes and cuts proved that he had not come out unscathed.
"Ronon?" she called once more, raising her voice so that she could hear it. "Are you all right?"
He growled again, pushing away the last bits of wreckage that impeded him. He looked frustrated as hell. "What …?" he started, and then met Teyla's eye. They stared at each other for a moment, their gazes calculating injuries, surmising how hurt the other might be.
His eyes still had a slightly unfocused quality to them, but Teyla could see no great injuries lurking there – just added misery.
After a moment's regard, Ronon gave a tight nod, apparently satisfied that Teyla wasn't too badly hurt. "That was the fuel place that blew up, wasn't it?" he stated, his voice sounding muffled, and his look of annoyance increased as he heard his own voice. He pressed a hand to one ear and then another.
Teyla struggled to hear him through the ringing in her ears, then turned to gaze across the broken tavern through a massive hole in one wall, and looked toward the waterfront. The fog was gone, burned away in the heat, and the buildings surrounding them had been flattened. Burning brightly at the edge of the harbor, the distillery sent smoke and fire into the air. Yes, that was definitely the cause of this.
She returned her gaze to Ronon and nodded.
Ronon grimaced as he tossed boards until he was able get clear of them. He made it to his feet unsteadily to gaze out at what remained of the tavern. "Damn," he muttered, then stepped so that he could see the destroyed town through the gaps in the broken walls.
Smoke was filling the air to replace the fog.
"This isn't good," Ronon surmised and frowned again. "Your ears ringing, too?"
Teyla nodded again, and turned away to glance about at the destruction with a haunted expression. She wrapped her arms around her chest as she watched the smoke move like a living thing.
"We didn't find them in time," she said, too softly for Ronon to hear.
She felt cold, after that scotching heat, realizing how desperate the situation was – the unlikely possibility of her friends' survival. She blinked, not wanting to give into the idea that Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay had died in the explosion. It was just too awful to consider.
If she'd only found a means to stop the fuel from leaking, if she only had been able to turn off the furnace, if she'd been able to find them in time…
She'd failed them. She'd hopelessly failed them.
Unable to look out at the destruction any longer, she bowed her head.
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Sheppard waited.
It was quiet.
He panted, listening still, willing himself to believe that the worst was over – the heat had passed on.
Rodney continued to pant, finally getting out, "My arm… get off… my arm…"
John shot upright, and fumbled about for his weapon in the darkness. He found it quickly and turned on the light, swearing at the sight that met him.
Rodney was pale as a sheet, shuddering and staring out of half-lidded eyes, breathing harshly through clenched teeth. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He'd fallen on his side following Sheppard's shove, and had landed on his bad arm. Sheppard, leaning on top of him, had only made the matters worse. Crap…
Rodney looked ready to pass out, his arm twisted awkwardly beside him. He made vain attempts to protect it with his other arm, managing to do little more than curl around it.
"Hang on, Rodney," Sheppard said as he carefully rolled McKay onto his back, maneuvering the hurt arm. Rodney seemed unable to foster any movement at all, he just panted as Sheppard put him in place.
"Okay?" Sheppard asked. "That better?"
"Loads," McKay hissed through his teeth. "Oh, God, that hurts. Oh God… hurts."
Sheppard let out a sigh as he truly assessed his friend. Rodney really wasn't looking good, too pale, shaking, coming close to hyperventilating. "You got to calm down, Rodney," Sheppard said, his voice strained.
"Good plan. Yeah. Good plan," McKay returned, his breathing still coming in gasps, but Sheppard noted that the scientist did make an effort to slow it down. Rodney grimaced as he turned his head against the hard floor and said, "Ow. This isn't helping my headache any! Cement doesn't make a good pillow."
Sheppard quickly pulled off his jacket and balled it up. "Hang tight," John told him, lifting Rodney's head so that he could get the jacket under it. It was far too hot to wear the jacket anyway. He grimaced as McKay hissed, and he felt the lump that rose under Rodney's hair. He settled the head in the makeshift pillow. "Better?"
McKay's eyes finally met Sheppard as he snapped, "I like my memory foam pillow better. And, I think one of your buttons or a medal or something on your jacket is digging into my neck."
"Don't be such a baby," John stated, rather pleased to hear the bite in McKay's comment.
He watched, as McKay seemed to calm himself a bit, his breathing slowing – but the scientist still looked as wretched as hell.
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Ronon kept shifting about, shoving wood out of the way. Blood ran down his arms, detailing his new wounds. Impressive bruises had been added to those made by the kiwanda. He moved further into the ruins of the decapitated tavern.
Teyla watched him, sensing a deliberateness in his movements, a determination. "Ronon," she called, her voice loud.
Ronon paused, cocking his head to listen.
"You should rest," she said. "You are hurt."
When she finished, he frowned. "Haven't found them yet."
"The explosion was…" Teyla started, letting her voice trail off. She swallowed. "It is too late," she said softly, knowing that Ronon wouldn't hear her. "We were too late."
He didn't need to hear the words. "They came in here and they didn't come out," Ronon stated. "Figure they're still here." And the Satedan kept looking. He stared at her a moment too long, as if he wanted to make sure his statement penetrated through the awful ringing.
The Athosian nodded, letting him know she'd heard the message. Ronon kept moving, kept searching.
Teyla glanced about the ruined room, knowing that there was no hope. But she couldn't give up on them. She wouldn't leave this place without Sheppard and McKay. They would not be left behind.
She stepped forward and started to search as well, moving through the air that was still crisp and dry from the fire.
Around them, the smoke billowed as the fuel was used up.
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"It's getting cooler," Sheppard commented.
"It's hot. You could fry an egg…" McKay paused and blinked a moment, "Of course, not literally, but people try it all the time on hot days… mostly weathercasters… in the States… idiots…"
"Yeah, but its getting better," Sheppard returned, tipping the canteen so that Rodney could have some water. He helped him hold up his head and let the man have all he wanted.
"What happened?" Rodney asked after a couple swallows.
"A wall of fire," Sheppard answered. "Just came ripping down the tunnel. It would've looked real cool if it was a movie or something. Not so much fun to see it heading right at me." He considered the situation a moment before saying, "What the hell could have done that?"
"The fuel," McKay surmised, his voice sounding thick. His eyes searched as he considered something, then the gaze found Sheppard. "Ronon and Teyla!" he whispered.
Sheppard's expression fell, as he realized he'd sent the two toward their deaths. His last command to them was to check out that building. Disturbed, he turned away from Rodney, and stared at the metal door. Painfully, he got to his feet. Damn, now with the wretched butt bone injury, he had to deal with a couple dozen pinches left by the lobsters.
He touched the door – still damn hot. "Can't go after them yet," he commented.
"The fire," McKay started, pausing to take another breath. "The fire is probably gone. Nothing to burn in here – aside from the… the lobsters. Fuel must have leaked into the tunnel, caught fire." His usual rapid-fire speech was slow and labored. "Fire went through here like a … wildfire… mostly on fumes. I'm betting… it'll be safe enough to go out once things cool off a bit."
"Hmmm, well, that's good news," Sheppard declared.
"Should go."
"Yeah," Sheppard frowned as he examined the door, wondering where the doorknob was so that they could get out.
"Need to find the others."
"Working on it." Sheppard barked. "I don't want any new troubles, McKay. We're in deep enough. You going to tell me how we're getting through this door with no handle?" He gave it a shove, irritated. "First, we can't get any door to shut behind us, and then this one shuts tight." And for emphasis, he gave it a kick.
OW! OW! That didn't help the butt any. Dammnit!
Irritated as hell, Sheppard went on, "Oh sure, it was nice to have a door lock behind you when there's a fire outside. But will it open when we want it to?"
McKay didn't respond, which wasn't like him. Sheppard turned back toward the scientist when Rodney gasped again.
"Damn it, McKay," he uttered, finding McKay attempting to press himself upright with his one good hand. Quickly, he returned to the man's side. "Stop trying to get up." He gave him a shove back down, and struggled to a squatting position beside him.
"We need to…"
"You need to keep still," Sheppard still carried McKay's pack on his back, so he unslung it and shoved it under Rodney's feet, hoping it might help keep him from going into shock, and maybe forestall any further attempts at getting upright.
"You'll crush my gear," McKay complained softly as he saw the pack being used as a footrest.
"You'll be doing the crushing, so that'll give you incentive to keep still," Sheppard told him. He watched Rodney for a moment, noting the strange position of his hurt arm.
"Okay, now that we got a moment, I should take care of this other problem," Sheppard stated and he pulled his knife from his belt. With a quick movement, he grasped hold of Rodney's wrist.
McKay's eyes shot open wide and he seemed to gain back some energy with his panic. "You're not going to cut my arm off?" he squeaked, and made a pitiable attempt to free his arm. "It's a little early for amputation, don't you think? I mean, I need my hands! Please…"
Sheppard rolled his eyes. "What the hell are you thinking? Jeez, McKay, I'm just going to cut the sleeve so I can see your arm. Hold still."
"Okay. Sleeve. Gotcha. Check." And Rodney stopped his movements, seeming to melt a little. He watched John with huge eyes.
"Amputation? Would you just think for a moment?" Sheppard groused, more annoyed with himself for not explaining what he was doing. McKay was obviously out of it. Damn… damn…
"Think…yeah…" McKay said dully. "Good plan."
Carefully Sheppard cut through the material of McKay's jacket and sleeves. He paused to feel for a pulse, and was glad to find one, still the skin felt a little cool for the heat in the room.
"Just keep still and maybe you'll get a lollypop when I'm done," Sheppard cajoled. "And don't start screamin' like a little girl. I don't think I could handle that. I'd have to tell Ronon, and you know how he'd be about that. Then I'd have to tell Zelenka, and he'd never let you live it down."
He kept up the dialogue even as McKay said nothing. The physicist just stared at one of the walls, blinking slowly and holding his jaw tight as Sheppard cut his way up the sleeve.
"Teyla would probably be okay with it. I mean, she's a woman and all. You know – she tends to be a bit more empathetic. But I don't think she's the screamy type. Caldwell wouldn't be surprised, so no big deal if he found out."
Sheppard sucked a breath through his teeth as he pulled the fabric back from McKay's upper arm, finding it grossly swollen. Damn… Damn…Damn…
McKay gulped down a breath and stared at the wall. "How…?" he finally said. "How is it?"
"I think you broke something in your upper arm," Sheppard stated, keeping his voice even. "You'll probably end up in one hell of a cast."
Another gulp and McKay turned his head away. "Anything sticking out? You know… a bone or something. Compound fractures…" gulp, "…Can be very dangerous." His voice sounded weak…fading.
"Nothing sticking out," Sheppard assured. "Too bad. You won't have a scar. Girls love scars, you know."
"Yeah… well…" McKay's voice seemed to drift. His eyes were becoming unfocussed. "I'll just have to…" he trailed off.
"I'll have to see if Carson still has any of that pink cast material," Sheppard told him. "You'll be a big hit in the lab."
"Pink?" Life returned to those blue eyes. "Are you kidding me?"
"The girls will love you if you go with pink. Not as good as a scar… but… Pink is the new black."
"On what planet? You're not getting me in pink."
"Miko will love it."
"Miko? No… no pink casts! What are you thinking?"
Yeah, what was he thinking? Why didn't McKay say anything? They should have worked out some sort of sling from the start. Stupid son of a bitch! Lugging around a broken arm like it was a loaf of bread.
Sheppard could only condemn himself. This really sucked. Dammit! He'd hoped that it wasn't bad, but he should have taken a second or two to check things out – even though they had the lobsters from hell on their ass..
And a minute ago, Sheppard had been putting all his weight on it. Damn… damn… damn… damn. "Maybe Beckett has that new cast material that has flowers and kitties already printed on it, with phrases like 'I heart my cat' and other things about always being nice to others."
"Bite me. There's no such thing!" McKay shot back.
"Bet he gives you one of those big casts that props your arm way up past your chin. You'll have pink kitties from your shoulder to your wrist while you make one of those Hitler salutes. Meanwhile, You'll have to stare at the phrase 'Smile, someone loves you' for two months. You'll love it."
McKay looked like he was going to cry at the proposition. "No!" he moaned. "How would I be able to get any work done that way?"
"We'll get you set up with a pencil. You can poke keys using your mouth."
"I still got one good hand!" McKay responded, showing it off for emphasis.
"Well, better make good use of it then." Sheppard maneuvered the hurt arm into a position that he hoped was more comfortable, and then did what he could to figure out if the bone was straight. Rodney's gasping increased. Sorry for causing further pain, he stated as he checked the pulse in the arm again, "Keep it like that for a while. Move it, or try to get up again, and I'll cut it right off."
Sheppard looked about the room since McKay didn't say anything immediately. It was a relatively small space, about as big as a small bedroom, and he hoped McKay didn't realize that fact soon.
The colonel went on, "I think we're safe from the Lobsters of Doom. The survivors probably skedaddled."
"We're not going to get through that door," McKay said morosely, softly.
"And why not?"
"No handle, no doorknob…"
"So, you're the smart one. You'll make something."
"We're not meant to," McKay closed his eyes and took in another deep breath. "Have you gotten a look at the walls?" he asked, his voice growing quieter. "Do you know where we are?"
Sheppard lifted the P90 and shone the light onto the walls. He frowned, not sure immediately what he was looking at. Then he let out a long disgusted breath.
Manacles.
There were chains on the walls, chains and manacles. He flitted the light about, taking in the whole space as, with a groan, he realized exactly what they'd locked themselves into.
A jail cell – a holding pen – a prison.
"Great," Sheppard grumbled. "So how do we get out of this one?"
He sighed when he didn't receive a response. Somewhat reluctantly, he looked down to his companion. Rodney's eyes were closed, his face slack.
With a groan, Sheppard attempted to sit down beside Rodney, quickly discovering it was a bad idea. Irritated, he scrabbled back up to a squatting position, and pressed a hand to Rodney's forehead, then moved to feel for a pulse in his bad arm again – ensuring that blood was still flowing – wanting to make up for not checking sooner. The scientist didn't respond to the touch.
There was no sense trying to go anywhere at that moment. Sheppard remained in that position, sitting delicately on his heels, waiting for his friend to awaken, trying to figure out what their next move might be.
If Teyla and Ronon were gone… how long would they have to wait for Atlantis to send rescue? Would they even be found in this tunnel that blocked signals? Sheppard sighed, not wanting to consider that yet.
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Keeping her arms tightly wrapped around her. Teyla realized what must have happened if McKay and Sheppard were in the building with them. Nothing remained outside of the blasted out room.
They searched through the refuse, finding nothing. Ronon kept moving boards. He'd started work on in the smoky back section of the structure.
He paused, then flung aside one board before grasping something. He handed it to Teyla – McKay's Life Sign Detector.
The sight of it made Teyla's hopes sink only further. The disarray, the destruction, the horrible wreckage showed no sign of living things. Dr. McKay would not have left the device behind. If it were here, then he was most certainly dead. She frowned as she regarded the dim device.
Lifting her gaze, she watched as Ronon continued, searching with even more gusto than before, even as he fought to catch his balance.
"Ronon," Teyla called as she slipped the device into her pocket. "Ronon," she repeated, louder, knowing that it would take some effort to be heard. She reached a hand toward him to stop his movements. "They are …"
"Down here." Ronon stopped his floundering as he removed a large board, exposing a pit. Smoke and soot trailed from the space.
Teyla joined him and gazed down into the blackened hole. Although Ronon smiled at his discovery, Teyla felt none of his victory as the smell of burning and death met her nostrils.
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TBC - okay, that was the fifth scenario. It's all downhill from here.