Revised on 1-26-06 on advice from beta.

Beta: J.A.B.

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Chapter 2:

Where the Earth-like swamp appeared just irritating before, it now took on a sinister cast just knowing that the Wraith were stalking survivors.

There were echoes in the spidery trees – men, women and children – all of them screaming for help, begging for mercy, calling for loved ones in the gloom.

More often than not, the screams just severed into nothingness. Most likely stunned into submission or scooped up by the roving Darts that buzzed the sky like a swarm of angry bees.

Sheppard shuddered again as he lost yet more body heat to conduction. He told himself it had nothing at all to do with the wild culling or his worry about his team.

A movement close to John drew his attention to Rodney's pale face. He was clutching his 9 mil still in the holster with his right hand as he crouched down next to John's shivering form in the mud.

Rodney was unusually quiet, but John didn't have the heart to interrupt his thoughts.

Hell, he didn't want to have any thoughts right now.

"How long have you been in there?"

The question was a surprise and John tried to kick his frozen brain back into action. "Uh, I don't know. Five minute?"

Rodney knelt closer and looked at the muck. "Cold?"

John just shuddered. That was answer enough.

"You're slurring your words a bit," remarked Rodney as he let go of his gun long enough to strip off his vest and jacket. Under the jacket was a long sleeved shirt in deference to the cool planet they had came to visit instead of the usual short sleeve with the sporty stripes.

"Really?" Sheppard tried to focus a little more, especially since Rodney seemed to be stripping for some reason. What the hell would stripping do to get him out of the chilly mud?

Rodney put his vest back on and then leaned out over John with a hooked foot under a looping root to keep his balance.

The scientist's dark uniform jacket with blue insets settled over John's achy shoulders and the bluish vines tied to his vest for stability. It didn't fit tightly to John's body due to the rigging and his own vest, but he could feel it. Sheppard almost moaned at the bit of warmth that still clung to the jacket and that had managed to reach him.

When had he gotten so icy cold? Damn, he knew the muck was a little cool, but he hadn't noticed this frozen feeling. Somehow, he hadn't noticed, and it scared him a bit.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

That seemed to reassure Rodney as he went back to studying the problem. Every few moments his eyes would flit to the surrounding trees, vines and undergrowth looking for signs that they had been found.

There was another shifting down in the mud and John could feel another pulling sensation. The pain was sharper, he grunted, one hand staying on the roots, and the other going to pull at his vest as it cut into his sensitized abdomen and his shoulder blades. He didn't have the strength to make a difference.

He didn't look up when he felt a warm hand tugging on his right arm. "Colonel? What's happening?"

Rodney was starting to panic. He wasn't quite there yet. He still wasn't rubbing his fingers together as he did when he was nervous or agitated or thinking in emergency mode. However, he was starting to get that edge to his expression and his voice was higher.

John was glad he wasn't the only one who was voting to lose it in the next few seconds.

"Don't know . . . sometimes shifts . . . pulls me down."

McKay didn't release the Colonel's arm as he let go of his gun and experimentally put his free hand in the mud. "Huh, that is cold. Shifting? Where?"

"Under." Sheppard felt so tired that the words were coming slow and his eyes were getting heavy.

"You shouldn't be sinking as long as you're not moving. Quicksand—"

"Said it wasn't . . . wasn't quicksand."

Rodney waived his mucky hand, flinging off some of the mud onto the nearby roots. "I know what I said. It's not quicksand . . . and it's not a tar pit . . . it's not exactly a bog," his voice went soft as if he was muttering to himself instead of to his friend. "Are you still sinking?"

Sheppard looked down at the muck pressing in around his vest. A pocket that was once clear of the muck was now covered except for the top of its flap. "Yeah."

The hand on John's arm tightened.

That was the moment the skies on P2M-649 decided to open up and let loose sheets of rain. Chilly and bitter rain.

"Damn it!" hissed John as the cold wetness hit his head and rolled down his neck.

He didn't know what was worse. The cold of the pulling muck or the cold of the wet rain as it invaded his clothing and pounded his hair flat.

Rodney just sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I had been thinking it couldn't get any worse. It seems that I've been proven wrong." His long sleeved shirt quickly became soaked by the rain and it clung to his flesh causing goose bumps all over his body. "I hate being wet and cold."

"You're . . . you're from Canada," reminded Sheppard.

"I'm from Indoor Canada, not Outdoor Canada. I was never far from environmentally controlled buildings."

Sheppard huffed a bit at that in an attempt to laugh. He stopped when it turned into a croupy cough that shifted his ribs against his pulled tight vest. His hands slipped again and his clumsy feeling fingers had difficulty finding their holds to relieve the pressure.

He gasped, if not in pain, then in surprise at his own helplessness.

McKay suddenly jerked up on his right arm and placed it back on the root. "Here."

"Thanks."

The hand stayed on his arm. It was the one beacon of warmth in John's narrowing world.

"You know, I think that when you get stuck in the mud at the bottom of quicksand that they say it's best to stay as still as you can and to carefully try to mix in the water until your feet pop free." It was said contemplatively as Rodney was looking up at the rain, letting it pummel his reddened face and slick back his hair.

"Uh-huh. That's . . . that's for quicksand, Rodney. It has . . . has water in it. This is like . . . like . . . you know . . . mud."

"I know that, but look." Rodney nodded to the hated muck.

John slitted his eyes against the spattering of the large rain drops hitting the mud to see small pools of rain collecting on top of the muck. Like when it rained on saturated soil, the water had nowhere to go and it ended up standing in puddles.

Hope flared briefly.

Rodney picked up his hope and ran with it. "Maybe if we tried to mix some of this in around you—"

There were sounds nearby. The sound of the pounding rain muffled the planet's natural noise, but both men knew the sounds of several heavy bodies moving through the swampy landscape.

Either it was a skill you picked up early or you ended up dead in this hostile part of the universe.

Hope turned into a controlled kind of dread.

"Rodney . . . hide."

The hand on the Colonel's arm got even tighter. "Now, wait a minute. If I go hide, you'll be a sitting duck, an open target, a—"

John took a moment to snicker in a whispery way. "If you don't go . . . we'll both be sitting ducks. Won't be good if we . . . both get caught."

McKay looked livid. "I'm not leaving you defenseless. What if it's a Wraith?"

John shook his head. "You know . . . Wraith. No doubt."

McKay pulled out his 9 mil and offered it butt first to Sheppard. "Use this and I'll try to contact Teyla on the radio. Maybe someone can come."

John was shaking his head and closing his eyes before Rodney even stopped talking. "You've . . . seen. I can't hold . . . a gun anymore. Too cold. You'll need it more . . . than me. Go hide. Now."

Maybe he could have held the gun, but he was the downed member of the team. The liability. As much as he wanted Rodney to be with him, he couldn't let his friend's life just be sucked away by some Wraith, just to watch John sink.

Hell, Rodney was pretty good with a gun anyway. Right now, he'd probably score more hits if the Wraith were ready to attack.

"Colonel—"

There was a long pause and John forced his eyes open enough to look at McKay. Even in his half-hazy state, he could see the wheels turning in the scientist's head.

Rodney's voice was excited when he finally spoke, his hands, with the gun, waived in the air in expansive moves. "Just stay still. If you see them, act like you're unconscious. Don't talk, you understand?"

John blinked heavily. "Okay."

Rodney patted him on his wet head absently. "Put your head down and wait for me. Don't do anything stupid this time."

"Nothing . . . stupid. Okay. Go."

Sheppard was surprised as Rodney practically slithered away through the mud and over the slick roots. Soon, he was gone from view.

And what little warmth John had gotten from his presence was gone with him.

John signed and laid his head back on his arm and he tried to keep breathing without coughing in the rain and the back splashing muck.

It wasn't hard for him not to move or talk when the sounds came closer. John was too tired and wrung out to put up much of a fight when the Wraith left the cover of the underbrush and homed in on him.

There was movement next to his exposed cheek and he cracked his eyelid open to see a ghastly face with sharp teeth close to him. Even in his lethargy, it took a lot not to flinch back from the pale thing.

The creature took a deep breath, sniffing at him as if it was a shopper at a supermarket trying to decide if the cantaloupe was ripe enough to buy.

"Ah, this one, he smells different than those in the town. Take him."

The strangely graceful creature moved away and two thickset soldier Wraith stomped up and all but ripped his hurting body from the muck.

As much as he tried to be quiet, the hard tugging of the vines against his vest and the suction of the mud on his joints made him grunt in pain. Damn, where was that high threshold for pain when he needed it?

McKay's jacket fluttered to the wet ground with a splat.

The graceful one returned, his luminous eyes curious as he fingered the vines that still connected Sheppard to the roots. Then he looked at the extra coat on the ground at their feet.

Then hissed.

"There is another here. Find it!"

The strong hands let Sheppard go immediately, causing him to hit the exposed roots of the mangrove-like trees and the wet ground with a grunt. Where he could still feel the pain from the cold, he could feel the roots and debris on the ground digging into his flesh.

As he tried to curl around his hurts and tried to push away from the danger, the vines that were once a lifeline were now tethers to his death.

TBC