A/N: Sorry for the delay, I was distracted by a plot bunny that will never see the light of day. Also, I made a reference to Spaceballs. Sorry, I couldn't help it.
A/N2: Thanks, Mom!
Warnings: Violence and Language
Spoilers: The Defiant One, possibly more
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Rodney scuttled deeper into the cover of the growth, still trying his radio in a near whisper. Just bare puffs of breath as he tried to get some contact without the two beefy Wraith hearing him over the patter of the rain.
With his gun in his right hand, his left hand was fretfully searching all his pockets to see what he could possibly use to get them out of this mess his 'plan' had created.
Rodney found a partially eaten chocolate ration bar that he was almost tempted to eat to gain what little comfort he could. Sometimes a little chocolate was all he needed when he felt lost or alone or ignored.
Another harsh splash came from in front of his patch of brush and he shrank back.
He wasn't lonely or ignored right now so he moved on to his next pocket.
The next pocket held a small set of tools meant for delicate work on small parts. He'd used them to fix his hand held computer a couple of times, dismantled a few Ancient devices in his lab – he even took apart the coffee machine when it started giving him brown goo instead of his usual jolt of smooth caffeine.
Since he didn't know what help they would be right now, he moved his left hand in a patting motion, trying to feel what was in the pockets before he actually stuck his fingers inside.
A lump of something hard made his hand stop and he actually had to take his eyes off the surrounding area to figure out what he had found.
Huh, a roll of quarters. Where had he procured a roll of U.S. quarters?
The hand holding the roll shook slightly.
Oh, yes, the Colonel had promised some nonsense about getting a candy machine put in the lab the next time Caldwell and the Daedalus returned to Atlantis. Sheppard promised it would be filled with nothing but chocolate and chocolate-coated things, none of those stupid peanut butter crackers or cheese nip things.
They were just a waste of productive candy space.
Rodney snorted as he pocketed the find and went back to his search as he tried to wiggle back a little more under the protection of a tangle of roots.
His lower pocket had extra clips of ammunition. That was something that Lt. Ford had drilled into his head before the man left Atlantis on his wild Wraith hunt. Rodney fingered the clips to get a mental count
Ah, yes, plenty of ammunition to . . . to do whatever it was that he was going to do.
With a suddenness that surprised the scientist, the cold rain stopped.
Rodney looked up through the roots and gaped at the dark sky. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. At least he could possibly warm up a little without the cold stuff soaking him.
He shivered again as his body tried to warm up.
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The vines were cut, the knife still in Sheppard's hand as he lay trembling on the ground.
It took a moment for John to notice the puddle he was laying in was filled with blood. Red human blood. He tried to leap back and bit back a moan as his joints gave him hell again. By the time the pain went down to something he could handle, the puddle was nothing but ordinary cold water.
Shaking his head in confusion, John looked out into the darkness with narrowed eyes.
Rodney was still on the run, which was good.
The lead Wraith had taken up the hobby of hungrily watching Sheppard's every move, which was not good.
"Hey, uh . . . hard to find good help . . . these days," stuttered John to the graceful evil that sneered at him. "Seems Larry and Curly are having a hard time . . . finding anyone out there. Could be 'cause . . . there's no one to find."
When he didn't get a response except for a horrible hiss, John cleared his throat. "What say we . . . pack it up and go on back? I'm sure you've . . . got better things to do."
The pale face with the intricate black tattoo over the left eye twisted its mouth into a grin that showed a lot of blackened teeth. The Wraith was clearly not impressed with anything Sheppard had to say.
The thing shifted to kneel closer, causing its long bundled white hair to swing around its face. "They will find the food."
John's tremor had nothing to do with cold this time. The food? The mental imagery that word called up in his mind after a night of culling chilled him to his bones.
A crash of underbrush caused both of them to look toward the two searching Wraith soldiers.
When it was clear they were still empty handed, the Wraith turned cat-like eyes back on its prey. Lips pulled back in a smile so wide that it appeared almost more like a grimace. "Perhaps you could call to your kind. Maybe an incentive—"
Oh, that was so wrong on so many levels. "I'm not calling to anyone for you . . . here or at the town. There is no incentive you can . . . give me to betray . . . like that."
A large hand came at John and he tried to push back and hide his knife at the same time. It grabbed his vest in a powerful grip that reminded John that, on a good day, he most likely couldn't go head to head with the creature. And today wasn't a good day.
"I know of your kind from the others," it hissed. "You were at the city. Too bad it can help you no longer." It ran a long spindly finger from its other hand along John's cold cheek. "I wouldn't turn down help if I were you – it could mean the difference between a lingering death and a quick one."
It took everything John had not to use his knife to get the thing off him. Every feeding he had ever witnessed rushed back and made his skin crawl.
Darkness and wispy tendrils swirled at the corners of his vision as the thing peered intently at him. Studying him as if he was a pinned bug under glass.
Sheppard shook his head to clear away the phantoms from the Wraith's mind. "Either way . . . I'm dead. I'm not helping you to kill anyone else."
With a snarl, the thing pushed him hard against the ground and turned away, its long leather coat swirling around to fling water drops at Sheppard's form.
John pulled in a deep breath and let it out.
Some days it just didn't pay to get pulled out of the mud.
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Rodney had nothing.
Why didn't he have a grenade or something more useful than a roll of U.S. quarters? Ford would be disappointed in him.
What did he think he was going to do out here if they were attacked? Ask the Wraith if they need change for a dollar? Maybe buy them a cup of coffee at the local convenience store and talk them out of eating them for breakfast . . . and lunch and dinner.
A glob of mud fell onto his left eye from his plastered down hair and the scientist swiped at it absently and looked around at the brown and black landscape as he rested and tried to catch his breath.
And think of a new plan.
His retreat from the two soldiers had taken a circular route and he was again coming up to where Sheppard had been stuck in the mud. Rodney could barely make out Sheppard's form on the ground in the dark as the lead Wraith paced restlessly around him.
As much as McKay hated it, he knew what he had to do.
There was no backup, no rescue coming and no working radio.
Rodney slowly got to his feet and bounced slightly to warm up his knees in the middle of a bunch of spindly trunks that used to be living trees. He put his left hand on one of the larger tree trunks to push off when he was ready to make his move.
There was nothing to do but rush out and hope he got a good head shot in before the Wraith could turn on him or Sheppard. Or before the Wraith soldiers caught up.
And remember to reload this time.
Rodney breathed in deep and then puffed the air out of his cheeks, trying to steady his nerves. He made an abortive move toward Sheppard's position . . . and stopped before his left hand moved on the tree trunk.
'Come on,' he half coaxed and half blasted himself. 'You can do this. You've done this.'
A few more bounces and he finally darted out from cover and went right for the enemy.
The Wraith turned with a hiss, its head coming up to show bared teeth like a dog warning off a rival. For a moment, its form looked deceptively ungainly before pulling out its stunner pistol with surprising speed.
Without looking for the Colonel's position, Rodney pointed his 9 mil and fired, hoping his hands weren't shaking too much to get the kill shot.
Instead of a gunshot or the sound of a stunner, Rodney felt and heard a roar as his vision whited out for a moment. His next coherent thought found him lying on the ground.
With watery eyes, Rodney caught the sight of curling smoke as it drifted into the dark sky from his seared clothing. His head felt as if it was being pounded with a sledgehammer, and his ears were ringing.
What—?
"Rodney!"
The sound of his name was faint due to the ringing in his head. In a daze, McKay moved slightly to feel pain radiating from his face, hands and neck. He groaned and tried to figure out what was happening.
"Rodney!"
That call was a bit louder and more desperate than the first and Rodney forced himself up on his left elbow to see a blurry Sheppard struggling with a blackened Wraith.
The black leather clothing of the Wraith was scorched, and the pale skin was almost black, causing the cat eyes to pop out in startling contrast. The most shocking aspect was that the Wraith's pale hair was on fire on the tips of its dread locks. The wet hair gave off smoke that wreathed the creature's head like a crown.
Even though the Wraith was clearly on fire, it was still trying to kill the writhing form on the ground in front of it.
"McKay! Get the hell over here!"
Rodney saw the flash of metal in the low light and the Wraith howled as Sheppard's knife sank into its leg. It reared back and, with an open hand, slashed Sheppard across the face with its sharp nails.
Rodney automatically raised his gun and vaguely noticed his own hand was blackened and red.
Understanding seeped into his cold brain. An explosion – he had set off an explosion when he had fired the gun.
Taking the chance that whatever gas he had set off had cleared after the explosion, Rodney fired his gun again and let out a breath as the shot took the Wraith down and away from Sheppard. Pushing himself up from the wet ground with his burning left hand, Rodney tracked the creature with his gun and fired again.
The blackened figure gave out a noise that sounded like fingernails on a blackboard so Rodney fired again.
It jerked, its eyes glaring hate at McKay as it tried to bring up the stunner for a shot.
McKay shot again as he slowly advanced in staggering steps as his new pain dictated his movements. He allowed his left hand to curl into his body in an attempt to sooth the burning ache.
He kept firing until he was beside Sheppard and the gun was out of ammunition.
"Reload," whispered John as he curved an unsteady protective hand over his ripped face. The hand didn't touch the torn flesh, but Rodney knew Sheppard wanted to touch his face as much as Rodney wanted to touch his burns.
"I know," huffed Rodney as he fished out his extra ammunition.
The Wraith struggled in the mud, and it opened its mouth to speak or snarl. McKay wasn't sure which and at this point, didn't care. He fired another round into the open mouth and black blood flew out in a small geyser. The body jerked twice before it went still.
Then it was just McKay and Sheppard in the darkness.
"So, this was your plan," murmured John as he lay in the muck trying not to think about how they were going to get back to the others at the caves.
Rodney sighed and slumped down next to his friend and tried to keep his tired and stinging eyes open to look for the other Wraith that had been following him.
"What can I say, I was confident."
Sheppard rolled slightly to get a better look at McKay's sooty face. Then he smirked. "Well, confident is good." He rolled back and scanned the darkness. "What happened to Larry and Curly?"
"Who?"
"The Wraith that were . . . tracking you."
"Oh." Rodney felt as if he was thinking in slow motion. "Back there." He sloppily waived his gun hand. "Somewhere."
Sheppard tried to sit up and, instead, he ended up flopping back over onto his side. "What the hell happened? One minute you were running from out of nowhere, and the next, we're going up like flambé."
"Swamp gas or something like it. Really, I should have known—"
"Look."
Rodney turned in the direction Sheppard was looking, and he saw the two Wraith soldiers lumbering toward them through the gnarled trees and roots.
Both raised their stunner rifles and shot.
The first bright bolt sparked off a larger explosion in the trees, sending bark, wood and clumpy white flesh in all directions in a heavier, bloodier version of the cold rain from before.
The second stunner bolt sizzled over the head of John Sheppard.
"Son of a bitch!" gasped John as he jerked down and ran a shaky hand over his hair as if checking to make sure it was still there. "Give me your gun!"
Rodney snorted and allowed his body to slump in relief. "Oh, please! There's nothing to shoot at now. Besides, your hair is still as awful as usual, Princess Vespa."
A few more pats and John seemed convinced that his hair had survived. "What . . . what does that make you? Dot Matrix?"
Eyeing the smoking trees and clumps of Wraith flesh, Rodney snorted. "I hope not. My virgin alarm would have worn itself out by now. I mean, how many alien women have made goo-goo eyes at you since we arrived in the Pegasus? I've stopped counting."
John just laughed in a strained mixture of tension and giddiness.
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Teyla was furious. Her eyes were like chips of obsidian as the town Director wound down his explanation. "And you did not think to tell us this before we began negotiations?"
The man shifted, still holding his arm where the woman had grabbed him forcefully. "There was no need. We were not going into the Sodden Lands during the treaty negotiations, and I didn't think any of your people would go there intentionally."
Another Dart screamed overhead and they both ducked.
Another red energy bolt shot from Ronon's position, but it hit only Wraith phantasms. Ronon swore.
Teyla understood the sentiment. "Do you have healers – doctors that can help the Colonel and Dr. McKay?"
The Director looked miserable. "No, the . . . the clinic was the first building hit in the culling. We'll be lucky if one or two doctors made it out. If they did, they would only be able to offer what comfort they could for Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay's last days."
Teyla's nostrils flared. "Enough! We will call our own doctor when the Wraith leave and the gate shuts down."
The Director was about to speak again when there was a small explosion and a fireball appeared above the swampy land.
Teyla gasped. It was in the same direction as the Colonel and McKay. "What has happened?" she demanded, keeping her eyes on the remnants of the blast.
Before she could get an answer, another explosion rocked the area and a bigger fireball rose into the gloomy sky, illuminating the nearby trees with red and orange light.
Ronon was by Teyla's side before she could call to him. "Sheppard and McKay?"
She nodded, unable to use words. What could be said after seeing that?
Three Darts streaked overhead toward the explosions only to swarm up and return to the decimated town.
"They're leaving," remarked Ronon in his rusty voice.
The nearest survivors quickly took up his words, and the information swept around the caves to those that were lucky enough to escape the culling.
There were cries of relief and anguish at the news.
Teyla and Ronon ignored it as they waited impatiently for the gate to shut down so they could dial Atlantis and call Dr. Beckett and Dr. Weir.
TBC