A/N: And then... Aaallll hell broke loose (grr, snarl, ew)
Ch. 29
Hunted
Beckett slid to a stop right at the stairs in time to see John – creature John – scrabbling against the slick floor in a similar halt, only to be snatched around the neck and tossed rag doll style through the gate. The black mass of misty shadow soon followed afterward. Impulse would have had Beckett charging through to follow, but common sense always had a better hold on his mind. He remained rooted where he was as the gate lingered on.
" Someone read the address," came the call from the familiar voice of Lorne. Common sense was running rampant, lucky them, and no one had yet to go charging through the still shimmering gate.
Then, finally, the gate rushed closed in disintegrating liquid.
" The address?"
" Got it!" Someone called. " It's one we know. Colvan."
Colvan, Beckett knew of it. Generally one of the most thankfully uneventful worlds any of the teams had been through. The people – simple farmer types. The missions – successful trade, food in exchange for medicines. Technology – none, unless the Colvans followed the Genii practice and hid it. Initially, Beckett was already to sigh out a breath of relief, until he recalled the thing that had chucked John like a stick through the gate. He snapped from his odd stupor, whirling around to hurry into the control room where Lorne stood by a tech hand, looking over the address.
" Dial the bloody thing up, we need to go after John!" Beckett said, pointing toward the gate as he approached the two.
" What's going on?" Weir said as she came jogging in, dressed haphazardly in jeans and an old T-shirt. " What happened?"
" It's Colonel Sheppard, ma'am," Lorne quickly explained. " He just got tossed through the gate by some kind of... black – thing."
" I think it might have been that Diavante," Carson jumped in. " We heard screamin'. John was chasin' it. But we got the address, we need to go after him."
Weir nodded. " Yes go."
Beckett was already heading from the control room. " Let me grab my bag. I have a feelin' Sheppard's going to be injured..."
" Wait!" Lorne called. Beckett halted and turned abruptly, already fuming.
" We don't have time! The lad could be..."
" Dr. Beckett, I'm sorry, I know, but we need to think about this for a moment. The gate didn't automatically shut down when they went through. It stayed on long enough for us to snag the address. We already know this Diavante guy has a thing for Atlantis, we know he has allies. Plus he pretty much shoved Colonel Sheppard through the gate. If this Diavante was so bent on getting the device and getting away, why take the Colonel? We need to get the Colonel, yeah, but we can't rush into this. I'm thinking a trap might be involved."
Beckett was ready to argue, but his mind processed fast enough to shut him up. Lorne was right, the situation was off even more so than it already was.
" How did Diavante even get here?" Weir asked. " The gate never activated."
" Probably followed the team through," Lorne replied. " Ma'am, if I may suggest since time isn't exactly on our side here. I say we send a MALP through, see if they have the gate guarded, then go from there. I really advise we don't rush into this. We get caught, we could be used against Atlantis. If the way's clear, we should go by cloaked puddle jumper."
Lorne's quick thinking dissipated some of the urgency. Weir nodded stiffly with arms crossed tight. " All right, do it. But I want men around the gate."
Lorne nodded, signaled with a twitch of the wrist for two marines to follow, and headed from the control room. Weir turned to Beckett, not trying to conceal the bone deep worry.
" We'll get him back lass," Beckett assured with as much conviction as he could convey. " And we'll come back ourselves. Wouldn't be the first time, you know that."
Weir nodded, which seemed all she was capable of doing.
Beckett nodded back, then also made a mad dash from the control room, rushing down corridors to the infirmary. The alarms were a universal wake up call. Ronon and Teyla were already on their feet, and despite the bandaged arm Ronon looked ready to rumble. Rodney was up, looking frantically about.
" Wh-what's going on? What happened?"
Beckett ordered those nurses present to gather the needed items and toss them into bags. Maybe he was jumping to medical conclusions, but that scream of John's was still making Beckett's blood curdle. No way was the man fine.
" Diavante, Colonel Sheppard, infiltration, kidnapping. That fill ya in enough lad?"
Rodney gaped. " What? No!"
" Sorry, Rodney, no time. Teyla, Ronon, I'd advise against ya comin', but seein' as how that's yet to stop ya (and I blame Colonel Sheppard for that stubborn trait) be quick about readyin'."
To which Ronon replied, fingering his weapon. " Already ready."
With two bags prepared, Beckett headed out, followed by Teyla, Ronon, and a rather nervous looking nurse. They hurried to the jumper bay and onto an awaiting puddle jumper. Lorne was in the co-pilot's chair, with Stackhouse piloting, and two more soldiers on the right hand bench. Once aboard, they played the waiting game, with Ronon all ready antsy two minutes in. Five minutes passed, then..."
" Puddle jumper three? This is control room. The MALP as been sent, the way looks clear, you're good to go."
" Copy control room," Stackhouse replied. The floor opened and the jumper slowly descended to stop before the shimmering event horizon. Stackhouse cloaked the jumper, then nudged it with a thought into the shimmering pool. One wild worm hole ride later, the jumper emerged into a gray, misty morning. The jumper quickly ascended, tilting back sharply, in avoidance of any potential weapons fire discharging from within the forest.
" We'd have better luck on the ground," Ronon said. " This mist is pretty thick."
" That's what life signs detectors are for," Lorne replied, and the LSD popped up before them. Stackhouse's jaw went slack, Teyla gasped, and Beckett's eyes rounded over.
" Oh I bloody hope all those are animals," Carson breathed. Dots were all over the place, moving fast in every conceivable direction, many traveling in clusters.
Lorne's jaw twitched tersely. " Somehow I don't think so."
Suddenly, the puddle jumper bucked, jolting the passengers, and replacing the LSD with schematics.
" What the hell?" Stackhouse gaped. " Something's wrong with the power... Holy crap!"
A black cloud filled the window, veiling out the light of the outside world. The puddle jumper shuddered, whined, bucked, then did one massive, heaving jolt accompanied by a loud thud. Lights flickered, and without warning the jumper bay doors whined open. Everyone turned, then froze, as bodies piled in, both Genii and Cys, all with weapons pointed at the Lanteans.
SGASGASGASGASGA
John didn't have the cover of darkness. He only had the heights. The trees were big here, here being a world he knew on different levels. Trade, farmers, and having been a former prisoner by the two contingents hunting him far below. He knew it more than just by sight. He new it by smell, feel and taste. He bounded through trees tall and thick as redwoods, grabbing branches whether they would hold his weight or not. He moved too fast to be dropped.
This world was not on his side. The thickening mist hid his enemies, the gray daylight muted by thickening clouds revealed him. Moisture scented heavy on the air, and clung slick to the branches. He didn't hold it past Diavante if this had been his plan all along. No fires to snuff here, the advantage belonged to the ones below. All John had was speed, and the upper places.
Find Diavante. Kill him! John flew to the next branch just as a weapon fired. He felt the cold of a stunner brush his right flank, and the heat of a bullet his left. He landed on a branch that creaked and snapped, but pushed off it in time to the branch above. Pausing, he sniffed the air.
People below him, circling the tree. Time to get the drop – literally. John skidded down the trunk using his claws to slow the descent, then dropped the rest of the way onto the ones attempting to corner him. The mist, for that moment, became his ally. He followed only by scent, attacking and clawing the hunters down. Weapons were fired, screams echoed, and silence followed fast when John finished. He grabbed a Genii rifle, slinging it over his shoulder before slinking off into the mist. He heard howls, and a low gutteral growl. John scurried up a tree, stopping about center, clinging to it with his hind legs as he brought the rifle around. The growls sounded closer, joined by whuffing about the base of the tree. John pointed the rifle down, and waited.
The first erak leaped, and John fired, the bullet tearing through the thing's thick skull. It went down with a shriek that died instantly. John slung the rifle back on and continued up the tree, searching. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, a fleeting flicker of black.
In the sky? John didn't hesitate, he followed, bounding from tree to tree. Weapons fired, but he was too quick for them to get a proper aim. When far enough away, John went back down into the mist, and like Toucan Sam followed his nose. He came in close to a cluster growing stronger in scent, heading toward him. He clamored up the tree, still within the mist, and leaped to land among them. Surprise had the Cys stumbling on getting their weapons. John attacked, kicking out,clawing, gnashing teeth into throats. He tore through them, throwing many into trees, slicing the necks of others, until none were left moving.
The blood cut through his sharpened awareness enough to make him shudder. There was so much. He didn't like that kind of death, the smell of it, taste of it, the color staining his claws. It wasn't him. But he had no time for weapons. Ignoring disdain, he went back to the trees, and leaping. He heard shouts, and eark howls.
Where was Diavante?
Push off, fly, push off, fly, moving like a lemur he'd seen at a zoo, branches nothing more than disjointed pathways. That's when – mid jump - he heard a crack, and felt searing pain burst through his shoulder. He faltered in his grab, and went tumbling, crashing, and spinning through branches to land with a crack and a thud on the ground with the wind shoved from his lungs. He lay on his side, panting, fighting back pain that refused to be shoved to the back of his mind, nostrils overwhelmed by the stench of his own blood. He heard above the crashing pound of his own heart the crunch and wet suction of footfalls on moist ground. The footfalls came around him, revealing black boots. John's eyes traveled up the legs, to the body, then the grinning face that had his blood pumping fast with fury.
Menk stood over him with a rifle resting against his shoulder; big game hunter standing over prey. The man was a freakin' cliché.
" I thought you better than this, John," he said, and began circling the Colonel, stopping to prod John in the back. John hissed.
" It's a good look for you. Really. But – stick it, John – not worth a lick in the long run. What'd ya have to sacrifice of yourself to get it? Life, limb, sanity? What'd it cost ya? What was the trade? You should get a refund." Menk came around to the front and crouched back on his haunches before John. " You're a fool, John. You don't come up against Master Diavante. And you don't come up against us. We're his ally for a reason John. Best to feed the beast and make it a friend rather than let it feed on you. Ya need a being like him, one with the brains to out think the wraith. We'd be dead without him. So why're you tryin' to tilt the wagon, John? Why be his enemy? Why stoke his rage? You've got a twisted sense of survival, there, John. He could have helped you." Menk shook his head, then with a grunt rose to his feet. " You're the biggest fool I've met yet, John. Ya know that?"
He turned, and pierced the silence with a shrill whistle. It was answered by another whistle, and long, drawn out howls. Menk looked back at John with another head shake and sympathetic look.
" No wonder you lost the city, and that poor young man..."
John seethed, panting, hissing, flecks of saliva stretching from his clamped jaws. Menk nudged him in the chest, and chuckled as he brought his gun around.
Fury filled John's mind with a red haze until red was the only color he knew. Still grinning, Menk cocked the rifle.
" Sorry, John." He aimed.
The pain was shoved back. John's good arm shot out, grabbing Menk by the ankle to pull back and send the man flying back first to the ground. John rolled onto all four feet, and crouched back to grab Menk by the collar of his military issued jacket. John then rose to his feet, lifting Menk, spinning Menk around, and latching his arm across Menk's throat.
But John didn't want to end it like this. His form melted to human -risky, but he didn't care - still with the arm around the throat, and the super adrenaline roaring in his blood. He leaned in close to Menk's ear as before him the howls drew closer.
" We never lost Atlantis," he breathed, panting. " But you – officially – have." He then shoved Menk forward the precise moment an erak came leaping from the mist. The erak collided with a stunned Menk, and brought him down screaming. The erak, without thought, realization, or conscious – just blind bloodlust and animal fury – tore into Menk. John turned away with stomach coiling. He looked up to see Culs, frozen in shock with muzzle and leash dropping from numbed fingers.
John's eye twitched, the fury deepening the red. " See Culs? See how it feels when it's one of your own you son of a bitch!"
Culs' stricken gaze moved to John, as his hand moved to the small sheath at his hip. He drew a knife, bellowed out a cry of fury, and charged John. John altered his form, charged, and leaped at Culs with jaws gaping.
Screams shredded the forest silence, gurgling down into liquid rasps of agony, then ending. An erak cry of pain soon followed.
SGASGASGASGA
Carson's head snapped around as far a his neck would go, and it was starting to ache because of it.
" Face front!" The Genii guard snapped, but no amount of petulance could cover the waver in his voice. Gulping, Beckett reluctantly moved his gaze back to the front. His arms were tiring from having to be held on his head, his knees were aching from being in a kneeling position, and his heart wouldn't stop thudding hard at every sudden noise. Only Becka, the nurse, shared in his jumpy sentiment. The rest of the group seemed to manage self control without effort, Ronon especially, no surprises there.
The Genii and Cys were far less skilled in calm at the moment. They held there ground, keeping the team surrounded, but their heads were in motion as they glanced tensely around.
Gun fire echo ricocheted from the woods. There were screams, roars, and then nothing. Ronon grinned in that spine-numbing way of his.
" Doesn't sound too good in there," he rumbled.
" Shut it!" A Cy snapped.
" They'll kill your friend," said a Genii. " Commander Koyla is a seasoned warrior."
" Sheppard's formidable even when he's human," Ronon countered. " As a pissed off monster... let's just say I'd rather go up against ten wraith."
Beckett started at this. Positive comments from Ronon tended to be as rare as a million dollar lottery ticket. Then again, maybe he was laying it on thick just to spook the guards. But the tone – and the wicked grin – seemed genuinely sincere. Ronon had been present for John's monster tirade, after all. More gun fire, and screams. But there came roars – not of fury – but more like howls of pain that made urgency rise like a flood and Beckett squirm. Lowering his head, his eyes darted to and from Ronon who was right next to him.
" You've got a plan for gettin' us out of here," he said," now might be the time for executin' it."
Ronon sniffed and replied under his breath, " no plan yet."
Carson's eyes rounded over at that. " Bloody hell, lad! Why're ya irkin' them then?"
Ronon lifted one shoulder in a shrug. " Because it's fun."
Carson rolled his eyes. " Oh, bugger it. Well ya best start thinkin' fast. I know John has the means of handlin' things himself, but it'd be nice if he had a bit of back up if you get me. Souped up beasty or not, the less hurt the lad is, the better."
" I know that," Ronon replied, losing the smile. " I'm thinking. Ask Lorne, maybe he's got something."
" He's all the way at the other bloody end of the line..."
" Quiet!" snapped a Genii. Carson stiffened and shot his gaze straight ahead, trying to look as innocent and harmless as possible, though reckless thought strayed toward snatching the nearest gun from the nearest guard. Keeping in one position was apparently causing him delirium, and he quietly groaned.
" I said quiet!" The Genii snapped again. Carson hadn't realized the groan had been so dang audible. The young soldier came up to Carson, and slammed the butt of the rifle into Carson's gut. Air rushed from his lungs, and he doubled up in pain, dropping his hands to his stomach. Growling, Ronon made to rise only to get whacked across the jaw by the same Geniii and weapon. He shook the effect off, and pinned the Genii with his most knee-weakening glare. The Genii, sneering, took a step back.
" Be quiet, all of you! Next person who talks gets a bullet..."
He was never given the chance to finish when there came a cry, and a dark form shot quickly through the mist, snatching the Genii and lifting him away screaming. The scream rose above them, increasing in pitch, then ended with a thump.
Carson searched the skies nervously. " What the bloody hell! Was that John?"
" Last time I saw," Ronon said, " John didn't have wings."
The guards ducked, babbling, pointing their weapons in ever direction. There came another shriek like cry, and the dark shape shot out of the mist, taking another soldier with it. Weapons fired, a man screamed, and the scream stopped suddenly with a thud.
A Cy turned his weapon on Lorne. " Get us out of here!" he wailed, shoving the barrel into Lorne's shoulder. Lorne didn't move, so the Cy turned the weapon on Carson who'd finally struggled back to kneeling position. " Now, or I kill him!"
A shriek, and Carson felt a rush of air over his head when the winged form shot over head, clipping the Cy to send him actually flipping and landing unconscious onto his chest. In their mad haste to see the creature, the three remaining guards' attention was removed from the prisoners.
" I think now's a good time to do something," Ronon flatly stated. He scrambled off the ground, straight at a Cy to pile drive him to the ground. Lorne, Teyla, and the two marines sprang into action, attacking the final two guards just as they swung their weapons around. Outnumbered, the guards were subdued with weapons removed. Carson got to his feet, wincing at the pain in his gut, and held out a hand to help Becka up. Ronon had Lorne and his men pin the soldiers to the ground as he tied up their hands and ankles.
Carson watched it all in a detached sort of way. Then, as though just now recalling the source for their rescue, he turned his eyes heavenward. He saw nothing, but he did catch the distant roar of agony that made his blood go to ice.
SGASGASGASGA
John raced through the thickening mist, blood flying from his shoulder, from his clothes, his claws, his mouth. It was everywhere, filling his snout, coating his tongue, veiling his vision. It was his world, his existence, and it soaked him to his very core. He accepted the blood, because there was no time to dismiss it, to fight against it. Blood was all there was now, and to emerge on the other side, he had to swim through a river of it. So he let the blood fuse with his being, let it spill and cover him, tearing, biting, and shredding through to the singular goal that was Diavante's blood – had Diavante any blood left to spill into the river.
John kept his jaw slack enough to breathe through. Each breath was raspy, and uncomfortable with a pain in his side. Pain was getting tricky about being pushed back, but the blood gave him something to focus on, and the rage.
Kill Diavante.
John sniffed the air, and followed the invisible trail of scent. On hearing voices, he crouched, and waited. Men emerged from the mist, four of them, one he knew.
Koyla.
John rushed at the group, too quick for them to act. He dispatched them, then whipped around to plow into Koyla, driving him into a tree and pinning him there with one clawed hand on the man's chest. Koyla revealed little fear in his features, but the stench of it was strong, exposed by the sweat dripping down the man's face. John brought his fanged snout in close, close enough to tear out the man's throat.
" Just like that, Sheppard?" Koyla said without compunction. " One bite, and it's over? And it only took you losing your humanity to do it."
The SOB was good. A moment of clarity cut through the blood and the screams to the back seat driver that was John's real self. John, human or beast, was a creature of defense. He attacked first when needed, defended every other time, and killed only out of necessity. Cold blood wasn't his style, his nature, or anything his heart could handle.
He wasn't an animal, and like hell he would become one. John leaned to the side, moving his snout closer to Koyla's ear.
" Pooointsss," he hissed. " Nooooot tooooodaaaaaaay. Sooooome daaaaayyyy." He released Koyla, who smirked, tugging on his shirt and coat to straighten it.
" Apparently you're still in there after all. And you've still yet to learn anything..."
John cut him short by swiping him across the face and sending him flying sideways into the dirt, unconscious and bleeding from the gashes in his face. John went over to him, and lowered his head toward the downed man's ear.
" Sooo yyyyooooou dooon't foooorgeeeet," he snarled, and moved on. He knew, one day, someone would ask him why he let Koyla live, the man who was a threat, a nuisance, and an all around SOB. In time to come, Sheppard would probably be unable to answer, both out of a lack of a desire to, and lack of proper words to explain it. In the here and now, it was all about humanity, and pulling himself from the river of blood he had been drowning in.
Koyla, in the here and now, was a threat only to John, not Atlantis. Diavante was the threat. Diavante needed to die. And Koyla – John wanted to face him human, but at the extreme moment, to become human would prevent him from returning to being the beast. He needed to be the beast, just for a little longer, while he still could. He could feel time growing short, as his own blood dripped from his body.
The forest had gone quiet, too quiet, bad omen quiet, but the reason for it could have been his presence alone. He heard no voices, scented no human smells. He was alone. So where was Diavante?
John sat back on his haunches, rising just a little until his hands were off the ground, threw his head back, and emitted a roar that could have split the sky with its power. When the roar died, he dropped back to all fours, and waited. If Diavante spoke beast – no doubts that he did – he would know what the call meant.
I win, so come and get me.
John waited, and waited, blood falling in soft pats to the ground. He did not move, blink, or so much as twitch a muscle. He conserved all energy, gathering the little bit he had left to reinforce the form. The only movement from him was the gentle rise and fall of his flanks. He couldn't say how long the wait would last, but he would wait, however long.
He took a slow breath, inhaling, and before he could release it, arctic cold sharp as a blade of ice pierced his back. He threw his head back, and howled out his agony. It rose higher when he was lifted up from the ground. He stiffened, arching his back, shrieking the air out of his assaulted lungs. Then as quickly as it had happened, he was thrown to the ground, and the dagger of ice slipped from his back.
Only to have ice wrap around his throat and lift him again, turning him to face the black mass of darkness that was Diavante.
" You have not won," he rumbled. " There will be others. I will have them hunt you, forever. Atlantis will still be mine." Diavante threw John into a tree, and he fell in a crumpled heap to the ground. But recovery was quick. He shook off the effects and flashes of light in his eye, and looked up to see Diavante flowing toward him. Snarling, bristling, John tore into the ground at a charge and leaped. He smacked into Diavante and began to tear, bite, and rip into the black mass. There was mist, something more substantial, and something deeper within that was solid. Diavante howled a combination rumble and trumpeting. Tentacles wrapped around John's neck, torso, legs, and arms, pulling, only to be bitten. Divante pulled, John tore, black blood oozing over his claws and arms. John burrowed deeper into Diavante to the vulnerable center, and touched something cool and hard. He gripped it.
Cold shot straight into John's chest, through his heart. Before he could scream, the coil around his neck tightened. Lack of air, and the numb spreading through his hammering heart, made him go rigid, losing his grip on Diavante. Diavante pulled him away and lifted him up high. The Ancient entity, splashing black blood, howled with burning rage as coils tightened around John's body, crushing his trachea, ribcage, and smothering his heart.
But John never let go of the object in his clawed hand.
Through the swiftly descending fog of unconsciousness, John heard a sound. It was a shriek, coming near, fast. He saw before his vision darkened a shape dropping from the sky. It was small, smaller than John at least, with tawny fur, a wolf-like head with narrow ears, and bat-like wings attached to long arms. Hind legs stretched forward with clawed toes spread and...
Crap, is it wearing a dress? Dress and amber cloak, with frayed sleeves flapping back in the rushing air. The creature landed on Diavante, and took up a psychotic burrowing of its own.
Diavante released John who fell like a discarded sack to the ground. Tentacles reached out behind, grabbing the smaller beast, pulling it away, and tossing it to the side into a tree. The creature impacted, and landed unconscious.
Diavante turned his focus back to John. John struggled to his feet against pain and cold to back away, hissing and bristling.
" Give it to me!" the entity bellowed. " Atlantis is mine! Mine! It belongs to me!"
Tentacles snaked out toward John, converging on the sil. John glanced to the winged creature, wearing a familiar dress, a familiar cloak, still unmoving.
John didn't have a choice. Diavante would keep coming. He would take the sil, gather his army, send them through, take Atlantis, hunt him, hunt his friends. Never ending cycle of grab and retrieve, grab and retrieve. John was sick of this crap. One device wasn't worth losing Atlantis.
It wasn't worth Krissa's life.
Sorry kid.
John gripped the sil in both hands, whipped around, and began bashing it into a tree, over and over, metal denting until the panels popped off, and parts went flying.
" Noooooooooooo!" Diavante's howl had the potency to shatter glass. It stabbed through John's ears, into his brain, but he kept on pummeling, shrieking over Diavante. The mutilation of the sil ended when Diavante knocked John to the side with a massive tentacle solid as stone. John flew one way, the sil the other when he missed the tree and tossed it instead. John landed rolling and tumbling over the ground, only stopping when his body met a tree.
It was the final assault. His body couldn't take any more, and released the creature form, sliding back into John's human form to conserve the little energy he had left. Blurring eyes rolled up in his skull, his vision filling with Diavante's shapeless form. A mouth of jagged teeth gaped open and lowered toward him.
P-90 fire broke the silence in successive, rattling pops, and Diavante reared back. Black blood spurted from him with each hit coming on all sides. He melted away from John, turning one way, then the other, but the gunfire kept coming. He shifted into John's creature-shadow doppelganger, and took off into the woods. John heard shouts, more firing, and rumbling cries of pain.
It was all white noise to John. Across the way, the winged wolf was gone. John knew the body that lay in its place, and the face that lifted with effort from the ground, stained in blood, dirt, and tears. Krissa pushed to hands and knees, and crawled to John, crying with sobs that shook her. John tried to get up, screamed at himself to. He struggled to his hands, then his knees. He looked down at the blood, so much blood, covering every inch of him. He rose up onto his knees and collapsed against the tree in sickened horror with stomach clenching, readying the vomit.
He did this, all of this, all this blood. His hands, his teeth, tearing into human flesh, opening veins and spilling crimson liquid to stain the ground and his own body. He'd killed like an animal.
John whimpered at the sight, the taste, the smell – killing like an animal. He shrank against the tree, trembling, panting, gagging. He felt so cold.
Then came a touch on his shoulder. He looked up into the terror-stricken and tear-stained face of Krissa, still sobbing, so much like a child now.
" Mr... Sheppard," she gasped, and more tears flowed. John forgot the blood, its existence, its reason for being. Krissa was here. She was alive. He had found her.
He hadn't failed.
John wanted to laugh and cry and scream, but couldn't do any, so settled for wrapping his arms around the girl with smaller arms wrapping back around him. They hugged eachother tightly as though afraid to let go, and John's arms shook with the effort it took. He was so tired, so cold, and couldn't stop shivering.
" It's okay Krissa," he breathed. " It's over, it's over, it's over..." The cold hurt, like a thousand knives, and he sucked in a sharp breath, gagging, moaning, tensing as it spiked through him. " Oh gosh it hurts!" he gasped. Every breath, every beat of his heart, tripled the pain that thrashed him from the inside out. It was as though the blade of ice had broken off, and remained lodged in his chest, his back, and all his limbs. It pricked his heart with each pulse.
It was too much. The adrenaline rushed fast from his veins, dissolving as though his blood had become acid. It took his strength with it until his arms dropped to the ground and his body sagged.
" Mr. Sheppard!"
He felt himself being half-lowered, half toppling to the ground.
" John!"
" It hurts," he whispered, which was all he could do. Too much pain, too much weariness...
" Somebody help me!"
SGASGASGASGA
" Somebody help me!"
A thrill of electric panic shot through Carson, and he ran faster, almost keeping in step with the marine leading the way.
" That sounded like... a wee... lass..." he panted.
" We saw 'em over here," the young marine explained, " when that black blob thing took off."
They didn't have far to go, it just felt that way. Time was a drawn out pain during the urgent times. So when they came on the scene, Carson nearly lost his footing stumbling in shock. He saw, past the marine, a young girl – maybe twelve – in a ragged dress with torn sleeves, kneeling over a prone and bloody figure. She sobbed, shook the figure, and rocked back and forth on folded legs, shivering. Carson weaved around the marine to fall to his own knees by that figure in the once gray shirt drenched in blood. The girl looked up at Beckett incomprehensibly, and coughed.
" H-help him," she squeaked. " C-c-can you help him?"
Carson, snapping the bag open, smiled falteringly and nodded. " Aye lass, that I can."
He put his hand on the sticky shoulder, and pulled. Sheppard rolled unresponsively onto his back to splay out bonelessly. He was cold, even through the shirt and the blood, his only movement subdued shivers and labored, shallow breaths. But his eyes were open, staring blindly into the sky. Beckett, heart racing, checked the pulse that was way too fast. His nurse, finally catching up, dropped down beside Carson, and all unease was wiped from her as she cut through the Colonel's tattered shirt with scissors, sleeves and all, and pulled it away as Beckett placed on the stethoscope.
Like with the pulse, the heart was too fast. Beckett unconsciously placed his hand on John's ghost-white flank, and yanked it away with an alarmed hiss.
" Bugger his skin is like bloody ice!" He felt again, cold to the touch. He looked at the Colonel's mouth, but the man's face was masked by blood. Carson leaned forward to be in sight of the Colonel's vacant eyes. " Colonel Sheppard? Colonel Sheppard, can you hear me? We're going to get you out of here son, so just hang on." He then tapped the radio at his ear. " Major Lorne, Ronon, Teyla, can anyone read? We need to get Colonel Sheppard back to Atlantis stat. What's the status on Diavante."
" Dead, sir."
Caron looked up, and his bones tried to leap from his skin. The nurse stifled a yelp by slapping her hand over her mouth, and the young marine whipped his P-90 around.
A creature – like a bat-eared vulture standing on two legs – was now behind the girl with hands clasped loosely behind the back. The creature sniffed in picturesque nonchalance.
" Master Diavante is dead, sir." The creature looked down at Colonel Sheppard, and cocked an eyebrow in slight surprise. " And Mr. Sheppard... is not well..."
SGASGASGASGA
Carson could do little in the jumper concerning hypothermia say for keeping John covered in a blanket while rubbing his chest as the nurse massaged Sheppard's arms. Unresponsive, breathing fast, barely there in the real world... But the girl still kneeling by his side, holding his hand, gradually sparked a small gram of awareness in John. The empty eyes were clearing, flicking about until they settled on Krissa.
Through the pain he was in, and the cold consuming him, John's mouth twitched up in a smile, and his eyes lit up with what Carson assumed had to be hope.
" Y-you're here..." he gasped out. " Y-you're okay..."
Krissa smiled, wiping her eyes with one hand.
" I'm okay," she choked.
The creature the girl had called Bart hopped down from the bench to move up beside Krissa.
" You are not looking well, Mr. Sheppard."
Sheppard coughed out a chuckle. " H-h-hey B-Bart. I – I thought... Your part... was done?"
The creature sniffed. " My part in your endeavors, Mr. Sheppard. Miss Krissa still had need of me."
John chuckled again, but the effort overwhelmed him, and his eyes rolled back into his head as his eyelids slid closed. Krissa gasped.
" Mr. Sheppard?"
Beckett quickly checked Sheppard's pulse, and nodded. Teyla knelt on the other side of the young girl.
" He is only asleep," she assured. " He will be all right."
" Aye," Carson said with a smile. " Like hell I'm losing him without a fight."
SGASGASGASGA
A/N: Okay, everyone, let loose a cheer. Krissa's been saved. Only two chapters left to go.
