THE NEXT EVENT - by Kolyaaa!

CHAPTER TWENTY: THE FLAPPING TARP

A/N: Last night's selection was quiet and comical. A little relief for my readers. Tonight... we will return to carnage.

[{O}]

Beckett squatted beside Rodney keeping a dirt-covered hand on the scientist's bandaged shoulder. The thick quick-clot pressure bandages he had placed over the wound once again showed multifocal areas of pink, hinting at rapid saturation of the once sterile cloth. He grimaced, and pulled at Ronon's coat to cover his friend once more.

This wasn't going to work. Beckett shaded his eyes against the sharp glare of the sun.

They were going to lose Rodney here on some godforsaken planet that seemed a cross between the enchanted forest and Jurassic Park. It seemed to be the place where Bambi would probably feast on small children and pick his teeth clean with their bones.

Carson stared with some trepidation at the point in the path where Ronon's large frame had disappeared. If he and Rodney ran into trouble now, they would be on their own. The doctor let his gaze glance across the golden-haired beauty a few feet from him and then Rodney. Nonor had a perfect muscular frame that curved and dipped in all the right places and offered just enough natural soft and tender areas to accentuate her feminine figure. She was the picture of health, which attracted the doctor in him. She was beautiful, which appealed to him as a man. And the geneticist in him could find no outward physical flaws that gave him qualms about the soundness if her DNA. A cute pout wrinkled her clear features, adding to her allure.

"This is his fault you know," she muttered turning large, long-lashed, doe-brown eyes in Beckett's direction while indicating Rodney.

And Beckett sighed, disappointed. The illusion was cruelly shattered – again. He shaded his eyes with his hand, blocking the sun as he stared up at the Satedan.

Nonor was perfect, absolutely stunningly beautiful, with the sun casting a golden halo around her frame. Her beauty was unmatched – until she spoke. Suddenly, the doctor and researcher in him had an urge to run cranial imaging on her. Perhaps her brain was like the Grinch's heart: two sizes too small. Perhaps he should run an EEG and search for any type of brainwave activity.

Beckett shook his head. With that simple move, he dismissed both her foolish statement and his callous plans. His mind, however, kept coming up with diagnostic possibilities: Maybe a scanning electron microscope would have better luck finding grey matter in Nonor if he managed to get a biopsy?

He shook his head again, trying to rid himself of his uncharitable thoughts, chuckling weakly. This was Ronon's sister. Dex deserved better from his friends. Nonor wasn't a bad person. She wasn't evil or wicked. She was just – Nonor. Completely mental and unbelievably narcissistic.

"Whaa's so f'nny?" McKay breathed out, turning his head slightly. He blinked a few times, lazy slow movements that had him struggling to unroll his eyes from the back of his head.

Beckett watched as Nonor turned and took a few steps toward the surrounding forest, as if trying to distance herself from the two unworthy men. He never did claim to be a saint and Rodney surely held no aspirations for canonization.

Carson turned his attention back to Rodney and offered sly chuckle. "Just wondering what I would find if I did some brain scans on Ronon's sister."

"A wormhole," Rodney muttered. His voice was a barely articulated answer that whispered over chapped lips.

Beckett stared quizzically at the astrophysicist not understanding the answer.

McKay took a careful breath and then explained, "It takes matter in one end, breaks it down, and..." He paused to draw more air. "…then lets it escape out the other side—whole. Nothing retained." Rodney quirked a smile and let his eyes flutter closed. The effort of speaking seemed to drain him even further. The smile faded.

"Aye, you can be a daft bugger, Rodney," Carson replied chuckling, "but occasionally pretty astute."

"Only occasionally?" Rodney asked slight annoyance. Even exhausted and dying no one appreciated his efforts. He shivered.

"Aye. Ya did get chomped on by a horned beastie, now didn't ya?" Beckett stated, pulling at Ronon's coat.

"Maybe, but at least I didn't run into a tree," Rodney retaliated with a faded accusing voice. He managed to open bloodshot eyes and stare at Carson with a superior glare, even if it was muted by pain and blood loss.

"The tree ran into me," Beckett defended, as he pressed his hand against McKay's forehead. His indignation was admixed with the worry that all of Atlantis would learn of his 'run in' with nature.

"Trees don't jump out in front of people, Carson," Rodney stated with quiet confidence.

The talking was obviously eating up what little strength he had left, but Carson could tell it was also pushing the incessant pain a little further away. If he could offer McKay some comfort by arguing with him, who was he to deny him?

"They do on this godforsaken planet." Beckett itched to lift the bandage and check McKay's seeping wound again, but kept himself from doing it. It would do them no good to disturb the bandage - if the bleeding stopped, then kudos for them, better for Rodney. But the bleeding clearly wasn't stopping. Beckett eyed the slow spread of the focal points of pink as they darkened and stretched, radiating out, wicking through the bandage and slowly bridging across the areas of white to further saturate more of the cloth. He pulled at Ronon's coat until it covered the shoulder and he wouldn't have to see it any longer.

Rodney was in trouble. They needed to get help, leave this planet of insanity and get home to Atlantis.

Looking up at Beckett through hooded eyes, McKay asked quietly, "I'm going to die aren't I?"

"Aye, someday, Rodney," Beckett answered tightly, not raising his head. He stared away into the woods, avoiding eye contact with Rodney, hoping Ronon would be returning soon.

"You're a great comfort… you know that, Carson?"

"You're not going to die today, Rodney." The doctor looked back down at his patient and offered him a kind smile, hoping it would help. When he realized there was a better way to reassure the Canadian, his caring smile morphed into one that carried an air of mischief. "At least I don't think you will."

"Oh, great, fantastic," McKay paused and dragged in an elusive breath. "You...you are no help, none whatsoever," Rodney ranted for a bit letting his one good hand clench and unclench. The other was deadly still. "Shouldn't you be… shaking a rattle and wearing feathers?" He paused, his eyes blinking slowly, lethargically. "Chanting some nonsense to the… healing gods about saving my life?"

Carson chuckled pleased to see some life come back into his friend. A spark of hope flared—all was not lost. McKay was an obstinate man and wouldn't just roll over and die.

"Left my rattle at home," he replied. He frowned as a strange thought hit him. Something was wrong. He glanced back at the woods. What was it? He kept his voice casual, to not alert his patient, "No rattle at all, and used the last of the magic snake venom to heal Zelenka of his stomach bug."

Strange. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was if the wind had shifted, or a storm was blowing in. Something was about to happen. Beckett looked around for Nonor as a cloud blocked the sharp afternoon rays of the sun. The sounds of a tarp flap beating rhythmically caught his attention.

There was no breeze and certainly no one had set up a tarp.

Carson pushed himself to his feet searching the forest around them. He saw nothing. Everything was deathly still. Where was Nonor? The Satedan had disappeared!

The rhythmic flapping continued and seemed to draw nearer.

"Rodney?" Beckett asked with rising concern. "Do you hear something?"

The slow steady flapping drew ominously closer.

"No," Rodney whispered and then added with slight panic, "I'm deaf! Carson, what if I'm deaf? What am I going to do?"

"Give us all chronic headaches with your yelling," Beckett answered, though Rodney's quiet voice could hardly be called a shout. He turned in circle searching the surrounding forest, trying to pinpoint the sound. He paused and then added, "You're not going deaf, Rodney; your ears just aren't working right now."

"How is that different from being deaf?" McKay squeaked trying to raise an impossibly heavy hand to his ear, and looking frustrated as Ronon's coat got in the way.

"You can hear me, can't you? Shush, man, and listen; something's not right," Beckett hushed his friend.

"What gave you that idea?" McKay closed his eyes and swallowed tentatively himself. "The killer horned beast… the deadly bunnies straight out of a Monty Python movie..." He paused and licked his chapped lips. Drawing in another slow breath, he continued in a low voice, "Or the jumper… completely swallowed up by this planet?"

The area in the small clearing grew a shade darker as if more of the sun was being blocked. Wrong… wrong… something was very wrong!

"Carson…?" Rodney's voice faded into nothing.

Beckett snapped his head around to face to the left. He heard the unmistakable sound of something overtly large crashing through the forest, heading in his and Rodney's direction.

"Oh, crap," he whispered.

The doctor's heart began to beat frantically. Something was charging at them from the forest. He swung his head left and right trying to find a place to hide, someplace to drag Rodney off to that would offer some sort of protection. They were sitting ducks out here.

Where was Nonor? Where had the Satedan Amazon disappeared to?

"Nonor!" he yelled.

The flapping sounded increasingly louder, drumming closer, causing the tiny bones in Beckett's inner ear to vibrate.

He stared fixated to the spot in the forest that seemed likely the source of the charging beast. He reached down and tucked the alicorn horn next to Rodney. Then he fumbled with releasing his 9mm from its holster, pulling it up with his right hand. Not that it would do a lot of good.

He cursed himself, knowing he would have better luck with throwing harsh language at whatever rushed them than hitting it with a bullet. Major Lorne had tried training him with the handgun and insisted that Beckett was more capable with his left hand. Colonel Sheppard had invested many hours attempting to teach him and thought Carson was less dangerous if he used his right hand. Then the Colonel and Major agreed that perhaps Lieutenant Cadman might have better luck with training the doctor in handguns. However, that too was a bust. Carson had to admit he was not terribly focused on keeping either of his hands on the gun with Laura so close and within easy touch. And she didn't seem to mind too terribly badly.

Carson switched the 9mm to his left hand.

The glade remained in the shade. How big was that cloud? Beckett was curious but refused to look, it really didn't seem all that pertinent at the moment, but it was a bit intriguing.

The crashing drew closer, the snapping of branches, the sound of jumping feet and the thud of foot falls on the unseen dirt path carried closer and closer to the two doctors.

Beckett positioned himself between Rodney and whatever charged at them from the cover of the forest. Perhaps it was one of Boris's ferocious bunny rabbits. Maybe an angry feather snake with feet? Would it still be a snake, then? Or...God...please don't let it be an alicorn...

Beckett shook his head in frustration trying to rein in his stray thoughts.

He switched the gun to his right hand.

The incessant flapping continued to beat the air. A strange pulsing breeze suddenly buffeted Carson. He worked diligently to ignore it and focus on the man-eating monster that was sure to erupt from the forest and try and dismember him and Rodney. At least the sun was no longer in his eyes. He really didn't enjoy this kind of thing - not at all.

He was a quiet man, grew up in a quiet house, had a good mum, did his chores most days, studied hard, tried to help people the best he could. His life was exciting enough in the laboratory and emergency department. He really didn't need to add life-sucking creatures or carnivorous animals to it. This really wasn't his thing!

Beckett's pulse raced. He didn't want to die on this world that seemed spawned by a macabre drug-induced hallucination. What would his mother and cousins think if they ever learned some purple wee bunnies with cute noses had killed him? Or feathered snakes that hid from the sun? He'd be the laughing stock down at the pub. His only consolation was that his death would be classified information.

Sweat ran into his eyes.

The flapping was nearly oppressive. His teeth seemed to rattle in their sockets.

He could no longer hear the crashing monstrosity that dashed through the woods.

He gripped the handgun in both hands, and the two hands jostled for position, slick fingers shaking. Somehow, he released the safety on his 9mm. Shoot to kill. That is what the military guys had been teaching him. They had finally relented and constantly told him that he should just shoot with the intention of hitting his target.

With wide eyes and a racing heart, Beckett started to raise the gun and aim it with steadfast intention of hitting something. He caught fleeting glimpses of a massive, tawny colored creature charging creature through the camouflaged of the thick forest. Oh, God, it was an alicorn!

"Carson!"

Rodney's hoarse panicked scream had Beckett twisting his upper body around just in time to have his heavy issued off-world coat and vest snared by the large brutally-curved talons. Said talons were solidly attached to oversized legs that ran jointed up to an exceptionally large leather winged bird. Its sheer bulk would have given an elephant a run for its money in size.

In the flash of a moment, the doctor was torn off the ground, dangling from curled talons within the grip of the largest leather-winged bird of prey he had even seen. The only leather-winged bird of prey he had ever seen. He hoped it didn't have bumble foot.

What did Nonor say about the things? - so imposing that no race had ever dared name it. The gun fell from his hands. He watched it fall a small black dot that only got smaller as it tumbled away like a discarded rock. He could probably hit more things with a rock.

Bad luck…bad luck…bad luck. Screaming, he squeezed his eyes closed as he sped away from the ground. All he ever had going off world was bad luck! No one else has been scooped up by some winged creature. Why him? Wee feral bunny rabbits didn't seem so bad right now. Bring them on. He knew how to roast up a good hare.

Beckett opened his eyes and found himself lifted high above the forest canopy. He stared down at the shrinking prone figure of Rodney.

A shadow broke through the forest into the clearing. It was Ronon. It had been Ronon who had been running at them from the woods. Carson watched with slight detachment as large red energy bolts streaked across the sky toward the screaming winged monster that held him.

For a moment Beckett prayed Ronon's aim was true, until he realized just how small and far away Ronon and McKay looked from his lofty vantage point.

"Oh no…oh no…oh no…no…no…no…" Beckett mumbled despondently. He kicked his legs and wiggled as red flashes of energy streaked by, barely missing him.

The raptor screamed in a high pitch wail that had Beckett screaming himself. The unmistakable smell of burnt tissue wafted down to him.

The creature lurched to the side. Beckett's body thrashed around, his leg careening out like the tail end of a whip.

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God," he whispered as more red bolts zipped dangerously close to him and found their mark.

The raptor screamed again and jerked a hundred and eighty degrees to the left.

Beckett's legs flew out in the opposite direction of his shoulders and upper body.

More energy bolts zapped past and exploded mercilessly into the massive feathered body that clutched him.

The raptor screamed again. Beckett mimicked it.

Another blast found its mark. The bird was thrown forward, head down, giving Beckett a nauseatingly close view of its razor-toothed beak and sword shaped tongue.

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God."

Beckett closed his eyes. He promised he'd never have another sarcastic remark for Rodney again when it came to medicine. He promised never to threaten him again with a prostate exam. He would give Rodney his undivided and most sympathetic attention possible. Carson whispered desperate pleading promises, if only he would be spared a useless death at the claws of an overgrown chicken hawk with leather wings. His cousins would laugh at him until they cried themselves silly. The humility of it all; the injustice of it!

He could hear the whine of more laser bolts from Ronon's gun.

The massive bird jerked again.

Beckett felt the talons loosened their grip. His vest ripped, popping just a few stitches, jerking him dangerously close to freedom.

Carson peeled open one eye and looked at the forest terrifyingly far below him.

He was wrenched again as another talon tore through his vest. The material of his right shoulder ripped free. He dangled precariously from his left while the right side of his body dropped few feet closer to the diminutive trees and expansive forest.

He began to twist in a nauseating circle.

Another volley of red blasts streaked by.

The rhythmic flapping of the leather wings faltered. As a pair, the bird of prey and he dropped like a stone for a brief terrifying moment.

The trees below gave way to large blue expanse of water.

The beating wings started again, bringing their fall to a jolting halt.

The seams on his coat over the left shoulder tore. He freefell a few inches until his vest was snared within the talons. The material was yanked upward up under his jaw and across part of his face forcing his head to the side. Beckett clutched firmly to the top of the vest, hoping to keep it on and hoping to prevent it from shearing his head off.

The flapping faltered again.

The creature cried. Its sharp screams pierced the area. Beckett cringed, drawing his legs up closer to his midsection. He was going to be dropped by a bird…the only thing missing was newly washed car to land on. His life should have had a more graceful ending.

The stitching of his vest gave.

For a moment Carson Beckett was freefalling. In a last ditch effort to avoid mimicking urate, he desperately reached up and snared one scaly leg just above the creature's foot and held on for dear life.

The bird screamed again, bellowing its rage and fright as the duo once again plummeted to the right and toward the water.

Beckett held on desperately, matching the creature's distressed scream.

They careened toward the water like a badly formed cinderblock.

The desperate flapping of leather wings sounded overhead. It slowed their descent just a fraction. Turning their freefall from one of sure death into a possible severe maiming.

Beckett wasn't sure he wanted to limp away from this.

The red energy bursts once again started zipping past him. The smell of burning flesh was marked by the horrific cries of pain from the bird.

They continued to fall toward the water. The creature continued to beat its wings, trying to slow its own descent.

Beckett could make out the shoreline. It seemed too close. The water too shallow.

He began kicking and wiggling trying to influence the creature's direction, push it out to deeper water.

Hell, from this height, he'd be lucky to walk away with intact bones. Slamming into a sandy shoreline would do little to improve his chances. And sand in ones socks and underwear was not something easily removed. The little unseen grains were tenacious and hellacious. Broken bones or not, chaffing in some areas of the body by sand was not to be tolerated.

Another red bolt of energy flashed by, singing the underside of Beckett's right arm. "Knock it off, you daft Bugger!" Beckett screamed, competing with the panicked cries of the failing creature.

In a desperate attempt to lose its dinner-turned-hitchhiker, the giant bird reached around with its massive head and plucked the 'cling-on' from its leg.

Beckett found himself hanging by his coat from the saw-toothed beak facing the water.

"Oh no," he whispered as the bird let go.

His screams followed him down through his freefall. He whirled his arms and kicked with his legs in a mad attempt to slow his too rapid decent into the crystal clear blue water below.

At the last moment, he pulled his legs in together, hugged his arms in close to his side and hit the water as straight has he could, not sure if it was proper thing to do or not - and not really caring. Bubbles rushed passed him as he shot through the water like an unleashed arrow. It was amazing how loud it sounded as he careened through the depths.

TBC

A/N: There seem to be more lizards in the bunker. It's hard to keep track of them. I've started putting letters on them but I've run through the alphabet already. I should have figured out a better system. Mr. H is standing on my head right now. Lady Y just ran down my back. Sydney "S" is in the coffee pot again. I didn't put him there.

A/N: MORE FEEDBACK. I know you want to do it. Follow your instincts. Yes, even though you have reviewed before. Even if you've offered feedback several times, you must give me more. You can't help it.