Woo. I struggled a bit with this chapter. Plenty more Shep whumpage here – but still no scissors! Have no fear… we are slowly building up to the pants removal scene. It will happen:)
As ever, please review and let me know what you think – all constructive criticism greatly appreciated.
"Be quiet."
Sheppard saw McKay open his mouth to reply to that but then he took notice of the look on Ronon's face and suddenly seemed to think better of the idea.
Another growling scream rose out of the jungle. Somewhere nearby a bird of some kind shrieked and took flight, fluttering and crashing through the foliage. Rodney stared fearfully at the tangled jungle that surrounded them, panic evident on his face.
The four of them formed a frozen tableau, unmoving, each of them hardly daring to breathe as they listened intently for what they feared to hear. There it was again. The angry scream of a predator… and an answering call.. and another.
McKay's face was positively ashen. "Ohshitohshitohshit.."
"Rodney!" Teyla's voice may have been a mere whisper but it packed enough fury to snap him out of his panic.
This was not good. "We need to get out of here."
Everyone looked round at Sheppard as he spoke, his voice sounding tight as he tried to breathe through the pain. It was pretty disconcerting to have them all standing over him, looking down at him as he lay flat on his back in the underbrush. If he hadn't felt so damn crappy he'd have laughed. Instead he tried to sit up, easier said than done with only one arm functioning properly.
Teyla moved with the lithe grace of a dancer, her every movement precise, controlled, making as little noise as possible as she knelt carefully next to Sheppard, her gaze constantly scanning the surrounding jungle.
"Colonel." She spoke quietly but with fervour, turning her earnest face to his as her firm hand stilled his attempts to rise. "We must see to your wounds. You are in no condition to travel…"
John grimaced, his breath catching for a moment. His leg throbbed and burnt fiercely and he couldn't help tensing up as the pain spiked hotly. It crested, ebbed slightly and he clenched his fists as he spoke rapidly, rushing the words out on a sharp exhalation, "There are more of those things out there.." He broke off, gasping in air as he fought for control. He was uncomfortably aware of his team's scrutiny, of the concern on their faces as they watched him struggle.
He gritted his teeth and finished his sentence in a rush, struggling to get the words out around his increasingly ragged breathing.
"..and they're gonna smell the blood.. if they haven't already… and we're all gonna end up as… as lunch, if we don't… get out of here."
"You're not going anywhere. Not like that." Ronon's tone was matter of fact, his usual stoic expression unruffled by the glare John turned on him. The Satedan loomed over Sheppard and gestured, gun still in his hand, at the blood-soaked leg of John's pants.
"You're bleeding all over the place. We don't do something about that wound, you'll bleed to death before we even get to the gate and leave a scent trail a child could follow. Those things'll track us down in seconds."
John wanted to scream in frustration. This sucked. His team was in danger and not only could he not protect them, he was a liability to them. If they stayed together his injuries made it very likely that none of them would make it off this planet alive. There was only one way out of this.
"Fine," he gritted. "McKay, Teyla, head back to the gate. Ronon here… gets to play… doctor and then we'll… follow after you."
Rodney was spluttering in disbelief before Sheppard had even finished speaking.
"Are you insane!"
McKay's voice was steadily increasing in pitch as he warmed up to a fully-fledged rant.
"One of these things nearly killed you and there are god only knows how many more of them out there hunting us down!"
He gestured wildly at Ronon who merely regarded the panicked scientist with a slightly disdainful tolerance. "That.. that thing damn near took your leg off and.. and Conan here has just told you that all its hungry little friends will be able to track you because of all the blood you're leaking all over the damn jungle! And just how the hell are you planning to be able to walk anyhow?.."
Rodney was getting red in the face as he lectured Sheppard, his voice rising in volume.
"McKay.."
"We can't just leave you here!.."
"McKay!" Shouting at Rodney took more effort than Sheppard would like to admit but it at least had the effect of shutting the man up for the moment. He couldn't help the smallest of groans escaping him as pain rippled through him, his muscles tensing spasmodically. Teyla's hand was firm on his shoulder, offering what comfort she could, and he was vaguely aware of her low-pitched warning, "Rodney, you will draw the creatures to us!" as McKay opened his mouth.
Another growling scream floated out of the jungle, draining the angry colour from McKay's cheeks and having the almost comic effect of snapping his mouth shut before he'd uttered a syllable. John frowned. That one had sounded closer than before.
"Go back to the gate, McKay."
Rodney made as if to speak again but John didn't allow him the chance to interrupt.
"And when you get back to Atlantis, have Elizabeth send a coupla teams back here to help me and Ronon."
McKay's face was mutinous but Sheppard's tone brooked no argument and Teyla was already rising to her feet, her P90 held ready. Her expression said she didn't like this any more than McKay but John knew that Teyla understood. This was the only chance they had of getting out of here.
"We will return as soon as we are able," she stated firmly.
John nodded. He was running out of energy fast. How wondered idly just how much blood he'd lost. He wasn't too out of it to notice the look that passed between Ronon and Teyla as she pulled open a pocket on her tac vest and handed him her field dressing. Her concern showed in her expressive eyes, in the tight set of her mouth.
Rodney couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Sheppard as he too fumbled the bandage from his vest and held it out to Ronon. The Satedan accepted it wordlessly and, with a hopeless, mumbled "Well then. See you soon..", Rodney turned and followed Teyla into the thick vegetation, following the narrow path they had created in their trek from the gate. Within seconds they were gone from view.
Ronon wasted no time, crouching down beside Sheppard as another screeching howl echoed through the canopy. "We need to get moving. Those things are getting closer."
John struggled to lift his head to see what Ronon was doing. Movement was becoming an effort and Sheppard was beginning to have his doubts that he'd even be able to stand upright, let alone outrun hungry predators through the tangled vegetation between here and the gate. But then again, the thought of getting eaten wasn't a particularly attractive alternative. The desire to stay alive was a pretty good motivator.
John grunted dully as Ronon peeled back the ragged edges of his torn BDUs to get a better look at the injury. The leg was a mess. Sheppard got a glimpse of torn flesh, bright red blood glistening wetly on skin and fabric, still welling sluggishly from deep gashes. His vision started to blur and he had to let his head drop back, his breathing coming fast and ragged.
There was no time for finesse. Sheppard bit down on a yelp as Ronon pressed a field dressing firmly against the open wounds, pushing down hard. John was sweating, his face twisted with pain, by the time Ronon had pulled the fastenings tight, securing the bandage in place tight enough to keep pressure on the wound.
He was breathing heavily as the ex-runner wrapped the second bandage over the worst of the gashes on his arm, his movements efficient and practised as he swiftly tied off the dressing. Ronon's gaze was solemn as he watched John struggle with the pain and Sheppard wondered hazily how many times Ronon had had to dress his own wounds on some lonely planet, knowing always that those who hunted him were never far behind.
The Satedan rose smoothly to his feet and offered Sheppard a hand.
It took the two of them to get him upright but, to be fair, Ronon did most of the work. He managed to pull Sheppard to a sitting position and then, crouching carefully beside the Colonel, he slung John's left arm around his shoulders and, straightening slowly, lifted John up with him. Sheppard grit his teeth against the pain as he was pulled upright, his head pounding dizzily as his blood pressure got reacquainted with gravity. For a moment or two he hung limply from Ronon's shoulders like a rag doll, white-faced and trembling, his right leg almost folding beneath him as he struggled to find his balance on just one limb.
Ronon gave him a moment to catch his breath but he could sense the warrior's impatience in the tension of the broad shoulder beneath his arm. John tried to shake off the dizziness. They needed to get out of here. Now.
He pulled himself up straighter and tentatively tried putting his weight on his bandaged left leg.
Nnngghgh. He bit down on a curse. He'd never known pain like it. It flared and burned, singing along his nerve pathways until it arrived shrieking in his brain, pain receptors firing so rapidly his vision swam. The leg gave way under him and he couldn't hold in a sharp cry.
The answering scream from the jungle was close. Far too close. They were out of time.
Still firmly holding John's arm across his shoulders, Ronon wrapped his right arm around John's waist and effectively dragged him forward, bearing as much of his CO's weight as he could. It was excruciating. Every motion jarred Sheppard's leg and caused dark spots to crowd at the edges of his vision. Pain burned like fire in his thigh and he was practically a dead weight as Ronon manhandled them through the thick foliage as quickly as he could. Sheppard's head sagged forward, his breathing harsh and ragged, and he felt despair tighten in his throat as he noticed that the dressing around his thigh was already turning red; hot, sticky blood soaking through to trickle down his leg.
They'd gone less than 50 metres when a cacophony of snarling and shrieking broke out behind them. Vicious growls rent the air, the animals howling and snarling at each other. They'd found their dead pack-mate. The hunt was on in earnest.
TBC…
