Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far – love you all:)
The drama and angst continues in this chapter.. and lots of lovely Sheppy blood too! Should be wrapping this up in the next 2 or so chapters and the promised Carson with the scissors scene will be putting in an appearance!
Thanks for reading – please review and let me know your thoughts.
John's leg was on fire.
The jungle around him slid by in a blur as Ronon practically carried him through the thick foliage, his legs barely holding him up, dragging and tangling in the undergrowth.
The pain in his thigh was sharp, hot, unrelenting. Every step they took sent fresh waves of agony spiking up his leg, shooting along nerve strands to explode in his brain. His breath came in a harsh pant as he tried to bite down on the pain, screwing up his face in a frown of concentration as he fought the urge to howl and yell.
Ronon was completely focused, his grip tight on John's left wrist and around his waist as he battled their way through the jungle with single-minded purpose. The tall Satedan was incredibly strong, his powerful frame bearing John's weight easily enough, but the close-growing plant life was a hindrance, slowing their progress, scratching and snagging at their skin and clothes as they passed.
From behind – far too close behind – came the growling scream of one of the predators. Ronon cursed shortly.
"They've found our trail."
He had no breath to reply, it was taking all his energy to try and stay upright. The dressing around his thigh felt heavy and wet, hot and sticky against his skin, and he craned his neck forward to try and see as they pushed through tangled leaves, Ronon physically shouldering his way through the jungle. Shit. The bandage was soaked through, soggy and dark, unabsorbed blood overflowing the saturated padding to soak into the fabric of his pants, to drip and trickle down his leg. Ronon had been right, they were leaving a trail that would attract every predator for miles.
"Shit..." his voice was breathy and faint, tight with pain.
"Sheppard?"
He breathed in sharply as his foot tangled in the undergrowth, jerking his leg painfully, and grit his teeth. "I'm leaking.."
Ronon spared a cursory glance at the blood-soaked bandage, his face unreadable, before abruptly hitching John into a more upright position and picking up the pace. Leaves and thin branches whipped mercilessly against John's face as Ronon pulled him sharply along. The Satedan's head was turned from him, his attention focused on finding the clearest path through the foliage, and John couldn't see his expression. He could, however, feel the tension in the arm gripping his waist, hear the growing harshness in Ronon's breathing as he pushed himself harder, dredging an extra ounce of speed from his muscles.
"Ronon.." John was starting to feel dizzy again. He wondered vaguely just how much blood he was losing..
"Hush."
John frowned. Hush! "Ronon.."
Their progress came to a sudden halt, Ronon tightening his grip on Sheppard's wrist as momentum would have swung him off-balance.
"Hush, Sheppard. I'm listening…."
Listening? John tried to hear what Ronon was listening for but all he could hear was the rustle of the jungle, the far-off calls of alien creatures and the pounding of his pulse, loud in his ears, the heavy panting of his own breathing. Ronon tilted his head to one side, an oddly predatory movement, and John was forcibly reminded once again of the Satedan's past.. his years living alone, on the run, surviving on his wits alone in the wilderness of a hundred alien worlds. Seven years. Seven years of running and fighting – of surviving.
A low howl sounded from behind them and was quickly joined by a second. They were running out of time.
"Ronon? We need to keep moving.." John's throat felt dry, his voice came out harsh and ragged.
The shaggy, dreadlocked head tilted again, Ronon seemingly straining to pick out a sound from the jungle noises. John sagged, his legs trembling under him, pain and blood loss sapping the strength from his limbs. For a long moment the two men stood motionless, John slumped helplessly against the former runner's side, and then, abruptly, Ronon strode forward, once again hauling John upright and pulling him with him.
Ronon had turned them sharply to the right and they pushed onwards into the jungle, moving away from the slightly easier path of the trail they had broken through on their way out from the gate.
John's head spun dizzily and he was starting to feel suspiciously like he was going to throw up. He clenched his teeth and swallowed hard. He really didn't want to throw up. The jungle was dense here, thick-trunked trees growing closely together, their branches and leaves intertwining, tough vines tangling amongst their limbs. John let out a grunt as his shoulder slammed against the solid trunk of a tree, the rough bark scraping at his skin as he slid past. Ronon didn't slow for even a moment.
"We're goin' the wrong way.." John mumbled.
They squeezed between tree trunks, pushed a path through tangled foliage, sharp branches scratching at their skin, sap staining their clothes. Insects buzzed about them in the heat of the tropical forest.
"Ronon.. we're heading away.. from the gate.."
The Satedan spared him a quick glance as he swung them around a large, moss-covered tree trunk.
"No choice," he stated shortly. "We'll never make it to the gate."
The warrior's bald assessment of their situation hit John hard, like a punch to the gut. They were in serious trouble here – and there was nothing he could do about it. His injuries had left him unable to do his job, to lead and protect, and because of that failure they stood a good chance of dying here on this alien world. John knew he was a stubborn man, often to a fault, but that stubbornness had served him well in the past. He'd been in plenty of bad situations before now and refused to give up, to give in, and had somehow found a way out of the crisis. But all his training, all his courage or quick-thinking could not help them now. He wasn't gonna be able to talk his way out of this one, or find a mathematical solution, or even fight his way out. A hungry predator didn't care what you thought or how witty or clever you were. It just wanted you dead. And not only was he unable to defend himself, he was a liability to Ronon. The Satedan would die too, trying to defend his CO.
Another rising howl floated out of the jungle, guttural and snarling. It was close behind them. Close enough to send a shiver down John's back. He swallowed as a wave of dizziness washed over him.
"Leave me here. Get yourself to the gate."
"Not gonna happen." Ronon's response was immediate and abrupt.
"That's an order, Ronon."
Silence. Granted it was hard to sound commanding when pain had stolen the breath from your lungs and you were talking through clenched teeth but even so…
He tried again. "You said it yourself, we don't… we don't have a.. hope of making it to the gate…"
Ronon's voice was gruff as he interrupted, "We're not going to the gate."
"Then where..?"
"Hush."
John was getting a little tired of being shushed by Ronon.
"What..?"
"Hush. Listen."
John grit his teeth and strained to hear what Ronon could be talking about. The jungle around them was alive with noise; the buzzing of insects, the distant call of birds and animals, the rustling and cracking of their passage through the dense undergrowth. Their own breathing was loud in John's ears, his own ragged, painful gasps, Ronon huffing with the exertion of dragging John's weight through the humid forest.
And then he thought he heard it. Faintly, underneath all the other sounds of the jungle, John heard a noise. A babbling, musical noise, a rushing sound; was that..? Water. Fast flowing water.
The trees suddenly began to thin and then John could hear the noise more clearly. Definitely water; a stream or a river. Somewhere close by. Ronon hauled him upright, rearranging his burden with a jerking motion that left John gasping, and increased his pace even further.
The noise of the river grew louder as the foliage slowly thinned out, their speed increasing as it became easier to push through the less tightly-packed foliage. A growling scream from close behind told them their hunters were still on their trail.
John caught a flash of light, the sudden reflection of sunlight on a rippling surface, and then they were clear of the trees and stepping abruptly from the gloom of the jungle into the startling brightness of a rock-strewn river bank. The river was shallow here, no more than a couple of feet deep, but wide – wide enough that the jungle canopy stretching above could not span the width of the river, leaving a gap in the trees, a slice of bright blue sky and blinding sunlight that sparkled and danced on the fast-flowing water. At any other time it would have been a beautiful spot. Right now, to John, it was just one more step on their path to survival.
Ronon slowed to a stop at the edge of the river and took careful stock of their surroundings, turning his head as he checked upstream and down, before dropping his chin to look at the bloody bandage around John's leg.
"Can you stand?"
John shook his head. "I don't think so." His legs were trembling already, even with Ronon bearing most of his weight.
"Okay. Then sit." The tall Satedan bent carefully at the knees, lowering Sheppard gently to the ground, ducking his head out from under John's arm as he sat him up against a large boulder close to the riverbank. John leaned gratefully against the support, struggling to catch his breath as his muscles trembled, his injured leg protesting the movement vociferously.
Ronon crouched at his side, his face serious as he looked him over appraisingly. John turned his head from that frank gaze, uncomfortably aware that time was not on their side.
"So what's the plan?" he breathed, his muscles tensing involuntarily as pain flared and ebbed in his thigh.
Ronon's face was impassive, his tone unruffled. "Plan is, you stay here – you're as white as a sheet." He bent his shaggy head over John's leg as he prodded carefully at the soaked field-dressing, eliciting a sharp hiss from John.
"Sorry."
John grunted tightly, his body held tensely, as the Satedan continued, "This is gonna hurt.."
John's hands clenched into fists in the sandy dirt of the riverbank as Ronon pulled at the knots tying the dressing in place, swiftly and efficiently stripping the dripping bandage from the wound. John's eyes were clenched shut at the motion jarred his leg, sending fresh agony coursing through him. He opened his eyes to find Ronon standing over him, the bloody bandage clutched in one hand.
"Don't go anywhere."
John squinted against the sunlight at the silhouetted figure looming over him. "Trust me," he gasped painfully, "really not an issue…"
The former runner nodded shortly and spun on his heel, moving quickly upstream along the riverbank. John sagged against the rock, letting his breathing slowly even out, and watched in bemusement as Ronon stopped, bending to wipe a sticky smear of blood on a rock, before striding off again, stopping sporadically here and there to smear more blood against a tree or a rock or to squeeze the soggy mess in his hand until bright red blood dripped from his fingers, spattering onto the sandy earth. John felt slightly queasy as he watched Ronon leave a deliberate trail of his blood along the riverbank.
From his sitting position, John could get a better look at the mess that was his leg and nausea churned his stomach as he looked at the mangled flesh. Blood was still welling sluggishly from deep, ragged puncture wounds where the creature's teeth had ripped and worried at the meat of his thigh. The torn fabric of his BDUs was stuck wetly to his skin, blood drying and crusting around the wounds.
He looked up again in time to see Ronon wind up his arm and pitch the sodden mass of bandages far ahead of him, the sunlight picking out a spray of bright red droplets as it flew through the air to crash through the canopy up ahead, disappearing into the thick foliage with a muffled noise. It was a good throw, John had to admit.
Ronon was back at his side within moments and wasted no time in reaching a hand down to pull him upright. John braced himself to stand, gritting his teeth as he grasped Ron's hand firmly, only to be surprised when the Satedan pulled him sharply upwards, bending in one smooth motion to put his shoulder to John's belly and swiftly rising to stand with John draped across his shoulders in a pretty convincing fireman's lift.
John's head spun from the sudden motion and the corresponding flare of pain in his thigh robbed him of his breath, leaving dark spots dancing across his vision as he struggled to breathe. He was dimly aware of motion, the splashing sounds of Ronon wading into the fast-flowing river. By the time the momentary dizziness had passed the jogging motion of being carried upside down was beginning to make him decidedly nauseous.
"Ronon…"
"Sorry, Sheppard." The deep voice rumbled through John's chest as Ronon spoke. "We need to hurry if we have any chance of this working. I can carry you faster'n I can drag you."
John swallowed thickly, his head bouncing as Ronon splashed rapidly downstream, the water swirling around his calves. He lifted his head just enough to look around and realise that they were in the middle of the river, Ronon wading through the swirling waters as he carried John rapidly in the opposite direction from the blood trail he'd laid.
"Will this work?" he queried woozily, his voice muffled against Ronon's back as he let his head drop tiredly back down.
He felt the Satedan shrug. "The river'll throw them off our scent for a least a little while. With any luck they'll follow the blood trail upstream and fight over that bloody bandage for a while before they track us back to where we entered the water; give us enough time to either get to the gate or for McKay and Teyla to show up with reinforcements."
John groaned quietly, his head spinning as the sparkling water swirled by beneath him. His arms hung limply over his head and his fingertips trailed briefly in the icy water as the riverbed fell away into a slight dip before rising again.
"And if it doesn't?" he mumbled.
"Then we'll.. what's that earth phrase McKay uses? "Burn that bridge when we cross over it"?"
John couldn't help a small grin. "Close enough, Ronon. Close enough."
The blood was pounding in John's head, dizziness forcing him to close his eyes. The sun was warm on his back and the rhythmic motion of Ronon's long strides was beginning to make him drowsy. It occurred to him vaguely that this was probably a symptom of blood loss but he couldn't summon up the energy to care. The last sound he heard before slipping into darkness was the howling cry of the predators - one at first, then others joining it till four or five screams mingled into a discordant harmony – echoing down to them from somewhere further upstream.
TBC..
