A/N: This chapter was intense to write. Hope it's intense to read.
Ch. 23
Hell Hound
John made a B-line for the barn at a fast walk, slipped around it to the right, and mentally spat curses at himself for not asking Maj if she had a spare rifle. He still had his blades but a rifle would have given him the appearance of another fellow patrolman. Then again, he could always bluff and say he had a hand gun. He was really starting to miss his nine mil.
On emerging from the shadow of the barn, John went at a brisk but casual walk up the street. He wasn't panic-stupid enough to go tearing through a town full of wandering, edgy, paranoid, trigger happy villagers who would probably end up shooting their own mothers before calling for them to halt. John turned his head in time to catch one of the locals slipping out of the shadow of a house and turn his head in John's direction. John gave him an indifferent wave, and tensed when the man stopped and stared. Three heartbeats later, he was waving back.
The tension remained immovable in John's body. He returned to his brisk walk in the direction of town, listening into the silence for approaching footsteps, or a brief scream of agony. The latter he didn't put much stock into. That hell hound had taken down Leyn's bearded buddy without a sound from either predator or prey, and that was just wrong. A creature that big, pain that excruciating, how could there not be sound? John was feeling a lot less boggled concerning the hell hound victory over the wraith.
Also for that reason, John realized to his annoyance that he wasn't shaking because of the cold or fatigue. The coat was too warm, and his body had recovered enough from fleeing in terror to pump out the adrenaline. He'd learn to stop giving into the shakes long ago when he'd determined that living or dying didn't matter, it was the effort. Focus on the effort, and fear becomes nothing more than background noise occasionally whispering sweet warnings in his ear. The stumbling block to controlling fear, however, was the various types of deaths there were to endure. Broken bones – whatever, one gets used to those. Being shot, the same. Being tortured for information or for kicks – anger usually trumps fear.
Getting fed on, sucked dry, aged prematurely in a haze of indescribable agony; that tended to make one pause and rethink the whole 'I don't care if I live or die' issue. If John had to die, he would take a bullet, be content with having his neck broken, hell he'd even been resigned to starving to death on more than one occasion. But fed on – John imagined hell to be a place full of eternally hungry wraith forever feeding on damned souls.
John didn't want to go through that a second time around, even if he didn't survive it. He'd always willingly accepted that there would be some moments in his military life that would leave unseen scars on his soul and psyche. Ones that left him shaking when recalled and poured fuel into his nightmares. Hell, his psyche profile record was probably so thick Heightmeyer had to get three marines and Ronon to help lift it out of the filing cabinet (Actually, John had caught a glimpse of said folder, and to this day was still a little troubled by its size). So he had a right to tremble over the prospect of having the life sucked from him - again. He'd been there, done that, and all he got for it was a bunch of lousy bad dreams and a phobia of being touched on the chest. Right up there with his giant bug phobia, hatred toward leaving people behind, and clowns. Damn circus.
John caught sight of other wandering patrolmen as he headed to the meeting hall, and it gave him a small spark of comfort. No one screaming, no one running shouting for help only to be taken down by a mass of muscle-bulging flesh. So far so good kind of deal. Although John had to wonder where the hell that wraith dog was, what it was up to, and if it was already picking off the patrol one by one even as John was heading to the center of town.
The spark of comfort fled from John like a rat into its hole at first light. He tried to double time it while remaining at a walk, and nearly started running which he had no doubts would get him shot on the spot. Walking, no matter how fast, made his legs ache and his nerves vibrate infuriatingly with the need to launch into another mad dash that would more than likely send him face first into the dirt from exhaustion.
Seriously, he could not praise fear enough at this moment. He felt exhaustion prowling at the recesses of his mind and body, prodding him with aching lungs and a sore throat. He promised himself a week long nap when this was all over – should he still be alive to appreciate it being all over.
When John came to the gathering stage, he slowed and breathed out a silent sigh of relief. The meeting hall was just on the other side, a geometric ink blot that the street lights couldn't quite reach. John headed toward it moving around the other side of the stage. He grabbed the handle to the front door and rattled it with no effect. The place was locked.
John twisted his mouth in discomfort, then unwound his scarf.
They can bill me for this later. He wrapped the scarf around his fist as thick and tight as he could get it, then stepped to the side and punched through the window. He winced at the shattering reverberations that someone would have definitely heard. He removed the scarf and slipped his arm into the hole up to his shoulder, arching his arm around and fumbling his fingers over the door until they met the cool metal of the handle. He felt for the lock and clicked it, then opened the door from the inside while he was at it. John slid his arm out, yanked the door open, and ran inside.
My kingdom for a freakin' flashlight! John really hadn't thought this all through. Then again, he'd been more preoccupied in trying to keep Gidel or Maj from following him.
There was enough light from the street lamps outside to make out a few shapes in the darkness. Neat rows of chairs lined up before a small stage with a podium, and that was all he could distinguish. Then, on moving over to the wall, his thigh thunked painfully into a table edge.
" Crap!" he gritted, and felt along the top for this alarm switch. When that yielded nothing, he moved his hand to the wall and felt along it for wires or the switch itself.
Outside, beams of light flashed across the street.
" Damnit!" John's motions became frantic. He moved along the wall and toward the stage, feeling, even slapping the walls looking for secret compartments.
It wasn't until he was on the stage that he heard a hollow thump in one of the logs making up the hall. He felt the log out while outside the spazzing beams of light were joined by calls and shouts. John's fingers felt what he assumed to be a key-hole by the metal and shape.
" Screw this," John said. He pulled out a blade, jammed it into a seam next to the lock, and pried. The panel on the log creaked then popped with a crack. He felt out the switch – a simple, small lever – and gripped it. Then the door burst open and the lights flared on. John squinted against the sudden illumination and pulled the lever.
He managed to pull it halfway when a bullet pinged off the log next to John. John ducked in a cringe raising both hands to protect his face from the flying splinters.
" Don't move!"
John didn't. His eyes rolled to the front door where the shooter stood – one of Jorsek's posse.
Well damnit all to hell again. John looked from the man to the lever that obviously needed to be all the way down in order to work. John really needed to start bettering his timing.
More men entered the room squeezing past the one guarding the door, and started spreading throughout while at the same time not getting too close to John. Most of them, pretty much all of them, were not Jorsek's men, and John even spotted Arvlan toward the back staring at John wide-eyed and completely confused.
The man of the hour entered last. He sauntered in like a one confident in his position, though that confidence slipped a little when he saw John.
Probably hoping I was the wraith.
The confidence shifted back into place, bringing with it tempered annoyance.
" Sheppard," he said. " Weren't you supposed to be staying behind with the rest at the ruins, keeping watch?"
John was really, really starting to miss his nine mil. " Um..." John glanced surreptitiously at all the weapons pointed his way. " Slight change of plans, it seems. Everyone's dead. Wraith got 'em."
Several of the weapons lowered so the men behind them could gawk like witnesses at a car wreck. John looked at Jorsek as though he were the biggest idiot in two galaxies, which he pretty much was at this point.
" You didn't tell them!"
Jorsek glared but cracks were spreading in his confidence. " To prevent panic."
John took a step forward and the rifles resumed their position of being trained on him.
" Jorsek you freakin' moron! I guess that means you didn't tell them about the beast either?"
Arvlan looked from John to Jorsek. " What beast?"
" The one your chief protector released getting into those ruins. Jorsek that thing is heading down here, probably is here. You need to let me switch on the alarm and everyone needs to get back into their homes and barricade themselves in. This beast is smart, man, and it's hungry..."
Jorsek's feature's twisted – not so much with anger, but panic that he tried to cover with anger - and he swung his own rifle around to point it at John. " Enough! I will not let you send these people into a panic over some monster. The only threat here is that wraith, and apparently you. We can handle one wraith..."
" The wraith is dead!" John shouted. " I told you that thing killed it! Jorsek, what the hell is your problem? You're going to kill everyone here if you don't listen!"
Suddenly, Arvlan pulled around his weapon and stepped toward Jorsek. " Jorsek, perhaps you should listen to the man. I mean, he is slightly more credible than you, what with you telling most of the folk here that you went to the ruins under Tarl's jurisdiction, which apparently wasn't all that true. I know you probably meant well, but you do accomplish quite a bit to leave a man questioning."
Several heads nodded in agreement. John would have hugged Arvlan if he'd been within reach.
Jorsek's face began to glow with a thin film of sweat until drops formed to go sliding down his face. He kept his rifle raised and his aim on John, until Arvlan and several others raised their own weapons, keeping the barrels down but making their intent clear. Finally, Jorsek lowered his own rifle.
John was amazed. He'd hoped for some show of support from at least Arvlan, but hadn't actually expected to get any, nor this quick. But it had probably been a long time in coming, this little rebellion, especially now that half of Jorsek's followers had been diminished.
Ah sweet retribution.
Arvlan nodded to John. " Go ahead with the switch. I doubt the fool leaders of our town are going to listen to reason."
John stepped back and wrapped his hand around the switch. A scream ripped through the silence before he could pull it. Every head turned toward the front door, and John could just make out someone running straight for them, shouting shrill and cracked. The stringy young man burst into the room, panting, sweating, with eyes wide enough to pop out of his head.
" I – I - I," he gasped, pointing back the way he came. " I found... I found... Syfis Mettings... I-I-I-I think it was Syfrus... But there wasn't anything left... Just bones and... Gaw it can't be him. He looks like he's rotted within hours. Someone must have put a coat on a corpse..."
Cold tore through John's spine. " Son of a bitch!" and he slammed the switch down the rest of the way. The alarm pulsated whiny and mechanical. John jumped from the stage and strode purposefully up to the rest of the men.
" Everyone needs to get back to their home or the nearest shelter they can find and barricade themselves in there now!"
" Shouldn't we be hunting this beast?" Someone called.
" No, because it'll find you before you can find it. Listen, we go as one since there's safety in numbers and we can watch each other's backs. We go to each home or the nearest place of safety for those who live farther away. As long as we watch out for each other, we should be fine."
" Should be?" Jorsek sneered.
John glowered at him. " Better than if we went it alone to get picked off one by one."
The men murmured their agreements, and quickly filed out of the meeting house into the street. Lights from windows flecked the darkness, but thankfully no one had been witless enough to come out and see what was going on. No one except for Larum, who was standing before his front door in his nightclothes.
" What is going on!" He demanded. " Who triggered the alarm?"
The red-headed man Jon identified as Gidel's friend raised a placating hand. " We did, sir. And we need you to get back inside."
Larum folded his arms tight across his chest to preserve warmth. He was looking too nervous for it to be classified as a stubborn act. " Not until I'm told what is going on."
As though to answer the question, a scream shattered the otherwise still night, and everyone turned in time to see a man (one of Jorsek's) just as he was pulled beneath the Gathering stage. Men shouted, aimed their guns at the darkness beneath the platform, and fired. John heard a bellowing snarl, and saw a flash of light off iridescent eyes. John sucked in a breath to shout a warning, and didn't get any farther when the hell hound burst out from under the stage to plow through the gathered men, grabbing one and carrying him off screaming into the shadows between two houses.
The last straw didn't break the camel until Jorsek, in his terror, screamed.
" Ruuuuun!"
To John's horror, many of the men did, scattering like sheep at the arrival of the wolf. Larum bolted back into his house and slammed the door shut.
" No!" John shouted. " We need to stick together! Ah son of a..." He turned furiously to see Arvlan, Gidel's friend, and at least fourteen other men who'd had mental capacity enough to stick around. " Let's go," he said. They took off at a run up the street, taking turns peering over their shoulders. They heard someone's distant scream, and the scream was cut off.
They slowed when a man broke off toward his house, and resumed running once he was inside. Their little group diminished quick when two and sometimes three men broke away toward a house. The night was loud with the alarms shrieking and dying men shrieking periodically over the alarms.
That wraith dog was moving fast.
Soon, too soon in John's opinion, it was just Arvlan, Gidel's friend, and John. They hurried down the street with John in the lead. They were coming around a building when movement drew John's attention to the left. He halted and back peddled into Arvlan and the other man, purposefully pushing them back. John peered around the wall of the building they hid behind, and watched with a knotted gut as the wraith dog pawed at a door. He could feel Arvlan peering over his shoulder.
" What is it? The monster?"
John moved enough to let Arvlan see. Arvlan sucked in an alarmed breath through clenched teeth. " It's blasted huge!" he hissed, then looked back at John. " How's a thing like that going to be killed?"
John, panting heavily, shook his head. " I have no idea. It heals fast. I'd had hoped everyone would stay barricaded until morning so we could track it easier, and go at it at once. Keep wounding it until someone's able to go for the head and whack it off." John switched places with Arvlan and looked. The hell hound was ramming itself into the door, even clawing it, and making good headway. John reached out behind him to take Arvlan's gun, when a man trying to slip past the beast was spotted. The creature lost interest in the door and lunged for the man, grabbing him around the chest with its mandibles and carrying him screaming into the darkness to eat him in peace.
John's chest felt hollow with horror, but he swallowed it back and signaled with a jerk of his head for them to keep going. They tore across the open until they were behind the safety of another structure, then tore off again.
The next house within range was Arvlan's, and they veered toward it. Arvlan fumbled with his house keys before unlocking the door and stepping inside, followed by Gidel's friend. John remained standing outside, glancing over his shoulder.
" John," Arvlan said. " What is it? Do you see it? Come inside."
John continued to stare back behind him into the darkness between the houses across the street. " Once that monster finishes the men outside," he said, speaking his thoughts out loud more than talking to Arvlan, " it's going for the people in the houses. I don't think locking up and hiding in one little room is going to help. This thing needs to die, now."
Arvlan was about to step outside when John, without looking at him, put his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. He was closer to Maj's house now, could probably make it if he ran. And if he could just run a little further, beyond Maj's house..."
John grinned. " I have an idea. Just stay here and keep your family safe." He didn't give time for Arvlan to respond when he was off running, again, hauling ass over the dusty road straight toward Maj's house. When he was five houses away from Arvlan's, he stopped, and turned, gasping for breath and smiling fearfully.
He was definitely going to die this time, even if this plan succeeded. Because this time around it wasn't about his survival, it was about everyone else's.
No regrets in that.
John cupped his hands over his mouth. " Heeeeey! Heeeeeeerrrrre Doggy! You wanna come out and play! I'm still alive if you wanna finish that game we started! Bet you'd love to take a few of my limbs for the ones I took from you! Well! I'm here, so come and get it!" His call tore from his chest and ended on a coughing fit that had him doubled over and momentarily dizzy. He shook it off, turned, and pushed into a jog that eventually turned into a run. He ran with heaving breaths sending strings of saliva flying from his mouth, and shooting periodic glances and shouts over his shoulder. He ran until Maj's house bobbed into view, with all the lights off as though no one were home.
John altered course, keeping distance between him and the house so Maj couldn't spot him right away. He cast one last, long, sorrowful and regretful look at the house.
Sorry Maj. You tried, and I'm glad you did. But this is for you. He ran beyond the house and onto the road leading to the Iaret cliffs. When the house vanished behind the trees, John ran a little further then stopped, turned, and cupped his hands around his mouth.
" I'm over here you mutant wraith bitch! Come and get me!"
He waited, not knowing why and even though it was torment for his agonized nerves and screaming instincts. He listened but could barely hear beyond the blood rushing through his ears and his labored breathing that wheezed with each inhale.
Then came the howl, close enough to make his skin crawl, but leave his bones still. John swiftly but unsteadily removed his coat and tossed it on the ground. The last thing he needed was its bulk stifling his movements. As he turned, he removed and tossed the over shirt as well with it being too loose and easy to snag. John returned to running that receded into a jog when the road inclined
" Come on pup! Don't you like fetch!" He called in a cracked, wheezing voice. He pushed his burning legs until his eyes teared up from the pain. And it was getting damn harder to breath.
Little further, little further, little further... Each 'further' became a hundred miles for him. He began stumbling, and dark spots pulsed in his vision.
Then the trees opened up into the star pricked night sky and the endless stretch of valley highlighted in silvery moonlight. John scrambled, stumbled, and scurried further on upward, over craggy rocks and sticking shrubs, until the moonlight revealed the outcropping over the canyon.
John turned and hopped from the edge onto the steeply inclined path leading into the ravine. Running was impossible thanks to the loose dirt and rocks, so he slid and staggered down. On the third level, he heard stones skittering, and felt a few pelt his head. John looked up, and wished he hadn't.
The hell hound was looking down at him, and it was grinning again.
Damn that thing can be quiet.
John pulled out his blades and cautiously backed away. The hound jumped from its level to John's with a thud and a scrape of claws on rocks.
Not a bad idea. John stepped to the side, and jumped as well, but his knees gave out. He rolled a ways managing to roll back to his feet in time to see the creature land as well. So John jumped again, and this time he kept his knees locked. He began to back away, staring up at the hell hound who had yet to jump. It was just staring at him with head slightly tilted like a curious pup – except for that damn toothy grin of its. John narrowed his eyes at the beast.
" What's so funny?"
John heard a sound – deep, throaty, rumbling like a distant train. Laughter.
" Hhhhhuuuuumaaaan."
John nearly dropped the sticks. He balked. " Oh hell you talk."
The creature chuckled again. " Hhhhhuuuumaaaan."
The wraith had certainly outdone themselves in genetic screw ups.
John felt queasy enough to vomit on the spot. " This just keeps getting better and better," he moaned miserably, and continued backing up.
The hell hound finally landed on John's level and stalked toward him, again taking time to relish the cat and mouse game. John jumped onto the next level, yet before he had the chance to look up, a heavy, foul smelling, rock solid mass tackled him, and his stomach flipped in momentary weightlessness. He felt the wind ripping through his hair, pushing against his body, and heard it roaring through his ears. The world spun and blurred past him, but he had no breath in his lungs to scream.
The ride ended with a sickening crack and another shove to the lungs that expelled any recaptured air.
Yet John felt no pain, only aches throughout his whole body. He wasn't given any more time to assess his condition when he felt himself being flipped from his chest to his back, and the solid body below him was now on top. Sheppard's breath caught in his throat as he witnessed the hell hound's half mutilated face and totally smashed shoulder pop, fuse, and grow back into place. The chipped bones of the shoulder filled, and the chunks of flesh hanging by threads were pulled back to the body. The wraith dog smiled. A red, undulating worm-like tongue slid over its teeth to wipe away the stains of black blood.
That same tongue snaked out again and traveled from John's hip all the way up his neck and along his face, trailing flecks of black blood and transparent slime.
John shuddered and grimaced. " Bad dog."
The creature chuckled, deep and slow. In that moment of amusement, John realized with a start that he was still gripping the ornate handles of both bladed sticks. Even subconsciously he was stubborn. He brought one blade up and plunged it into the creature's neck. The hell hound whipped its head back with a thunderous cry that stabbed into John's ears forcing him to curl up against the onslaught, trying to scream above it. The cry continued to echo when an impact sent his body rolling to the edge of the ravine and into the frigid water. The cold shocked the sense back into him, and he gasped, shaking water from his face. He turned his head to see the hell hound stalking again with the blade still in its neck. John struggled to his feet in the ankle-high water and held his other blade before him.
The canyon was loud with the panicked shriek of Iarets and the thunder of their flapping wings. He could feel the air from those wings pushing against him.
" Come on," John urged. " Come on." He glanced up at the iaret-clouded sky, then back at the beast.
Just in time to see its claw lash out and strike him in the side and across the arm. The momentum spun John around, and yet he managed to keep on his feet, and staggered back to facing front. The beast lashed again. John leaped back but still got a vicious graze to the chest that burned. An iaret dove snapping at the creature, and the creature snapped at it. John took the opportunity to run forward, grab the blade embedded in the creature, and yank it out. The creature reacted by batting John like a toy ball with strength that sent him flying and smashing onto the unrelenting ground. He rolled several times before he stopped. Pain ignited along his side, pain that was making it impossible to catch his breath.
The creature loomed over him with mandibles out. It was all smiles until three iarets dove and snapped at it. The hell hound lifted its head and reared trying to return the favor. John scurried backwards until he was back on his feet with both sticks in both hands. The hell hound was still trying to catch the iarets, so John rushed forward and swung one blade, but his aim was premature, slicing through the thick flesh of the throat without slicing through bone. The wound already started healing and the creature lowered its head to return its attention to John. It roared, and crouched for a pounce. John didn't give it the chance when he swung out again and severed a mandible.
This annoyed more than hurt the thing. It snarled, baring bloody teeth. It slashed out with its claws, so John skipped back and slashed out with his blade, severing two of the fingers. It became like a deranged dance between them. The beast would strike out or try to lunge, and Sheppard would strike in return. In between, more iarets dove to snap and bite, creating a distraction for the monster and an opportunity for John to go for the head. Except he could never get close enough for a severing swipe.
The constant assaults by both John and the iarets infuriated the beast into a manic frenzy of biting, clawing and rearing like a cat caught by its tail trying to buck free. John's assaults became less, and the beast's more, striking John with its claws, raking his arms, legs, back, chest, and stomach. It was as though it no longer cared to keep him alive to feed. It just wanted an enemy off its back, and John was the easiest of the enemies to get rid of. It caught him with its paw, and smacked him into the canyon wall. John heard a snap, and felt hot pain burn through his arm from the shoulder and down his ribcage. He slid down the wall, dizzy and dazed, trying to catch his breath. The creature lunged at him, but he managed to duck and roll away.
Not far enough. The creature swatted, struck John, and sent him rolling across the ground to end up on his back. He attempted to sit up through the pain, haze, and flashing lights in his eyes. Then a heavy paw slammed into his chest, pinning him to the ground. John cried out from the pain, then ran out of breath to scream when the creature increased the pressure. He felt his ribs begin to give, heard them creak, felt the broken ones grate, and the flashing lights faded into gray that was trying to ooze over his vision. John gritted his teeth against the agony of it, barely aware of the hot breath puffing over his chest and spilling across his neck.
He was aware of what was coming next.
Noooo, please no, not again... He choked out a sob, and felt one hot tear slide down his face.
The tongue snaked out and slid across John's throat. John closed his eyes, and allowed the remaining air in his lungs to sigh away.
Oh well. He really would have rather died in some sort of crash – plane, maybe puddlejumper... Can't pick them all, he supposed.
The tongue pulled back from John's neck abruptly, and John's eyes snapped open to the angered howl that seemed to push against him. The increasing weight on his chest vanished, and air cold but sweet flowed into his lungs. He gasped it in like he was sucking down water, even ignoring the stabbing pains in his chest. When he lifted his unsteady head to see what had become of his death bringer, he saw the beast rearing up and snapping in a wild-abandon attempt to chase off the cloud of iarets surrounding it from above. Iarets were flocking in from all over – and in all sizes - diving and darting in at different directions, going for weak spots, exposed spots, anything they could. One got the beast by the back leg and pulled, sending the beast crashing to the ground. Another went for its front leg but had to pull back when the hell hound's jaws snapped within centimeters. Chunks of flesh were ripped from its flanks, belly, haunches, legs, and even its neck. The hound managed to grab an iaret and was about to feed when another took a mound of the beast's flesh and pulled it off, letting the grounded iaret escape.
John watched it all in a kind of wide-eyed daze, horrified yet fascinated. It took a moment for his muddied brain to finally register – Now was his chance.
Pain and exhaustion made John slow in his motions. He rolled to his chest, and struggled with grimaces and grunts to his hands and knees, and that was as far as he could go. He was tapped out of the strength needed to get to his feet. So he turned on his hands and knees – more like hand and knees, with one arm cradled to his chest – and hobbled like a three legged dog toward the thrashing creature, the blade of the stick scraping across the ground.
The hound got another iaret under it, and gaped readying the mandibles to feed. John was close enough, so reared onto his knees and lashed at the creature's face. The hound jerked its head back, and the other iarets swarmed in to attack the hound's head, giving the downed iaret a chance to wriggle free and fly off. The iarets were tearing and attacking at a rate that was slowing the hound's healing down. So John scooted back a little and waited. Flesh flew, black blood flew, and soon the hell hound was having a hard time staying up.
Eventually, it stayed down, still struggling, fighting the good fight, just losing miserably. John fought himself to rise to his feet. His legs shook beneath him, his head swam, blood soaked his shredded shit making it stick, and pain flowed through him like magma. He lurched drunkenly toward the beast and altered course just enough to be behind its head. The iarets had the beast pinned, and the beast snapped and raged with roars and bellows. John lifted his blade above his head in his shaking hand. When the beast's head next slammed to the ground, and the neck presented itself, John swung down putting every last molecule of strength he had left into that one motion. The blade bit deep into the neck with a liquid thwack, the creature howled, but it wasn't good enough. So John yanked it out and raised it again. He dropped the blade, and it sunk deeper. He did it again, and again, faster and faster, dropping to his knees when his legs gave out. The blade hacked the flesh into hamburger, flinging bits of flesh and blood everywhere. Each thunk was sickeningly wet, until John heard the even more sickening crunch of bone. So he hacked even harder, chopping through that bone.
The creature's howls had stopped, as had its motions, and yet John still chopped and the iarets attacked. It wasn't until the blade hit stone when it severed through the last of the flesh that he stopped. The hell hound's head rocked back and forth on the ground, leaking black blood from both ends, with the worm-like tongue lolling from the mouth leaving a trail of slime on the stone.
With nothing left to be cautious against, the iarets swarmed like flies on a carcass. John heard ripping, and the snap and crunch of bones. It was a vacant, hollow noise that made his ears buzz and his head swim. He felt himself swaying, and found it rather pleasant. He finally fell with enough sense to slow the descent toward the end to keep his skull from cracking on the ground. He rolled onto his back since it hurt less, and stared up into the star pricked sky.
This was definitely the plan that had killed him, and he found that it wasn't so bad. He'd been quite certain it would have ended with him getting sucked dry. At least he could appreciate an end that didn't involve that agony, and he sighed in contentment.
The ripping, snapping, and crunching ended. John rolled his head to see the after math, and saw nothing but the hell hound's lifeless head. The body was gone, and its only remnant was a horse-sized stain of black blood in the rock. John then felt a rush of cold air and heard the heart-like beating of wings. He heard chirps and croaks, then felt something soft nuzzle his hand. Another fuzzy snout attempted to prod his broken arm, but backed off when Sheppard screamed. The iarets chirped and croaked in agitation, but they didn't attack and try to rip him to pieces. They wouldn't attack the one who feeds them.
John felt tired, so tired even this strange place didn't seem bad for a nap. He blinked his heavy eyelids that he struggled against though he wasn't sure why. He saw a smaller iaret land before him, and recognized the color and the collar. John smiled.
" H-H-hey R-Ris..." he breathed. He wanted to move his arm to pet the little iaret that kept twitching its head to regard him, but he couldn't. John's eyes slid closed. The last thing he felt was the brush of fuzz against his hand, and warm, fuzzy bodies pressing in around him. He felt warm, and thought that this wasn't such a bad way to die.
SGA
A/N: Or will Ris pull another Lassie. Come on Ris! Was that whumpy enough for you all? But what of the team? Where are they? What's going on with them? You must be patient, wait, and see. Sorry for ending on a cliffhanger.
