A/N: I had intended on posting this sooner but RL butted in for once and delayed the final editing of this chapter, so I apologize for its lateness.
Ch. 4
John came back into awareness numb over every inch except for his pounding head. Sound came second – shuffling, and breathy, nervous whispers. He felt a hand press lightly against his shoulder, and the contact gave him the motivation to start opening his eyes to see who it was.
"John?" Elizabeth's voice; forcefully controlled but cracking with a combination of relief and fear.
John opened his eyes to see her somewhat pale face hovering over him. She cracked a smile that made her relief almost palpable.
"Oh, thank goodness. John, are you all right? Any pain?"
John groaned a little before replying, testing his voice. "I'm going to have to get back to you... on that after the pins... and needles wear off. Crap!" he snapped at the increasing hammer blows to his skull, and winced. "I will vouch... For my head killing me."
Elizabeth turned her head sideways. "Help me get him up." The next thing John knew he was suffering too many hands sliding beneath his back and shoulders, pulling him upright without a lick of effort on his part. The world tilted and spun around him.
"Whoa! Wait!" he gasped. "Slow... Damn! Please don't make me lose my lunch. Carson'll kill me." Of course by the time he finished his protest, he was upright, and maneuvered against the wall to stay that way. It took a moment for his surroundings to settle enough for his stomach to calm and for him to finally have a good look around. He was in a large room – bigger than the quarters but smaller than the Daedalus' bridge. There were metal crates and plastic crates scattered in neat pyramid piles mainly along the walls, with a few smaller piles in the center of the floor. A storage closet. John's fellow occupants were either seated on or against these crates.
They were also all female, except for six other men and one naked Asgard being looked over by Novak. The six men looked like they needed to be in the infirmary, right along with four of the women. Most of them had at least one part of their anatomy wrapped in bandages or a cast. One guy was curled up on the floor, moaning piteously. John last recalled seeing the man the other day, vomiting his guts out.
John lowered his eyebrows. "Okay... Need I ask?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "None of us have any idea what's going on. We blacked out and woke up here. You're the second to the last to wake up. Corporal Stiles is just coming around."
Seeing how everyone else was upright and wide-eyed, John assumed Stiles to be the man on the floor, and Daedalus since John new the names of everyone of his men on Atlantis.
"John, are you starting to get feeling back yet?" Elizabeth said. "I really need to know if anything hurts."
John nodded, then straightened himself out as best he could. He reached under his shirt with his good hand, sliding it along his chest and down his flanks. When he pressed, he felt a dull ache, but thankfully nothing that gave. "Everything seems to be in one piece," he said, then smiled. "Beckett really knows how to wrap one hell of a pressure bandage."
Elizabeth puffed a relieved breath. "Well that's one less crisis to worry about at least."
John frowned, passing his gaze throughout the room in another once over. "Leaving about a dozen others to stress over. I'd ask the stupid questions like why the women are outnumbering the men in here, but would rather not waste a perfectly good stupid question."
Elizabeth smiled kindly and reached out to clasp his upturned knee. "Believe it or not, I was stupid enough to ask it myself." She dropped her hand back into her lap and glanced around. "I was mostly asking it to myself. We figured it was some kind of divide and conquer tactic." She looked back at him to give him a small smirk. "Or our captors are sexist with a survival of the fittest philosophy."
John perked with dawning realization – or more dawning theory realistically. "Better yet, highly intelligent chauvinists. I can't say this for certain since we haven't even met our captors yet, but I'd bet half my salary and my best golf clubs that we're incentive to keep the rest of the crew in check. Face it, Elizabeth, chivalry isn't all that dead. Throw in a couple of wounded since people are suckers for someone who's vulnerable, and you've got yourself a room full of bargaining chips." He shrugged. "Or, this is the start of some kind of harem, and me and the rest of the boys are going to be used as targeting practice, since some people also get a little prejudice toward the vulnerable." Then he grimaced. "That's the problem with alien galaxies and cultures – too many damn scenarios to keep you guessing."
Elizabeth crawled closer to sit beside John with her back against the wall. "I actually prefer scenario A." She shifted trying to get comfortable, but looked decidedly uncomfortable the more she tried. "Scenario A, B, or C, we'll need a plan of escape either way."
John rubbed his side which had started to throb. "Step one is to know your enemy, and we don't even have that much." He looked over at the sealed door, and two female techs kneeling in front of the charred panel trying to wire the door open. "Looks like you skipped to step two – find a way out."
"They thought they'd give it a try," Elizabeth sighed. "With that panel out of commission, the door can only open from the outside."
John tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He'd just woken up and yet felt tired to the bone marrow. "Maybe Rodney'll have better luck. He once did an emergency jumper repair using a gum wrapper and the gum – pre-chewed gum, mind you. The complaints about mouth germs got annoying but it worked."
"In Rodney we trust," Elizabeth said with a slight smile in her voice.
John didn't reply. Whatever had knocked them out must have come with side effects, such as sucking the energy out of the intended victim. In his case there hadn't been all that much to take to begin with. Crisis was looming all around and all he wanted to do was curl up on the hard floor and sleep.
A hand squeezed his shoulder, snapping him awake. He hadn't been aware that he'd been dozing. He rolled his head in Elizabeth's direction, meeting her blatantly concerned, as well as apologetic, gaze.
"Sorry," she said. "You went all quiet and it kind of made me nervous. But it's okay if you need to rest, John. I'll wake you if anything happens."
John sighed. "I think it's just whatever stunned us. I rather stay awake." He leaned forward enough to reach back and rub his stiffening neck. He suspected there may have been whiplash involved on his way down to the floor. His whole body seemed to be locking up on him. "I've never liked surprises."
John hated this. Hated being captured, hated not knowing what was going on, hated being helpless – yes, that was inevitable dissatisfaction. Outshining it all was the fact that he was in the minority of being the most helpless out of everyone here. Exhaustion wouldn't let him think straight, and it was already a given even before his muscles started stiffening that he was going to have a sluggish reaction time if things declined into a fight. He wasn't just useless, he was prematurely screwed. It angered him, frustrated him, and was even making him nervous. John had a feeling the wounded and ill were just as much a bargaining chip to keep the women in line as much as the men.
"You won't be surprised, I promise," Elizabeth replied. "So quit fighting it and just rest. It's all right."
It wasn't all right, and this wasn't the time to give in to sleep. John's own body felt differently, and his eyelids slid closed of their own accord. The only sounds were people's hushed conversations interspersed with the random moans and dry heaves from Corporal Stiles. Someone cursed, probably one of the ladies working at the panel.
"There is no point attempting to repair the panel," Hermiod said. "Not without the proper tools."
"It never hurts to try," was the petulant response.
"I was merely stating the fact..."
"Stating facts doesn't get people out of locked rooms."
John grinned. The woman making the snappy come-backs had to be one of Rodney's underlings.
John eventually slipped into a state that wasn't quite sleeping; more like being detached. All whispers and other sounds were distant garbles of noise like conversations in another room. Time didn't have much of an existence. They could have been in this room for hours until they woke up, and more hours were crawling by with nothing to show for it. John would have checked his watch if he hadn't found the floating feeling he was under too pleasant to give up. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong, to be giving into his body's demands like this, but grudgingly accepted that there was nothing he could do about it at the extreme moment.
He was really hating his own body right now.
Images flitted in John's head, like old news footage yellowed with age. Men walking and walking and walking, in front and behind, ragged as scarecrows raising curling clouds of dust coating them all in the single color of rust brown. Faces striped in dirt and pale flesh, new stripes formed by sweat cutting through the grime. Faces looked back. Jaundice eyes glowed in the hollow of deep eye sockets. Too deep, too yellow. A man smiled a gap-toothed grin baring stained teeth, making a silent promise. Ocher eyes raked over the only clothes John still had on his back. A hand landed on his shoulder.
John jerked back to the now with a yelp and a gasp, flinching away from the contact. His eyes snapped open and his head snapped around to Elizabeth who was leaning back with one hand raised and a startled expression. John's breathing and heart rate already began to settle, but he took a few deep breaths to help things along.
"John, I'm so sorry..."
John flapped a dismissive hand. "S'okay. Surprises, remember?" He dropped his head to rub the back of his still-aching neck. He had to admit, the adrenaline rush felt good, and would probably keep him awake for a good while until it finally wore off. "Need something?" he asked.
"You were muttering in your sleep," she said.
John grimaced. "Anything incriminating?"
"No, but...Um..."
John finally looked over at her, realizing her discomfort that was growing the longer she stayed silent. She kept looking away, back and forth between John and the floor.
"It sounded... unpleasant," she finally stated.
In other words John had either been whimpering, snarling, or begging. He nodded in understanding, grateful Elizabeth wasn't pushing for details. "Thanks for waking me, then."
Or maybe Elizabeth hadn't scrounged up enough gumption to ask for those details. She continued to wallow in rising discomfort, and John tensed for when she would start talking again. It wasn't like he could get up and walk away should Elizabeth take this opportunity to play head-shrink just to satisfy her own curiosity. Okay, that was being harsh. There had yet to be anyone – Heightmeyer included – going all intrusive on him when it came to the dreams that had him waking up in a cold sweat and avoiding sleep for the rest of the night. The longer he was home, the less the dreams had come, but they tended to be random and left him uneasy about sleep period.
Well, that plus his newly acquired instinct to doze rather than straight pass out, just in case someone tried to take his shirt again. This recent reaction to being touched while sleeping had been the less violent by far.
Elizabeth's sudden vow of silence stretched on until her body finally eased out of its rigidity. John took it as a sign to relax himself.
"No problem," was her final reply.
John smiled. He was about to say something concerning the value of a bad dream slapping the exhaustion from him when the ladies at the panel dropped what they were doing to scuttle back like kicked dogs. Seconds later the door slid open. Three men entered.
The faceless enemy now had a face. Sort of. Said faces were somewhat obscured either by ragged scarves or in the case of the lead man, dirty goggles. Their dress was a mismatch of clothes, so ragged and faded they were almost a single color. Shirts on shirts, and jackets on jackets, with heavy pants made of a material similar to corduroy. It all added up to a nice Mad Max meets Ice Pirates ensemble, complete with slender, well worn rifles held at the ready. Only the leader kept his rifle slung over his shoulder. He was taller than the other two, barrel chested with a solid round gut and a completely bald head. Eye color was still a mystery being hidden behind the grime filming the goggles. The man was dead-pan expressionless as he passed his gaze over the room full of captives.
"All awake?" His voice was deep as Ronon's and rough as sandpaper to the ears, as though he had a throat full of gravel. There was an accent to his voice that couldn't really be placed since it was alien. Still, John curled his lip at the impression of it being a little southern sounding, like a Texas drawl.
The man neither waited for a reply or said anything else. His two sidekicks lifted their rifles higher when their leader started off on a merry stroll through the mess of captives. It was a round-about walk circling the room and eying everything with flat indifference. When he came to one of the wounded, he would stop and look them over for a moment before moving on. John was wounded number two on the tour. He met baldy's hidden gaze, and for a split second the man's fat lips spasmed as though trying to creep into a smile, but not quite making it. Then he moved on.
John's attention was ripped away when he saw Elizabeth shifting out of the corner of his eye, about to rise. John grabbed her arm during the transition from sitting to standing, and yanked her back down.
"Don't!" he hissed.
Elizabeth glared levelly at him. "Someone needs to confront these people, John. We need answers."
"And we'll get answers. Just be patient." John jerked his chin at the two armed thugs keeping a steady aim. "They're trigger happy. I can see it in the way they keep trying to squeeze the triggers. Someone so much as coughs..."
Someone did cough, so hard John was surprised a lung wasn't expelled. Every head snapped in Cpl. Stile's direction. Baldy was standing over him, hands behind back and mouth turned down in a pensive frown.
"What illness is plaguin' him?" His question was followed by a nudge with his boot to Stiles' shoulder. He looked around for someone to answer. "Well?"
"The flu!" Someone blurted.
"Is it contagious?"
"Um..." the female voice cracked as though on the verge of tears. "S-sometimes..."
"But it's not deadly!" someone else thoughtfully added. A smart move. Nothing yelled 'shoot me' like having a potentially deadly disease. Baldy pursed then puckered his lips as he mulled over the man writhing at his feet. Suddenly, Baldy perked in a way that made John tense up, and waved one of the thugs over. The man's mouth opened in a dirty, gap toothed grin.
Baldy didn't say anything, just gesture flippantly at Stiles as though he were another rabid animal in a long line of rabid animals that needed to be put down.
"With pleasure," the gunman drawled. He stalked over to Stiles, and aimed.
John didn't think, he just reacted. Never a good idea but there wasn't much else to be done otherwise. He scrabbled to his feet and lurched forward in time to grab the barrel and shove it away from Stiles before either thug had time to shoot. The rifle fired and the bullet slammed into a top crate that went toppling from the pile. People screamed and ducked. Baldy grabbed John by the throat and slammed him down onto the floor, kneeling with his knee pressing into John's solar plexus.
"What're you up to you scrawny beast!" He released John's throat to grab a fist full of his hair and pull his head back until his neck felt bent in two. "You gotta death wish?" Baldy shifted until his knee was putting pressure on the tip of John's sternum. John couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, and heard his vertebra creak when Baldy twisted John's head until a gurgling snarl of pain bubbled up from his throat.
"He just didn't want you to shoot anyone!" Someone shouted.
"Stop it!" Someone else. "You're going to kill him!"
Baldy's knee lifted away for Baldy to pull John a quarter of the way upright so he could shove his face into Sheppard's personal space. "You playing hero, then?"
John sucked in a ragged breath that caught when his ribs cramped. "You don't need to kill him," he rasped. "The sickness doesn't last long. If you think he's useless or contagious just wait. He'll be fine either tomorrow or the day after. If you're worried about getting sick then just stay away from him. You don't – need – to kill – him. Please."
Baldy stared at John through the filmed goggles that hid anything the eyes might have betrayed emotion-wise. He started gnawing on his fat bottom lip thoughtfully, then shrugged. "You make a point."
Baldy snapped his fingers and pointed. Goon one lifted his rifle and fired. John winced at the report and the pained scream from a female throat. He managed to turn his head enough despite the pain to see one of the injured women – a bandage on her hand – lying still on the floor with an ever expanding vermilion puddle beneath her. Anger ripped hot through John. He jerked and bucked sneering in feral contempt.
"You son of a bitch!" He managed to plant his boot into Baldy's gut before baldy and goon two finally pinned him. Baldy's weight pushed down on John's throbbing ribs, turning the ache into agony with no room to scream it out. Baldy back-handed John across the face so hard his head snapped to one side and stars sparked. It had literally knocked the resistance right out of him, leaving him easier to handle as they dragged him back to his spot beside Elizabeth. After he was dumped beside her, goon one returned to the now cooling corpse and dragged her from the room leaving a thick path of blood. Baldy loomed over John during the process. When the body was gone, Baldy booted John lightly in the chest, knocking newly claimed breath from his lungs.
"We best keep an eye on you," Baldy simpered. "For such a skinny little animal you put up a wicked fight."
John sucked in a breath that was like pulling air through a straw, and gave Baldy his most dangerous, heavy-lidded scowl. "There's more where that came from pal."
Baldy snorted. "I doubt it. A death was gonna happen, little beast. Didn't matter who got it."
"And, what, I wasn't good enough?" John spat.
Baldy grinned. "We save the best for last."
Baldy left John to mull the response over, and followed his two lackeys out of the room. The door slid closed, and the room was dead still in stunned silence. John remained curled on the floor panting through the pain that pulsated to the rhythm of his heart.
John flinched and gasped when a hand felt along his flank.
"John?"
John looked up at Elizabeth as she looked down at him, her face white and her eyes so wide they were perfectly round.
He smiled weakly at her, and coughed before he could speak. "At least we know what they look like, now."
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TBC...
A/N: Now you're probably wondering the fate of Sherbet, Rodney and the rest. Answers are coming, my friends. At least you know that the bad guys are human.