Chapter 8: Scenes of Mass Destruction
Agreeing to Carson's instructions had been easy.
Getting McKay to do what he was told… wasn't.
The physicist glowered at Sheppard fiercely as the Colonel asked him to lie down yet again. "I already t-told you I wasn't g-going to break!" he fumed from his crouched position.
"Have you heard yourself lately, McKay?" John asked. "You can barely get a sentence out!"
"Carson's just f-fussing."
"And I have no intention of having Beckett hand me my ass on a plate!" John snapped back. "Dammit, Rodney, just do what the man wants!"
McKay shook his head stubbornly and continued to prod at his data pad. The boys were back in the corridor, two levels up from the control room, and the scientist had hooked up the small computer to another data terminal. "I'm n-nearly finished," he said quietly. "Please, just let me get this d-downloaded then I promise I'll be a good l-little astrophysicist and lie down."
John sighed as he saw another vicious tremor wrack his friend's body. "Why don't you rest for a while and let me keep an eye on it?" he suggested. "I know how to do it."
Rodney harrumphed. "I'm sure you d-do, Colonel, but it'll be two m-minutes tops." He looked back down at the data pad and frowned. "Hang on…"
"What is it?" Sheppard didn't like the look on McKay's face.
"This is w-weird."
"What do you mean, 'weird'?"
"Not y-you as well! Weird. As in strange, odd, p-peculiar, unusual…"
"Don't start that again!"
Rodney snorted a laugh and closed his eyes as another bout of dizziness hit him. He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and cracked them open to see John holding onto him for dear life. "I'm fine," he muttered. "Just dizzy."
"That's it. You're lying down right now and then I'm finding you a blanket."
"Make me. I'm s-sure a military man such as y-you should be able t-to do that with minimal resistance on my part."
John sighed. "Why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the time?" A strange look passed across his face. "Please, Rodney, I don't want to have to force you," he said in a quiet voice.
McKay saw the worry in his team-mate's expression and realised that he'd gone too far. "Sorry."
"Come on. The doc'll be here soon."
"Just one more m-minute," McKay replied, still gripping at the computer. His eyes flicked down as he saw Sheppard give a resigned nod, and he focused on the data on the tiny screen. He made a strangled sound.
"McKay?"
Rodney looked back up at him with impossibly wide eyes. "We have to go," he croaked, urgency and panic tinting his voice.
"What are you…?"
"We have to g-go now," the Canadian insisted, tugging hard on the pilot's jacket.
John's eyes flicked down to the pad and he paled. "Shit. Is that…?"
"Yes," McKay hissed impatiently. "Stop t-talking and move!"
Abandoning the data pad, Sheppard tugged Rodney to his feet and half carried, half dragged the man down the corridor. As they limped along, he tapped his earpiece. "Lorne!"
"Sir?"
Get everyone as far away from the outpost as possible!"
"But we're almost there, sir."
"That's an order, Major!" John barked. "The drones are about to activate."
"I'm sorry, sir, did you say…?"
"Yes, dammit! Now quit talking and RUN!"
"Sheppard…"
John looked across at Rodney, who had gone an odd shade of white. The scientist was shaking so badly that he could hardly keep himself upright.
"Leave me," he whispered.
"No."
"We won't… we won't make it…" Rodney croaked.
"I am NOT leaving you! End of argument!" Sheppard pulled harder, managed to increase their pace slightly. "We're almost there."
As he spoke, an explosion sounded below them on the far side of the complex, presumably as the first of the drones overloaded. Rodney was right – they weren't going to make it. Looking around frantically as another aftershock shook the floor, he spotted a small room to their left. "In here!"
As they staggered through the door, John glowered at it and locked it mentally, knowing that it probably wouldn't do a lot of good against the backfiring Ancient technology. Thankfully, the room was empty save for a couple of small terminals near the entrance. Figuring that they would probably overload, the Air Force man glanced around, looking for cover. He spotted an alcove on the far side and dragged McKay across.
"Not just d-drones," the scientist whispered as his friend manhandled him across the small space.
Sheppard felt his heart leap up into his mouth. "What? What do you mean, not just drones?"
"Chair… Chair's r-rigged… to self destruct…"
Oh boy.
As the building shook with the force from yet another powerful blast, Sheppard tried to shield Rodney with as much of his body as possible. The last thought to go through his head was that death by a booby trapped, exploding building was not something he had ever envisioned.
Then the floor shook, the ceiling rained down upon them and everything went black.
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"A Dhia," Carson muttered, slipping into his native Gaelic. He fought the urge to either be sick or cry as the group looked at the shattered remains of the outpost. The stones were still smoking slightly and a couple of small fires were just about visible. He absently dusted himself off: the shockwaves from the explosion had sent them all to the ground, even though they were at that point a mile and a half away from the outpost.
"You… you don't think…" stammered a young marine.
Carson wheeled around angrily to face the young man – Captain Ashford. "No, son, I don't think!" he snapped, jabbing the man's chest with a finger. "And neither do you!"
"Sorry, sir," the marine muttered.
Beckett's face softened. "It's alright, lad." He gave the man's shoulder a reassuring squeeze then looked up at Ronon. "I need you to get back to the Gate, big man. Get hold Zelenka for me, and tell him that we'll be needing his services after all. He'll understand."
The Satedan nodded and took off at full pelt back toward the Stargate.
"Dr Beckett?" asked Teyla.
"I asked Radek to have his team of engineers ready just in case," Carson explained.
"Looks like you were right after all, doc," Lorne said, still staring at the wreckage in front of them.
"I wish I wasn't," the Scotsman muttered.
He knew that he should've sent someone else instead. Every time he stepped through the Gate something terrible happened. Then, he mentally slapped himself. That kind of attitude was not helpful. John and Rodney were somewhere in there, most likely injured and in need of medical attention.
"Carson?"
He turned to see Teyla looking at him in concern. "It's alright, lass. Just thinking." He looked over at one of his medics. "Jessie, I want you to go back to Atlantis with Captain Ashford and start prepping surgery. Tell Dr Morrison that we have two cave-in victims with as yet unknown trauma. He'll know what to do."
"Yes, Dr Beckett."
Lorne turned round to face the young Captain. "Right then, Ashford."
"Yes, sir?" asked Ashford, who was shaking slightly. He was new to the Atlantis expedition and still finding his feet. If the Major recalled correctly, this was only his third off-world trip – and he needed men with experience rather than a wet behind the ears newbie.
"I need you to talk to Dr Weir. Inform her of the situation."
"Anything else?"
Beckett ran a shaking hand through his hair. "You've got medical training, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir," the young man replied.
"Once you've briefed Elizabeth, I want you in the infirmary assisting the teams dealing with the stomach flu cases. We'll be short staffed as it is and I need to free up some of my team. If that's alright with you, Major?" he asked Lorne.
Evan nodded. "Not a problem, doc."
"Understood, Dr Beckett." Ashford hesitated slightly before adding, "Sir, I know a few other guys who can help. There was a group of us who all took a field medical course before leaving the SGC."
Carson gave him a brilliant grin. "Good man! Get them over to the infirmary and tell Dr Cole I sent you. She'll get you sorted out and assigned duties."
"Before you do that, find Lt Edison and have him and his team ready to get over here ASAP," Lorne added. "And anyone else who's gotten over the bug."
The marine saluted and set off for the Gate with Jessie.
"What now?" asked Teyla.
"It looks stable enough," said Lorne. "Maybe we should try to start digging them out or something."
"No. We need to wait for Radek and his team."
"But, doc, they could be in serious trouble!"
"I know that, Major!" Carson snarled, rounding on the soldier as his fear got the better of him. "But I can nae be doing with further injuries to either them or us!"
"Perhaps we should try the radios?" suggested Teyla, trying to diffuse the hostility.
Lorne instantly snaked his hand up and tapped his radio. "Colonel Sheppard? Dr McKay? Do you copy?"
There was nothing but static.
Evan tried again, but got similar results.
"Maybe they are unconscious," the Athosian said.
"Aye, I don't doubt that," muttered Carson.
"Either that or the explosions messed with the signal," replied Lorne.
"It doesn't really matter," said Beckett. "We have nae got much time."
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Pain.
That was the first thing that his brain managed to register as Lt Col John Sheppard came to. He was in pain. Trying to move, he let out an involuntary yelp (which he would later vow and declare was in fact a manly grunt) as he felt red hot spikes shoot through his back and legs. Okay, so it was actually a lot of pain. Not good. Not good at all. Staying still seemed to be a pretty solid idea at that precise moment in time.
As his eyes slowly started to become accustomed to the gloom surrounding him, John realised that he appeared to be lying face down on a cold stone floor. That wasn't very useful by any definition of the word. Then again, he didn't really seem to have much of a choice in the matter – carefully snaking a hand around to his back, Sheppard found that he was pinned under what felt like a large and very heavy slab of rock. On the bright side, he'd found both the source of and reason for his discomfort. Now all he had to do was remember what the hell was going on, where he was and why his team were nowhere to be seen. They wouldn't just leave him here.
Hang on…
Rodney! He'd been with Rodney – or at least, that was what his disturbingly fuzzy head was telling him. Where the hell was he? And why was it so dark? John tried hard to call out, but his vocal chords had picked a damn fine time to go on strike, and all he could manage was a wheezing rasp. As his hand flitted about, he felt his fingers brush past something cold and metallic. Turning his head as far as he could, he managed to make out the distinctive shape of a P-90.
His P-90.
A couple of false starts later, he managed to latch onto it and dragged it closer. After fumbling around with fingers that were not in a particularly co-operative mood – he was going to have to undertake some serious talks with his body later because all this rebelling was not helping, dammit – he succeeded in clicking on the small, mounted flashlight.
The Air Force man almost cackled hysterically over the fact that this time, for once, the bulb hadn't broken. He'd have to tell McKay about this: there had been at least seventeen separate incidents involving P-90s with broken torches that month alone. So, the two men had set up a betting pool with Zelenka concerning who was most likely to bust the next one. Sheppard knew for a fact that the abrasive physicist had put a large bet on him, seeing as the Colonel had been responsible for nine of the breakages.
John was up seventy bucks.
The thought of the scientist was like a kick in the gut and he quickly re-focused his attention to the matter at hand. As a weapon, the P-90 was a remarkable feat of warfare engineering – light, easy to use and deadly in the right hands. As a flashlight, it was a no-good, useless piece of crap that even a toddler would have been pissed with. John strained to see anything in the tiny light, shifting it back and forth as his eyes re-adjusted. The gloom took on an ominous feeling as the beam hit jagged, uneven surfaces, making the shadows jump and flicker. Dust hung in the air, tickling John's nose and throat, and he feebly tried to wave it away, coughing.
That was when he saw McKay…