Jack's Fangtastic Adventure – Part Nine
Jack's fingers dug deep furrows into the ground under his right hand, sinking into the moist soil.
He moaned, a low, dull sound that came from deep in his chest, and flopped over to lie face up. The brilliant heat of the sun beat on his closed eyelids and sucked the moisture from his already cracked lips. He moaned again as he tried to swallow, small particles of dust caught in his throat and sticking, there being no moisture left to move them.
Finally, he turned his head, more in an attempt to shade his eyes than to look around. He slowly opened them, blinking, feeling the heat drying them immediately. His forehead creased into a puzzled frown as he tried to interpret what he saw.
The pup moved, feebly crawling away for him.
Jack rolled, tucking his legs under, and rose. One hand was extended, the other he hooked into the torn remains of his shirt. The few feet seemed miles, but he managed them, dropping to his knees with a grunt beside the tiny body. The pup's fur was caked with dust, and it looked up at him with dull eyes, panting, its tiny tongue lolling from the side of its mouth.
He had never meant this – never meant to hurt the little creature. God knows what he had thought, bringing it with him, perhaps only to keep it quiet. Now he couldn't remember. But he did know he didn't want it to suffer because of him.
He bent, touching it with one finger as if to make sure it was real. The blood that ran, rich and red, from the reopened veins, the blood that had seeped into the earth beneath him as he lay, dripped sluggishly down the finger, and the tiny nose sniffed.
The pup opened its mouth, catching the falling liquid. For a moment Jack's stomach churned, then he saw the orange eyes brighten.
With one hand he moved the little creature, positioning it against the exposed veins in his left arm, pulling back the skin to make room. He bit back a cry when sharp teeth latched onto the vein, and the pup began to suck.
Jack cradled it to him, watching, fascinated, as it came back to life. After what seemed hours, he stood, gauged the position of the sun, and set out.
His feet kicked into exposed branches of dead trees, and he fell, only to rise immediately, hurrying on, bursts of colour exploding on his retinas, waves rolling against his skin, making it ripple.
But through it all, through the overload of sensation, he kept one goal in mind.
Somewhere, across that expanse, the Stargate called to him.
Behind him, large drops of red marked his trail, in places where he fell, deep enough to slack the thirst of the following pack.
xoxoxoxoxoxo