Storms moving in...and RL really is FUBAR at the moment. Trying to get to those scenes where McKay gets bashed around...work with me...oh and Sheppard and Teyla.
Thanks tons for the reviews...and yes primitive is spelled in an alternative manner in the chapter title...Did I mention the encroaching storm?
Part 3
The small single file group struggled and wove itself through building winds and whipping snow. Ice pelted them. Wind howled across the short, exposed snowfield, battering and pummeling them as they fought their way back to the jutting natural formation of ice, rising glaciers and rocks.
Fierce wind sheers periodically drove them to their knees.
Fantastic headwinds intermittently bullied them to a stop.
They trudged in a weaving line, bent against the building storm. The travelers fought and staggered, twisted away from the brutal wind.
Sheppard lead them, his head angled slightly to the side to accommodate his swollen closed, and blackened eye. His goggles sat uneasily on his bruised face. A deepening bruise leached an array of maroons and deep blues from his zygomatic arch to the juncture of the ramus and the body of the mandible. The spectacular color was only slightly diminished by balloon like swelling of his split and ecchymosed lips.
He looked like a pugilist too well skilled at blocking a punch with his head instead of bobbing and weaving.
McKay struggled against the scouring wind, tethered close to Sheppard's back, hollering directions over the earpieces. Though he shouted to the best of ability, his voice remained barely louder than a whisper, muted by the fury of the storm.
Dead reckoning was a lost art. McKay just hoped the 'dead' didn't take on a literal meaning.
The group finally reached the questionable protection of the monoliths. They wound their way through the natural exposed maze of granite and glaciers.
An arbitrary turn to the left offered a reprieve from the wind, while a turn to their, slammed them to a halt with breathtaking force.
The wind was terrifying.
Ronon kept a tight hold of Beckett's backpack, directing the stumbling doctor left and right as directions changed. A jagged, raw edge of an open wound ran along the Satedan's hair line. It ran deep and the zig-zag swollen, torn edges easily caught and pulled in the material of his hat. It was irritating. It was almost as bothersome as the developing laceration and growing knot that decorated his shin, just below his knee. Each step brought a burning reminder of just how close Beckett came to dislocating his patella.
The ex-runner occasionally glared at the periodically visible, snow enshrouded figure of Sheppard.
Next time he was stunning Beckett.
Behind Ronon, Jones staggered with Teyla bringing up the rear.
Dex didn't like the marine at his back, but trusted Teyla.
Wind howled down narrowed natural halls. It curved around rock barriers, banked off of granite walls and slammed ice particles into trespassers and curled snow up against their legs, gnarling foot placement.
The group struggled on.
Eventually, they found a cave nestled deep within the granite just before the brunt of the storm hit.
They rushed, pushing and pulling one another, single file into a twisting, snaking, narrow corridor, escaping the wind and plummeting temperatures.
They threaded their way down the narrow convoluted corridor, leaving the whistling of deadly winds behind them. Snow and ice whipped past the entrance, creating a deadly curtain of grayish-white.
Temperatures plunged as the sky darkened. The wind turned feral.
Sheppard stalked forward, P-90 ready in fear that their little oasis from the storm might already be occupied. McKay a half breadth behind, tethered to the Colonel, followed hunched over, mittened hand resting on the butt of his pistol. Behind him, Beckett fumbled and stuttered with Ronon looming unseen and unheard on his heels, pulling the doctor left and right in accordance with the path and keeping him on his feet. The Satedan had his own gun drawn and ready.
Corporal Jones trailed Ronon, with no weapon. Teyla closed their ranks, P-90 held at guard.
The group wove through the narrow tunnel. Boots crunched fine, undisturbed sand.
The wind screamed outside the unseen mouth of the cave.
The narrow, twisting, sand cushioned natural corridor burrowed deep into the rock and eventually opened into a small cavern deep within the granite monolith.
The wind lost its bite and drive well before reaching the protected small alcove.
P-90 light illuminated the small protected cave. Its roof curved just high enough to accommodate Ronon's large form.
Nothing appeared to inhabit it.
Sheppard turned, flipping his mitten covers off his gloved fingers. Unhindered by the mittens, he simply freed himself of the rope that tethered Rodney to him.
"McKay, Jones, start setting things up. Ronon, check this place out," Sheppard gestured to the general area. The cavern looked small but there was no reason to think there wasn't more than one exit or entrance. "Then get a fire started."
Dex merely nodded, unholstered his gun, twirling it on his finger, making sure the corporal saw it. He holstered it in a seamless motion and stared pointedly at the younger man.
Jones swallowed, shuffled back a step and merely nodded.
Ronon scowled one more time just to be sure he was understood. The ex-runner then followed the line of the cave walls.
Sheppard pushed his hood back from his head, revealing a thick heavy hat that hung low over his ears and forehead, molding around his glasses which met his oxygen mask. He deftly unclipped one edge, allowing the neoprene mask to dangle free, one sided. The vibrant maroons and blue of fresh deep bruising arced and swelled down over his cheek.
The mask made an impression. Bruised colors leached around it.
"Teyla."
The Athosian glanced up from freeing herself from her tether and stared around Jones to the Colonel. Her features, though shadowed by the darkness of the cave, held the nip of cold air.
"I'm going to need help with Carson." Sheppard's request masked an order that languished in unnecessary.
Teyla simply nodded and easily slid her pack from her shoulders. She let it fall to the unusually fine sand and stepped toward the CMO.
Carson stood shivering, weaving in small circles, where Ronon had stopped him. Beckett kept his head down, his face hidden by the deep hood of his torn parka. His pack hung low and heavy on his shoulders. It had offered some protection, where his torn jacket had failed.
"Dr. Beckett, Carson," Teyla spoke softly, reaching for the doctor. As expected, he remained rooted, having not heard what she said or seen her motions. He simply tensed at her touch.
McKay quickly pulled and unfurled his sleeping bag from his pack, complete with its silver thermal blanket, and stretched it out on the ground. "Here, sit him on this."
Rodney stepped back, making room and worked his way over to the next discarded pack. He worked quickly, pulling sleeping bags and silver insulated blankets from the packs. As he situated them on the ground, he watched as Sheppard and Teyla maneuvered Beckett to sitting down.
The doctor moved stiffly, stilted, not only from the cold but as if unsure of where the ground was, how far to trust those around him, and if and when should he relax his guard or attempt to escape.
Rodney quickly diverted his eyes, uneasy and uncomfortable with the hesitant movements of Carson. This wasn't his environment. He didn't do touchy feely. He didn't do comfort or encouragement. He worked with technology, Ancient interfaces, even Wraith fleshy computer bits---if he had too. But not this. He watched the Colonel and Teyla with Carson. He didn't envy them but he did appreciate them.
McKay didn't do injuries and he admittedly fumbled and bumbled comfort and he certainly didn't embrace the primitive world.
This was Hell…that was it. Dante described Hell as an existence steeped in a frozen land of ice and wind. This was it. This was indeed Hell.
McKay sighed with resignation. Figures.
Rodney turned his attention to the back of the cave.
Ronon suddenly disappeared behind a stone wall. McKay paused, stood up and waited. "Colonel?" Rodney stated softly.
Perhaps there was technology here after all. All was not lost.
Sheppard kept his focus on Beckett, but nodded at what McKay was hinting at. "He'll let us know."
"Sheppard," Ronon's voice rumbled over head SGA-1's head sets. "Tunnel's back here. Its small, narrower than the entrance, and goes back a ways. No tracks. No wind."
Sheppard processed the information and simply nodded. "Leave it for now."
McKay listened and then watched as the runner seemingly stepped out from a rock wall.
Ronon stared at Rodney, "No tech."
McKay deflated slightly, rounding his shoulders a little more and dropping back down to a squat. It was his chore to make their group's next installment of Adventures of Swiss Family Robinson---without the blonde---a little more comfortable. He had been reduced from Head Scientist of a Top Secret Expedition to Mrs. Donner, Clarice's mom.
The ex-runner holstered his gun and strode across the cave, staring at the marine.
Jones seemed to shrink within himself and quietly removed small cooking ware from his own pack. He worked efficiently on starting a calorie packed meal for the group.
Their survival packs were well suited for cold weather. Fuel for fire, food, protective clothing and medical supplies would not be an issue for a matter of days.
McKay switched his attention from Ronon and Lones to the Colonel and Teyla.
The two quickly freed Beckett from his pack, torn coat and oxygen. They pulled the thermal blanket up around his trembling shoulders. The temporary white bandage that Sheppard had hastily wrapped around his eyes out on the ice shelf was wrinkled and crooked.
Sharp deep bruises ringed his proximal ventral neck and extended up behind his ears. "Carson?" McKay inquired.
"Seen it already, McKay. Don't know what happened," Sheppard intoned. "Corporal?" the colonel asked pointedly. He gently dabbed Carson's eyes with medicated gauze.
"Sir?"
"What happened to his neck?" Sheppard finished cleaning one eye and started working on the other. Beckett occasionally tried to raise blanket covered hands, only to have Teyla delicately deflect them.
"I don't know, sir," Jones answered, keeping an eye on the ex-runner who almost seemed to snarl at him. "Dr. Beckett never said anything."
"Well, of course, he didn't," Rodney snapped. "Look at him. He can't find his forehead with his fingertips right now."
"McKay," Sheppard tempered. "Let's just deal with one thing at a time."
The CMO for his part sat still, occasionally shivering and frequently reaching up to help or deter the hands that tugged at him. Teyla softly explained their actions to no avail and redirected his hands.
"His clothing is damp." The Athosian stated. She rested a hand between Beckett's shoulder blades, lower back and chest. Sweat leeched through material manufactured to specifically wick it away.
"Rodney," Sheppard's simple saying of the name conveyed his order.
Jones marveled at the simplicity in which SGA-1 communicated with one another without truly saying anything.
"I'm on it," McKay huffed. He rifled through Beckett's pack and pulled free extra clothing and tossed them over to the trio.
Rodney turned his attention back to unpacking more gear. He pulled small oxygen bottles free and checked their pressures. They had plenty. The coiled climbing ropes were laid out and the astrophysicist examined them as he had been taught back at McMurdo post. White out conditions and unexpected weather abnormalities were the norm there.
The quiet whispers that enveloped the camp were suddenly shattered.
A piercing roar rent the night, bouncing along the walls of the natural corridor and engulfing the small enclave.
Ronon snapped his gun clear and pivoted toward the entrance of the cave.
"Wait," Sheppard whispered, cautiously placing down the small plastic bottle of eyewash and raised his P-90.
The group sat and listened intently, trying to discern and tease different sounds from the howling storm.
Beckett rubbed vigorously at his eyes, oblivious to the sudden tension, but capitalizing on the unexpected freedom. The silver blanket slipped from his shoulders. Cold air prickled through his thermals.
Rodney watched the entrance of the cave, seeing shadows in the black archway. He hastily traded an oxygen bottle for his .9mm. The barrel wavered only minutely as he aimed it at the entrance.
The group waited. The fire crackled. Small flames flickered and danced about in gentle air currents, sensitive to peoples' movements and breaths.
The small group continued to wait. Crystallized breaths plumed into the brittle air.
Teyla unobtrusively placed herself between Carson and the entrance.
Beckett groaned as he applied more pressure to the heel of his hands and buried them deeply into his eyes. The roughened gauze scratched deliciously against his burning skin. A vicious cycle spiraled. He toppled to his side, but continued to work at his eyes.
Ronon kept steady aim on the entrance, the marine in his periphery.
Jones feared reaching for a weapon.
Sheppard kept his P-90 level and ready.
Shadows danced on the cave walls. Features flickered within undulating greys. The unseen wind continued to moan. Occasional fingers of frigid air wisped down the winding tunnel and bent flames and scoured exposed skin.
Time ticked past.
Eventually, Sheppard lowered his weapon, followed by Rodney and Teyla. Ronon slowly holstered his gun.
The colonel's attention was dragged toward the physician behind him, who moaned with mixed pleasure and pain, rubbing vigorously at his eyes. He wiggled himself back away from the others and nestled himself into a seated position using the rock wall.
"Carson, knock it off," Sheppard growled, slightly alarmed at the fervor in which Beckett ground at his eyes.
He and Teyla wrestled the doctor's hands down. The Colonel remained someone protective of his own battle bruised face.
McKay ignored the threesome. He settled back into a sleeping bag, feeling his heart race in his chest. It took two attempts before finally holstering his pistol. He needed a diversion, something to occupy his mind.
Why didn't technology work here? So unfair.
Rodney stared at the pile of oxygen bottles, mentally counting how many they had left, how many they would need to reach the gate. Two long coils of multicolored climbing rope lay in figure 8 patterns on an extra blanket up out of the sand. The lines appeared intact. He calculated the number of yards, the number of people, how many different types of tethers they might need and figured with a growl of disgust, that they had enough line that they could have lined the whole planet of misfit toys.
He chanced a looked over at the struggling trio.
Sheppard rifled through Beckett's medical pack, one handed, pulling supplies and setting them in order that he'd need them. With his other hand he tried keeping Beckett's hand down and away from his covered eyes.
The gauze was askew and appeared wet.
McKay flinched when Teyla unwound and peeled the gauze back, diligently moving in time with the physician. He caught sight of Carson's reddened, swollen eyes. They seemed accountably painful and tears leaked from the corners. With Teyla no longer gently restraining him, Beckett persistently rubbed the sides of his eyes on his shoulders, chafing them to the point of bleeding, irritating them further and adding to the potential damage.
McKay was slightly unnerved as the colonel tried repeatedly to keep Carson from smashing his eyes into his shoulder and abrade them on the material. If Beckett kept this up they would have to convince him to lie back, which seemed unlikely at the moment.
"Teyla, hold his head still," Sheppard stated softly as he picked clean gauze from an open pack. The Athosian simply nodded and tried to comply.
McKay watched, curious as to what would drive someone to act in a manner they knew was counterproductive. Carson had to know what was wrong with his eyes; he had to understand that rubbing them was making matters worse and yet the Scot continued to defy Teyla's hesitantly restraining hands.
Sheppard dabbed the cool medicated gauze on heated puffy eyelids.
Beckett flinched away from Teyla's gentle grasp, smashing his head into a rocky overhang. He curled away, gripping his head and sucking in a pained breath and surreptitiously rubbed the palms of his heels into his eyes.
He didn't hear Sheppard's aggravated curse or Teyla's repeated apologies. After a moment, they both tried again. This time Beckett grasped the colonel's wrist in a punishing and warning grip.
Ronon stopped with the fire and watched the trio. McKay wondered if Conan would actually stun Carson this time. It seemed feasible, and after watching the fight Carson put up out on the ice, advisable.
Jones stopped with his meal preparation. Ronon shot him a glare. The marine continued working.
It had been a tense moment of waiting to see how far Beckett would fight Teyla and Sheppard, and how far they would have to go to subdue him. With no opposition from the hand he gripped, Carson slowly loosened his grasp. He never let go, but allowed the colonel to peel apart his lids and examine his eyes as Teyla tilted his head back.
A couple of drops of eye medication had Beckett blinking frantically and liquid admixed with tears streaming down the side of his face. Carson's nose ran too. There had to be some medical wishy, washy explanation for that as well. Perhaps some sort of duct or something, connected eye to nostril. Rodney really didn't care. He just wished someone with a tissue, rather than Carson with his long sleeve shirt acted to wipe his nose.
No such luck. At least it wasn't a tip of his tongue.
Unarticulated rasps of discomfort whispered forth.
McKay turned away and spread parkas out before the fire to dry. When he had all the jackets arranged and mittens lay to air, he settled back on an extra sleeping bag and freed his tablet from his pack.
He blew on his gloved hands trying to warm them. They might have been out of the storm but the frigid temperature still blanched exposed skin.
He tried to ignore Sheppard placing thick padded gauze over each of Carson's medicated eyes before wrapping rolled gauze around the doctor's head. Beckett had sat tense and silent through the procedure. He weaved slightly as dizziness persisted.
They quickly peeled his damp shirts free and replaced them. Beckett quietly prevented Teyla from helping him with his pants and long johns. It earned a few chuckles from the others and a tolerant but understanding smile from the Athosian.
After a bit, with a little help from Sheppard, Carson was in dry clothing. Teyla quietly made her way back and sat beside the physician. She easily interpreted his ill ease with the day's events.
It seemed strange to see Carson sitting mutely within a swath of startling white bandages. Teyla placed his hat back on his head and then lifted the hood of his dry sweatshirt adding extra protection from the cold. She settled herself beside the doctor on the sleeping bag, and with Sheppard's help, drew the silver thermal blanket across both their shoulders.
Sheppard left the two be and drifted off to his own sleeping bag and pack. He nodded a curt thanks to McKay and settled down.
Sheppard found the situation infuriating. The fear and uncertainty that emanated from the CMO was almost palpable. Of course, having someone try to kill you while blind and now deaf would leave one feeling vulnerable. Being eaten or almost devoured by a snow monster didn't help much either.
Everyone had their bad days.
There had been no way to communicate with him that he was safe, well safer, or who surrounded him and what was occurring. Beckett's world has been reduced to smells and touch. The snow blindness would resolve within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The deafness, no-one knew for sure.
When pressed for an answer, Ronon grunted and shrugged. No one had ever escaped the Snow Yeti.
That had begged the question of how such knowledge became available then…Sheppard nipped McKay off before that line of reasoning could be broached. The cave wasn't that large and tempers were short.
McKay met Sheppard's eye and said nothing, verbally. The astrophysicist turned his attention back to his sluggishly working tablet. The cold sapped the battery of its charge.
Rodney sighed heavily, frustrated at the predicament in which they'd found themselves. Worse was not having a working computer tablet at his fingertips. Just because they were in a primitive situation did not mean he had to go without a computer.
There was Primitive and then there was Robinson Crusoe primitive. In Rodney's world they had just dipped into Tarzan and Cheetah primitive and it was unbearably painful.
McKay scrutinized Beckett, who sat very still as if trying to melt into the background, and then back to his computer. With a put upon sigh, Rodney climbed wearily to his feet.
He strode his way across the small cave and stopped before Carson. Safely keeping his distance, he simply tapped Beckett firmly on the hood. The Scot, as Rodney suspected, jolted upright. McKay waited with an air of impatience for the Doctor to calm.
After what seemed an appropriate time, McKay squatted down and simply placed the tablet in Beckett's hand. He allowed Carson to tentatively touch his face, which nearly cost him an eye and an invasive nostril pick. Clumsy fingers finally pushed his hat back and accosted his receding hair line.
Rodney's impatience grew when he recognized the dimpled smirk on Beckett's face. He ended the touchy session with a gruff, "Alright, enough of that." He swatted Beckett's hand away, took his tablet back, fixed his hat and pushed himself to his feet. McKay ambled back to his little section of cave, but not before squeezing Beckett's shoulder in brief reassurance.