I have never seen the Corn Yeti, but have heard it at night, have never heard a tornado but have seen them (Iowa is a strange and mystical place) Iowa is also the home of the World's largest fake strawberry.
Part 4
A modest fire crackled at the center of the cave. Shadows danced and folded around the craggy inner walls. Gear remained scattered in a semi circle, leaving the narrow entrance of the cave open and free of debris. Sleeping bags doubled as sitting mats, insulating bodies from the leaching cold of the ground.
Outer gear remained stripped off and opened to air. Boots remained in place and hats on heads. Mittens were shed, revealing thin insulating gloves that still protected fingers. Oxygen masks had been removed, 02 tanks were shut off and equipment stowed.
The smell of gun oil mingled with wisps of smoke. The crackle of fire filled the small area.
Ronon checked his gun again, taking surreptitiously glances at Corporal Jones. The young marine kept his distance and watched the others with downcast eyes.
The laceration that marred the corner of the Satedan's forehead where Beckett had clipped him with a boot earlier out on the ice had been cleaned. Ronon occasionally scrutinized the doctor and then glared pointedly at Sheppard.
Dex chuckled every time he spied Sheppard's swollen and bruised face. The Atlanteans should listen to him more.
The doc was a scrapper. The specialist took some relief in knowing that he faired better than Sheppard when it came to wrestling and subduing Carson. Next time, however, he was stunning the Doc no matter what Sheppard said.
Dex placed his gun down within easy reach, picked up a medium sized needle and thread, and turned his attention to mending Beckett's torn parka.
The Corporal remained quiet, and kept his hands visible and movements slow. He shied from touching any form of weapon. It had proven unwise. He made no more inquiries or halfhearted jokes about Specialist Dex's versatility with needle and thread.
It was actually unsurprising that the Satedan knew how to mend clothes. Seven years on the run and being a military specialist made it a necessity for survival to know how to sew and suture.
The corporal watched Dr. McKay. The young man had made the mistake of trying to start a conversation with the civilian. He knew it was a bad idea, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Apparently the old adage about desperate people making stupid mistakes heralded true, even on ice planets in a cave with a storm blowing.
Dr. McKay was as tactless as it was rumored. He would have made a good drill instructor.
Corporal Jones surreptitiously watched the scientist.
McKay snapped his tablet closed, disgusted with the cold that sapped the battery of its power and made the tablet sluggish and unresponsive. He fiddled with the Ancient's life sign's detector, occasionally aiming it at individuals. Frequently he grunted in disgust and occasionally shook the instrument in frustration.
A combination of soup and stew boiled in a small collapsible pot over the fire. Hot water mixed liberally with hot chocolate percolated near the fire resting on a flat stone. The sugar was a quick and easy source of calories in the bitter cold. Salts and proteins were needed replacements as much as liquid. Water consumed alone over a period of time could prove detrimental if not fatal.
The dry, thin air efficiently dehydrated those caught in it too long unprotected. The snow that drifted and whirled about held little moisture, forcing the group to utilize their portable water.
Sheppard oiled his P-90 and checked the firing mechanisms of both his and McKay's weapons. The smell of gun oil grew. The colonel kept his unswollen, unblackened eye on Beckett and McKay.
Rodney was doing okay. The scientist was adaptable.
Sheppard cautiously rubbed at his injured eye and cheekbone. Carson had a vicious head butt. Thank God it had been a glancing blow. Next time he'd let Ronon stun him. It'd save them all some bruises. At least they had somewhat convinced Carson who was with him. It took feeling Ronon's hair and Teyla's hands and face before he relaxed enough to let them near him without shying away and striking out. Of course, Sheppard didn't think Carson was reaching for Teyla's hand when she intercepted his and folded it within her grasp and held it to her face.
Not that it mattered. In the end, they got him calmed down enough to elicit cooperation. After a bit, they built a level of trust high enough to allow them to offer aid.
Carson's continued silence had been unnerving, not unexpected. Sheppard had wanted to pull Beckett aside and learn what had happened. Jones appeared to be a good kid, stand up all American apple pie eating next door neighbor that did the paper route, but he was also the only one telling a sordid tale of a Wraith Worshipper that had been in their midst. He wove a horror story of deceit, murder and unveiled an assassination attempt on Beckett that also stretched to envelop McKay.
People desiring to kill McKay wasn't a stretch of the imagination. In fact, they ran into that type of sentiment time and time again, frequently on Atlantis, occasionally on his own team. However, it was unusual to have people actually carry through with the urge. Sure the Genii and…well the Genii and not too many more after that wanted McKay… technically the Genii didn't want McKay dead, just control of him.
Good luck with that. The Genii should be careful what they wish for.
A Wraith Worshipper within their midst seemed farfetched and surreal. However, SGA-6 was dead except for one young corporal. Beckett was blind and deaf and unable to articulate anything more than harsh rasping sounds. The deep bruising around his neck left little to the imagination. The question remained, had the attempted strangulation been at the purposeful hands of an assassin or inadvertent dangling from the jaws of the creature?
Sheppard liked Jones. It seemed unlikely that the kid was actually a Wraith Worshipper. Of course, one didn't survive this long in warring galaxies making sweeping judgments based on appearances.
The colonel was pulled from his musings by the Corporal himself.
"The Corn Yeti doesn't make people go deaf," Jones suddenly stated. The non-sequitor had the others pausing.
Sheppard placed his P-90 to the side, wrapping it in a cloth to protect it somewhat from the bitter cold that still electrified the air.
"Corn Yeti? Oh please," McKay dismissed. Bad enough they had the Abominable Snowman lumbering around out there. Now all they needed was Yukon Cornelius to save their asses and an elf with a dental fetish. Rodney glanced over to Beckett, who itched at his head through his hood. Hermey the dental elf probably wouldn't be a good idea.
The fire had heated their small, protected cave enough to prevent the crystallization of breath. Rodney thought about removing his hat. It was beginning to itch his head too.
"What is this Corn Yeti?" Teyla asked staring from Jones to Sheppard.
The Colonel merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
"Never heard of it," Ronon mumbled. He effortlessly snapped his sewing thread and expertly knotted it one handed. He quickly and efficiently re-threaded his needle. He swung Beckett's torn coat around and began patching another rent.
Sheppard marveled at the small, closely woven stitch pattern. Dex would make a good seamstress or tailor.
"You and two galaxies," McKay muttered. He shifted his pack closer to the small fire, hoping to warm the tablet enough to make it somewhat responsive to his commands.
"This Corn Yeti, it lives on your world?" Teyla asked again encompassing the three Atlanteans in her question.
Beckett slouched minutely to the side, leaning just a breadth into the Athosian. Teyla accepted the weight without moving.
"Lives in corn fields, grabs unsuspecting trespassers." Jones fiddled with his pant cuff.
"What's it do with them?" Ronon asked. He looked up from his patch work and stared at the young marine.
"Eats them I guess," Jones answered, shrugging slightly and straightening out his leg. He was relieved to be talking instead of listening to the wind howl and fire crackle.
"You ever heard of it before, Sheppard?" Dex asked.
Sheppard shook his head. He focused his attention on the marine. "Where you from, Corporal?"
"Iowa, sir," Jones answered quietly.
McKay stopped rifling through his pack and stared over at Jones, scrutinizing the soldier, and sucked in a hissing breath, shaking his head in despondency.
The colonel grimaced and nodded in commiseration, "My condolences." Sheppard knew the Corporal was a tough kid.
"This Iowa, it is a bad place?" Teyla asked. She shifted slightly on the sleeping bag, bringing the silver thermal blanket up higher over her and Dr. Beckett's shoulders. His shivering had subsided.
"Its home, ma'am," Jones intoned. "People not from there don't understand its appeal." He glared slightly at McKay and his CO.
"Yeah, it has so much appeal you left and traveled two galaxies away from it." McKay fiddled with smoothing his sleeping bag, trying to level out his small staked claim of ground.
"Understandable," Sheppard pointed out in defense of the Corporal.
"This Corn Yeti," Ronon's deep voice rumbled around the cave. He watched from the corner of his eye as Beckett curled inward and more into Teyla, his head dipped closer to his chest, despite the intermittent slight jerking motions to lift his chin. He would be asleep soon. "It likes winter?"
"Um, well no," Jones answered earnestly. "They say it travels to Tahiti in the wintertime. No corn in the fields during the cold months."
"Smart," Sheppard intoned.
"If it were smart, it'd never go back," McKay pointed out.
"It likes sweet corn," Jones defended and then added softly, "and unsuspecting tourists."
"Tourists?" Sheppard asked, slightly perplexed and a little more disbelieving. "There's a tourist trade in Iowa?" From the corner of his eye, he watched as Beckett practically folded sideways into Teyla's lap.
"Well, sir, mostly they get lost on their way to someplace else and end up in Iowa," Jones explained, slightly downtrodden.
"I'm sure it's a nice state, Corporal," Sheppard soothed. It was the kid's home after all.
"At night, in the rear view mirror," McKay added, "with a full tank of gas."
The Colonel hit him with a pointed stare.
"Tell me I'm wrong?" McKay shot back.
Jones appeared almost hopeful that someone would speak up.
No one spoke.
The silence extended, broken only by the corporal's despondent sigh.
Teyla chuckled softly at Rodney's grunt. She nimbly scooted out from beside Beckett, who folded even more in on himself. She gently eased him down on his side, cushioning his head with her discarded coat.
Though the cave was significantly warmer than outside and protected from the wind, the bitter cold still gripped the air. The Athosian found herself bundled in extra off world gear.
Carson desperately reached out with a blind hand. Guessing the intent, Teyla grabbed and held his hand for a moment while adjusting the thermal blanket over him. She folded the upper half of the sleeping bag over that. "You are safe now, Carson," she whispered, knowing he couldn't hear. The Athosian settled back down just at his head.
Sheppard shared a look with Teyla. Neither one was confident in her placating statement.
"What are we going to do?" McKay asked, staring pointedly at Beckett and then across to Sheppard.
"If the storm lets up, we head back to the gate tomorrow," Sheppard stated. "If not, we have enough supplies to wait it out a few days."
Beckett softly rasped something unintelligible, rubbing the side of his face against Teyla's coat in an attempt to itch his eyes. She halted his movements with a simple double tap to his head in gentle admonishment. He rasped again, nothing more than harsh, unarticulated breaths.
"What is wrong with his voice?" McKay asked no one in particular.
"I don't know." Sheppard answered quietly, watching Beckett huddle into the sleeping bag. He gave one last scrub at the side of his head with his left hand. The loose sweatshirt sleeve slid back a ways exposing part of his forearm. Teyla easily deflected his attempt at rubbing his eyes, her chuckle fading when she spotted the deep bruising.
"Someone tried to strangle him," Ronon declared.
The group turned to Jones. The young marine sat up wide eyed. "No, sir, no one tried to strangle Dr. Beckett. McGilly never got a chance to get that close to him…I mean not that close until the Abominable Snowman showed up." Jones paused. "Colonel, I'm serious, no one, and I mean no one, tried to strangle or will get away with trying to strangle, Dr. Beckett, not as long as I'm around." The marine spoke with fierce protective bravado.
Sheppard recognized it and understood it. "No one is accusing you, Corporal."
"I was," Ronon stated matter of fact.
"Yeah, well don't," Sheppard returned.
"Why?"
"Ronon," Teyla warned. This type of reasoning and posturing would get them nowhere. Rodney was looking tense and wide eyed, trying to read more into the situation than was being presented. Sheppard and Ronon needed to be united front and she did not want to shoulder the burden of playing peacemaker where peace should be innate.
Beckett shifted under the sleeping bag, moving an arm, freeing up pressure on his down shoulder. A bare forearm stretched briefly from out of under the covers only to retract back into hiding.
Sheppard cocked his head to the side, having noticed the superficial wounds running along the lateral side of Carson's left forearm. Defensive wounds, or maybe just from falling onto the ice or fighting off the Corn Yeti's winter cousin.
Ronon gazed up from his sewing and stared at the Corporal. Jones shrunk away from the glare.
Sheppard watched it all, unsure what to think.
Was there a killer still within their midst?
The distant roar of the snow yeti pierced the night, sending hearts hammering and gloved hands reaching for weapons.
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"Sheppard." Ronon's deep voice had the colonel snapping awake, sitting up and pushing free of his sleeping bag all in one seamless motion. The cold shocked him awake as the cocoon-like warmth of his sleeping bag quickly dissipated.
Bitter cold air coiled around him, needling his skin. The darkness of the cave interior was broken only by the weaving and bending of the small fire that was kept stubbornly alive by the constant vigilance of those on watch.
Curled figures, enshrouded in sleeping bags encircled the fire.
"Any trouble?" Sheppard's whispered voice scratched from the lingering effects of a sound sleep. He flipped the cover off his watch, exposing the illuminated dials. Time passed too fast when one flirted with a sound sleep.
It was his turn on guard duty, again.
"They are cold." The Satedan jutted his chin toward Rodney's hidden form. McKay wasn't visible. He had at some point, scooted deep into his sleeping bag. Even protected within the insulated bedding, his curled outline shivered. The hint of the thermal silver sheet of blanket intermittently reflected fire light, where it leeched from the confines of Rodney's sleeping bag.
The shivering was unmistakable, however, the previous day had been harsh. The distance covered, the events of the day, the sapping cold of the planet rendered the astrophysicist exhausted. Rodney slept through his own discomfort, however, in the next few hours, when morning came to the 'civilized world', his fatigue would be greater than it had been the night before. Muscles would be stiffened and cold. He'd be more calorie starved and physical endurance would suffer greatly.
Across the fire, where they had left him after dressing his eyes, Beckett lay hidden wrapped in his silver thermal blanket, tightly curled within the confines of his sleeping bag. Despite the extra sleeping bag draped over him, he too exhibited the fine tremors of being cold. Like, Rodney, Carson remained asleep. Or so they assumed.
Sheppard considered them for a moment. "Let's drag Carson closer."
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Rodney woke, relishing the warm comfort of his sleeping bag. He burrowed down a little further, curled a little tighter, and pulled the silver blanket a little more securely about his shoulders. He rocked back a bit and hit something solid---and warm.
McKay paused.
He shifted his weight a little more, just testing, and sure enough, he hit something solid with his back.
The astrophysicist blinked, held his eyes closed, blinked again and slowly wormed his way toward the top of his sleeping bag.
The air outside the sleeping bag was fiercely brittle and almost drove Rodney back into the dark confines of warm comfort.
" 'Bout time you woke up," Ronon's deep voice had McKay crinkling the lip of his sleeping bag back and popping his head up off the ground to peer around.
Ronon sat holding a small container of steaming food. Jones sat on the opposite side of the ex-runner, gripping a small mug in both hands. The young marine glanced quickly toward the astrophysicist before dropping his eyes again.
Rodney didn't see Teyla or Beckett and sat up a little straighter.
A second blanket and sleeping bag that had lain over the top of him slid back. Sharp cold air bit his skin. He shivered. This was a firm reminder why he never missed camping as a child.
"You want breakfast, get over here." Sheppard leaned over the small cook fire stirring something in the small pot. "I'm not serving you breakfast in bed." The slight quirk, half smile softened his tone.
Motion at the entrance to their little cave pulled McKay's attention, and he spied Teyla stepping into the brighter portion of the cavern tucking her undershirt into her lighter snow pants.
"McKay, breakfast," Sheppard intoned again. This time he looked up and stared across the fire and met Rodney's eye. It was important to keep consuming calories and liquids in such deep cold. If they were ever to get out of this predicament then they needed to keep their energy.
With a grimace, McKay, kicked free of his sleeping bag, shoving off the extra outer bag he didn't remember being there when he had dropped off to sleep last night and sat up. The sting of cold air had him shivering. He reached quickly into his sleeping bag and retrieved his thinner fleece jacket, boots and hat.
"Don't wake the doc," Ronon ordered. "He can hear again." The Satedan further clarified.
McKay glanced to his right and finally noticed the sleeping bag smudged against his, more importantly he noticed the giant lump.
It was Beckett whom he had hit with his back just a few moments ago.
"What's he doing over here?" McKay shouldered on his fleece. "He was over there." Rodney stated, pulling his hat over his head and pointing with his chin.
"It got cold last night, Rodney," Sheppard intoned. He and Ronon had managed to slide Carson closer to McKay. Thank goodness Jones, McGilly and Beckett had the where-for-all to take the extra packs from their dead teammates. Ronon and Sheppard had managed to open and slip an extra sleeping bag under Rodney and Beckett, insulating them from the ground. A third had been draped over them both without waking either man.
It was a testament to their exhaustion and it concerned Sheppard.
"How can you tell?" McKay muttered disgruntledly.
"Breakfast, McKay," Sheppard re-stated.
"Shouldn't we be waking him up or something?" Rodney asked, slipping his boots on but, leaving them untied. He scrutinized the formless lump under the pile of sleeping bags and then wearily pushed himself to his feet.
He groaned as stiffened muscles and aching joints popped and stretched.
Yesterday's gallivanting across snow fields was surely going to kill him. Why couldn't anyone get lost on a sandy, jungle island, filled with friendly natives and beautiful blondes with open minds that welcomed all forms of exploration.
He stared accusingly at Sheppard, then Ronon and finally Beckett. There had to be some sort of fantastic, cosmically good reason, they got trapped in a frozen wasteland, in a dark cave, with no friendly gorgeous natives. They were, instead stuck with an eight foot snow monster lurking about and Wraith worshippers.
Unfair.
"Come on, Rodney," Sheppard encouraged with a half smile, wondering if he was reading McKay's look correctly. No desert island princesses here.
McKay moaned his displeasure about the sapping cold and hobbled over to the fire.
He sat with a groan, seemingly feeling every muscle in his body contract and twitch. Joints popped and cracked with each movement. This kind of cold just wasn't good for him. "This just can't be good for me…us."
Ronon grunted as he shoveled in hot oatmeal and grumbled something as he crooked his neck, tilting his head in the direction of Beckett.
"I see articulation fails you in the incessant cold." McKay pulled his inner lining gloves out of his jacket pockets and fumbled them on. "Why isn't Carson eating?"
"He already ate." Sheppard held a small steaming cup of porridge out to Rodney. "Here, McKay, there's more when you're finished."
McKay mumbled 'thanks' and held the steaming cup up to his face. His stomach gurgled loudly. Porridge had never looked so good in all his life. "Shouldn't we be waking him up and getting ready to head for the gate?"
"The storm is still fierce." Teyla settled quietly beside Rodney and smiled a thank you when Sheppard stretched out and handed her another mug of porridge.
"What?" Rodney peered from Teyla, to Ronon, to Sheppard and ignored Jones, who sat quietly with his eyes down cast. "What if lasts for days? We can't stay here? What are we going to do?" No computer tablet, no working technology, nothing. This was well beyond any nightmare 'harvest festival'. How was anyone supposed to survive in situations like this? Dante only tapped the most superficial layers of Hell with his inadequate nine levels.
"I brought some playing cards," Jones muttered.
McKay stared at the young marine as if he had lost his mind, and then shook his head in exasperation. "Oh great, I guess what they say about the Marines always being prepared is true." Maybe they could get in a rousing game of 'pick up sticks' after a challenging hand of Old Maid?
"Knock it off, Rodney," Sheppard quietly ordered. The Colonel was cold and tired as the rest of them. There really wasn't much to be done. Jones seemed to be a good kid.
"I'm just saying," Rodney muttered.
"I know," Sheppard returned.