Narrow flashlight beams tore them from the thick darkness. They found themselves in a small, abandoned basement. The dilapidated concrete walls were covered in damp stains and a network of cracks, with crumbling plaster visible in places. The stale air was thick with the distinct musty smell of mold, mixed with some strange, putrid stench that involuntarily made one wrinkle their nose. Opposite the massive metal door, a dark opening yawned in the wall, leading deeper into the building.
Ronon silently approached the opening and cautiously peered inside, trying to see what lay hidden in the darkness of the corridor.
"Nothing," he murmured quietly, returning to the others. The detector hadn't registered any objects either.
Sheppard swept the flashlight beam around. Underfoot, debris crunched, mixed with dust and age-old grime. Along the walls, lopsided shelves were visible, cluttered with rusty junk and some tattered rags. In one of the relatively clean corners, Sheppard noticed a metal box lying on its side.
"Here, Rodney," John said, heading towards the box and helping McKay reach it. "Anyone else hurt?" he asked. "Dr. Zelenka?"
"Nonsense," the other grumbled, wiping blood from his forehead with his sleeve. "Just a scratch from a shard."
"Ronon?"
"Clear."
Ronon, leaning his back against the massive metal door, listened intently to what was happening outside. The nasty scraping, as if something was frantically clawing at the metal with small, sharp claws, indicated that the Wraith darts hadn't given up yet. But the approaching thud of the creature's footsteps couldn't be heard yet. They had a little time, but lingering wasn't wise.
Sheppard carefully helped McKay sit down. Rodney groaned and hissed, muttering curses under his breath. Slightly recovered from the shock, Dr. Zelenka approached to help him. He shone his flashlight on the torn jacket and, seeing the bleeding wound through the tatters, sighed sympathetically and reached into his vest pocket for bandages and antiseptic wipes.
"Let's see what's there," John said quietly and crouched down beside him to examine the wound. The tactical vest had taken the brunt of the sharp, razor-like claws, but the creature had managed to tear through it and cut the skin. Carefully, trying not to cause unnecessary pain, Sheppard helped McKay remove the vest and pulled up his T-shirt. Three parallel, ragged gashes left by the creature's sharp claws were visible on the scientist's back. The edges of the wounds were bleeding, but fortunately, they didn't look too deep.
"It tried to eat me!" McKay croaked, his voice trembling on the verge of panic. "That horrible, disgusting creature almost tore out my spine! I was within a hair's breadth of death!"
"Easy, Rodney," John tried to reassure him. "They're just scratches, but they need to be treated. You're safe. It's all over."
"Over?!" McKay snapped. "That thing blew the DHD to pieces—how are we going to get back?"
Sheppard nervously pursed his lips—he felt Kavanagh's and Ronon's gazes on him. Kavanagh looked at him with undisguised resentment and anger. Ronon, still standing by the door and listening to the scraping outside, momentarily tore his gaze from the exit and cast a heavy, questioning look at John. Concern was evident in his usually impassive face. John silently stood up, allowing Dr. Zelenka to attend to McKay's wound. He didn't have an answer to that question yet.
While Dr. Zelenka treated his wounds, McKay whined, hissed, and squirmed, trying to evade the touch of the antiseptic wipe as if he were being tortured with a red-hot iron.
"Hold still, Rodney!" Zelenka sighed wearily.
"Hold still? You're flaying me alive!"
"I haven't even started yet!"
"Quiet!" Ronon interrupted the bickering, listening intently.
Sheppard moved closer to the door. Now he too could clearly hear a heavy, muffled thud, as if something huge and clumsy was shifting its weight, and the already familiar shuffling, like claws scraping against stone. A small but noticeable tremor ran through the walls, and a cloud of sand and dust fell from the cracked ceiling, making everyone involuntarily duck their heads and cough.
"Our big friend is still somewhere nearby," Ronon stated grimly, shaking the settled dust from his dark hair.
"Maybe he lost us," Sheppard suggested, listening intently to the sounds.
The heavy thudding would subside and then resume, but it didn't get any louder, remaining somewhere close by. The steps sounded erratic, as if the creature was slowly and clumsily circling their refuge, turning this way and that, as if trying to find an entrance or having lost its bearings.
John carefully looked around, sweeping the flashlight beam across the dilapidated concrete walls and the jagged ceiling. It looked fairly sturdy, but still, one well-aimed attack, especially considering the size of that creature, could bring down the ceiling or breach a wall. They needed to move on. If the creature had lost them, they had a good chance of leaving unnoticed.
After thoughtfully looking at the massive metal door, Sheppard turned his gaze to the dark corridor entrance, beckoning with the unknown. The external danger was obvious, but what awaited them in the depths of the building remained a mystery.
"What do you think, buddy?" he asked quietly, addressing Ronon. "Jurassic Park or Dungeons and Dragons?"
Ronon cast a brief glance at the corridor, then looked back at John.
"The building will give us cover," he replied calmly. "That way, it will be harder for that thing to scent us."
John nodded, making his decision. They could go through the building and exit from the other side. In any case, they could return if they encountered a blockage or other danger.
"Agreed. Let's move deeper. I'll go first. Kavanagh, stay right behind me. Dr. Zelenka, help McKay. Ronon, you're our six."
Sheppard moved forward, constantly checking the detector readings. Behind him, trying not to fall behind, Kavanagh moved, nervously looking around. Dr. Zelenka, supporting the groaning McKay, hobbled along, and Ronon with his weapon ready brought up the rear.
The flashlight beam slid along the walls of the narrow corridor, snatching a dismal picture of desolation from the gloom. The dilapidated concrete blocks, covered in damp streaks and brown rust stains, looked uneven and lopsided. Here and there, remnants of some fixtures or pipes, long torn off and carried away by time, were visible. The floor underfoot was uneven, strewn with small debris and concrete crumbs, forcing them to walk carefully so as not to stumble. The air here was even more stagnant and heavy than in the basement. The smell of mold had become almost palpable, mixed with a sharp metallic tang and a faint, barely perceptible odor of machine oil. The silence was broken only by their own heavy breathing, muffled footsteps, the quiet crunch of gravel underfoot, and McKay's suffering groans.
The corridor stretched ahead, disappearing into the endless darkness. John's flashlight beam barely caught the next few meters from the gloom, and it seemed that this stone sack would never end. Step by step, they delved deeper into the building.
On either side of the narrow corridor, doors occasionally appeared, but each of them was carefully boarded up from the outside with rough planks. Sheppard didn't shake off a strange feeling: as if someone had deliberately tried to block these passages and keep someone out. Approaching one of these doors, John stopped, noticing a strange mark hastily drawn with something red, like a thick crayon. Three uneven parallel lines, as if someone's claws had slid across the surface of the door. The mark had faded slightly and looked worn.
"We're not the first ones here," Sheppard said quietly, illuminating the mark with his flashlight beam. "What could this mean?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the red lines, and immediately mechanically checked the motion detector readings. The screen remained blank.
"Those boards, hammered in with huge nails, speak for themselves," McKay snorted, shivering. "Hardly anyone would go to such lengths just to stop a door from flapping in the draft."
"Reminds me of claw marks," Kavanagh said thoughtfully.
"Maybe someone drew it to scare us?" Zelenka suggested uncertainly, adjusting his glasses.
"Or to warn us," Ronon grunted. "Warn us about what's behind that door."
"Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to like uninvited guests. Unless it's for a snack," John muttered. "Alright, let's go. We won't linger."
They moved forward, leaving the boarded-up door with the frightening mark behind. After several long meters, the monotony of the stone walls was suddenly broken, and the corridor led them to a fork.
The side branch, apparently leading to another part of the building, was completely blocked and piled high with rubble. A bulky jumble of concrete debris, broken metal beams, and shapeless heaps of garbage rose almost to the jagged ceiling, blocking any passage.
Sheppard carefully examined the blockage, illuminating it with his flashlight. Surprisingly, this chaotic jumble of stones and metal seemed strangely ordered.
"This isn't a collapse," John said quietly, sweeping his flashlight beam along the blockage. "It's a barricade. Someone deliberately blocked this passage."
"There's another mark here," Dr. Zelenka noticed. "Over there, in the middle."
Looking more closely at the pile of debris, Sheppard noticed another mark that Zelenka was pointing to. On one of the relatively large concrete blocks, right in the middle of the barricade, the same red paint had been used to draw those three parallel lines.
"So, we can't go this way," John said thoughtfully, shifting his gaze from the red lines to the pile of rubble. Someone had gone to great lengths to ensure no one could pass through. Or leave from there. "Alright, let's move on. Maybe the main corridor will lead us to another exit."
"Sheppard," Ronon called out. "There's a track here."
John spun around sharply at Ronon's call. Dex knelt down, his massive figure seeming even more imposing in the dim light of the basement. Dust motes danced in Ronon's flashlight beam, illuminating the floor beneath his intent gaze.
Footprints were visible on the concrete surface covered in dust and small debris. Some were smudged, but still discernible. Sheppard counted three distinct pairs of heavy boot prints, deeply pressed into the dust. Next to them, two other pairs stood out. The three-toed prints attracted attention with their unusual shape, involuntarily evoking associations with scenes from old dinosaur movies. Each toe ended in a blunt claw, leaving deep grooves in the soft layer of dust. The size of these tracks was noticeably larger than human, although not so enormous as to belong to some gigantic creature.
John leaned down, carefully examining the strange three-toed print.
"What is that?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the unusual shape. "An animal?"
"Bipedal," Ronon shook his head. "Walked firmly and heavily. Something big. The track is old. First it leads here," Ronon gestured towards the barricade, "then he pointed towards the dark corridor. "Then back."
Sheppard followed his gesture, peering into the impenetrable darkness.
"Something followed the people?" he asked, feeling a growing unease.
"No," Ronon replied firmly. "They walked together."
Wraith?" John asked, examining the boot prints.
"Doesn't look like it."
John thoughtfully chewed his lip and glanced at the strange three-toed prints. He didn't like at all that someone who had left these unusual tracks had gone the same way as them. However, they didn't have much choice. Turning into the side corridors they had seen earlier was impossible due to the blockages and boarded-up doors. And behind the flimsy metal door, a furious monster was surely waiting for them. The only small comfort was Ronon's remark that the track looked old. Perhaps whoever left it had long since left this place.
"Let's go," Sheppard said decisively, taking a step forward and adjusting his P90. "Try to be quiet and stay alert."
They moved forward again, trying to step as quietly as possible. A heavy silence hung in the stale air of the basement, broken only by their own tired breathing and the barely audible crunch of concrete crumbs underfoot. John listened intently to the surrounding darkness, occasionally glancing at the dimly glowing screen of the motion detector. The device still showed no signs of life other than themselves.
Time stretched on long and agonizingly, and the cursed corridor seemed endless. The scientists' weary panting grew louder, and the quiet sighs and curses that escaped their lips sounded increasingly distinct. McKay stumbled every now and then, his face contorted in a grimace of pain, and Dr. Zelenka had to exert more and more effort to keep him upright. Sheppard himself already felt a growing heaviness in his legs, as if a cobblestone had been tied to each of them.
After walking a few more meters, John noticed a wide doorway on the right. Unlike all the previous carefully boarded-up entrances, this one yawned with black emptiness. He cautiously peered inside, directing his flashlight beam into the spacious room that opened up.
The room was empty and echoing. The dilapidated concrete walls bore the marks of time in the form of streaks and cracks. Under the very ceiling, narrow window openings, tightly boarded up, didn't let in a single ray of light. In the far corner of the room, a disorderly pile of junk lay mixed with lopsided wooden boxes, as if someone had hastily dumped unnecessary rubbish here.
Once again carefully examining the dark corners of the room, Sheppard was convinced that at least for the moment there was no direct danger here. The detector was still silent, and the silence inside the room seemed almost tangible after the tense waiting in the corridor. After such an exhausting race through the ruins and the nervous tension of the last few minutes, they all, without exception, needed a short break to catch their breath and gather their strength.
Let's rest for a bit," John said, letting the tired scientists inside.
The news of rest was met with barely audible sighs of relief. Zelenka helped the tired McKay reach the nearest wall, and then, rummaging through the pile of junk, dragged out a couple of dusty wooden boxes. Rodney lowered himself onto one of them with noticeable relief, immediately wincing from the pain in his back, and Dr. Zelenka onto the second. Kavanagh, finding nothing better, sat down with a quiet groan directly on the cold concrete floor, tucking his legs under him.
Sheppard remained standing in the doorway with Ronon, leaning against the rough wall. He sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair.
The adrenaline that had surged through his blood during the chase and the fight with the Wraith darts gradually receded, giving way to a rising wave of bewilderment and exhausting fatigue. Sheppard felt his eyelids growing heavy, and the muscles in his back ached with tension. The situation seemed increasingly confusing and hopeless. They were stuck in an unknown, hostile place, without the possibility of contacting Atlantis. The DHD was broken, and now that he had seen how it had shattered into pieces, all the scientists' attempts to repair it had finally lost meaning. They were stuck in this creepy place, without the slightest guarantee that they would be able to return home.
He frowned, intently considering all the possible options, which all seemed equally bleak. Atlantis, without a doubt, would raise the alarm and begin searching for them, but on the scale of Pegasus, this could take an unimaginably long time. Water, food, medicine, weapons—all of this could become a problem if they were stuck here for long. The tracks indicated that there was someone alive here. Perhaps even a settlement large enough to provide them with shelter and resources. But how friendly would these unknown neighbors turn out to be? The question remained open and evoked only an anxious premonition. But he couldn't allow himself to fall into a stupor and sit idly by, waiting for who knows what. He needed to take control of the situation, as much as that was even possible, in this damn place.
"And what now?" Kavanagh asked quietly, his voice still trembling with the fear he had experienced. "What are we going to do?"
"Move on," John replied firmly. He felt the others' gazes fixed on him. "We need to find a safe place where we can wait until Atlantis picks up our trail and finds us, or try to find our own way home. Maybe the locals will be friendly. We can try to make contact with them and ask for help," he finished, noticing himself how uncertain and naive his words sounded.
"And if they're not?" McKay asked. "What if they're not friendly?"
"We'll use all our charm and diplomacy."
"Oh yeah," Rodney snorted. "Diplomacy—that's your strong suit."
"Atlantis could be searching for us for weeks, if not months," Kavanagh remarked sourly.
"That's exactly why we need to find a safe place," John cut him off, trying not to give in to the rising irritation. Panic among the civilians—that's the last thing he needed right now. "We all need to calm down and stick together."
"Sounds like a plan," Ronon replied, giving a short nod.
Looking at the pale and haggard faces of the scientists, Sheppard realized: right now they definitely wouldn't be going anywhere. They needed more time to rest and recover.
He crouched down, taking a flask of water from his tactical vest. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the screen of the life detector and froze. A new green dot had appeared on the dim background: it was far away, but slowly approaching them.