The serenity she'd felt was shattered by the familiar noises of engaging chevrons and the watery explosion of the event horizon as the wormhole established. It set her heart to pound and reminded her that they were leaving behind the relative safety of the transporter for an unknown destination. The only thing they could be certain of right now was that they wouldn't be able to return from there.
Ronon's hand locked around hers again, and she shook off the thought. After all, she'd taken this journey once already, on her own and without the advantage of youth.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready."
Ten level steps took them into the wormhole. There was the familiar cold disorientation of the trip and then that jolt forward as the gate spat them out into icy rain and wind.
"Oh man," groaned Ronon.
"What's wrong?"
"The place, I guess. It's the Atlantis control center but… Whole city's in ruins, got a great big forest growing right through it. And there's no one here." — - - — --- - -
While he was talking, he dragged her along behind him through puddles and mud. Teyla's mental map of Atlantis said that he was heading straight for the stairs up to the gallery-provided there were any stairs or gallery left. A few seconds later it became obvious that the stairs at least were still intact.
A step or two from the top, she stopped dead in her tracks, sniffed the air, and grimaced. "What in the name of all the gods is that smell?"
A deep inhalation, then Ronon sputtered and gave a quiet laugh. "That's pig shit."
He pulled her up the rest of the way, until she stood ankle deep in the mud and wet soil that covered what must have been the gallery. Overhead, the canopy had to be closed, because she no longer felt the rain-apart from the occasional heavy drop splashing from a branch and landing in her face like a water bomb released by children hiding in the trees.
"Uhuh. Definitely pigs. There's trotter prints. A lot of them," said Ronon. "And not just pigs. Human tracks, heading off into the bushes. Come on."
Slapped by dripping branches, they wedged themselves through a narrow passage in the undergrowth that eventually brought them out in what she supposed to be a small clearing.
"The control consoles," Ronon informed her. "Or what's left of them. Bones," he added, more subdued. "Lots of bones. Looks like the entire team died up here, and a long time ago. If McKay was here, he didn't-"
Squishing noises and rustling as he moved away, and then a soft little whoop and "I don't believe it…"
"What?"
"Did you know that McKay's first name is Meredith?"
"What?"
"Somebody carved it into a console, and it's recent."
Chapter sixteen
The raft-if you could call it that-slammed into the rock hard enough to split off a plank along one side of the panel. Not that John could see it; the gentle light from the crystal inclusions in the stone now seemed a thing of the distant past. Still, the crack and the creak and the fact that his right lower leg suddenly dangled in the drink were explanation enough-they'd hit a stretch of rapids. In a quick reflex he pulled up his knee and got his foot back on board. This wasn't over by a long shot, and he preferred coming through it without having his shins shredded. On the upside, the collision had startled him awake. He'd fallen asleep again, no telling how long for, despite his efforts to keep his eyelids jammed open. The headache-how was that for a euphemism? — seemed to have ratcheted up yet another notch, and every time he blinked he was seeing a firework of colored sparks.
Elizabeth lay curled up next to him, snoring softly, which explained why he'd been asleep. She'd been watching him for hours, mercilessly prodding him back to wakefulness each time he threatened to nod off, making him talk, sing, recite poetry, whatever it took, but even her reserves had given out at last.
Another impact rattled through the raft and spun it in the opposite direction. It bobbed indecisively for a second, then swung back and tilted into the main current with a lurch. He felt Elizabeth slide away from him, blindly snatched for her and pulled her back in. It woke her, and she shot up with a start.
"Wha… what's going on?"
"Rapids," he murmured, and even that much conversation shook loose a bass line that thrummed through his skull with malicious relish. Good job he couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten, else things might get a little messy right about now. He was fresh out of bile, too.
"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. Anything you want me to do?"
"Hold tight."
In the absence of paddles or any other means of steering the raft it was the best thing they could do. That, and pray that the fence panel was sturdier than it looked, though John didn't hold out much hope on that score.
As if on cue, the raft hit another obstacle, skidded sideways up the rock and twisted back into the water with a splash that doused them both; an ice cold shower coming out of nowhere.
"Christ!" gasped Elizabeth.
John couldn't have put it better. His jaw hurt from clenching it in an attempt to stop the rattle of his teeth. "Hold tight!" he yelped again.
It got submerged in the shock of another impact, another shower, and this time he also felt another plank come loose. He changed his grip, held on to a piece of planking that wasn't moving-yet-and wrapped his free arm around Elizabeth. She was scrabbling and squirming next to him, making it difficult to maintain his grip.
"What are you doing?"
"Hang on!"
He thought he heard a faint tearing noise, and a second one, and then she was cinching something around his waist. "Lifeline," she shouted in his ear, making him wince. "If we go into the water, we mustn't get separated."
Presumably that tearing noise had been a bit of her skirt and the other end of that strip of cloth was tied around her waist. The tearing part raised the question of how long exactly the ashram weave would be able to withstand the rapids. About as long as their bodies, John figured. If they went into the water it didn't matter whether or not they got separated, because they'd be ground to hamburger.
That happy thought got blasted into oblivion by the next crash.
The impact was brutal enough to jolt him half off the raft, and for a couple of excruciating seconds he was hanging up to his waist in churning water. His ankle hit stone, and he bit back a howl, kicked against the rock instead and levered himself back onto the panel just before it snapped out of its momentary standstill and bounced back into the current. This collision had cost them the loosened plank, reducing the width of the raft to maybe three feet, if that.
And then even that didn't matter anymore, because they were airborne.
Spray clogged the air, was sucked into their lungs with every wheezing breath, and John thought he heard himself scream-when he wasn't coughing for his life. The flight couldn't have lasted much longer than a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity; wet, cold, bone-rattling endlessness, until they slammed back onto the surface of the river and the fence panel finally disintegrated beneath them.
He was able to catch half a mouthful of air before he went under. That pokey lifeline around his waist pulled him sideways, which meant that Elizabeth was still there, though not for much longer unless he managed to grab hold of her. The current yanked him around a boulder, and another one-like hurtling down the waterslides- and finally pushed him out into calmer waters, allowing him to pull up for a quick snatch of breath.
And a surprise.
For a split-second he was so stunned, he forgot to swim and almost went under again. There was light. Hardly more than a faint, gray twilight, to be sure, but enough to outline the towering cliffs behind him and lend a ghostly white shimmer to the spray of the cascades they'd just shot down. On either side of the river rose ancient trees and high above John's head the last stars fought a losing battle with morning fog and dawn.