Ushat cursed. “Too late!”
Turning back, Teyla saw the big warrior up to his knees in tar. Then a thick pillar of smoke hit, and he was lost from view.
“You left Major Sheppard and Teyla behind?” Aiden stared in disbelief at the bloody-faced Gene. The man had been with the last group to escape the failed ambush at Quickweed Lake.
“We had no choice. The order was given. I was barely able to close the transport doors against the Wraith. They were swarming in…” His face crumpled. “My brother fell just moments earlier, defending the entrance of the inn to give the last of us time to escape. Do you not think I would have gone back for him had I believed there was any hope?” His words were filled with bitter remorse, and he pushed aside Lisera’s sympathetic hand.
Aiden glanced at McKay, but the scientist had already moved to stand by the chart table. Several of the town’s engineers had transferred most of the maps and supplies into the Station where Lisera was ensconced. The once palatial living chambers had been turned into a new and more readily defensible Command Center. As the highest point in the city now that the Enclave had been destroyed, it also allowed them occasional glances through the wall of smoke blanketing the entire length of North Channel.
This, the largest room on the second level, was currently occupied by about twenty people, mostly engineers, blacksmiths, and upper level bureaucrats who had a good knowledge of the Citadel’s layout, plus a few whose wounds were being tended by Lisera.
“What about the villages on the northwestern shore of the Lake?” Aiden demanded. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he was not ready to accept the fact that the rest of his team, and Ushat and Yann, had succumbed to the Wraith during the failed ambush.
The Gene shook his head. “The last anyone saw of them, your friends had their backs to Quickweed, and the Wraith were advancing on them.”
A roll of bandages fell to the floor, and Lisera burst into tears. Aiden picked it up for her. Biting back a sob, she accepted it. “Please, Aiden, you must not die, too.”
“I don’t intend to. But I’m not staying here while the rest of my team is out there.”
Swinging around to face the men, McKay asked, “Exactly how solid is the tar?” He shook his head and corrected himself. “The surface of Quickweed Lake?”
The Gene whom Lisera had been tending replied, “Those of us who harvest the pitch from the Lake know where to tread. While most of Quickweed is deadly and will consume a person before he even has a chance to cry out, many places will support the weight of a man. Finding a path across is all but impossible. Still,” he mused, “the children who grow up in the villages know its secrets. They often traverse the Lake to collect special plants to trade with the apothecaries.”
The scientist’s eyes met Aiden’s. Swallowing once, Aiden nodded determinedly. McKay had managed to survive a culling. Teyla and the Major were two of the most resourceful people he’d ever known.
McKay snatched up his pack while Aiden checked his weapon. “Where are you going?” Lisera pleaded when they made for the door.
“To find our…friends,” McKay replied. He seemed almost surprised at the unfamiliar use of the last word.
“Quickweed Lake will not easily give up her secrets!” called someone as they ran down the stairs.
“Then we might be gone for a while,” Aiden shot back.
“Take off your armor and get rid of your weapons.” John carefully retraced his steps toward Ushat’s voice.
“Leave me,” the warrior replied gruffly. He had already sunk to his chest.
“No one gets left behind!” Yann snapped in response.
John could hear the anxiety in the merchant’s voice. The smoke cleared momentarily, but more was coming. “Take the children ashore,” he ordered Peryn. “We’ll follow.”
Distress was clearly written on the kid’s face. “You will not be able to find the path.”
“Yes, we will.” Teyla pointed to the indentations left in the soft tar. “Now go.” She ran across to the warrior, tugging her pack off as she went.
The thing of it was, Ushat was right. The warrior was sinking faster than John could have imagined. By the time they were in a position to help, Ushat was up to his neck.
“No!” Yann cried in denial. Moving around, desperate to save the man who had turned from adversary to friend, he stepped out into the tar, but the bugler and the guy they’d rescued earlier restrained him.
Teyla had pulled a rope from her pack, but it was too late.
“Thank you for saving my people, Major John Sheppard of Atlantis.” Ushat smiled, then closed his eyes and slipped beneath the black.
In the split-second he could afford to spend on sorrow, John thought, I hope to God that turns out to be true.
“No!” Yann screamed again, lunging toward the bubbles that erupted from the pool.
Teyla grasped his arm. “Honor his death by living!”
After a moment, the blinding anguish began to clear from his eyes, and the merchant nodded dumbly. She quickly turned to retrace their steps.
More coils of smoke reached across them. John was not immune to the shock of losing Ushat, but Teyla was right. The smoke was approaching thick and fast now. So was the afternoon shadow cast by the Citadel.
“This way.” Peryn appeared from within the smoke, and waved them on.
Apparently taking the other children ashore hadn’t necessarily implied staying there. “Why do I even bother trying to tell you what to do?” John called. But he was having his own problems. Every step, his foot sank deeper, and each time, it was harder to withdraw.
“Close now,” shouted the children, lined up along the shore.
John looked up, and saw the shapes of trees through the smoke. That was a mistake, because his next step plunged him into the tar pit.
“This doesn’t look good,” McKay declared when they ran out of the inn of the second village they’d checked. “Major?” he called into the choking black smoke. “Would you do us the favor of letting us know that you’re not dead yet?”
“Will you keep your voice down?” Aiden barked. “If there are any Wraith around—”
“They’ll be as blind as we are.” McKay coughed. “God, this stuff is noxious!”
Aiden rubbed his eyes against the oily smoke. He hated to admit it, but their only chance of locating the Major and Teyla was to make as much noise as possible. “Call them,” he said to the bugler who’d volunteered to accompany them.
The sound had barely finished when a kid of about nine, partially covered in black goop, ran up the slope. Passing an odd contraption that consisted of a frame, buckets half filled with tar, ropes and pulley blocks, he called, “This way. Help us!” His young features were twisted in fear.
“Oh, that’s nice,” McKay grumbled, bringing up the rear. “Oil and children.”
Ignoring him, Aiden ran after the boy. His relief at seeing Teyla was momentary because she and a bunch of guys, including Yann, were pulling on a thick rope. A short distance away, obscured by smoke, was a figure buried up to his waist. “Major!” Aiden handed his weapon to McKay and ran down to help them.
Face pinched in concentration, eyes reddening in the smoke, McKay declared, “That’s not going to get him anywhere.” Removing his pack, he instructed Yann to toss Sheppard a second rope, and then disappeared for a few moments. When he came back, he was carrying something in his hand. McKay then looped the other ends of the rope into some sort of weird configuration involving pulley blocks and a couple of tree trunks.
“Nice of you to join us, Rodney,” called the Major, his arms straining on the ropes as he fought the pull of the lake. “What do you call this? Rescue by Rube Goldberg?”
“If the first word is ‘rescue,’ does it matter what the other words are?”