One thing Aiden would say about the scientist: his ideas generally worked. The Major was almost completely free of the tar when one of the ropes snapped. The pulley block flung back and struck Sheppard in the temple. He fell forward in a boneless heap, landing through some stroke of luck on the shore.
“Crap!” Cursing, Aiden scrambled toward him. Of all the people in Dalera, this was the one they could least afford to have knocked out cold.
“Oh, of course he would have to go one better than me,” Rodney declared when they hauled the Major up, not quite covering a note of worry in his voice. “Tarred and concussed.”
“Save it.” Aiden lifted his CO’s pack and weapon. Yann and a second tar-coated man pulled the unconscious Sheppard’s arms across their shoulders and hurried up the slope to the village. This was going to be close. The smoke was getting thicker, they were currently leaderless, and any minute now, the Wraith retreating from the near side of the Citadel’s wall would be on them.
Chapter Eighteen
As a child, Teyla had been told never to run off into the mists that often settled over Athos at dawn. Dangers are always greater when unseen, her father had said. It was that warning that whispered at the back of her mind as she plunged through the billowing smoke toward the inn.
The series of coughs originating a short distance behind her identified Dr McKay’s position. The scientist struggled to keep up with the group, but was lagging behind Yann and the other man supporting Major Sheppard. Ford, by contrast, was moving as if vision was unnecessary, staying close on the heels of the children guiding them.
“Are we…sure this is the right way?” McKay wheezed.
It disturbed Teyla that she was no longer certain of that. Her sense of direction had diminished greatly in a very short time. Ahead of her, Peryn’s head bobbed in the haze. “We know,” he called back. “This is our home.”
A sudden change in the wind cleared the smoke for a moment, long enough for them to make out a squad of Wraith heading toward them. Teyla glanced back to urge McKay to hurry, but it was unnecessary. The scientist’s face had gone slack with dread, and his pace abruptly quickened. “On second thought, how about faster,” he suggested, coming abreast of Teyla. “Or possibly much faster!”
Lowering his weapon, one Wraith let out a guttural yell as he stared them down. McKay clutched at one of the many Shields he’d located and fastened around his belt, nearly tripping in the process. “Suddenly I’m feeling a lot more affection for Dalera and her bright ideas,” he panted.
By the time they reached the inn, the trio of Wraith had closed the distance between them to mere steps. “Open the transport!” Ford shouted to McKay, but Peryn was closer and darted forward, slapping his hand down on the panel. To his credit, McKay managed to look irked without breaking stride as as the group clambered into the transport.
“The doors may not close fast enough.” Yann eyed the approaching Wraith with trepidation. Ford fired his P-90 at the same moment that Teyla pressed the trigger of hers, knocking the lead Wraith back a step or two. Fearful of ricochets inside the transport, they were forced to cease firing when the doors began to slide shut, leaving the Wraith enough time to lunge forward and thrust an arm into the narrowing gap.
Shouts of surprise and terror intermingled for an instant before the arm fell to the floor, severed by the unyielding doors. The appendage twitched for a few seconds before going still. The brief silence that followed was broken by a disgusted sound from McKay. “If this were Earth, someone would be filing a lawsuit over that hazard. I suppose there could have been worse ways for us to discover that these doors aren’t fitted with any kind of safety recoil mechanism.”
“Are you complaining? It just saved your life.” Turning to the men supporting his commander’s weight, Ford froze. “Oh, damn it!”
“Not the turn of phrase I would have used, Lieutenant, but—”
“Can it, doc! The Major’s not breathing.”
The transport doors folded open as McKay jerked toward him in shock. “And you’ve only just now noticed this?” he yelled. “What the hell kind of medical training did they give you?”
“Battlefield triage!” the Marine shouted back. “This look like any battlefield you’ve ever seen?”
Understanding that McKay’s reaction was born of panic rather than true anger, Teyla used a gentle hand to pull him out of the way of the others. The two Daleran men lifted Sheppard’s body out of the transport and laid him on the floor of the Sanctuary Hall. Ford crouched down to check the Major’s pulse. “Still steady,” he reported, studying the man’s color, which even Teyla could see was unhealthy under the smears of black on his face. “His airway’s blocked by tar — who knows how much he inhaled when he fell. We have to either clear it or—”
His hesitation told her that he didn’t like the alternative. “Or what?” McKay demanded. “Did that battlefield medical training include instructions on performing a tracheotomy?”
“Yeah, it did, but it’s not like I’ve actually done one!” Ford’s voice rose in volume as he repeatedly clenched and unclenched a fist. “If I have to do it, we should get him to the Command Center first. I left most of our medical supplies there, including the instruments that I need to make the incision.”
McKay flinched at the word ‘incision’ but charged ahead. “Forget about the ‘ifs’ and make a decision, Lieutenant, because as we stand here and debate, the Major is losing brain cells and he is dying. I know he’s been there before, but this time it’ll stick.”
With a flash of resolve that seemed motivated by both irritation and fear, Ford turned his back on McKay and reached down to tilt Sheppard’s head back. “I think the tar’s hardened into a solid piece blocking both his nose and mouth. Teyla, if I can get this stuff off, be ready to start breathing for him.”
Remembering the resuscitation techniques that Dr Beckett had taught her, she nodded once and knelt by the Major’s head. Ford grasped the thick black gunk and ripped it free, exposing abraded skin and lips with an alarmingly blue tint. Teyla bent forward and breathed into her friend’s still form.
Upon the second breath, Sheppard gave a choking gasp, and she and Ford rolled him onto his side to expel some lingering oil. The gagging subsided, but he did not fully wake.
As relief washed over her, Teyla heard one of the children cry out, and she shot to her feet — only to see their bugler pierced by the blade of a rebel assailant. Another man who had been with them since before Quickweed Lake was quickly felled, and a gang of nine soon surrounded their group. The one she presumed was their leader held a long knife at the struggling child’s neck.
She burned, both with fury toward those responsible and with rage toward herself for being unable to protect the others. The bugler had stayed faithfully beside them for so long, unarmed throughout much of this madness, and in letting their guard down, they had failed him.
The gang’s intent was clear as they bound her wrists and did likewise to Ford, McKay and Yann. They looked her up and down, openly appraising. Their leers did not frighten her. With or without the use of her hands she would quite swiftly take away their ability to procreate. Glancing around, she noticed that several of the children, including Peryn, had slipped away into the murky darkness of the Sanctuary Hall. They at least would be safe for a time.
A muted groan from the floor signaled the beginnings of Major Sheppard’s return to consciousness. As pleased as she was to hear it, the timing was unfortunate. One of the gang delivered a merciless kick to the side of his head, and her teammate went limp again.
Under his breath, Ford uttered a word Teyla suspected was a particularly foul epithet. “Oh, that’s what he needed to round out his day,” McKay muttered.