"Oh god, they're going to eat us," McKay whined. He crouched next to
Sheppard, watching the hunting party quarter the trail Sheppard had
insisted they leave in favor of wading through the seething,
bug-infested jungle. Something crawled over his hand and he shuddered,
forcing himself to stay still.
Sheppard slapped the back of his head. "They're not cannibals," he hissed.
"How do you know?"
"They're kids, McKay."
McKay chanced another wide-eyed peek over the fallen log they were using for cover. The oldest boy, his hair still that flaxen color that seems to darken after puberty, pointed at something on the ground. His face and thin, bare chest were adorned with swirls of olive and ochre and white paint. The sharp knife at his waist belonged to a bigger body, but the handmade bow in his other hand fit him perfectly.
Perfectly enough that he put an arrow through Teyla's shoulder when she'd tried to approach their little party.
"They could be cannibals," he insisted in an undertone.
They'd swarmed over Ronon like army ants bringing down a -- something. A lion. Ronon had tried to fight them without hurting them, the first time McKay had ever seen him pull his blows, and they'd used sheer numbers and determination to do what even the Wraith had never done.
McKay had fired his pistol over their heads just before one of them leaned over, ready to cut Ronon's throat. In the next instant, Sheppard had knocked the gun out of his hand.
Now they were lost on this stinking planet, probably miles from where they'd left the jumper with its cloak engaged, with no way off without it, since they'd come through an orbital gate. There was no way to know if Ronon or Teyla were even still alive. He and Sheppard had run, trying to draw the feral pack of kids away from their team mates, because Sheppard wouldn't - couldn't - shoot them.
McKay wasn't sure he could either.
"Look, we'll circle back to the jumper -- " Sheppard's words were cut off by the sound of a bowstring releasing. The arrow tore through his throat in a spray of dark arterial blood that splashed hot over McKay's face.
He grabbed Sheppard, tried to hold him up, tried to wrap his hands around Sheppard's throat and hold the wound closed. Pressure pushed another gush of blood through his fingers with each beat of Sheppard's heart. His eyes dilated, turned dark and sadder than McKay had ever seen them. His hand brushed helplessly at McKay's.
Sheppard shaped a soundless word. Sorry.
McKay's hands and arms and knees were soaked in red. It was everywhere, soaked glistening and black in Sheppard's shirt, puddling in the dirt and leaves on the ground, turning it to dark mud. It was everywhere but inside Sheppard.
He knew when Sheppard's heart faltered and stopped, felt the last trace of a pulse fail under his useless fingers.
"Damn it, damn it," he whispered.
He reached for the sidearm still holstered at Sheppard's thigh. Then his hand stilled.
Reflected in one blind hazel eye, he saw the blond boy standing behind him, bow drawn taut.
Sheppard slapped the back of his head. "They're not cannibals," he hissed.
"How do you know?"
"They're kids, McKay."
McKay chanced another wide-eyed peek over the fallen log they were using for cover. The oldest boy, his hair still that flaxen color that seems to darken after puberty, pointed at something on the ground. His face and thin, bare chest were adorned with swirls of olive and ochre and white paint. The sharp knife at his waist belonged to a bigger body, but the handmade bow in his other hand fit him perfectly.
Perfectly enough that he put an arrow through Teyla's shoulder when she'd tried to approach their little party.
"They could be cannibals," he insisted in an undertone.
They'd swarmed over Ronon like army ants bringing down a -- something. A lion. Ronon had tried to fight them without hurting them, the first time McKay had ever seen him pull his blows, and they'd used sheer numbers and determination to do what even the Wraith had never done.
McKay had fired his pistol over their heads just before one of them leaned over, ready to cut Ronon's throat. In the next instant, Sheppard had knocked the gun out of his hand.
Now they were lost on this stinking planet, probably miles from where they'd left the jumper with its cloak engaged, with no way off without it, since they'd come through an orbital gate. There was no way to know if Ronon or Teyla were even still alive. He and Sheppard had run, trying to draw the feral pack of kids away from their team mates, because Sheppard wouldn't - couldn't - shoot them.
McKay wasn't sure he could either.
"Look, we'll circle back to the jumper -- " Sheppard's words were cut off by the sound of a bowstring releasing. The arrow tore through his throat in a spray of dark arterial blood that splashed hot over McKay's face.
He grabbed Sheppard, tried to hold him up, tried to wrap his hands around Sheppard's throat and hold the wound closed. Pressure pushed another gush of blood through his fingers with each beat of Sheppard's heart. His eyes dilated, turned dark and sadder than McKay had ever seen them. His hand brushed helplessly at McKay's.
Sheppard shaped a soundless word. Sorry.
McKay's hands and arms and knees were soaked in red. It was everywhere, soaked glistening and black in Sheppard's shirt, puddling in the dirt and leaves on the ground, turning it to dark mud. It was everywhere but inside Sheppard.
He knew when Sheppard's heart faltered and stopped, felt the last trace of a pulse fail under his useless fingers.
"Damn it, damn it," he whispered.
He reached for the sidearm still holstered at Sheppard's thigh. Then his hand stilled.
Reflected in one blind hazel eye, he saw the blond boy standing behind him, bow drawn taut.
-fin
- Summary: "Oh, God, they're going to eat us."
- Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
- Rating: Mature
- Warnings: character deaths
- Author Notes:
- Date: 2.2.06
- Length: short
- Genre: gen
- Category: Action/Adventure, Drama
- Cast: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex
- Betas: none I remember
- Disclaimer: Not for profit. Transformative work written for private entertainment.