Hope is a Waking Dream

Chapter 12

Dawn broke, cool and refreshing with a warm wash of light as the sun cleared the horizon. Sheppard knew the day was going to be hot. Exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him. He cursed the heavy gravity and thin air of the planet. It made the going much tougher, and he was barely able to keep up the same pace as he had earlier in the night.

By noon, he knew he could go no further without rest. The hot desert wind had effectively been erasing his tracks behind him and he knew no one would be able to track him by physical means. He found a giant boulder with a shallow hollow deep under the rock and tucked himself inside, piling sand around the entrance so that he was entirely hidden and hoping that anyone with the tracking device wouldn't figure out exactly where he was until he had a chance to see them first. He lay the gun next to his head, his hand resting on top of it, ready to aim at a moment's notice.

It took a few moments for him to order his thoughts and calm his breathing. The fight or flight response put him entirely into soldier mode, and it just started to hit him how many men had died by his hands since Helo and Nika had found him. He wondered about the two rebels. Was there really a resistance within Jenar's ranks? Or was it a ploy, something to get him to send a message to someone that actually meant something entirely different? A trap? Where they messing with him, trying to give him hope when there was none?

He couldn't think anymore. Exhaustion took him into sleep quickly.

****

It felt as though he had only slept a few minutes when he was startled by the shuffle of footsteps outside of his hiding place. Sheppard slowly lifted his gun and ventured a look outside of the hollow, shifting silently onto his stomach.

Three men stood in the area, guns ready and alert. They had stopped and were scanning the boulders around them. Sheppard had a feeling they somehow knew he was close by and he would not be able to wait them out. Shifting the gun higher, he took aim, knowing his accuracy would be off by using his left hand. His right shoulder had stiffened so much he could barely lift it.

The first shot took out the man on the far right's kneecap, and he went screaming to the ground. The second shot missed, but the third managed to hit the second man in the thigh before Sheppard knew his cover was blown and rolled out of the hiding place in a wash of sand, coming to his knees with the gun tucked firmly against his left shoulder, aiming at the third man's heart. The only remaining man had a deadly glint in his eye as he pointed his own gun unwaveringly at Sheppard's head.

"We're not letting you go this time," the man said. "I'll bring Jenar your head myself."

It all happened in a split second.

Sheppard threw himself sideways, firing his own gun, as he saw the man's finger tighten on the trigger. It wasn't enough to stop the ferocious blow to his right shoulder that spun him back and slammed him against a rock with enough force to cause his breath to whoosh out of his lungs.

The man toppled, a bullet between his eyes.

His comrades, though wounded, scrambled for their own guns, cursing.

Sheppard gasped for breath, managing to raise his gun in his left hand, despite the deadened right arm.

"I'll kill you if I have to," he said through gritted teeth.

The man with the wounded thigh fired, and Sheppard ducked, the bullet winging the rock behind him, a wild shot.

Sheppard fired. The man fell. The other man was scrambling across the sand, reaching for his gun.

A third shot. The man went still.

Sheppard's chest heaved for air, and the deadened shoulder was beginning to throb with pain as he felt hot blood beginning to trickle down his chest. He checked the bullet wound. It was slightly lower than the one from yesterday, but the force of the blow had reopened the older wound.

Pushing himself painfully off of the rock, he swayed on his feet, then searched the bodies for anything valuable. Taking their water and food, he left the weapons.

Stumbling forward, he wrapped his shoulder as he walked, trying to stem the flow of blood. The gunshot had been clean, and hadn't appeared to have nicked any bones, exiting the back of his shoulder. If he kept both clean they should heal.

He set his back on the bodies and kept east, hoping he wouldn't encounter anyone else.

The next two days passed in strange delirium. Sheppard couldn't remember if he encountered more of Jenar's men and killed them or if it was all a dream. He staggered across the rocky desert, always heading towards the rising sun and the mountains which grew bigger with each passing day.

There was more life in the desert than there had appeared to be in the forest. Small, deer-like creatures stared at him curiously from thorny bushes, brown snakes buried themselves in the sand, lizards flickered across the rocks at his feet. Life was abundant, and if he was not injured and in so much pain he didn't even feel like eating, Sheppard knew there was enough to eat in the desert. He would survive.

The sun rose each day, hot and white and blinding. He was grateful his skin had darkened enough in the early summer days to keep from burning, but his eyes were suffering from the brilliance of the light. He managed to fashion a scarf which he wound around his head and eyes that managed to cut down some of the light.

The wounds in his shoulder hampered his progress, but he kept moving. Always moving towards the Stargate, spurred on by thoughts of home, of Atlantis, of friends which he was sure had not stopped looking for him.

There was still hope.