The city was lost from view for a moment as the road curved around and down, and then it spread out again before him as he rounded another corner. He could see the overpass now, where he had arranged to meet Maybourne. He just hoped he’d made it; if the bastard had died without giving up the gate address for his Alpha Site then everything was lost.
As he got closer to the highway, he started to hear the frantic blare of car horns, the wail of emergency vehicles stuck in traffic, and the screams of panic and anger as the road clogged up. There were people running along the highway, cars abandoned. It was chaos.
He pulled off NORAD Road before he reached the overpass, not wanting to get trapped in the traffic jam. He reached into the back seat, slung his MP5 over his head, and started running. Above, he felt rather than heard the gliders approach and dropped to the ground before the compression wave knocked him down, hands over his head as staff-cannon blasts peppered the scrubby ground around him and the road behind. He was back on his feet and sprinting as soon as they were gone, and didn’t spare a look for the people behind him even though he could hear their cries for help. There was nothing he could do for them but this.
“Hey!” Someone grabbed his arm, dragging him to a halt — a middle aged woman with blood on her cheek. Her car was jammed in on the highway and Makepeace could see a man crouching next to it, holding two small children, their faces pressed into his shoulders, dazed with horror and disbelief. He felt sick. “What’s happening?” the woman said, staring at his uniform like it meant salvation. “What is this?”
Makepeace shook off her hand, catching his breath, and backed up a step. “Alien incursion,” he said. “Get off the road.”
“What?” She stared up at the sky. “That can’t be true…”
“Get off the road, ma’am. Take your family and head into the mountains.”
Owlish, glasses knocked askew, she looked like she was an accountant or a lawyer, maybe. “The mountains,” she repeated, as if Makepeace had suggested she go to the moon.
“Get as far from the city as you can.”
And with that, he started running again, dodging between the cars stopped on the onramp, over more dry grass and under the overpass. “Maybourne!” he yelled, his voice echoing against the concrete. “You bastard, where are you?” As his eyes got used to the comparative gloom, he saw a dark sedan pulled off the road further under the bridge. “Maybourne?”
A figure rose from where he’d been hiding behind the car. “What?” Maybourne said. “No military escort?”
“I’m it,” he said roughly. “Let’s go.”
“Wait a second.”
As he moved, Makepeace recognized a gunmetal glint in Maybourne’s hand. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said.
“I need assurance I won’t be prosecuted.”
Makepeace stared at him. “Prosecuted? Have you seen what’s happening out there?”
“I won’t just hand myself in,” he said, moving out from behind the car with his pistol leveled. “I want assurances.”
“Fine. If you stay here, you’ll die,” Makepeace growled. “How’s that for an assurance?”
“You can’t —”
The scream of an F-16, followed by the wail of a Death Glider in pursuit, cut him off. Weapons fire impacted on the road overhead, gliders strafing the length of the highway, sending chunks of concrete crashing down around them, filling their lungs with dust. Above, a crack ran across the bridge, widening as it snaked through the concrete. Makepeace could see daylight expanding through it. “Move!” he yelled, grabbing Maybourne’s arm and hauling him toward the light as the overpass began to collapse.
Cars, people, everything fell and Makepeace kept running, kept his fingers locked around Maybourne’s arm, as dust and debris bloomed out around them.
Coughing, streaked with dirt and gasping for air, they eventually made it back to his SUV. Maybourne was wheezing so badly he was retching, bent double, so he didn’t see the shadow fall. But Makepeace saw it and his stomach sank into his boots.
“Oh God,” he breathed as a huge, dark shape descended. He grabbed Maybourne’s shirt, hauling him upright, making him watch. “Look,” he hissed, as the ha’tak landed on Cheyenne Mountain, sending an avalanche of boulders and rock cascading down its sides. “This is on us, Maybourne. We did this.”
Coughing, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Maybourne shook his head and spat concrete dust out onto the ground. He fixed Makepeace with a hard look. “It’s not over yet, Colonel.”
There were three Amam, Teal’c saw, and their business here was pleasure.
He had seen Jaffa stalk with the same hungry intent through the slave camps of Apophis, although the appetite they had sought to slake had been of a different nature.
They walked in silence, these Amam, one taking the lead and his seconds — Teal’c had no doubt of the power structure — a step behind at either shoulder. Their white hair gleamed like bone in the darkness, their pallid skin almost luminous, long coats flaring out behind them.
At his side, O’Neill stirred uneasily; he was afraid that these creatures could sense his presence.
“They hunt for sport,” Teal’c assured him.
“Yeah, and I’m the moose.”
Teal’c did not fully understand the reply but did not query it. The Amam were close now, passing within an arm’s reach of the place where they crouched, concealed. He slowed his breathing in the manner Master Bra’tac had taught him many years ago, letting the air flow in and out of his lungs like the tide flowed in and out of a river mouth. O’Neill simply stopped breathing.
The Amam’s heavy boots crunched into the earth, their eyes scanning the camp for movement. They were one step past them, two, walking on until Teal’c could only see their backs.
O’Neill released his breath in a low sigh that would have given him away had the enemy not moved on. Looking at Teal’c, he gestured that they should circle back toward Hunter’s house and Teal’c nodded. But before either of them could move, a terrified voice shouted out — an inarticulate cry of fear — and a young boy bolted from under a piece of fallen wooden paneling that lay almost beneath the feet of the Amam.
O’Neill made a strangled noise as the boy — perhaps ten years old — tried to run. He was not fast enough and one of the Amam snatched him up, its clawed hand seizing the child’s shirt and lifting him off his feet. It held him up, legs kicking, close to its face.
The boy was sobbing, clutching at the creature’s arm. “Jem!” he wailed. “Jem!”
O’Neill rose to his feet, but Teal’c grabbed his arm, holding him back. “You cannot.”
And then someone else appeared, a thin girl — older than the boy, but not full grown — with wide, frightened eyes and tears on her cheeks. She held a large stick in her shaking hands, as she emerged from her hiding place to stand before the Amam.
“Let him go,” she said in a trembling voice. “Put him down.”
The leader of the Amam hissed at her, its teeth bared. She flinched, let out a wretched sob, and fell back a couple of steps. But she did not run.
“Jem…” the boy was still yelling. “Jem!”
“Please,” she begged. “Please, let him go. He’s only little.”
The Amam took another step forward, but the girl held her ground despite the stick in her hands shaking so violently that she could hardly hold it.
“Screw this,” O’Neill snarled.
“O’Neill —”
“No,” he said, shaking off Teal’c’s hand. “I have to.”
Teal’c inclined his head toward the girl. “I will circle around behind her. Wait until I am in position.”
O’Neill gave a short nod of thanks and in two steps he was out in the open, moving around to the back of the Amam, his gun trained on their commander. “Put him down,” he yelled and the Amam turned in surprise. “You heard me. Put the kid down or I’ll blow your goddamn head off.”
Its expression was curious more
than fearful, head cocked to one side as it turned away from the girl and moved toward O’Neill. Teal’c made use of the distraction to creep through the shadows toward the girl, placing the Amam between himself and O’Neill.
“You need a demonstration?” O’Neill asked, and with no further warning he fired into the ground at the startled Amam’s feet. It jumped back; perhaps it had not seen a Tau’ri weapon before? “Let him go,” O’Neill repeated.
“You are the one?” the Amam said in its strange, guttural speech. “The Lantean?”
“Let the boy go.”
Teal’c was close to the girl now, who stood watching O’Neill with terror and astonishment. The boy was limp with fear, dangling from the Amam’s hands as if he were no more than a toy. The creature’s strength, Teal’c thought, must be significant.
Crouching down, he took a moment to prepare. When O’Neill opened fire on the commander, Teal’c would need to take out the two Amam who stood behind their leader. From this range, it would not prove difficult, but the girl was directly in his and O’Neill’s line of fire.
“Child,” he hissed quietly. “Child, come here!”
She did not hear, too focused on the drama unfolding and on the boy whom he imagined to be her brother. He swallowed a moment of frustration but dared not speak more loudly for fear of alerting the Amam. Surprise was his most valuable weapon.
“Jem!” he whispered, making an assumption about the name, but still there was no response. The shock of the situation had robbed her of her senses.
“I’m telling you,” O’Neill was shouting. “One more step and I’ll blow your brains out.” The Amam stepped closer and still O’Neill resisted opening fire, afraid of hitting the girl, afraid that Teal’c was not in position.
Teal’c had no choice but to act. Moving as quietly as he could, he surged to his feet and grabbed the girl. One hand went over her mouth and nose to stifle any sound and the other wrapped around her thin body. “I mean you no harm,” he hissed into her ear as he dragged her silently into the shadows. “I am a friend, but you must be silent.”
“Hell yeah!” O’Neill yelled, clearly having seen Teal’c move. “You ugly bastard, I am so gonna enjoy this!”
The girl’s weak struggles abated and Teal’c risked loosening his hold on her mouth. “Make no noise,” he cautioned again.
She nodded and he let her go. Turning around, she stared at him with bright eyes, frightened but full of intelligence. When they fell on his mark of Apophis, they widened even further and something like a smile touched her lips. Her mouth opened, but Teal’c put a cautionary finger to her lips to keep her quiet and she nodded, only mouthing the word ‘Dix?’
Teal’c didn’t answer the silent question, just gestured for her to hide herself. With a nod and a backward glance at the boy she moved off, but not far. She was, however, out of the firing line. Lifting his staff, Teal’c took aim and gave O’Neill a slight nod. They were ready.
“Okay,” O’Neill said. “Time’s up. Drop the kid.”
The Amam holding the boy exchanged a look with the commander — and, perhaps, a telepathic communication — then bared its teeth at O’Neill and lifted its feeding hand. The boy screamed, the girl stifled a cry of her own. O’Neill opened fire.
Jerking backward, the Amam commander danced under the impact of gunshots that should have shredded his body. But it did not even knock him from his feet.
“Oh crap,” O’Neill hissed and retreated a step.
Teal’c shared the sentiment. Lifting his staff weapon, he took aim and fired two bolts into the back of the commander and another two into the Amam who held the boy. He was relieved that they proved more effective than O’Neill’s MP5.
The commander fell forward, onto his hands and knees, and the Amam who held the boy staggered hard to the right, losing his grip on the child. The boy hit the ground and scrambled to his feet, looking wildly in all directions.
“Kid, over here!” O’Neill yelled, opening fire again on the commander. But the boy stood between him and the other Amam who was already recovering from the staff blasts. Teal’c fired again, knocking him sideways, and then sent two bolts into the third Amam who was pulling his stunner free of its holster. He got off a shot in Teal’c’s direction before the staff blasts knocked him back, but it went wide and Teal’c did not even need to duck.
Meanwhile, O’Neill was edging his way past the commander toward the boy. “Come here!” he was shouting. “Kid, run!”
His barked order penetrated the child’s fear and he started running toward O’Neill who reached out as soon as he was close enough and dragged the boy behind him. “Stay down,” he snapped, opening fire on the Amam again. This time the bullets put the creature down and Teal’c began to realize that the Amam were not impervious to their weapons, it simply required more firepower to do significant damage.
The third Amam was back on his feet, but Teal’c took aim and blasted the stunner from its hand and then fired again into its chest. This time, he did not think the creature would rise.
“Teal’c!” O’Neill yelled, and he looked over to see that the commander and the remaining Amam were closing on O’Neill. He was backing up, the child cowering behind him.
Taking aim, Teal’c fired again into the Amam and he dropped to his knees, back arching in pain. O’Neill finished him off, loosing a burst of gunfire into the creature’s head that sent a spray of black blood up into the air.
That left only the commander. Teal’c advanced slowly and, realizing it was now vulnerable, the commander backed up, trying to watch both him and O’Neill. Then his hand moved toward the device on his other wrist, a gesture Teal’c remembered from the Amam who had healed Daniel Jackson. He had done the same to summon the fighter that had snared them with its transporter beam.
He opened fire on the creature’s arm at the same moment as O’Neill. The creature’s hand flailed, burned and came away from his arm. The Amam roared in pain and Teal’c fired at its head, twice, until it fell silent on the ground.
The grizzly business was done, and over the prone corpse, he met O’Neill’s grim gaze.
“That was fun,” he said.
Teal’c lifted an eyebrow but did not comment.
From behind O’Neill, the boy emerged and it was only when Teal’c took in his ashen face that he realized dawn had crept upon them.
“Hey,” O’Neill said to the kid, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” The boy just stared and O’Neill ruffled his hand through his hair. “You’ll be fine.” He looked over at Teal’c. “Where’s the girl?”
Looking back to where she was hiding, Teal’c lifted his hand and beckoned. She was running toward them in an instant and, when the boy saw her, he started running too until they collided together in a tangle of hugs and tears.
O’Neill cleared his throat, sniffed, then glared at Teal’c — daring him to comment. He did not dare.
“Hey,” O’Neill called over to the children. “You two got a home to go to?”
The girl looked up over her brother’s head. “We live in the Way Back.”
“Parents?”
She shook her head. “Just me and Bryn.”
“Then get outa here,” he said. “They might send back-up.”
With a nod, she took her brother’s hand, but before she led him away she turned to Teal’c. “You’re him, aren’t you?” she said, gesturing toward his forehead. “You’re Dix.”
He exchanged a look with O’Neill who just lifted his eyebrows and left it to Teal’c to answer. He chose to let the girl draw her own conclusions and simply bowed his head in silence.
She gave a short bark of laughter. “I knew it,” she said, bending down to talk in her brother’s ear. “Dix saved you, Bryn. How about that?”
The boy looked up at him, his tear-swollen eyes going wide as the girl, Jem, pulled him away.
“You kids take care,” O’Neill called after them, his voice tight with frustration. Teal’c understood his feeling
s; they could not protect these children, nor any of the thousands who lived here. The next night, perhaps, the Amam would come again and they would be taken — or the night after that.
O’Neill shook his head and stared down at the bodies at their feet. All around them Teal’c sensed people emerging with the morning light, staring in shock and fear at the fallen Amam.
“I’m not sure we did these people any favors,” O’Neill said, looking about with obvious unease. “Someone’s gonna come looking for these guys.”
Teal’c followed his gaze, but alongside the fear, he saw something else in the faces watching from the shadows. It was not exactly hope, but perhaps it was something that could turn to hope.
“It will do these people no harm,” he decided, “to learn that the Amam can die at their hands.”
“They’ve got no weapons, Teal’c.”
“Not yet,” he said. “But if they value their freedom they must learn how to fight for it.” He lifted an eyebrow and fixed his friend with a serious look. “This is not our battle to win, O’Neill.”
He gave a tight nod, accepting the point even if he did not like it, and then slapped Teal’c on the arm. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get back. The sooner we get off this rock, the better.”
Hunter was right and the flood of people washed past them. Daniel watched, sickened, through a gap in the canvas as three Amam stalked after their prey — driving the panicked population ahead like frightened sheep.
After the Amam were gone, they tried to eat. Daniel broke open one of the MREs in Sam’s pack, sharing out the content, but the wretched screams continued and no one had much of an appetite. He flinched when he heard a man shrieking in the distance, trying hard not to imagine that it was Jack or Teal’c.
“How often does this happen?” he asked Hunter, as much to distract himself as anything else.
Hunter sat hunkered with his wife, the child still sleeping in the hide they’d created beneath their shack. “A hunt?” He shrugged. “Depends. Sometimes they hunt the same place every night for a month. Other times weeks go by without a sniff o’them. Hunting’s just for sport, though. When they want to harvest, they use the Snatchers.” He glanced at his wife, who pressed her face into his shoulder with a shudder, and drew her closer. “That’s how they got me.”
SG1-25 Hostile Ground Page 25
