His Girl Friday

It was two more days before Weir finally convinced Sheppard to go further afield to look for water; her head still hurt, but not as much as her arm and she was able to stand without feeling faint. Deciding that water was more likely to flow down hill than up, Sheppard set off away from the Jumper, following what would have been its course had it not come to rest amide the trees. Walking through the meadow, empty canteens strung across his back, he took a moment to look around properly for the first time.

The valley itself ran upwards towards distant mountains made of some strange, dark blue rock laced with lighter striations that glittered in the bright sunlight. A moving glitter hinted at a waterfall, and that meant the possibility of water somewhere deeper in the valley. The sky was the kind of azure blue you only saw in travail brochures, with a few wispy clouds at hight altitude. The grass was soft under his feet, and seemed to smell slightly of apples, as crazy as it sounded. The other end of the valley was lost amid the trees of a massive forest that stretched off into the horizon, a sea of emerald green that was only broken by a solitary cave-pocked mountain that thrust up out of the forest like the conning tower of a titanic submarine that had forced its way up through green ice. It was a truly awe-inspiring sight, and he wished that he'd taken his digital camera with him; a solar-powered charger in the survival equipment could keep at least some of their electrical equipment running for years.

Still, he had a mission to undertake, and his training told him that he was most likely to find a river or a stream in the middle of the valley, so he started off again across the knee-high grass.

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Weir sat in the back of the Jumper, looking at the pile of equipment she had taken out. They had already taken a full inventory, but she couldn't help but hope that they had missed something that would get them off the planet, or at least let contact Atlantis without drawing the attention of the Wraith on the third planet. She felt a pang of regret; the natives there had been friendly and open, a refreshing change from some of the other planets she had visited since first arriving in the Pegasus Galaxy.

Some sixth sence made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she looked round slowly; the remains of the fire were smoking gently, and the utensils they had used were drying in the warm sun. nothing seemed out of place, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her. Looking round, she spotted the gun Sheppard had left her; despite his insistence that she kept it with her at all times, she had left it on top of her air-mattress, a good five meters away across open ground. Acting as nonchalantly as she could, Weir stood and took as direct a line as she dared to the weapon, pretending that she was looking for something amid the piles of supplies.

The sound was low and drawn out, the sort of sound that indicated that the maker wasn't used to having to make a big show, as word soon got around. It was the sort of sound that was normally associated with a quick, bloodily death, and bypassed the higher parts of the human brain and reached down to press the big red button marked 'Primal Terror'. It was, above all else, the sort of sound that could only be made by a mouth that has a lot of very large, shape, teeth. Weir stood still, not even daring to breath, as the sound slowly died, only to be replaced by the soft footsteps of a very large creature that had decided that it didn't need to be quiet any more and was making its presence felt. Something big and powerful made its way out of the clearing, and Weir felt her blood turn to ice-water in her veins as she got her first good look.

It was big, huge even, at least eight-feet tall and covered in short, spiky brown fur. It looked somewhat like a Grizzly bear, but with huge sabre-like teeth protruding either side of its mouth. It reared up on its hind legs, towering over the petrified Weir and let loose a deafening roar.

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Sheppard had filled the canteens in a fast-flowing stream that meandered through the middle of the valley and was on his way back when he heard the distant roar echo across the open grassland. It only took a moment for his ears to pinpoint the direction the sound had originally came from, a stab of fear striking him with near physical force. Dropping the heavy canteens, he ran as fast as he could, knowing that it would take him a worrying amount of time to cover the half-dozen miles back to the crash site. He grabbed his radio and flicked it on.

“Elizabeth?” His voice was almost frantic, “Elizabeth!”

Only the steady hiss of static greeted him, and he redoubled his efforts, finding some inner reserves to push himself harder.

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Weir dived back towards the Jumper, all thoughts of going for the gun abandoned, as the bear-like creature slammed its front-legs back down onto the ground with enough force to shake the nearby trees. The creature moved with a fluid grace, almost catching Weir before she was able to dodge through the open hatch and hit the emergency controls. The hatch snapped up but jammed just short of fully closed, allowing the creature to get one massive paw in and swipe at her. Dropping to the deck, Weir rolled out of the way, getting as far into the Jumpers rear-compartment as she could, cradling her left arm.

Looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, her fingers found one of the emergency kits, and she breathed a momentary sigh of relief as she opened it to find a flare-gun and two cartridges. Snapping the gun open, she gripped the barrel under her left arm and carefully started to load the first cartridge. The sabre-tooth bear managed to force the rear hatch open another few inches, sudden jawing shacking Weir, and the flare slipped out of her fingers and rolled under one of the bench-seats. Scrabbling after it, she managed to knock her broken arm against the neck, and stars exploded before her eyes.

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Sheppard ran. He ran until his muscles burned and his veins pumped battery acid. Then he ran some more.

He tripped over a large stone and fell face first to the ground, the long grass whipped against him. He ignored the pain, and the dull ache that warned him that something was amiss with his right ankle, as he got back on his feet and started running again, pushing himself harder than he'd ever done before, his vision blurring with the sweat pouring down his forehead. But no matter how hard or fast he ran, it seemed to his mind that the grove of trees that hid the downed Puddle Jumper from view were growing further and further away.

His lungs were on fire as he reached the edge of the grassland and entered the meadow itself.

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Steadying herself as best she could, Weir waited for her head to stop spinning before giving up on the dropped flare cartridge and pulled the other one from its place in the foam lining of the box. The pistols breach snapped shut with a reassuring click, it's oversized barrel giving a much needed physiological boost. Cocking the hammer, she did her best to hold it stead with her good arm, waiting for the bear-like creature to reappear. And reappear it did, trying to get its snarling head through the opening. Weir took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, but it did graze the beast, the intense heat burning it, while the bright light temporarily blinded it. A blood curdling cry of pain and surprise shook the Jumper as the bear thrashed about, unable to comprehend what had happened.

Knowing that it was only a temporary reprieve, Weir reached back under the bench, this time careful so as not to knock her arm. Her fingers felt around until one of them just touched the missing flare cartridge. Stretching her arm to the point where she felt sure it was about to pop out of its socket, she was able to slowly work it free and then carefully pull it out. The enraged beast outside slammed into the side of the Jumper, making the entire pod shake violently, while it sounded like she was stuck inside a giant drum. Slipping the cartridge into gun and closing the breach, Weir made herself as secure as she could and waited for what would be her last shot.

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Sheppard dashed through the trees, branches slapping and scratching his face as he made his way towards the crash site. He forced himself to stop just before the last few trees and raised his P90 to his shoulder, making sure that it was fully loaded and that the safety catch was off. Slowly now, he advanced at the ready, his years of training forcing his emotions into check as he pushed aside the last few branches and for the first time saw the creature that was attacking the Jumper.

His first reaction was a lot like Weir's: an odd mix of terror and fascination. This was soon replaced by a grim determination and gut-wrenching fear that he might already be too late. Taking careful aim, he pulled the trigger, sending a short burst into the creatures back. This served two purposes; firstly, it drew the bears attention away from the Jumper, while also seeing just how tough the creature was. Worryingly, it seemed to take the beast a few seconds to register the hits, the low-calibre bullets doing very little damage. Shifting his aim upwards, Sheppard fired again, sending a second burst into the targets shoulder. This got its attention, and it turned away from the Jumper and started to lumber towards Sheppard's position, roaring in pain, anger and confusion.

Unflinching, Sheppard flipped the selector switch to fully-automatic and pulled the trigger. The P90 rattled in his hands, and he fought to keep the kickback from rising the barrel, keeping his aim as true and steady as he could. The bear ran head-first into the hail of gunfire, huge parts of its fur being ripped off by the steady stream of 5.7mm rounds ripped into its hide, the entire 50-round magazine emptying in less than 5-seconds. The creature was a bloody mess by the time Sheppard dodged out of the way just before it was ready to trample him. He was already ejecting the spent magazine and reaching for a fresh one when he saw the beast collapse in a bloody lump, its breathing laboured. Not wanting to put it through any more pain than it already was, he looked around until he found the Beretta and slowly walked back to the animal, keeping a close eye on it to make sure that it wasn't just playing possum. Once he was sure it was safe, he aimed the pistol at the creatures head and pulled the trigger twice, putting a pair of 9mm rounds through its skull.

To Be Continued...

Authors note; I had to calculate the time it would take a FN P90 to fire a full magazine based on a standard load of 50-rounds and a cycle rate of 900-rounds/minute.