Makepeace didn’t answer that, he doubted anywhere would be immune from this by the end.
“Sir?” Booker called, stepping out from the guard post. “General Hammond said to get down to the gate room as fast as you can. They’re —”
The unmistakable sound of a ring-transporter activating cut off his words. Behind Booker, between the gates and the tunnel leading into the complex, Goa’uld rings dropped down and lifted again to reveal six Jaffa.
Makepeace opened fire immediately, took two down before the others had time to lift their staff weapons. “Get into the tunnel!” he yelled as another set of rings activated, depositing a further six Jaffa between them and safety.
Jefferson and Booker both dived to the side, firing from the shelter of the guard post, while Maybourne scurried behind them like the rat he was.
“Frag out!” Jefferson bawled, pitching a grenade with precision.
Makepeace turned his face away, ducked as the detonation threw up sharp pieces of stone, taking out half the Jaffa. “Nice!” he yelled at the major. “Got any more of those?”
“Yes sir!”
But the remaining Jaffa weren’t giving up. “Kalach shal’tek!” bellowed one as he advanced, leaping over the bodies of his fallen comrades. Staff weapon raised, he fired. Makepeace pressed himself against the wall of the guardhouse, felt the heat of the plasma scorch past him, as Jefferson yelled a warning and threw his second grenade. The detonation flung the Jaffa forward, face first into the dirt. Makepeace heard his neck break, saw the dead-eyes staring up at him. Jaffa or human, dead was dead.
“Colonel!” Booker shouted, gesturing with his weapon; there was a clear path to the tunnel.
“Go!” he barked. “Get the blast doors closed. Maybourne —” He turned just in time to see more rings activating behind them. “Damn it.”
Six, Jaffa appeared. Twelve. “Rak’lo najaquna shel’re hara kek,” hissed one of them, raising his staff weapon.
“Whatever,” Makepeace said and lifted his own weapon. “Maybourne! Get behind me.”
He did, scrambling to his feet as Makepeace took a step backward.
“You can’t hold them all!”
“You better hope I can.” He tightened his finger on the trigger. “Now run!”
He opened fire, sweeping backward and forward across the Jaffa as he slowly retreated, Maybourne sprinting for the tunnel behind him. Then he heard Booker and Jefferson open up. He hoped they’d taken cover in the tunnel entrance, but couldn’t look around to see.
The Jaffa scattered under the onslaught, diving for cover, and Makepeace could feel the cold of the tunnel at his back. He’d made it. But, at the last moment, a staff blast came blazing from somewhere on his left and clipped his arm. He yelled, the force of the blast spinning him around, and he fell hard onto the ground. Something popped in his left knee, pain shooting up all the way into his gut.
“Colonel!” Jefferson called.
He tried to stand.
“Stay down!”
Pressed into the dirt, he watched as another grenade flew overhead, impacting almost before it hit the ground.
And then Booker grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet with one hand and firing with the other as he half dragged him into the tunnel. At the far end, light spilled from the complex but the huge blast doors were already closing.
“Come on, sir,” Booker said, as Jefferson grabbed his other arm. “We can make it.”
For a moment, Makepeace almost felt worthy of these brave men’s loyalty. But then he saw Maybourne darting past the closing doors, running ahead of them into the safety of the SGC, and he remembered the truth.
He’d betrayed these people. He didn’t deserve anything from them.
It felt like they’d been walking for hours. No, scratch that. They had been walking for hours, weaving their way through the endless labyrinthine shantytown. If they were following a path, Jack couldn’t make out where it went. But Hunter didn’t pause, didn’t waver, he just kept on going, leading them deeper and deeper into the camp.
Not wanting to stop and eat, Jack had pulled open a breakfast MRE on the road, so to speak, and eaten everything that didn’t need rehydrating. He was still working his way through the chocolate chip pastry when Daniel said, “So, Hunter, how big is this place?”
Hunter glanced over his shoulder, gave a shrug. “Maybe ten miles across?”
“Ten miles?” Daniel echoed in surprise.
“Big,” Jack agreed, but he’d seen that from the mountainside on the way down. The camp was vast.
“Most folk live on the boundary, near the feeding stations. But we’re heading deep, to the Way Back.”