SG1-25 Hostile Ground(86)

The feeding station was on his right now, the shacks thinning out the closer he got to it and to the edge of the camp. He tried to imagine what it must be like on the days when the Amam delivered rations — did the people fight for them, or had they organized a fair way of distribution? Perhaps this Dix character was involved in the running of the camp? Faith’s story of going to see him, and of being given some kind of food after her husband was taken, seemed to indicate that a social structure existed, although —

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by a flash of blue energy up on the mountainside, halfway down the slope. A moment later came the distant report of an MP5. His gut tightened: they were off the ship, they were fighting.

At least, some of them were.

He made his way beyond the last of the shacks and took cover behind a stub of something that might once have been a wall. It was full dark now and Daniel didn’t dare risk his flashlight, but he ran his hand over the surface and it felt like old brickwork. Someone might have lived there once, he thought, before the war that had destroyed this city.

If there was a moon in orbit around the planet, the clouds hung too low to let it shine. The only light came from the strange bioluminescent glow of the Amam ship and the snatches of firelight escaping from the camp behind him. But his eyes were used to the dark and he could pick out the tree line that marked the edge of the mountainside’s sparse forest.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes since the brief firefight and no contact. Nothing. They could be dead. They could be somewhere in the trees. All he could do was wait.

Cold, a real mountain cold that was sharp and bitter, made his breath mist in front of his face. He thought with regret of his Parka back at the SGC, but his adrenaline was high, everything on full alert, and that was enough to keep him warm for now. Nevertheless, he was aware that he couldn’t sit there all night. If they didn’t come soon, he’d have to find shelter or succumb to hypothermia. He pulled his hands from his pockets, blew on them to warm them, and then froze.

There was movement in the trees, a flash of something. Slowly, Daniel reached down and pulled his Beretta free of its holster. His mouth was suddenly dry, too dry to swallow, as he rested his hands on the brickwork and trained the weapon on the trees. Blinking against the dark, he strained to see. Had he been mistaken? No, there it was again, movement in the trees along the ridge where he and Hunter had stood and first looked out across the camp.

SG-1 or Amam? Possibly both.

He could hear footfalls now, a skittering of rocks as if someone had slipped or stumbled coming down the slope. Daniel licked his dry lips, tightened his grip on the gun. And then there was a figure in the dark, emerging from the trees. Daniel flicked off the safety, the click sounding loud in the night.

Someone called out, “Hold your fire!”

Heart hammering, it took a moment before the voice penetrated the sound of blood rushing through his ears. But he didn’t lower his weapon, peering through the darkness as two other silhouettes materialized from the trees.

“Daniel?”

“Oh thank God.” Relief washed through him at the sound of Jack’s voice, his gun sagging against the rock and his finger slackening on the trigger. “Over here,” he said, and climbed to his feet, holstering his Berretta.

Jack appeared from the darkness first, looking weary but unharmed. Sam and Teal’c were a step behind. “Hey,” Jack said, laconic as ever, “thanks for not shooting.”

“You’re welcome.” Daniel glanced past them, up toward the ship. “You didn’t bring any friends?”

Jack shrugged. “A couple tried to tag along. We changed their minds.”

“It is possible,” Teal’c said, “that more will pursue us.”

“Likely, in fact,” Sam added with a wary glance over her shoulder. Her arm, Daniel noticed, was bandaged. “We need to hide,” she said. “And the colonel needs to rest.”

“We all need to rest,” Jack corrected.

Daniel smiled. “Well, I know just the place.”



Daniel seemed to have a good idea where he was going, which was lucky, because Jack was too tired to do anything but follow him as they picked their way through the ramshackle camp. “Hey,” he said, touching Daniel’s shoulder. “Check that out.”

He gestured off to their right, squinting through the crowding darkness to where he could just make out the distinctive shape of a Death Glider’s wing that had been co-opted into the lean-to wall of a house.

“Interesting,” Daniel said. “I guess Elspeth’s stories about the ‘old gods’ had some truth in them after all.”