A Light in the Darkness, 2/3

[coolbreeze1]

Part 2

He was in heaven. Honest to God heaven.

He flipped onto his back, floating in the bathtub hot waters of the glowing pool. His stomach was not exactly full, but he’d caught and eaten eight crawfish after roasting them on a spit over his small but effective fire. He gone back to the river afterward, drank as much water as he could handle, then curled up under the crystal in the small tent room for a nap. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but he’d woken up feeling better than he had since first falling into this place.

He’d returned to the river again, drinking as much as he could, before returning to the pool room and stripping off his clothes. He felt grimy-he was grimy-and the hot water was doing wonders both for his general body odor and his stiff, sore muscles. He should probably make some attempt at cleaning his clothes, but for now, he was going to just float.

A grunt off to the side jerked him out of his reverie, and he flailed his arms, kicking his feet in the water to swing his body around. The saber-toothed turtle was back, sniffing and grunting the air but staying close to the tunnel that led to the giant hot crystals. John watched it take a few tentative steps forward. His clothes were on the rocks a few feet away, his knife in the side pocket of his pants. The animal would make a good meal, but John shook his head, remembering his last attempt at catching the thing.

Under the glowing crystals, he could see the animal’s tough skin. It must have a weakness somewhere, but the effort it could take to figure out what that weakness was might not be worth it. After he killed it, he’d have to cut it up to get to the meat, and he wasn’t sure his little knife could handle that.

“And there’s those teeth,” he said.

The animal snapped its head in John’s direction and froze. John went as still as possible, barely flutter kicking under the water to keep his head above the surface. A second passed, then another. Finally, the animal sniffed the air and turned away, dawdling forward along the edge of the pool room.

So that’s how it’s going to be, he thought. You mind your business, I’ll mind mine. John could live with that. The creature disappeared into the tunnel heading toward the river, and John relaxed. He kicked his legs until he was floating on his back again.

“Heaven,” he whispered, but now other thoughts were beginning to intrude. He had plenty of water, but food would be an issue again before long. And then what? He sighed, his sense of peace evaporating. The hardest question in survival was deciding when to stay put and when to take a chance and leave. He fingered his chin, feeling the rough growth on his jaw. He’d been down here for a couple of days, at least. How long should he stay and wait for rescue? Would they be able to read his sub-q transmitter underground?

He glanced down at himself, grimacing at the sight. His chest, arms, and legs were covered with bruises, the deep blues and purples turning yellow at the edges. No wonder he’d felt like hell. He could only imagine what his back, neck, and face must look like. It was a miracle he wasn’t more seriously injured. His head had not stopped hurting since he’d first woken up in the truck, but the pain had faded enough that he could ignore it. Or he’d just gotten used to it.

He kicked himself over to the side and climbed out of the water. He dunked his clothes into the pool and began scrubbing them against a rock. He’d left his fishing lines in the lake, hoping to catch more crawfish. Assuming they were still biting, he could eat again, but then he needed to explore-assess his situation. If he could backtrack up the river and find the spot where he fell in, maybe he could climb back out.

He nodded, settling on the plan and kicking himself for not thinking about this earlier. He wrung his clothes out and held them up to his face, breathing in deep. They smelled like water-much better than the sweaty BO stench of before. He scratched his jaw again, wishing he had a mirror of some kind. He’d love nothing more than to shave the scruff off his face, but that was the least of his priorities.

He draped his clothes over the nearest large crystal, hoping the heat would make them dry faster, then walked over to the black lake. He felt a little self-conscious walking through these tunnels buck naked, but he brushed it off. He was alone-if someone else was down here with him, they would have shown themselves already. The fire pit was still smoldering, but he was almost out of dried root logs. By the time he’d collected the remaining roots clinging to the walls in that immediate area, he was sweating again.

“Figures,” he grumbled. He threw smaller twigs onto the coals and was relieved when they started to smolder. Within minutes, he had another fire going but no more firewood. He’d also caught four more crawfish. He pulled up the other six lines he’d left in the water and groaned when he found them empty. With a sigh, he tied more moss to the ends and tossed them back into the water.

Four was better than nothing, though. He ate quickly, the smell of the roasting fish making his stomach grumble. He sucked down every last drop of juice and had to force himself to toss the shells to the side and not eat those too. His clothes were mostly dry by the time he was done, and he slid back into them in relief, comforted by the feel of cloth next to his skin.

Equipped with his knife and a handful of crystals, he set out toward the river. He half expected to run into his saber-toothed turtle friend, but it had disappeared. The cooler air of the river tunnel was almost refreshing, and he breathed deep. He knelt next to the water and scooped a couple of handfuls into his mouth before heading upstream.

The river had slowed noticeably, and John surmised that the storm overhead had stopped. He was reassured by that-no storms meant nothing to keep his team from looking from him. Depending on where he fell in, it might also mean an easier time of climbing out to the surface. The larger crystal gave him just enough light to pick his way along the rocky path next to the river. It was clear that the river level varied greatly and he realized he was lucky to have a path at all. It was all too possible that the path he was currently on became submerged when the river-fed by storms above-rose.

He glanced at his watch and frowned at the smashed face. The inability to measure the passage of time was getting under his skin. He guessed that almost an hour had passed since he’d started up the river bank. He scanned the path he was on upstream and down, searching for some sign of where he may have fallen in. The rock ceiling was rough and uneven, but he had yet to see any holes.

He plowed forward. His time to explore the river was limited by how long the crystal would hold its light. He’d picked a larger one, thinking that it would last longer and maximize the amount of time he had to explore and yet not be so heavy that it slowed him down. As he climbed over the next wall of rocks blocking his path, he heard the sound of splashing. It was different from the river washing up against the rocks. It was like a steady stream was being poured into water from high above.

His heart thudded in his chest. Had he found the way out? He clambered over the rocks, his boots slipping on his feet. He’d had to cut his one remaining bootlace into two pieces to replace the one he’d picked apart for fishing lines. He waved the crystal in front of him, scanning the ceiling.

There. Hanging over the center of the river, he spotted water flowing from a hole in the ceiling. Vines flapped in the steady stream of water about as thick as his arm, washed down from the forest above. He inched his way over the wet boulders beneath the hole, wary of slipping and falling in. That was the last thing his battered body needed.

“Damn it,” he cursed. His voice echoed down the river tunnel. The crack in the ceiling was at least ten feet out of reach.

By leaning precariously over the river, he stretched his arm out for the vines. That was his only hope of reaching the ceiling. Even as thoughts of climbing up the slick vegetation crossed his mind, his hand wrapped around one end and he pulled down. All of the vines fell away from the crack and into the water.

“Shit!” John cried out, flailing his arms as he tried to regain his balance. So much for that plan. He crouched down, breathing hard. He’d managed not to drop the crystal, but the vines were being dragged down river.

He jumped off the rocks and back to the path. He could use those vines. In his brief close-up view of them, he’d seen little dark berries growing in clumps among the leaves. He jogged back down the path, searching for the vegetation, and pumped his fist in the air when he found all of them caught on a rock jutting out into the water.

The vines were a tangled mess. He pulled the entire pile out of the water and set them on the rocks, peeling back the leaves to find the berries. There were a lot of them-enough to feed him for a couple of days at least.

He bit his lip. Were they safe?

“Black, blue, good for you. White, red, better off dead,” he chanted under his breath, remembering the rhyme from a class long ago. White or red berries were more likely to be poisonous, while black or blue ones were more likely to be edible. But that was on Earth, and not all black or blue berries were safe to eat. Ideally, he would watch the local fauna and see if they ate it, but his saber-toothed turtle friend was inconveniently missing.

There was only one way to find out. He picked off a single berry and popped into his mouth. It was juicy, the flavor bursting in his mouth-tart at first, then turning sweet. He picked another berry off and ate it. It was good-really good. Not like any fruit he’d had before to even draw a comparison. He ate one last berry then forced himself to stop. Three was enough-more than enough-to test its edibility. He untangled the rest of the vines then wrapped them in a loose bunch, like a rope, swinging the pile over his shoulder. The crystal in his hand was fading noticeably and he cursed himself for not picking a larger one.

“It was a dead end anyway,” he said out loud. Given his current lack of resources, he had little chance of climbing out of the tunnels the same way he’d entered. He’d have to find another way, or wait for rescue.

He was halfway back when the first cramp ripped through his gut, causing him to stagger. The crystal slipped from his grasp, cracking in half on a rock as it hit the ground. John stopped, leaning forward and pressing an arm to his gut. He took a deep breath, hoping the cramp was just a fluke. When nothing else happened, he grabbed the larger half of the broken crystal and slowly straightened up, intent on reaching his glowing pool room.

Four steps later, another cramp hit, this one worse than the last. He groaned, doubling over. The crystal slipped from his grasp again, and the vines on his shoulders slid to the ground with a wet smack. Another cramp twisted through his stomach and he dropped to his knees with a cry.

He was heaving within seconds, his gut expelling everything he had eaten in the last day. He tasted the sweet berries again, and that only caused him to gag more. Sounds faded around him, and even the crystal light seemed to dim, as he was wracked with nausea and stomach pain. When he was choking on nothing more than bile, he crawled over to the river and scooped up a sip of water with a shaking hand. He didn’t dare swallow it. He swished it around in his mouth and spit it out, washing away the sour tang of vomit and the sweet tartness of the berries.

Damn those berries, he thought. He shouldn’t have eaten three of them. He should have had one and waited to see how he reacted. A cold chill slithered across his skin, and he shivered despite the beads of sweat dripping from his face. Home-he had to get home-and he almost laughed when he realized that by home he meant the room with the glowing pool.

He pushed himself up onto shaky legs, grabbed the crystal and bundle of vines, and staggered back over the rocky path. He tripped twice, but now his head had started to pound in time with his twisting, cramping stomach, and the newly acquired bruises were hardly a blip on his waning awareness.

Until he tripped and landed on his stomach, and he found himself heaving again. There was nothing left in his gut and still his body tried to force out everything it had ever ingested. At this rate, he wouldn’t even have internal organs left. He writhed against the cold stone, closing his eyes against the pain. Sweat or tears were covering his face, and it was an effort just to pull in a breath in between the dry heaves.

“Shoot…me,” he choked out. He had survived against all odds in this underground maze of tunnels and darkness only to be taken out by a piece of fruit. He pressed his forehead into the rock, waiting for oblivion.

oooooooooooooooooooo

He woke up to darkness, and for one, heart-stopping moment, he wondered if the glowing crystals had been nothing more than a dream. He clawed at his face, as if he could move the black pitch pressing against his vision. Off to the side, just like before, he could hear the river lapping against the rocks.

He lifted his head, then immediately dropped it with a groan. The muscles around his stomach and ribs were stiff and sore, and his stomach was still flipping dangerously, threatening to throw him into dry heaves again. The river sounded louder, and he wondered if it had rained while he’d been out.

Or maybe it was just the darkness. Everything sounded louder in the dark. He lifted his head again, closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness. Not that that helped. It was black, whether his eyes were open or not. He crawled over to the river, moving as gently as his stomach would allow and dipped his hand into the water. It was cold, and he shivered, but he managed a few sips of water before his stomach clenched in rebellion.

“Not…not happening,” he begged. He pushed away from the water and lay down, wrapping his arms around his body. He needed to get back to the crystal rooms, where it was warm.

He gave the water a few minutes to settle, and when it didn’t immediately make a reappearance, he crawled to the far side of the path. The rocky tunnel wall would hopefully stop him from stumbling into the river or from walking too far and missing the tunnel back to the glowing pool. He thought of the plant with its poisonous blue berries and sighed. He couldn’t eat the fruit but he could still use the vines, wherever they were.

“Later,” he mumbled. He could come back for them later. He grabbed the wall and stumbled forward.

The blackness was stifling, and the rocks along the path seemed to jump up and grab at his feet and ankles. His headache morphed as he walked, filling his head and stretching down into his neck and chest. He tripped too many times to count, but the throbbing in his head pushed out all other pain. His mouth and throat felt raw, eliciting a series of endless dry coughs and amplifying the pain in his head. He felt as bad, if not worse, than he had at any other time down here.

He fell when the rock beneath his guiding hand suddenly disappeared, and he landed hard, face first on the rocky ground. He gagged at the flare of pain that erupted all over his body, and saw a flash of white in the darkness. He spit up the little bit of water he’d swallowed, then lay immobile on the cold stone.

Get up, John, a voice screamed at him. Get warm.

He had to move. He knew in the small, rational part of his brain that could still be heard over the agony that moving was critical. He willed his arms to push himself upright, but nothing happened. It was as if his body and mind had disconnected, and no amount of mental screaming was going to result in any physical movement whatsoever.

You’re going to do die here, Sheppard, said Ronon.

John gasped, jerking his head up and seeing spots of white dance across his vision. “Ronon?”

You really think I won’t exhaust every possible means of finding you? Rodney asked. John swallowed, stifling a sob. The pain was overwhelming. For a brief moment, he thought he felt a hand on the small of his back, and then Teyla’s voice.

Please, John-don’t give up.

He rolled, searching the darkness for his team. Their voices were too loud, too clear. They had to be here.

“Guys?” he called out, and he could hear the shaky weakness in his voice.

Warm. Have to get warm, the voice in his head begged, sounding as weak as he felt.

He’d fallen near the rock wall, halfway into the tunnel, and he used the rocks to pull himself up to his knees. He’d done this once before; he could do it again. He crawled forward, wavering with every forward step as dizziness swamped over him. He wanted to throw up again, but he swallowed against the urge in desperation.

It was easier crawling through the darkness this time. He knew there was light and warmth ahead of him, and the thought of it spurred him on. When he reached the tent room with its single crystal, he ignored it and pushed on. The glowing pool room was warmer-much warmer. Minutes stretched into hours as his whole world became the narrow tunnel, step after crawling step. When the warmth and humidity of the glowing pool room finally reached him, his vision was swimming in and out of focus. He collapsed next to the water, shivering as the heat of the small cavern wrapped itself around him.

oooooooooooooooooooo

The crystal light was heavy in his hand, and it was an effort to hold it up in front of him. The path along the lakeside was narrower than the one along the river and filled with rocks and boulders, making walking treacherous even on a good day.

And today was not a good day. John had slept for hours as far as he could tell, woken up dehydrated and sick and wishing he hadn’t crawled so far away from the river. He crawled to the lake this time, fighting back the almost continuous sensation of falling into a dark hole, and drank his fill of lake water. It was risky, but he wasn’t sure he had the strength to make it all the way to the river.

He’d slept again next to the lake, and the next time he woke up, he stomach was twisting in on itself in hunger. His fishing lines had caught two small crawfish-or at least there were only two left on the lines. The fire had also gone out, but he had no more roots to burn anyway. He ate the crawfish raw, hardly tasting them, then filled his stomach with more water.

The river had been a bust, so after his too-small meal, he’d set out along the lakeside. He stumbled, catching himself on a rock. He paused, wiping his brow with his arm. He was covered in dirt again. He dropped the arm holding the crystal and sighed. If he didn’t find something along the lake, he was beginning to fear that he was royally screwed. He glanced around, focusing on the small islands of glowing crystals growing sporadically in the lake. The lake disappeared into the darkness, and he wondered how large the area was. The ceiling of the cavern was high above him-in this area anyway-visible only because of more clumps of glowing crystals.

He pushed on, knowing his energy was limited. It was slightly warmer here than along the river, but still he shivered. The crystal in his hand began to fade, and he knew he’d have to turn back soon if he didn’t want to walk back in the dark, but he ignored it and kept going, recklessly. He had to find something-either a way out or a way to live a little bit longer.

The light of the crystal finally faded so much that John tossed it into the water. Then blinked. He could still see the surface of the water and the rocks in front of him. He looked around for the source of the light, but the crystals above him were too far away to do him much good. He picked his way forward carefully, sidestepping slippery boulders. The path along the lake curved out of sight ahead of him, but he could hear splashing water now, and the lake definitely seemed brighter.

As he climbed round a larger boulder jutting out into the water, he stopped in amazement. Ahead of him, he saw crystals growing out of the walls and illuminating the entire area. In the middle of them, there was wide cave, through which water flowed steadily into the lake. The river? It was the only explanation he could think of. Around the edges, where the river current swirled into the black water, tall pale stalks grew in thick clumps. Hundreds of them, fed by the light of the crystals all around them.

It was like stepping into a different world. John stumbled forward, going for the river first, and drank greedily. He washed his face as best he could, running fingers through his matted hair and thick beard, then studied the greens stalks.

They looked like cattail, and even had the brown corn-cob end. It was a plant he knew was edible on Earth, but he wondered if he dared taste test them. His stomach growled loudly. The crawfish were growing more and more sparse, and this was the first indication of living plant life he’d found down here. If it was edible, it would provide days of food. If it wasn’t, he wasn’t sure he could survive another bout of food poisoning. Then again, if he didn’t find another food source, he wasn’t likely to survive much longer anyway. He’d pushed the shaky, wavering feeling of crashing blood sugar to the back of his mind, but the amount of effort it was taking to survive down here would drain him of all reserves too soon.

He drank more water, then dug up the nearest plant stalk. The roots of Earth’s cattails could be eaten raw or cooked. He peeled back the outer layer of leaves to find a thick white stalk underneath, then rinsed it off, delaying the inevitable. He had to test it, but he would not make the same mistake as last time. He took one small bite and set the whole thing to the side, then sat down with this back against the warm crystals to wait.

He dozed off, waking with a jerk and wondering how long he’d fallen asleep. It could have been minutes or hours. Everything looked the same, but his head felt heavy and disjointed, pain pounding in his temples, and it took a monumental effort to fight through the lethargy to crawl to the river and drink more water.

He scooted back to his warm spot against the crystals and waited. His stomach felt fine-he was painfully hungry, but the cattail-like plant didn’t seem to be having an adverse effect. His mouth began to salivate, but he held off, wanting to be absolutely certain.

When he could resist no longer, he ate the rest of the root stalk then forced himself to stop. The few bites had hardly but a dent in his hunger, but he figured he’d eaten more than enough to make himself sick-if it was going to make him sick at all. He drank more water, then crawled away from the area to relieve himself. When he was back sitting against the crystals, he passed the time by staring at the crystals growing in little islands across the lake.

There were a half a dozen of them within sight, but the one on the far right caught his eye. The light looked different. He blinked and strained his focus. He could pick out rocks among the crystals and more cattail growing near the edges. The crystals grew high above the water-higher than any of the other little islands around it.

He stood up, stepping into the water to get a better look. The rocks and crystal grew up to the ceiling, and the ceiling seemed to dip down toward it. The height was maybe twenty feet or so from what he could tell. It was the quality of the light, however, that suddenly set his heart thumping in his chest. The crystals on the bottom cast a warm, yellowish blue light on the rocks and water, but the light near the top was paler and flickering, its source hidden by a hole in the ceiling. There were also no crystals nearby either, so he shouldn’t have been able to see the top as clearly as he was. Either there were crystals up farther in the hole, or he was seeing natural light.

Natural light. Was it a way out? His hands began to shake, and it had nothing to do with the hunger twisting through his gut. The rocky island was more like a stalagmite of stone, jutting up out of the water and riddled with crystals. At full strength, John could have climbed it easily.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He was far from full strength. It wasn’t exactly close to the lakeside either. Swimming out there in his current condition would likely exhaust him, and he wasn’t even sure he’d make it that far. He stumbled back to the shore and sat down, rubbing his stomach. It had yet to reject the cattail root-hadn’t given a single indication that it was bad for him.

Survival was about making the best choice in a bad situation. John knew this intellectually, but it was hard to translate that into practice. Was eating more of the plant and staving off hunger the best choice? Had he waited long enough? He pulled a dozen more of the stalks out and peeled back the leaves to reveal the white, juicy roots.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. His insides were eating themselves, and the sight of potential food was overriding any rational thoughts. He felt himself giving into the hunger only a split second before he grabbed the first root and inhaled it.

He ate the other eleven in quick succession, then dug up a dozen more and inhaled those. By the time he was done, his stomach felt full for the first time since his ordeal had begun, and he smiled in satisfaction. He may become fatally sick later, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. He drank some water, washing down the last bite of root, then slid back against the crystals. He was asleep before he’d finished curling up against the warm rock.

When he woke up, he was hungry again, and he devoured more of the plant, feeling almost hysterically giddy. He ate until he was full and rubbed his stomach in pleasure. Never again would he take food for granted. He laughed at the thought, knowing he would. He’d been in similar situations before and thought the exact same thing, but eventually, he got used to having food and drink and shelter and warmth whenever he needed it, with very little effort on his part.

The river was flowing steadily into the lake, but it wasn’t deep. He crossed it easily and walked around the lighted area on the other side. Under the crystals growing up the rock walls, the cattail plants grew in abundance. He climbed over a boulder to see how far the plant growth extended along the shoreline and whooped for joy.

The storm and river had washed down branches and logs from above, and John found a pile of them caught in a small eddy behind a group of boulders. Most of the branches were about the thickness of his arm or smaller, perfect for burning in a fire, but the river had also caught a broken tree trunk, and it bobbed in the water next to the rocks. There wasn’t nearly enough wood for a raft, even if he didn’t use any of it for a fire, but the log was just wide enough that he might be able to straddle it and use it as flotation device. It was heavier than hell, but he dragged half of it up out of the water and braced it against the rocks to that it wouldn’t float away on him.

He pulled the rest of the branches out after that, excitement thrumming through him. He had a plentiful supply of food now, firewood that would last for days, and a possible way out if he chose to make the trip across the lake. And he wouldn’t drown in the process. He was grinning like an idiot, and sweating from the effort of moving the branches to dry land, but he didn’t care.

He grabbed an armload of branches and made the slow trip back to the firepit. He probably could have made camp right there next to the river and lake, but he was loathe to give up the glowing pool room. Even the thought of it wrapped him with a sense of security. With his arms full of logs-and a new crystal for light-he had to pick his way carefully over the rocks. He returned almost immediately, moving quickly, and ate another dinner of cattail roots and river water. When he was satiated, he picked as many roots as he could carry and returned to his camp, bouncing with renewed energy.

oooooooooooooooooooo

John floated in the hot water of the glowing pool, weighing his options. He had plenty of food now, so waiting was an option, but how long was he supposed to do that? He had no sense of night or day, but based on the thickness of his beard, he guessed he’d been down in the cave system for at least five days, maybe six.

That should have been plenty of time for his team to realize he was missing. The details surrounding the attack on the truck convoy were vague, but the others would have gotten suspicious within a few hours of not being able to reach him. They would have gone looking and found the demolished truck, maybe even his radio or vest. If something had happened to them that might have prevented them from looking, their required check-in with Atlantis had long since past. Atlantis would be looking-should be looking.

Unless something had happened on their end too, preventing them from gating in. The stargate itself had been set back in a shallow cave, so it was conceivable that a landslide or rock fall had covered the gate enough to prevent any wormholes. Or the locals had covered it themselves

But the entire area around the gate had been wild and unused, and they’d been eager to get to know his team and talk about trade possibilities.

He sighed, splashing water onto his face and rubbing the skin with both hands. The thoughts swirled endless in his head, and each time they came around to the forefront of his mind, his situation became more muddled. There were too many variables, too many things that could happen.

“Keep it simple, John,” he said out loud to the ceiling. The crystals glittered above him.

He had been missing for too long, and he was confident that no one would leave him behind without making at least a serious effort at finding him. If he’d fallen into these tunnels half conscious, then someone wide awake, coherent, and uninjured should also be able to find them.

“Either my team or Atlantis is up there-maybe both.”

His voice echoed in the small cavern and he kicked his leg as he floated toward the edge, pushing himself back to the center of the pool.

“If they haven’t found me, then something is stopping them from looking.”

It seemed reasonable, but what would stop them-any of them-from looking? He flashed to his time in Afghanistan, and the days he’d spent wandering the desert with Holland. No one had liked him there, and they had still come looking for him.

“They’ll come,” he snapped, a flash of irritation overwhelming the memory. He shook his head, and let the water soak through his hair and lap at his face. It was helping the headache, a little.

“Either they can’t look for me because they’ve been attacked and captured as well…”

He shook his head. That didn’t make sense. Yes, his team could be captured or, God forbid, hurt or killed, but that didn’t explain the lack of search teams from Atlantis. For there to be no search teams from Atlantis, something had to have happened in the city stopping them from coming or something had happened to the gate here. That was a lot of events that had to take place to stop them from looking for him.

“Too many,” he muttered. The more things that had to take place to stop them from gating to the planet, the more unlikely it was. Even if the locals above were fighting, Atlantis had puddle jumpers that could scan hundreds of miles undetected.

Wraith attack. The idea flashed through his mind and his heart seized. He froze and didn’t start kicking until his head dipped underwater. He came up sputtering and swam over to the edge.

“God, that’s morbid. What the hell is wrong with me?” Images flashed through his mind of the world above him burning, Wraith stalking the survivors and sucking the life out of them, all while he lounged in relative safety in the biggest damn bathtub in the galaxy.

Not Wraith-there were no Wraith. If there were, these underground tunnels would be a natural refuge, and no locals had come screaming past him. He pushed himself out of the pool and squeezed the water out of his hair. He glanced down at himself, scowling at the bruises that still covered his body from head to toe. Shouldn’t they be fading by now? He scratched his chin and wished again for a razor, then pulled his clothes over his damp body, half-hoping for and half-resisting the idea of running natives piling into his cavern and finding him walking around naked and talking to himself.

If Rodney were here, he would go straight to the science. John nodded. The idea that something in the rocks or tunnels-maybe the crystals?-was blocking his sub-q transmitter was the simplest explanation. And that meant that getting out of the tunnels was the best option for rescue. They had to find him to rescue him, and a blocked sub-q transmitter would put a damper on things.

His stomach growled, and he pressed a hand against his gut. Hungry again. If he was going to attempt to climb out through the hole in the ceiling above the lake, he would need as much energy as he could get. Starting off the journey with a full stomach seemed like a smart idea. He made his way quickly over to the lake where he’d left the stalks of cattail roots and firewood and set to work on building a fire again. It took almost no time to catch a spark of his knife and crystal, and only a few minutes later, he had a roaring fire going. He peeled one of the stalks and began munching, staring at the flames.

He snapped his head toward the black lake at the sound of a small splash. About fifteen feet out, he saw concentric circles rippling outward. A crawfish? It would have had to have been a pretty big crawfish to make that kind of splash.

“Lobster,” he whispered, and he smiled at the thought, his mouth watering.

He was staring at the water when he saw a flash of movement again, dark gray against black. He closed his eyes, replaying the image in his head. A thin flap had come out of the water, then smacked against the surface and disappeared.

A fish. Or something alive-something bigger than the crawfish and probably edible. He grabbed another cattail and chewed on the root, contemplating the dark water. He had branches now, and the smaller crystals would make a good spear point. He nodded, finishing off his cattail root with two bites then turned to his pile of firewood.

Finding a suitable stick was simple enough. He ended up stripping out of his clothes and diving into the hot-tub pool to find three crystals small yet sharp enough to work as his spear. Slipping back into his clothes, he traipsed back to the lake and pulled out half of his fishing lines. The crawfish had stopped biting, and the lines were empty. He arranged the crystals around the end of the stick, forming a three-forked prong, then tied them on tightly to the stick. The added advantage to using the crystals was the light they emitted. In the dark water, he should be able to see the fish.

He grabbed a large crystal for extra light, then tightened the laces on his boots. He’d almost kicked them off, but the thought of treading into the dark water with bare feet was unappealing and unsafe enough that he decided it would be better to worry about drying out his boots later. He hadn’t really ventured into the lake before now, and he felt a small fluttering of nervous energy in his stomach.

“Get a grip, John,” he said. “Think of the lobsters.”

He edged out into the dark water, feeling his way carefully with every step. He kept the head of the spear in the water, and it cast just enough light for him to see about a foot-wide circle underneath the surface.

Ten feet out he caught his first glimpse of the creature he guessed had splashed the surface earlier. It was more of a stingray than a lobster, about the size of a Frisbee. He stopped as soon as it moved and watched it dart away from the light. Like the crawfish, the light was an effective deterrent, chasing the creatures away before John had a chance to stab at them.

He lifted the spear, leaving the area in front of him dark. It was risky, but he stood no chance of catching anything with the light in the water. Instead, he held the larger crystal out in front of him and strained his eyes for any movement. He dragged his feet along the rocky bottom, wary of twisting an ankle or falling head first into the water.

He saw another stingray-like creature hovering in front of him and he stabbed at it, grunting with the effort. He thought he might have nicked it, but the creature jerked away from him, twisting and splashing in the water before disappearing into blackness. His spear jarred in his hand as the spear points hit the rock floor.

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” he muttered. He hefted it out and examined the end. The crystals were still firmly attached to the stick.

He took a few more steps out, moving as slowly as he could. A glance back at the fire told him he was about thirty feet out at this point. The water was up to mid-thigh but wasn’t getting too deep too quickly. He heard a splash from somewhere nearby but he missed the creature.

On the next step, the sharp pain of a dozen needles jabbing into this flesh suddenly screamed through his foot and ankle. With a shout, he stumbled backward, lost his footing, and fell into the water. The spear and large crystal dropped from his grasp and he reached instinctively for his ankle. For a split second, the pain was stamped out and John felt nothing, but then the agony moved in as flames burned up his leg under the skin.

He stood up on his good leg, but then that one buckled. The throbbing was getting worse at an exponential rate. His stomach curled in nausea in response, and he felt suddenly lightheaded.

Pass out. I’m going to pass out.

He sucked in a deep breath. He could not pass out-not here. Not thirty feet from the shore. He forced his good leg underneath him and pushed against the ground, half-walking and half-floating back to the shore.

At fifteen feet from the shore, the water was too shallow for him to continue moving that way, forcing him to stand up. Pain washed up from his foot in crashing waves, and he was shaking, feeling ice-cold.

“Shock,” he whispered. “Come…on…”

He stumbled forward. His injured leg felt heavy and bulkier than normal as he dragged it through the water. With only five feet left to go, he dropped to his knees and began to crawl. His foot caught against the rocky floor, and a hundred knives seemed to push deeper into the flesh. He screamed, his arms giving out and sending him face first into the water.

He came up a second later, choking. Less than a foot of water lay between him and the shore. He pushed forward, fighting the darkness swimming around him. When he finally collapsed on the shore, he was a shivering, writhing mess, tears of pain streaming down his face. Whatever had bit him was a hundred times more painful than the Iratus bug. He rolled to his side, no energy to sit up but needing to see the damage to his foot.

In the flickering light of the fire, it took a second for his eyes to adjust and realize that the shadow next to his foot was not a shadow but an animal, alive and still attached to him. Its skin was dark and glistening in the light. John sucked in a shuddering breath and pulled the knife from his pocket.

With more strength than he thought he had, he sat up and scooted closer to the fire. The creature attached to his foot looked more like a porcupine or sea urchin than a fish. It certainly wasn’t an Iratus bug. Dozens of its razor-sharp quills had pushed through his boot and pants, penetrating the skin underneath. He cried out as he drove the knife into the animal’s underside and felt warm liquid gush against his hand, but the quills were stuck. It took long, agonizing minutes to pull each one out until finally the sea urchin rolled away, dead. He stabbed it with the knife and flicked it toward the fire, wishing he could have thrown it farther.

Things got fuzzy after that. He felt his limbs go loose and his head roll on his neck. He felt the warmth of the fire on his face but couldn’t see it, and felt the pain in his foot and ankle move up his body in a slow, drowning flood until he could hardly breathe. A dim voice in the back of his head yelled at him to move, but the darkness was strong and inviting and he surrendered to it easily.

oooooooooooooooooooo

When John woke up, the fire was dead. Even the coals had burned out, and the residual heat in the surrounding stones had long since evaporated. He was shaking but he didn’t feel cold. In fact, he felt hot and sweaty. He pulled at the neck of his t-shirt. The air was stifling.

He lifted his head and groaned when the dim world around him tilted out of focus. Throw up. He was going to throw up. He remembered being sick before, but he hadn’t eaten any berries this time. He breathed deeply, trying to push away the nausea.

He’d almost gotten it under control when he heard a scraping sound against the stones behind him. He jerked his head up, his heart suddenly thrashing in his chest, then choked on a scream as agonizing pain flared in his foot and ankle. The only light was the glow eking in from the pool room, but it was enough to see a small, waddling rock scampering away from him. There was a flash of curving, white teeth, and then his saber-toothed turtle disappeared.

The pain took his breath away and the nausea surged. He rolled just in time, throwing up everything he’d eaten in the last day. It was as bad as when he’d eaten the berries. Long minutes passed before his stomach settled and he finally rolled away from the sour smell. He was no longer hot, but he was still sweating, and he wrapped his arms around his body to ward off the chill.

He had to get out of here. He’d decided that before but now he had to give his team a chance at finding him before he puked himself to death. Already his stomach was twisting and cramping, threatening a repeat action of a few minutes before.

Could he make it to the log, and then the island? He wasn’t even sure he could make it to his feet but he slid over to the rocky wall and pulled himself up. He’d planned on leaving a little more prepared than this, maybe take one last look at the glowing crystals and the hot pool that had probably saved his life. He had no crystals now to light his path, but with a deep breath, he grabbed the wall with both hands and took a hopping, stumbling step forward.

It almost did him in. His injured right foot scraped along the floor, sending shards of pain through the joint and muscles. His good leg buckled and marbles of white danced across his vision. He gasped, realizing he was holding his breath against the pain, then felt his stomach cramp in response.

“No,” he choked out. His head was swimming, and a fresh sheen of sweat had broken out over his body.

He willed his body back into submission and grabbed the wall again, taking another step forward. The rocks in the path were a treacherous obstacle, particularly in the dark, but his painful shuffle had him moving only inches at a time. His world narrowed to the task of using the rock wall to hold his weight and pulling himself forward.

He fell, eventually, and the effort required to stand up again was too much, but he would not die here. Whimpering moans floated over the black lake and it took him several minutes to realize the sound was coming from him. He was dragging his injured foot, jarring it against every rock and stone in the path. After a dozen feet, his knees and shins felt hashed, adding a dozen more bruises to the large collection he already had.

He ducked his head and forced his hands and knees to keep moving, inch by inch. It wasn’t until he hit flowing water that he opened his eyes and saw that he’d reached the river. He scooped up a handful of water and instantly regretted it when the cold liquid hit his already rebelling stomach. He threw it up right away and just barely managed to push away from the edge before he fell to the floor.

The glow of the crystals above was piercing, and no matter how tightly he closed his eyes, he couldn’t block the light. It was like steel blades digging through his eye sockets and into his brain. The urge to quit was overwhelming. He was sick, shaking, exhausted, and in pain, and it would be easy to just roll over and die.

“No,” he choked out. He pushed himself to the wall of crystals and forced himself to sit up. The heat felt good against his back, a counterpoint to the smoldering burn in his ankle.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and blinked away the sweat and tears. He needed to assess the injury now that he could see. The entire leg felt heavy and he pulled it closer to him, then tugged his pant leg up. The skin around the boot was swollen, the flesh a bluish-purple. Red streaks ran up his calf, all the way to his knee. He didn’t dare remove his boot, not sure he would be able to pull it back on again. He brushed at the dried blood around the holes in his boots but bit his lip when that sent a lance of pain shooting through his leg.

The skin was hot to the touch. There was no way he’d be able to walk on it. He looked around for something to stabilize it with, not really sure if that’s what it needed.

“Screw it,” he muttered, when nothing nearby seemed like an obvious solution.

He needed to get to the log next, and that was just a few feet away. A few small crystals were poking out of the ground near his hand and he broke them off, not sure if he might need them later. He shoved them into his pocket then dragged himself to the river. The water was cold, and it washed over his back as moved into the stream. Halfway across, the current swept his arms from under him and pushed him out into the lake, but the river’s force had slowed considerably, and it carried him almost directly to the log.

He cursed himself for pulling the log half out onto the shore, but the cool water was dousing the molten-metal pain coursing through his foot. The buoyancy helped too. He dragged the log into the water and climbed on, then let his head rest against the top. He could fall asleep.

“And die,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face to rouse himself. He grabbed another branch, one with a forked end and stared at it. A paddle. He needed a paddle, a way to move the log and himself through the lake. Sitting up carefully, he peeled his shirt off and wrapped it around the forked end.

“There,” he said. He shivered again, his body still torn between too hot and too cold. He lay back down on the log and used his paddle to maneuver himself out into the lake.

Maneuvering the log turned out to be easy and almost painless on his ankle. The farther out he went, the colder the water became, numbing the throbbing heat of the injury. He had to fight to keep his eyes open, and almost fell into the lake once, but he made the crossing to the island of natural light quickly enough. He slid off the log, not caring if it floated away. He was at the end of his rope-either he climbed out of here and his team found him, or he died.

The small island, as it turned out, wasn’t an island at all. The rock wall of the cavern cut into the lake to a point. John dragged his body up onto a boulder and looked up the wall. There was a crack in the ceiling and jagged rocks and crystals all the way up. At the very end was a pinprick of pale blue sky.

A sob welled up in his chest, and he pressed his head against the rock wall to get his emotions under control. After all he’d been through, the exit was here with plenty of room and plenty of handholds and ledges for him to use to climb out. A child could do this. Cool air brushed against his face carrying the scent of rain and grass.

He pulled himself to his feet and reached for the first handhold.

Part 3, conclusion