Aaron Rosenberg - Hunt and run

“Go away,” Ronon growled over his shoulder. He hefted his club again. “I have matters to attend to.”

He heard the stranger sigh. “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.”

Before Ronon could wonder what the man had meant, he heard an unmistakable sound. The sound of an energy pistol being fired. Even as the noise registered, his body convulsed, the club flying from his grip as his entire frame shook with pain.

Then the darkness swarmed in, enveloping Ronon. He tried to fight against it, but it was everywhere, and his world went black. He didn’t even feel the impact when he hit the ground.

“Drink this.”

The words shattered the silence, and Ronon blinked reflexively, turning toward the voice. His motion became a wince, however, as flickers of light stabbed beneath his eyelids, and the act of shifting his head sent jolts of pain arcing up from his neck to his temples and back.

“Easy, easy,” the voice continued. “Just relax. Cup’s right by your mouth. I’ll hold it, you drink.” He recognized the voice now — the man in the forest, the one who had mocked his plans for vengeance.

The man who had shot him.

“I’ll kill you,” Ronon managed to whisper. His lips curled in a snarl, and brushed against something smooth, wide, and curved. The cup. The parched agony of his throat betrayed him then, and he felt his lips part slightly, jaw trembling. The man said nothing as he pressed the cup closer and angled it, letting cool water trickle into Ronon’s mouth and down his throat. Ronon gulped it gratefully, and felt his senses waken again as some of the pain eased.

“I’ll kill you,” he repeated, squinting against the brightness and trying to force his eyes to focus on the man in front of him. “They were coming and you took me away from them.”

“I took you away so you wouldn’t die,” the man countered. “What good would that have done anyone?”

Now Ronon was able to open his eyes fully. “It would have ended my suffering,” he growled back. “And it might have ended one or more of them as well!”

The stranger shook his head, but his eyes narrowed in a look Ronon knew well. The man was appraising him. “Maybe it would, at that,” he admitted after a few seconds. “You’ve shaken off the stun blast faster than I expected, and snapping that tree limb took a lot of strength. So yeah, you might have taken one of them with you.” He leaned forward, gray eyes intent. “But what good would that have done, in the long run?”

Ronon glared back at him. “There is no long run,” he insisted. “Not for me. Not anymore.”

“There could be again,” the man replied.

“How?” Ronon reached for the cup, annoyed at the sight and feel of his arm shaking, but managed to take it from the stranger and raise it to his lips without splattering himself. “Even if the first one falls, they will send others. And they will always know where to find me.”

Now the man smiled. It was a cold expression, with very little humor behind it. “Maybe, maybe not.” He leaned back. “I can help you. And you can help me, too. Together, we can help each other — and make the Wraith pay.”

Draining the cup, Ronon tossed it aside and wiped his mouth on his forearm. “You want to help me? Fine. Give me your gun.”

That at least got a laugh from the stranger. “What good would it do you?”

“You already know the answer to that.” Ronon stood, warily at first but his balance was still solid and the world stopped spinning after a few seconds. He took a deep breath, then another, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he swiveled to stare down at the stranger. “Will you give me the gun or not?”

The stranger laughed. “I like you, I really do — you’ve got a lot of willpower. But that’s not going to be enough to deal with the Wraith.”

“It will if I have a gun.”

“I don’t think so. They’ll still — urk!” That last sound leaped from the stranger’s throat when Ronon turned and slammed his hand palm first into the other man’s stomach. It knocked the wind out of the stranger, propelled him several feet, and left him slumped on the ground against the back wall of what Ronon now realized must be some sort of small cabin, possibly a hunting lodge. The cramped space had three rickety chairs, a small circular table, several old sleeping pallets, and nothing else.

Right now, though, Ronon didn’t care about the cabin or its decoration scheme. He was too busy grabbing the stranger’s pistol and bolting for the door. He’d hit the man hard enough to stun him for a few minutes, but that meant he had to be well away from here — wherever “here” was — before he lost this window of opportunity. Ronon didn’t waste any time — by the time the door slammed shut he was already twenty paces away, and broadening that gap with every second.

Once he was back among the trees — it looked like the cabin had been nestled into a small clearing, and Ronon felt more comfortable with proper cover — he took stock. His head still ached but not enough to do more than slow him down. Same with the rest of him — sore but serviceable. He didn’t have any food or water, and he had no weapons beyond the stranger’s pistol.

It was a handsome-looking pistol though, Ronon thought as he studied the piece more closely. Longer and sleeker than most laser pistols he’d seen, a bit more solid and significantly better balanced. It had an indicator switch along the left side, just below a pair of tiny lights. So the gun had multiple settings! That was good to know. One of them must be the stun setting the stranger had hit him with, and one must be a standard “kill” setting. Ronon clicked the switch and the small red light lit up for an instant. Perfect.

Then he selected a clump of trees, took up a stance behind them, and waited.

As he’d suspected, it didn’t take long. Ten, perhaps twenty minutes passed and then he heard heavy footsteps approaching from the front. They weren’t the stranger’s either — he had moved through the trees without a sound.

And there had been only one of him.

Ronon took a quick glance around the tree, pulling back smoothly so no sudden movement would tip them off, and frowned. Three Wraith were rapidly approaching his hiding place. He could feel his blood heat up at the sight of them, with their pale green skin and long white hair.

Two of them wore heavy, segmented armor chestplates and strange ridged helmet-masks that completely covered their faces. They carried bulky rifles, the wide stock taking up most of the weapon’s length, a glowing energy beam visible through its center. They were soldiers, warriors, and Ronon had faced their kind back on Sateda. They were powerful but slow and not clever. Armed as he was, taking out both of them would not pose a problem, not even in his current state.

The one in front of them, however, was slighter in build and moved more easily, almost catlike in his grace. He wore a long, flowing black jacket and pants rather than armor, and his head was bare, exposing his pallid features and yellow eyes and strange facial slits. His long pale hair hung over his shoulders and midway down his back, and he carried a small pistol of some sort in one hand. That one would be the dangerous one, Ronon knew. His eyes were everywhere, darting from tree to tree, searching. He was a commander, and he would be far more intelligent and resourceful than his two companions.

Ronon targeted him first.

He leaned out from behind the tree and snapped off a quick shot. His pistol flashed red, firing a matching red beam that struck the lead Wraith square in the chest. The creature staggered but did not fall, and its mouth opened into a wide grin, revealing all its sharp teeth.