Ronon listened for pursuit, and grinned.
Time to improvise.
Chapter Nine
There was an old tree up ahead a ways, one that had rotted through and fallen at some point years past. The trunk had shattered when it fell, but large sections still survived, covered in moss and vines. Ronon had noticed it when he and Nekai had first arrived on this planet, and he’d used it for cover once during his training. Now he took a second to orient himself properly and then ran for it as fast as he could. The Wraith would be cautious, fearing a second ambush, but they would still be right behind him. He didn’t have much time.
There was the little clearing the tree’s fall had created, and there were the trunk segments. One of them was a little over eight feet long, almost completely hollowed out by rot and rain and insects, large portions of the top missing completely. Perfect. Ronon skidded to a stop just past it, deliberately took several more steps beyond that, and then carefully stepped to the side and retreated to the trunk, leaving no additional footprints to mark his change of course. That would give him an extra second or two, no more.
He studied the shattered trunk. Moss covered much of it, and vines had already crept around it as well. Rain had made the ground beneath it soft, and it had sunk in slightly. Perfect.
Squatting, he dug his fingers into the crumbly bark as far down as he could. Then, tensing his back and shoulders, he lifted. He felt his muscles pop with the strain as the ground resisted yielding its treasure, but after a few seconds something shifted under his hands. Then the trunk rose suddenly, as if the earth had surrendered all at once.
The ground beneath the trunk had been worn into a small crevice. It was damp and slimy and covered in grubs. Lovely. But Ronon didn’t have time to be squeamish. Making sure his pistol was secure in its holster he stretched himself out in that narrow depression, all the while holding the trunk off with one stiffened arm. Then he slowly lowered it back into place. It didn’t fit into the ground again, of course, but judging from the thin sliver of light along its side it should be close enough that only close scrutiny would reveal it had been moved.
He didn’t intend to give them enough time to notice that.
Then he waited. It wouldn’t be long, he knew. The Wraith were angry now, and the commander was intrigued as well. They would be after him as quickly as they could manage without blundering into another trap.
Too bad for them the trap was already waiting.
Ronon had his head to the side, the rough bark on the bottom of the trunk scraping his cheek, his arms folded and hands on either side of his head, palms flat against the tree. The air was musty and rich and dank, but it wasn’t a bad smell, just earthy. Grubs squirmed under him but he did his best to ignore them and concentrate on the sounds beyond his makeshift hideout.
After a few seconds he was certain he could feel a faint vibration through the ground. Footsteps.
Then he heard them as well. Two sets, close by. As before, the commander’s footfalls were silent.
Something crunched against the edge of the tree trunk, and the footsteps stopped. One of the warriors had nudged it with a booted toe. The sliver of light had vanished along most of one side. The Wraith were here. They were right overhead, Ronon knew. The tracking device showed he was here, but all they saw was a rotting tree trunk. So they assumed he was hiding within it, planning to ambush them.
Several energy discharges, matched an instant later by impacts on the trunk that shuddered through to his arms and face and body, confirmed Ronon’s guess. The warriors had fired their weapons into the trunk, stunning the man lurking in that hollow.
Only he wasn’t there.
He couldn’t hear them — no doubt they were conversing in their heads — but Ronon could see the light shift to the side and he knew they were confused. They were wondering where he was, and whether the tracking device had been wrong somehow.
In a second they would back away and scan the area again.
Which meant he had to act — now.
With an enormous effort, Ronon put all his strength into his arms and legs — and heaved. The tree trunk, already dislodged, rocketed upward in a shower of shattered bark and tattered moss and rotted wood. It smashed full-force into all three Wraith, slamming them backward with its bulk.
Ronon was up in a sitting position the instant the trunk had cleared him, pistol flying from its holster. He put two shots into the chest of the warrior to the left, who dropped instantly, his breastplate smoking, the flesh beneath it destroyed, the Wraith heart within vaporized. A third shot took the other warrior under the right arm as he flung the trunk to the side, trying to clear it out of the way so he could raise his stun rifle. Then Ronon was rolling to the left, springing to his feet, and dashing across the clearing. Two energy blasts at his back told him the Wraith commander had been quicker to recover than his bodyguard, but both shots missed as he dove into leaves and vines and trunks, vanishing again from view.
Safely within the trees, Ronon grinned. One down, and one wounded. The odds were shifting.
Of course, next time the Wraith would be looking both high and low. He wouldn’t be able to pull the same trick twice.
But that was fine. He had plenty of other tricks.
Ronon made his way carefully but quickly to the east, toward the one large water source they had found — a wide, quick stream that flowed out from under the hills, cascaded across several rocks, and then split into a series of rivulets that snaked their way among the trees. Some of those rivulets were clean and clear, flowing across rock and stone and tight-packed soil. Others grew muddier, traversing softer ground. And still others disappeared completely, absorbed into the earth around them. It was toward the last that Ronon turned his footsteps.
He had to be very careful here. Nekai had cautioned him of that when they had first arrived, and Ronon had discovered it for himself when he’d sunk up to his waist with a single wrong step. The ground here was thoroughly saturated, and though it looked solid it was little more than a wide bog. He was heavy enough that only a few spots could hold his weight.
But then, so were the Wraith.
Ronon made his way across the bog, wishing desperately that he could speed up but knowing to do so would spell his own death. He was only a third of the way across when a stun-bolt sizzled past his right shoulder, leaving it tingling from the near miss.
Out of time. He would have to hope he had gone far enough.
Turning, he spotted the Wraith commander and his remaining warrior. The warrior was the one who had fired — Ronon guessed he was too far away for the commander’s stun-pistol, exactly as he’d hoped. And the warrior was having trouble holding his rifle, his right arm held at an awkward angle. The wound Ronon had just given him was throwing off his aim.
Perfect.
Crouching, Ronon raised his pistol and fired back. They were too far away for his shots to have any real effect, but they didn’t know that, and both Wraith immediately dropped into defensive stances themselves. Then they began to creep across the field toward him, weapons raised.
They were paying full attention to him and his weapon. What they should have been watching were the ground beneath their feet.
The warrior stumbled first, of course — he was in front, and he was both heavier and clumsier than his master. He took a step and his foot sank into the ground, his weight parting the water-soaked earth like a curtain. The sudden shift caused him to pitch forward, and his elbow must have caught one of the more solid patches because his body tilted to the side like it had been shoved over. Then he had vanished beneath the bog’s surface. The ground there rippled for a second before settling again. At a glance, no one would ever know the Wraith had disturbed it.