Mac and Jack's situation gets worse!
Jungle Paradise Part Four
Rated: PG
MacGyver didn’t get better. His condition only worsened as the night wore on, and Jack Dalton was acutely aware of it, unable to sleep. He felt the raft shift whenever MacGyver stirred, and he could hear him vomiting and coughing, hacking up dry, raspy breaths that indicated he had emptied everything from his stomach and had nothing left, yet the spasms kept coming. Out of the corner of his eye, silhouetted in the darkness, he could see MacGyver alternately covering himself with the sleeping bag, shivering violently, or removing it by pushing it away, as if hot. He listened to him as he moaned and turned in fitful, febrile sleep. Guilt and panic seized him, and he didn’t know what to do. MacGyver didn’t like to be fussed over, but Jack didn’t like laying there not helping him or at least asking him if he needed anything.
As dawn broke, a fiery, magnificent sunrise colored the exotic surroundings a deep, molten orange, but Jack didn’t notice. The raft was beginning to rock violently with the increasing intensity of MacGyver’s movements, causing river water to spill onto it. He thrashed around, mumbling.
“No!” He shouted. “N…no!”
“MacGyver!” Jack said, shaking him, surprised by how hot he was. He knew the fever had grown worse as well, and he was clueless about how to stop it. “MacGyver, you’re going to swamp the raft! Come on, buddy, wake up!”
“J…Jack?” MacGyver asked weakly, ceasing his motions and opening his eyes to slits. He searched with his eyes as if not seeing Jack immediately. “Where are we?”
He was delirious, and Jack found himself feeling more concerned than before. He gently touched MacGyver’s cheek, once again feeling the heat from his fever radiating from his skin.
“We’re still in the jungle,” he said, sighing. He reached for some water and held it to MacGyver’s pale lips, lifting his head so he could drink, finding that his friend’s hair was matted with sweat. “Here, drink this.”
MacGyver squinted with disgust at the water and tried to push it away. Even something as simple and bland as it didn’t appeal to him, despite the rawness of his throat. He felt sicker just looking at the clear liquid.
“You’ve been throwing up all night,” Jack said, putting the water in front of his lips again. “You need to drink something.”
MacGyver stared at the water again. Reluctantly, he took some sips. Almost immediately, he felt himself gagging and choking it back up, and he leaned over the side of the raft, ready to vomit again, trembling. Jack held him, trying to prevent him.
“Come on, you have to try to hold some of it down,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you.”
MacGyver swallowed hard, falling back onto the raft, fighting the queasiness as his stomach rolled and complained. He closed his eyes again, gasping. Sitting up required all his remaining strength, and he was exhausted again. Frustrated and angry with himself for not finding any signs of civilization yet, Jack looked around the jungle again but still saw nothing but continuous forest that stretched for miles. It seemed as if they were the only people left in the world, the immensity of the jungle swallowing them and forgetting them.
“Damn it, Mac, I don’t know what to do,” he said, staring at his friend’s pitiful condition, knowing he didn’t have much time. “Who was I kidding? This place is enormous. We’re never going to find people, let alone that treasure.”
MacGyver moaned and tossed, causing the raft to become unsteady again.
“Easy,” Jack said, holding him, feeling as if MacGyver’s skin would burn his flesh off with each touch. The river narrowed slightly ahead, and Jack saw a decent bank where they could pull the raft to shore. “Maybe we should stop for awhile,” he said. “You can’t get any decent rest on this raft.”
Using the paddles MacGyver had made, Jack maneuvered the raft towards the shore. Once he reached it, he got off and pulled the raft with MacGyver still on it further up the side. He thought MacGyver’s dead weight would make pulling the raft a challenge, but he was surprised and dismayed when he discovered how light and fragile his body felt, the ravages of his illness whittling him away. He laid there, his pale, almost ghostly face creased in pain. When he opened his dark eyes, they looked hollow, adding to his already frightful appearance.
“Jack,” he whispered. “We…stopped?”
“Yeah. I figured you could use a rest without rocking the boat,” he said, trying to smile and hoping to make MacGyver smile as well.
Instead, MacGyver’s frightened reaction came unexpectedly. His eyes widened and his face had a wild expression. “No, we have to keep going!” he said, struggling to stand.
“Wait Mac, don’t wear yourself out,” Jack said, trying to hold him down but having a difficult time, MacGyver’s limbs shooting out in all directions as he squirmed.
Jack was amazed by the sudden burst of energy as he writhed in his arms, feeling the athletic power his body usually had when well return to him where before he could barely open his eyes. He was hopeful that it was a sign that MacGyver’s health was improving, but he still felt hot, and as Jack looked closer at his friend, he could tell that it was his delirium causing him to panic, his eyes wandering.
“We have to keep following the river!” He shouted.
“We will, Mac! We will! I just want you to rest. Come on, settle down. You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“The river…” MacGyver mumbled. “River…”
He groaned and collapsed, his body twitching. Soon, the twitches turned into convulsions, every muscle in his body contracting and contorting painfully, his limbs flailing uncontrollably. Jack could no longer hold him as the seizure became more violent and unpredictable, dodging MacGyver’s hand as it nearly slapped him. He stood over his friend and watched helplessly as his body jerked and twisted, his stiffened extremities shaking and vibrating. His head lolled back, his eyes rolling, revealing the whites and making him look ghastly, almost zombie-like. His jaw clenched tightly, and Jack worried about him biting his tongue. A loud, almost inhuman moan escaped him as he rolled and stretched, the spasms continuing. It was almost as if MacGyver was possessed, his will no longer his own as his body was pulled in different directions, quaking with incredible force.
Jack couldn’t bear to watch him. He didn’t recognize his friend in the quivering body, his face a frightening and unpleasant mask of pain, confusion, and fear. Unsure of what to do, he thought about trying to restrain MacGyver to prevent him from injuring himself as his threw his body around violently, but his movements were too erratic to control, and he would probably only end up hurting his friend more severely, possibly breaking his bones as he struggled. Still, he wanted to intervene somehow. He wanted to stop his friend’s suffering, never feeling more powerless and paralyzed in his life. The seizure seemed ceaseless, tormenting both of them. Frothy saliva foamed from MacGyver’s lips and he moaned loudly again, jerking his head back.
“Come on, Mac, pull through this. I know you can do it. Please…” Jack said, holding back tears. “Can you hear me? I’m here for you.” He tried to reach for MacGyver’s hand to support him and let him know he was there, but his hand, along with the rest of his body, curled in such unnatural positions that he couldn’t hold him at all.
Much to Jack’s relief, MacGyver’s seizure finally ended, his body going limp as he slumped into unconsciousness. Jack stared at him, sobbing, shocked, and terrified. He had never seen anything so hideous done to the human body, especially not to MacGyver. Rushing over to him, worried he might be dead, he wiped the saliva away from his mouth and checked for his pulse, his skin still unbearably hot to touch. It was weak, but he was alive. Several bruises and scratches covered him, but as Jack continued to examine him, it didn’t appear that he had any damage more serious than that.
“God Mac, you scared me!” He said, more tears rolling down his cheeks. “It’s over now. You’re going to be all right, I promise. I’ll get you out of here.”
Wiping away his tears, a new sense of determination and urgency compelled him to look around the jungle and think of a faster way of getting MacGyver to help. They couldn’t keep going on the raft, especially if MacGyver suffered another seizure. They would have to go by land. The raft was nearby, and he looked at it, getting ideas. Reaching into MacGyver’s pocket, he pulled out his knife.
“Sorry buddy, but I have to borrow this,” he said, even though MacGyver remained unresponsive, his breathing shallow and ragged. “I think you’d be proud of me though if you saw what I was going to do with it.” He attempted to smile, patting his friend on the leg.
Approaching the raft, he glanced back at MacGyver, trying to estimate his height so he could figure out how much of the raft to cut free. The raft was going to turn into a stretcher. He figured he could use the sleeping bag to cover Mac and keep him from getting chills that would only increase his already high fever, and he could strap him onto it using more vines. If he began to have convulsions again, Jack would stop and loosen the vines so he wouldn’t hurt himself. The plan seemed simple, but executing it was not Jack’s strength. He clumsily cut at the raft, nearly cutting his own finger in the process. In the end, he had a stretcher that was a little too long and almost too narrow to support MacGyver’s body, but it was the best he could do, and it would have to suffice.
MacGyver was still unconscious as Jack lifted his body and placed it onto his new creation, wrapping him in the sleeping bag. Before he strapped him in using the vines, he slipped the knife back into MacGyver’s pocket.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling and patting him on the shoulder.
It disheartened him to see that Mac still wasn’t responding. He fought back more tears as he prepared to lift him. Once again, he expected his weight to be heavier than it actually was, and when he picked up the stretcher he was once again surprised by how light his friend felt. Of course, it also worried him. It was almost as if he was already gone, wisps of his spirit all that remained.
***
Jack followed the path of the river for hours, stopping on occasion to check on MacGyver. He was still unconscious, and except for a small, involuntary, inarticulate vocalization or a slight movement beneath the sleeping bag bundled around him, he remained in that state. At least he was alive, but Jack honestly didn’t know how much longer he would remain that way. Each hour that passed would only deteriorate his condition, and Jack began to lose hope, still not seeing any signs of human society through the dense jungle. Even though carrying MacGyver proved easier than he thought at first, his muscles were beginning to ache and scream in protest from the prolonged period of holding him. The merciless heat was also starting to affect him, fatigue and dizziness overtaking him, sleep tempting him. He fought to remain awake, telling himself that MacGyver needed him if he was going to survive. Stopping to look at him again, he noticed that he looked even paler than before, his skin taking on a deathly, translucent appearance. He had already lost a lot of weight, starting to look almost skeletal, dark circles forming beneath his eyes. Beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks, and Jack tried to wipe them away.
“Please hang on, Mac,” he said. “We’ll make it. Please don’t die, please…” he began to sob again. “It’s all my fault…I’m so sorry…”
A rustling in the jungle ahead alerted him. He stood, grabbing MacGyver’s stretcher, clutching it protectively.
“Who’s there?” He asked.
A small, elderly tribesman emerged, his craggy face projecting strength and wisdom. He studied Jack closely, detecting his fear and uncertainty, trying to approach with caution to show he wasn’t a threat.
“Listen, do you speak English?” Jack asked, watching the tribesman carefully. “I won’t harm you…I just need some help. You see, my friend is really sick, and I…”
Before he knew it, the tribesman was right beside him, already examining MacGyver. He trailed his tanned, wrinkled hands over his body, nodding solemnly to himself as if confirming his worst suspicions. Jack watched him impatiently, hoping that he had finally found the help MacGyver needed if he was to live.
“Well…what is it? What’s wrong with him? Is he going to be okay?” Jack asked, unable to contain himself or handle the suspense any longer.
Shaking his head, the tribesman looked up at Jack, his eyes filled with sorrow. “He has the blood curse,” he said in heavily accented English.
Jack looked at MacGyver’s still, sickly form. “Blood curse? What is that?” He asked.
“Malaria.”
To be continued…
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."
--Henry David Thoreau
brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver
). 
