Here comes more teamwork between MacGyver and Jack as they work to defeat the bad guys.
Warning: Some violence, nothing too strong
Happy Hour with Jack Dalton Part Four
Rated: PG
Minutes later, MacGyver awoke from his brief slumber, struggling to sit up, feeling dazed and shaky, his lungs aching and feeling slightly congested. He coughed to clear it.
“What happened, Jack?” He asked weakly.
“You almost drowned, buddy,” Jack said. “I had to resuscitate you. We made it out of the cave, at least.”
MacGyver looked around the shoreline that stretched beyond them, and then he returned his deep, brown eyed gaze to Jack. “You saved my life…again,” he said, remembering the air hose incident, the first time he nearly drowned. Jack had been there for him then, too. A small smile formed on his lips. “I owe you one.”
“Yeah, well, let’s think about getting out of here and away from these guys first.”
“Jack, we can’t just leave.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean, we can’t?” He asked. “Do you want them to have another opportunity to kill us?”
“That’s just what they’ll have if we leave now. Think about it. I know Robert. He’s relentless. He and his men know where I live, not to mention that we know he killed those witnesses that were going to testify at his trial. He’s not going to leave us alone now that we have that knowledge. He’ll hunt us down. We have to stop them—now.”
“All right, I get your point. But, how are we going to do that? And why did you keep those ropes?” Jack asked.
MacGyver looked up at the rugged cliffs. He could see Robert’s mansion protruding slightly over the edge, and from his angle it looked even more dangerously close to sliding down the side into the surf, one more violent seismic activity probably providing the catalyst to make that happen, the impracticality of the property once again striking MacGyver as an absurd waste of money.
“Well, I figured we could use them to climb the cliffs. It’s the only way to get back up there. Maybe we can also use them to tie up Robert and his men once we find them, give them a taste of their own medicine.” He grinned slightly and shrugged.
“Same old Mac, always thinking ahead.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” he said. “The ropes will only help us so much. Without pitons and other climbing gear we’re going to have to free climb some of it.”
“Great, just what I wanted to hear,” Jack said.
MacGyver looked up the imposing wall of rock one more time, already starting to feel himself sweat nervously. “I know, I’m not looking forward to it, either,” he said.
“Are you sure there’s not an express route out of here?”
“I highly doubt it. The cliffs are our only way. Now come on, let’s get moving. The tide’s starting to lower, which means they’ll be looking for us soon.”
***
“They’re gone!” Tom said when they re-entered the small cave, finding nothing but the boulder that served as the weight.
“Maybe their bodies washed away with the tide,” Mark said.
Furious, Robert clenched his fists. “That’s impossible!” He shouted. “I tied them to that boulder! They weren’t able to go anywhere!”
“Then they must’ve escaped,” Mark said.
“How?”
“You told us MacGyver was an expert at escaping,” Tom said.
Robert smirked and laughed bitterly, burying his face in his hands in chagrin, completely flabbergasted. “I should have known better,” he said quietly. “Maybe I should have just shot them, damn the consequences.”
“Well, what are we going to do now?”
“The only way they could have gotten out was through the opening where the water comes in,” Robert said, staring at it.
“They still could have drowned,” Tom said.
“Yeah, but I’m not taking anymore chances,” Robert said. “They had to have gone somewhere. We’ll just have to look for them.”
***
“Mac, I’m slipping!” Jack shouted, clawing desperately at the rocks, watching with fear as several of them rolled passed him into the ocean below, disappearing, becoming tiny dots as they dropped, emphasizing how far up they were and how deadly the drop would be. He kicked his legs frantically, trying to get traction.
“It’s all right! Just hang on, climb slowly, and don’t look down!” MacGyver shouted, his own voice tremulous with fear as he tried to follow his own instructions, his fingers curling around the rocks, clinging to them with every available amount of strength he had, trying to ignore the dizzying, precipitous drop to the ocean below.
“I can’t go any further! I’ll fall!” Jack shouted, frozen in position, hugging his body tightly against the side of the cliff for support, hoping it wouldn’t release him in a sudden rockslide.
MacGyver pressed his feet into the cliff, pushing himself up, steadying his quaking legs. He clasped the rope saved from their escape, finding it to be like dangling from a fine silken thread, knowing it would only do so much to help them.
“Jack, you have to!” He shouted, his voice bouncing off the sides of the cliff and dying in the roar of the ocean.
“How can you make it sound so easy? I thought you hated heights!”
“I do, but sometimes you have no alternative, like now! Just push your feet into the side of the cliff and walk yourself up!”
A large chunk of rock MacGyver was holding onto gave way, causing him to slip. He reacted quickly, grabbing the rope, hanging in mid-air off the side, no longer on the cliff, nothing to support him.
“Mac!” Jack shouted “Look out!”
Swinging back onto the side of the cliff, smacking his body against it, he reached and kept swinging until he was able to find a firm hold again.
“I’m okay, Jack!” He shouted. “Just keep climbing!”
“Easy for you to say,” Jack grumbled.
Both of their hands were becoming slippery with sweat and blood, the rocks tearing into their skin. MacGyver looked up and saw that he didn’t have much farther to go until he reached the top. With a renewed sense of determination, he pushed harder and moved faster than he thought possible without the proper climbing equipment, suppressing his fear of heights so he could continue, never feeling more motivated, not allowing the steep, irregular face of the cliff to slow him or defeat him. He strained his muscles and his courage beyond their limits, breaking down the climb into the simple components of moving one hand and foot at a time. In his mind, he compared it to the way some of his favorite hockey players were able to tune out the distractions and the pressure of the screaming fans before making the critical goal in the game, the one shot that would either cause a triumphant victory that resulted in the Stanley Cup or a dismal defeat. He had always admired this ability of professional athletes to narrow focus only to the most important part—making the shot. Nothing else mattered. Not the fans, the demanding coach, nothing. They were all outside noise, insignificant. The final shot was all that counted. Some called it being in “the zone.” MacGyver liked to feel that he was in that zone at that moment, seeing nothing but the cliff face in front of him and the summit—his goal. Before he knew it, he had reached it, almost surprised that it seemed to have happened so soon. He rolled onto the side, releasing his tension, panting.
“Hey Mac! Mac, I need your help!” Jack shouted.
Looking over the ledge, MacGyver saw that Jack hadn’t made as much progress as he had—in fact, he was still rooted in the same position he had been earlier, huddled against the rocks, paralyzed with terror.
“It’s all right, Jack!” he shouted down to him, moving the rope over so he could reach it. “Grab onto the rope! I’ll help pull you up!”
“I can’t!”
“You have no choice! Grab onto the rope!”
With a trembling hand, Jack tentatively reached for the rope. Once he was sure he had it, he gave it a tug, clinging to it, knowing that it was the only thing tying him to life, and if it dropped or he lost his hold on it, it would sever all connections with the side of the cliff and his life. He screwed his eyes tightly shut, trying not to look down.
“Okay, I’m ready!” He shouted.
“Good! Now, I’m going to start pulling you up, but you also have to climb. This is a joint effort. You’ll be just fine. Ready?”
Jack opened his eyes again and regretted it because he caught a glimpse of the dizzying drop to the ocean below. He felt himself slipping again and released a frightened yelp, clutching the rope even tighter.
“Ready,” he said, sighing and gulping.
“Okay, here it goes.”
Jack felt his body being lifted, and uncomfortable with dangling and losing contact with the side of the cliff, he pushed against it, climbing as MacGyver had instructed.
“That’s it, Jack! Just keep coming! You’re doing fine!”
Shaking uncontrollably, yanking on the rope and grabbing at the rocks, Jack continued, resisting the urge to look down as he went. He was surprised when he reached the top, MacGyver there to help pull him over. Relieved yet oddly exhilarated, he rolled onto solid ground, gasping, his quivering, unsteady nerves making his body feel like jelly, not used to such physical and mental exertion.
“Quite…a workout,” he said, attempting to smile after his ordeal.
“You’re okay,” MacGyver said, watching him and pulling up the length of rope he had fashioned for their improvised climb, tying together all the ropes used when they were bound in the cave.
“Yeah. Could be…some kind of record, what we just did. No safety equipment? Mac, you’re insane.”
MacGyver smiled sideways. “So they tell me,” he said.
Carefully, after recovering a little, Jack sat up. “What we just did was crazy! I’m surprised we lived. What a rush!” He said. “Is that what climbing is always like? That scary but also exciting at the same time?”
“It can be,” MacGyver said.
“Whew!” Jack said, looking over the edge, amazed by how far they had climbed. “I used to not understand why you went on all those intense climbs, being afraid of heights and all, but now I think I understand. It’s kind of fun. We made it!” He laughed slightly.
“It’s fun all right, but also dangerous,” MacGyver said, pushing Jack away from his closeness to the edge.
Jack looked at MacGyver and noticed sadness in his eyes. “You just thought about Mike, didn’t you?” He asked.
“Yeah. I couldn’t help it. We had all the proper equipment, and she still died. Imagine what could have happened just now, with only this rope to help us.”
Jack patted MacGyver on the shoulder. “We did it. It’s over. Nothing happened except maybe my bruised ego for being such a coward,” he said.
“You’re not a coward. You’re just inexperienced.”
“You know what I mean. Anyway, I saved your life, and you just risked yours to save mine. That’s what friendship means.”
A gun clicked overhead, and they looked up, seeing Robert, Mark, and Tom standing threateningly over them.
“That’s touching,” Robert said in a mocking voice, “but I don’t think either of you will have a life to save much longer. Get up.”
Reluctantly, MacGyver and Jack stood, facing their captors for a second time.
Robert smirked. “I must admit that was quite an elaborate escape attempt, MacGyver,” he said. “I’m impressed. Of course, now I know better. The best way to kill you—the only way—is to put a bullet in you.” He aimed his gun at MacGyver’s head.
“Wait a minute, guys! Come on,” Jack said.
“You’ll get your turn in a minute,” Robert said, grinning manically as he prepared to fire, already imagining with relish the shocked, anguished look on MacGyver’s face as the bullet struck him and he died, finally defeated.
He spent a fraction of a second too long fantasizing about his deed instead of acting upon it, which only worked to MacGyver’s advantage. Thinking quickly, he kicked the gun out of his hands, sending it flying over the edge of the cliff and into the ocean. He lunged at Robert, knocking him to the ground. Noticing that his men were distracted by this sudden attack, Jack took the opportunity to run, making sure to take the now coiled up rope with him.
“Get him!” Robert shouted at them, struggling with MacGyver.
Mark and Tom pursued Jack, shooting at him as he ran, dodging their bullets and disappearing into the woods. Robert punched MacGyver, rolling on the ground with him until they reached the edge of the cliff again. His eyes gleaming, a perverse, sadistic grin on his face, he pinned MacGyver down and wrapped his hand around MacGyver’s neck, strangling him and moving him closer to the edge, ready to push him off of it.
“You hate heights,” he said, laughing and taking pleasure from watching MacGyver struggle for air, his face turning red and scrunched up painfully. “You may have made your way up here, but I know you were terrified the whole time. Maybe that’s the preferred way for you to die. You will die, MacGyver. Make no mistake about it this time.”
MacGyver kneed him in the stomach, causing him to release his grip and gasp for air of his own. Touching his tender, sore neck and coughing, MacGyver threw himself against Robert again, moving farther away from the cliffs, punching him. Neither man seemed to be losing, both locked in a desperate struggle to undo the other, not willing to concede. Their bodies wrapped around each other, balled into a mass of powerful, violent energy, taut limbs flailing and connecting with bone and flesh, smearing each other with blood and bruises. They seemed to be moving as one aggressive force, rolling each other across the ground.
As the fight continued, Jack heard their wild grunts and growls, sounding like two ferocious beasts clashing instead of human beings, their seething rage and hatred for one another reaching its apex. He hid in the trees as Mark and Tom chased him. He waited until they were close by, and pulling back a thick tree branch that was nearly at their eye level, he released it just as they were about to find him, smacking them in their faces and knocking them to the ground. Dazed, they moaned, and Jack jumped down in front of them, punching them out for good measure. Making sure they were completely unconscious, he went to work tying them together with the long rope.
“There,” he said, smiling and taking their guns, wiping his hands on his pants. “Let’s see how you like that.”
Tugging on the rope to make sure it was secure, he turned and headed back towards the sounds of MacGyver and Robert fighting, their heavy panting and low snarls filling the air. He reached the clearing where they now were, in front of Robert’s declining mansion. He watched them, amazed by the brutality and strength of their fight, noticing how far it had taken them, the ground disturbed where they had rolled, creating a zigzagging path that led, fortunately, away from the edge of the cliff. MacGyver seemed to be winning, not allowing Robert to supersede or dominate him, his face creased in anger and determination, sweat glistening on his face. He wanted to cheer his friend on and encourage him, but he knew that would only distract him and he didn’t want to give away his position to Robert. Silently, he continued to watch their battle. MacGyver’s momentum seemed endless until Robert managed to find a vulnerable spot to hit him, rolling on top of him and pinning him down as if in a clever wrestling move. Jack’s eyes widened when he saw Robert pull out a knife, its blade shining unnaturally in the dewy sunlight that had emerged from behind the fog.
“MacGyver, look out!” He shouted.
It was too late. Robert plunged the blade into MacGyver’s back, smiling icily as he cried out in pain. “I’ll stab you in the back, just as you did to me,” he said, laughing and standing up, viciously yanking the knife out of his back and taking pride in the wound he’d inflicted, watching the blood flow from it and wiping the sweat and blood from his upper lip. “Now you can see how it feels.” He casually wiped the blade clean of MacGyver’s blood with his now soiled white shirt as if he was merely stripping paint from a brush with paint thinner. He prepared to stab MacGyver again.
“Stop!” Jack shouted, running towards him, pointing Mark’s weapon at him. “Drop the knife! Now!”
His upper lip quivering in a condescending sneer, Robert reluctantly lowered the knife to the ground. Jack knelt down to attend to MacGyver, shocked by the volume of blood that was coming from the wound in his back.
“Mac,” he said, tears forming in his eyes. “Mac, can you hear me?”
He tried to lift MacGyver’s head, but he didn’t know what to do, unsure if he was supposed to move him at all.
“Jack?” MacGyver asked, his voice faint, his pain evident.
“You’re bleeding badly,” Jack said, ripping up his shirt to use as a bandage, applying pressure to the wound. MacGyver groaned in pain. “I know it hurts, buddy, but we have to stop it somehow until an ambulance gets here.”
“Cold,” MacGyver said. He began shivering.
“I think you’re in shock,” Jack said, removing his jacket and draping it over his friend’s shaking form. “I don’t know. You’re the expert in these things.”
A faint smile formed on MacGyver’s lips, his eyes barely open to slits, the loss of blood depleting his energy rapidly. “You seem to listen to me well,” he said.
“Yeah, I learn a lot from you, I guess.”
He stopped when he heard a rustling. Looking up, he saw that Robert had picked up the knife again and was about to strike MacGyver with it. Jack pulled out Tom’s gun, this time training both weapons at Robert.
“I don’t think that would be a smart move,” he said. “Just leave the knife where it was and give up, pal. You’re finished.”
“Jack,” MacGyver said, his voice growing weaker.
“It’s going to be all right,” Jack said, pressing on his wound again, hoping he was doing something to stop the already alarming amount of blood that had flowed from the wound, pooling around MacGyver’s body. “We’re going to get out of here, all right? For once, you can trust me. We will.”
Jack’s comforting words slowly faded as MacGyver drifted into unconsciousness.
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
Poor Mac...
