The action intensifies!

Waking the Dead Part Nine
Rated: R

Pete and Dr. Carr followed MacGyver as he walked through the hospital corridors, his steps still unsteady as he shuffled and limped slightly.

“So far, all his tests are negative,” Dr. Carr said. “He is in no danger of permanent damage to his body. I can’t explain it. He should require minimal rehabilitation, which is virtually unheard of for someone…well, I suppose I have too few examples to compare what he underwent to, except perhaps a coma. Whatever this poison is composed of, it’s remarkably flexible to be able to restore life without harm.”

“That may be so, but why is he still having difficulty walking, and why hasn’t there been any progress on his ability to speak?” Pete asked.

“Perhaps the increased dosage has intensified the aftereffects of the toxin. I’m sure he’ll recover at a more gradual rate than he did before, but his condition will improve. That he’s moving at all, that he’s alive…well, he’s very fortunate. MacGyver, you continue to amaze me.”

MacGyver looked at Dr. Carr and smiled, just glad to be moving around again, even if it was taking him longer to regain complete coordination and balance. His expression changed to a wince when a sharp pain churned in his stomach. Waves of nausea struck him, causing him to clutch his stomach and double over in pain.

“MacGyver, what is it?” Pete asked, holding his arm. “Do you feel ill?”

Looking up at Pete with his pale face still creased in pain, MacGyver nodded. Pete and Dr. Carr exchanged alarmed looks over the sudden change in his patient.

“We’d better get him back to his room,” Dr. Carr said.

Pete nodded. They supported his drooping body and rushed him back to the room as quickly as they could. When they reached it, MacGyver broke free of them and bolted towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Violent retching noises emanated from the room shortly afterward.

“What’s going on? He didn’t vomit the last time this happened to him. Could this be another side effect of the poison?” Pete asked.

“I don’t know, Pete. Try to stay calm. I’ll examine him again when he comes out of the bathroom,” Dr. Carr said.

Minutes later, MacGyver emerged. His face was flushed, but he looked stronger than he had earlier, stumbling over to his bed to retrieve his pad and pen. When he finished writing, he handed the note to the two men, gasping and leaning against the bed.

Something I ate, the note read in spidery handwriting. I feel better now.

“Are you sure?” Pete asked, watching his weakened, sick friend with concern.

MacGyver nodded.

“His stomach must still be sensitive,” Dr. Carr said. “It’s unused to digesting after such a long period of the absence of food, or any bodily function. All his normal responses will probably remain a little shaky for awhile.”

“I told you not to eat that much,” Pete said.

He remembered how MacGyver devoured the meal Dr. Carr offered to him, never seeing anyone consume usually unappealing and unappetizing hospital food with such a large appetite and gusto. He ate like a famished and malnourished child from the Third World, deprived of food and grateful to find anything to fill his stomach. Each bite he took immediately followed another one before he fully had time to chew or enjoy it, stuffing his mouth and swallowing quickly, wolfing it down greedily. It was the only time he had seen his friend be so gluttonous. He sympathized and understood, knowing that MacGyver hadn’t been able to eat in days, but he had also worried, as he often did when it came to his friend. Now, his worries appeared to be valid, and Mac was suffering the consequences of not heeding his advice to eat slower. Aware of how domineering and motherly he sounded, MacGyver simply rolled his eyes at him.

“Perhaps we should allow him some time to rest,” Dr. Carr said.

MacGyver shook his head.

“Mac, you’ve been awake for two days. You need to recuperate,” Pete said.

MacGyver shook his head again. He didn’t want to admit it to them, but he was scared. He didn’t want to lie down again after being immobile for so long. Also, he didn’t want to face the nightmares he knew would come. Remaining conscious kept him linked to reality, where he was safe, where he didn’t have to think about what had happened to him. Still, he battled with his fatigue and lost. Yawning, he began to slide to the floor, losing his strength to stay standing, grabbing the edge of the bed to keep himself upright but finding it difficult. As he slumped, Pete and Dr. Carr helped him into bed where he eventually closed his eyes and drifted away.

“We should leave him alone for awhile,” Dr. Carr said. “We’ll come back to check on him later.”

Pete nodded. He smiled down at his dozing friend, still relieved to see his chest rising and falling with each breath instead of complete stillness. He had returned to full life.

“It’s all right, Mac,” he whispered, touching his arm gently. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

Murdoc couldn’t believe how easy it was to enter MacGyver’s room. Dressed as an orderly, he approached his prey quietly, watching him sleep. It angered and disappointed him to see him breathing after he had been so lifeless in the coffin, the illusion of death providing him with the satisfaction he had sought for so many years of seeing MacGyver’s dead body. He knew there had to be a way to increase the dosage of the poison even more, paralyzing the body for a year before relief would release him, but for now he needed a quicker, easier solution. As MacGyver squirmed in his sleep, disturbed by whatever was haunting his subconscious mind, his face twisted in fear, he tried to cry out, but he couldn’t vocalize his terror, still unable to speak. His lips formed the words, but no sound came from his mouth. Murdoc grinned. The poison would still work to his advantage. Carefully, he pulled the pillow out from beneath MacGyver’s head, making sure not to awaken him. He had nothing to worry about, MacGyver lost in his vivid nightmares, trapped once again in another version of Hell.

“You may think you have won, that you have beat the poison, but you haven’t,” Murdoc whispered viciously. “It still has you in its grip, and I am the one who is victorious. You can’t cry out for help. No one will hear you. Your words will remain locked in your mind.” Laughing, he placed the pillow over MacGyver’s face, pushing down hard, suffocating him.

MacGyver’s nightmares intensified as he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It didn’t feel the way it did when the poison forced his body to shut down, still feeling alive even when his lungs no longer functioned. Instead, it felt the way he imagined it would if he had revived inside the coffin, the lack of oxygen causing him to choke and strain for any available air, the world closing in on him, tightening, and feeling hot, cramped, and stale. It began to feel more real than a dream, as if something was really obstructing his breathing. Frantically, he struggled to regain consciousness, opening his eyes to find that indeed someone was pressing something against his face, preventing him from breathing. He was beginning to feel dizzy, and he knew that in minutes he would die. Murdoc! He screamed inside his mind. How was it possible? Somehow, he had managed to evade the constant presence of the security team. Once again he tried to shout, but his vocal chords remained frozen. Even if he could yell, the thick pillow would muffle him. He found himself helpless and in the darkness again, death threatening to encroach upon him much more quickly than the slow, painful death the poison would have given him, and it was equally terrifying.

Struggling and groping blindly, trying to locate his call button, he could feel Murdoc’s body nearly on top of his. Changing his tactics, he began kicking his legs instead until he made contact, his knee impacting Murdoc’s stomach just enough to get him to release his powerful grip on the pillow. Bolting upright, MacGyver punched him, knocking him to the floor. Both men gasped for breath, MacGyver trying to recover from nearly asphyxiating and Murdoc from the blow to his stomach. MacGyver lunged at him, and they fell to the floor, kicking and punching, struggling mightily, clawing and biting at each other relentlessly and desperately like wild animals. Like animals, they were engaged in a battle for dominance and survival, each blow crucial. They grabbed at each other and hurled each other around the room, slamming into medical equipment, knocking over MacGyver’s empty food tray, creating a discordant symphony of chaos as objects clattered about the room, alerting every member of the Phoenix security force, hospital staff, and Pete and Dr. Carr, all rushing towards the room to learn the source of such violent commotion. Neither man heard the closed door being kicked down, each still focused ferociously on beating the other, a massive jumble of flailing limbs and unbridled, raw energy.

“Murdoc!” Pete shouted.

Distracted momentarily by Pete’s voice, Murdoc looked in his direction, providing MacGyver with the edge he needed. He punched Murdoc again, the force this time so hard that the momentum sent him reeling, crashing through the window.

“MacGyverrrrrr!” He screamed as he fell, the sickening thud of his body against the pavement below silencing him.

Everyone hurried toward the window, looking down to see Murdoc’s crumpled body. Medical personnel were already swarming around him, wondering if he had been a suicide victim. After checking his pulse and declaring him dead, they covered him with a white sheet that from the height of the floor MacGyver was on looked like a flag signaling surrender. He stared down in complete shock and disbelief, trembling, fresh cuts and bruises covering his body, indicating the level of brutality of the fight. Murdoc had finally succumbed, but MacGyver continued to stare at the grisly scene, expecting him to reanimate as he always had before, falling into his usual pattern, but he remained motionless…dead. Anyone else falling from that height would be instantly dead. It would be expected. But Murdoc was not normal. MacGyver kept watching, unable to look away. He barely heard Pete’s words.

“Mac, come on! Snap out of it! Are you all right?” Pete asked for the fifth time. He took hold of MacGyver’s shoulders and gently shook him.

Dead…but he can’t be…I want him to be of course, but how…how can he be? MacGyver’s thoughts raced.

When he finally turned to face Pete, the turmoil of his thoughts showed in his piercing eyes as they gleamed intensely. He tried to speak again, but again his vocal chords failed him. Of all the times he needed to communicate to Pete, he still couldn’t, yet Pete could read and interpret what he had to say by the unnatural glint in his haunting, dark eyes.

“He’s gone, Mac. He’s really gone this time. You’re going to be fine,” Pete said. “Listen to me. You have to believe me. You’re going to be all right.”

Trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion, Pete saw MacGyver’s lips quiver and his eyes moisten. He fell into Pete’s arms, sobbing silently, his body rocking.

“I know, Mac. I know,” Pete said, soothing him. “It’s over now.”

To be continued…

Having now chewed off all my fingernails, I must hope to grow some back before the next chapter posts!!

Very exciting!

Nice imagery! Great work.