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Chapter 13: A Cliff-Hanger and a Bad Pun
Mac felt the fibers of the vine begin to stretch apart. He grasped it with his right hand, his other arm leaning on a rock jutting out from the steep face. He cautiously snuck a peek at the drop below.
About a hundred feet below, a blanket of green trees covered the landscape.
Mac swung his feet, trying to get some sort of hold. His boot glanced off a rock, sending it plummeting to the canopy far below. Mac’s eyes widened.
He turned back and clung to the rocks. He made a valiant attempt to pull himself up the vine.
His right hand lunged up a few feet. The scratching noise of a rope fraying ominously filled his ears.
He tossed his wounded arm onto another outcropping. Mac repeated the ascent. The top ledge was in sight.
Mac almost set his bad arm on the ledge when a quick snap sounded, might as well have been his death toll. Mac suddenly shot out his right hand, blisters still forming. His fingers slid onto the jagged edge above.
His opposite arm slid off the stone and swung, limply, in the breeze. The vine followed the stone.
Mac felt his wrist twisting, forcing him to spin onto his back. He stared down the cliff, the forest seemingly farther down before.
He breathed quickly and frantically. He felt the sharp rock slowly slicing into his palm. Waves of pain raced through his body as he desperately clung to the side. His legs swung back and forth, almost like if he could escape this way.
Unexplainably, Mac witnessed his friends faces before his eyes. The adventures he trekked on flashed by. Mac came to the condemning conclusion that he was most likely going to die.
He clenched his teeth, spun around, and sent his other hand for the ledge. His pale fingers clenched the lip, now with both hands.
He grunted as he gradually pulled his weight up the side of a cliff. He could feel his arms about to give way. Mac instinctively heaved his body onto the dusty land above.
His back slapped on the landscape, dirt shifting beneath. He bent his knees and breathed heavily.
Far below, he heard the slight clatter of the rock that was dislodged.
He turned onto his arms and pushed himself to his feet.
He took off his jacket and looked at his once white shirt. Through the brown layer of dirt, an irregular red splatter covered his left elbow. He ripped off the sleeve and took a good look.
A reddish-brown streak ran along the side of his elbow. It only grazed him. He tore off a slim section of sleeve and saved it. The rest he bound around the wound.
Color returned to his hands. He used the small strip and wrapped it around his worn right hand. He flexed it a bit and looked back up.
A single soldier held a rifle to him. Mac slowly raised his doctored hands and smiled uneasily.
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 A Dude's a Dude All Over the World - MacGyver
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