I rated this entire story R just in case, as it gets violent in spots. This is the story I promised would involve Murdoc, although he isn't in this first part...or is he?
Warning! Major Mac angst ahead!
Catastrophic Failure Part One
Rated: R
Africa
The bridge spanned over the wide, deep river, sturdy and beautifully constructed, comparable in design to any heavily trafficked bridge over the major waterways of the United States, capable of handling massive amounts of weight and adverse weather conditions without the threat of collapse. It was MacGyver’s highest achievement, designed and built by him. Now that it was complete after many long months of hard and dangerous labor, he admired it along with Pete, the men on his project team, and the villagers for whom the bridge was built, allowing them passage into neighboring villages for trade purposes and to gather supplies. The mood during the day the bridge would officially open to the public was celebratory, Chief Nagra and his people dressed in their best formal tribal robes and finery to mark the occasion. The weather was pleasant, their vibrant, varicolored robes glittering dazzlingly in the brilliant sunlight. It was a scene of enchantment, and MacGyver was in awe of his creation, amazed to see it fully realized before him, ready to assist the people of the village and benefit humanity. Knowing that he had done something significant to improve their existence gladdened him, yet he remained humble about his structure, donating it to the people, hoping they would get use out of it for many years.
“This is indeed a joyous day,” Chief Nagra said, speaking in his native language while a translator provided the English version of his words. “Mr. MacGyver and his Phoenix Foundation have achieved what no other government or treaty could—they have built a bridge to peace. For where we were once at war with our neighbors, bitterly divided by the river, forced into long periods of famine, we are now linked with our brothers and sisters, sharing the bounty of our crops. This bridge has allowed us this freedom, for no longer are we separated by hatred or the treacherous obstacle of the river. We are connected, we are a community, and we can now move where we please. Building this bridge has become an important step towards democracy, and I know you will join me in dedicating this bridge not only to our people, but to the surrounding tribes. It belongs to us all, and we can never fully express the appreciation and support we feel towards those who have completed this arduous yet worthy task. Through their heroic deeds, they are true humanitarians promoting the spread of liberty and prosperity to all, greatly improving how we live our daily lives. I know that we can now look forward to our future with optimism, with this bridge serving our needs well for many years to come.”
An aide handed Nagra a pair of shears to cut the red ribbon tied across the new bridge. Beaming, he cut the ribbon and then spread his long arms wide, facing his people.
“I now declare this bridge open!” He shouted.
His people cheered and applauded, many taking hurried, anxious steps towards it, eager and excited to be the first to cross it, knowing they were about to become a part of history. Smiling, MacGyver watched from a distance, witnessing the first groups of people that were walking across the bridge—his bridge—with delight. He felt Pete’s arm around him.
“You should be proud, MacGyver,” he said, also watching the scene. “Your bridge just might have saved a people from extinction.”
MacGyver felt heat rise on his face, and it wasn’t from the sweltering desert temperatures, either. “Aw Pete, I really didn’t do that much,” he said, feeling a little uncomfortable about being the recipient of such high, lofty praise, feeling undeserving of it. “I just built a bridge.”
Pete laughed. “You’re always so modest,” he said. “You make it sound so easy, as if anyone could just pick up a hammer and make what you did. It’s absolutely extraordinary, simply one of the finest pieces of structural engineering I have seen in a long time. It’s ingenious.”
“Well, I did have help in conceptualizing it.”
“Yes, but you conceived of it, and now it’s real, all those schematics coming to life and serving their purpose. My God, just look at it! It’s magnificent! Just knowing that you may have helped them stop a war between feuding tribes that has been going on for centuries and helped save them from starvation that has devastated them for so long…well, it’s just incredible. That you don’t want to take credit for it or to be lauded for it…well, that says something about you. You’re an admirable man, MacGyver. Of course, I already knew that. I have known that about you for years. That’s why I’m happy to call you my friend, and why I’m glad I joined you during all these long months on this project. Seeing the culmination of your hard work and dedication on the smiles of those villagers is definitely worth the time and effort we have spent.”
“I’m just glad I could help,” MacGyver said, smiling bashfully and looking down at the ground, digging the toes of his work boots into the baked clay.
He looked back up and continued to watch the villagers on the bridge with Pete, noticing how some of them were dancing, the mood festive, drums and wooded instruments providing cheerful music that carried through the clear and hot air.
“I still don’t think you realize the impact your bridge is going to have on them,” Pete said. “It might just be a bridge, but it’s the first step towards them improving their infrastructure. Who knows what will be built next? Schools, roads…Mac, you have changed their society for the better.”
“Thanks Pete,” MacGyver muttered, still feeling strange about being credited as the savior of a developing nation. It seemed like too much responsibility for one man alone to accept. He knew there were others working towards stabilizing the region besides him, people who had been there far longer than he had trying to settle disputes and create a democratic, united government among the people. He still maintained that all he had done was simply build a bridge, nothing more. It was minor in comparison to all the battles that had been fought to secure the peace.
He had to admit that a feeling of unease also crept over him. This was the first time that he had ever built anything on such a grand scale, something that people would be using frequently. He couldn’t use any of his quick, creative, and improvisational techniques on the design of the bridge. Knowing it had to last, he had been methodical in his approach, perhaps taking more time than necessary to check and re-check everything, making certain there weren’t any flaws in the design, for just one mistake could lead to collapse. The process had tried his patience and had been exhausting. He had built small scale bridges in his engineering courses in college, running simulations on them, testing them for stress fractures and other possible design failures. All of his bridges had survived those tests, but no one was crossing them. Now, watching the villagers walk on his bridge, he wondered how well it would withstand actual human activity instead of weights attached to a model. He knew what he had done had been worth it to the people in that small African nation, but he didn’t think he could handle the torturous, nerve-wracking months of designing and building another one. This bridge had been an experiment, putting his old engineering skills to the test once again, but he vowed that he would never build another one. It was simply too stressful and painstaking a process. He preferred thinking in the moment rather than planning something for months. He was glad his bridge appeared to be holding up fine, surviving the weight of several hundred people, but he wasn’t prepared to do it again.
A snapping sound echoed through the cavernous river gorge. A feeling of foreboding gnawed at the pit of MacGyver’s stomach as he feared the worst. “Did you hear that?” He asked, grabbing Pete’s arm and squeezing it tightly.
The snapping sound repeated, this time louder, its reverberations carrying farther through the valley. “Yes I did,” Pete said, looking at MacGyver in alarm. “You don’t think—
Pete didn’t have time to finish his question as the bridge collapsed in a spectacular fashion, breaking in half and taking a large section of people with it, crashing into the ravine below. Both men watched in stunned horror, paralyzed and helpless. Gradually recovering his senses, MacGyver ran towards the scene without regard for his own safety.
“MacGyver!” Pete shouted, running after him.
The scene was already swarming with villagers, many of them who had been so jubilant moments earlier now crying and wailing in despair, screaming and pleading for their loved ones who had been on the bridge to be rescued. MacGyver was determined to do just that, but as he reached the area and looked down over the great, yawning chasm where the section of his bridge had been swallowed up, he saw that many were already dead, either crushed by the tremendous weight of the bridge or drowned, their bodies floating in the water, a pool of blood turning it dark red. Others who had survived thrashed around, fighting against the powerful current and losing, their efforts futile as the raging, violent rapids carried them away in a swirl of frothy foam, dragging them under. MacGyver saw a young woman with infant pulled beneath the water, and he never saw her or her child resurface.
“MacGyver, what are you doing?” Pete asked breathlessly, finally catching up with him.
“I have to save them, Pete,” MacGyver said, almost mechanically, staring at the death and destruction beneath him, hearing cries for help over the fierce roar of the water.
“How? Do you know how far down that goes? It’s a steep, precipitous drop to the bottom, not to mention how fast the current is. There’s a reason no one from Chief Nagra’s tribe has ever attempted to cross it without the assistance of a bridge.”
“Still, I…have to try…” MacGyver said, his voice failing him, trailing away and becoming faint.
His body felt numb and refused to comply while his mind raced with urgency. He was paralyzed again, unable to do anything, shocked by what he had seen, the bridge plummeting to the river so abruptly, without warning, taking so many people with it. Fewer cries for help could be heard as the river continued to mercilessly claim more victims, sinking and plunging them forever into watery tombs. Their terrified screams rang in his ears, and the image of the woman with her baby being claimed by the water, swallowed up and disappeared, haunted him. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, the tragedy occurring in mere seconds, destroying not only his bridge but the lives that had been on it, the lives his design was supposed to support and protect. All of it was gone, devoured hungrily by the river. Twisted, warped debris from the bridge scattered and was swept away along with bloated bodies and body parts, creating a sickening, gruesome display of carnage unseen by the people since their last war with the neighboring tribes, limbs ripped and torn from bodies with the force of the current. At last, MacGyver realized the impact his bridge had made on the people of that African village. If he hadn’t built it, if there hadn’t been a bridge to cross, many lives would have been spared instead of needlessly and brutally killed. They had suffered through many deaths through the wars, and his bridge had only added to that mounting death toll, spreading more pain and misery. It was his fault. He had missed something crucial, and now many innocent lives had paid for his error. A chorus of sobs from the survivors who had remained on land surrounded him, almost smothering him. He gasped and choked, suffocating, falling prostrate to the ground, contributing to those sobs himself, his body still numbed with shock. He felt Pete shake him, trying to revive him, but he didn’t care and didn’t respond.
“MacGyver, can you hear me?” Pete asked frantically, his own voice cracking with tears of anguish. “MacGyver, please…oh God, why did this happen? Why? I’m so sorry…Mac…please…get up…you have to hear me…please…”
“My fault…I killed them…” MacGyver mumbled, his voice muffled by the ground.
“You didn’t kill them, do you hear me?” Pete asked, shaking him again. “Listen to me…this wasn’t your fault. It was some awful accident, but you had nothing to do with it. We’ll find out what caused this, I promise, but it has nothing to do with you. Do you understand? MacGyver? Do you hear me?”
“My fault…my bridge…I killed them…I killed them…” MacGyver kept repeating as if chanting, burying his face further into the ground, his body trembling with sobs. “I killed them…I killed them…” overcome with grief and shock, his body grew still and he collapsed 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
