More Mac adventure!
Memories of Life and Death Part Three
Rated: PG
Once again, MacGyver doubted he would find Harry at his next stop—the camp in Colorado. Still, MacGyver intended to camp there, running low on money. Maybe he would find evidence of his grandfather stopping there briefly before he moved on to wherever he went, as well. The camp was high in the mountains, which meant that he had to hike to reach it, but he didn’t mind. Along with his knife and a few changes of clothes, MacGyver had brought along some provisions for living out in the woods. He was fully prepared. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the rain. It fell steadily in torrents, drenching him thoroughly. Soon, he couldn’t go much farther, the rain making it difficult to see and navigate. He knew he would have to find shelter and wait out the rain, finding it useless to continue in the heavy downpour. The ground became saturated, causing him to slip.
The next step he took sent him sliding and tumbling down a steep hillside. Unable to stop himself, he kept falling, his leg smacking hard against the jagged edge of a rock that jutted out of the side of the hill, hitting him directly on the shin bone. He cried out in pain and then fear as he continued to fall, unable to find any bearings to stop himself. His arms grasped frantically for something to hold onto, but he found nothing. At the foot of the hill was a lake, and he soon found himself plunging into it. The water was icy and dark, and as it quickly closed over his head, he discovered that the lake was much deeper than it looked on the surface. As he sank, he moved his arms and legs, kicking and swimming, unsure which way was up, the muddy water disorienting him. Panic seized him as he swam, his lungs bursting from a lack of oxygen. Hoping he knew which way he was going, MacGyver blindly swam upwards, groping for the surface.
A rush of cold, wet air soon hit his hands, and he thrust his head out of the water, gasping. The heavy rain continued to pelt him, and he almost thought it would drown him just as soon as the lake would have had he still been buried beneath it. He swam toward the shore, relieved to find that his knapsack had detached itself from him during the fall. It lay near the water, but it was on solid ground. He knew from the outside that it looked just as drenched as he was, but it was insulated, designed especially for camping and rough weather conditions. Everything inside would still be dry, which was necessary for him if he was going to combat hypothermia. Shivering and staggering over the muddy, uneven ground, he picked up the knapsack and looked around for temporary shelter. He couldn’t continue hiking to the campsite in this weather.
A small, natural cave carved in a nearby rock formation provided him with the shelter he needed. Carefully maneuvering around the slippery terrain, he reached it and huddled inside, changing his sodden clothes for dry ones in his knapsack. The dry clothes and the shelter warmed him somewhat, but he still needed a fire. Gathering dry twigs and wood that were near the shelter, he prepared to strike one of his matches when he realized they weren’t in his protective knapsack. Searching his wet clothes and fearing the worst, he released a groan when he found his matches in the pocket of his soggy jeans, completely ruined and useless.
“Oh, man,” he said.
He couldn’t believe how stupid he could have been, keeping his matches in his jeans. He supposed he had kept them there in case he had somehow lost his knapsack, but it didn’t matter. They were gone now. As if sensing his urgent need to stay warm, the rain slowly began to subside and the sun broke through the clouds. MacGyver smiled up at the sky as it turned increasingly blue, not believing the timing and his luck. He could start a fire using the sun’s rays; the problem was finding the right tools to start it. When he saw an old beer can’s aluminum bottom glinting in the sun, he picked it up, examining it. It would work perfectly, he decided. Opening his knapsack, he pulled out a chocolate bar he had been carrying with him for energy and unwrapped it. Breaking off a piece of it, he began using it to polish the bottom of the crushed beer can.
If anyone had stopped to watch MacGyver rubbing chocolate on the bottom of aluminum can, they might have considered him insane, but there was actually a purpose to his madness. He knew the chocolate worked as a mild abrasive to the soft metal of the can, polishing it to a perfect, clear shine. Once the bottom of the can was smooth and shiny, he held it over his prepared fireplace, using it to direct the sun’s rays. The can began to gleam, and the heat from the sun grew more intense, localizing around the round bottom of the can and onto the kindling. MacGyver saw it smoke and then spark, a small flame appearing. Steadily, the fire grew until it covered all the wood he had gathered.
“Yes,” he said, smiling, still amazed it worked.
He sat back, admiring the flame, deciding he would stay put for the rest of the evening and continue on to Harry’s favorite campsite at dawn. A sharp, piercing pain raced up his leg, and for the first time he remembered that he had struck his leg during the fall. He had been so preoccupied with getting warm and making a fire that he had completely forgotten to tend to his injury. Gently rolling up his pant leg, he examined the damage. A deep gash had been cut into his shin, and it was still bleeding. It was already bruising around the cut area, turning a deep blue and purple. Still, MacGyver thought it looked worse than it actually was, not thinking it required stitches. He tore a long strip from one of the other shirts in his knapsack and used it as a bandage, tying it tightly around the wound and applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Wincing, he continued to press on it until it felt like the bleeding had stopped.
As he watched the fire and tried to settle in, leaning against his knapsack and stretching out his throbbing leg, MacGyver realized he hadn’t called his mother once since he’d been out on the road looking for Harry after he promised her in his farewell note that he would. Ashamed, he told himself that he would call her as soon as he reached another phone to keep her from worrying, even though he knew he could take care of himself. Making a fire from a beer can and tending to his own injuries convinced him of this. His years in Boy Scouts and eagerly studying science hadn’t been a waste of time, after all.
Still, he knew it was her duty as a mother to be concerned for him, so he had to call her. He wondered if he would ever be brave enough to tell her about getting high and his incident with Moonflower. She certainly would be disappointed in him if she found out, and he wasn’t so proud of himself for allowing it to happen. Maybe he would keep it secret from her and only share it with her before she died, which was something he hoped wouldn’t happen for a long time. He didn’t think he could stand losing her too soon, especially after his father, grandmother, and now grandfather were gone. Gradually, despite the pain in his leg, MacGyver fell asleep, the fire he made slowly dying into warm, glowing embers as night fell.
***
“I wasn’t going to do this,” Ellen MacGyver said, looking up at the police officer standing in her kitchen. “Our family has been experiencing many…problems lately. My father was helping me raise my son after his father and my mother were killed in a car accident, but one day he just left us without any explanation. My son wanted to try to find him, so he left this note saying where he went, but I haven’t heard from him, so I began to worry.”
The police officer looked at the note, then back at Ellen. “How long has he been missing?” He asked.
Ellen sighed. “Several days, I don’t know,” she said. “I began to lose count. He told me he’d call me, but he hasn’t. I just wish I had acted sooner, but you don’t know my son. He’s very independent and resourceful.”
“Has he done this before?”
Ellen nodded. “Several times, I’m afraid,” she said. “He just can’t seem to stay rooted in one place. I’ve tried talking to him about it, about how I worry when he’s gone, but he tells me everything will be fine.” Tears formed in her eyes. “It’s been difficult, raising him alone,” she said. “I feel like I can’t control him. He’s got a mind of his own, and he follows his own whims.”
The police officer placed a firm, supportive hand on her trembling back. “You’ve done the best you can,” he said. “I’ve seen many cases like this. Young men often take chances, roaming around, especially these days. We’ll do our best to find him.”
“He could be anywhere,” Ellen said.
“We’ll place bulletins to police departments across the country. Keep in mind also that he might return.”
“I hope so,” Ellen said.
***
MacGyver reached Harry’s campsite the next morning. After a fairly comfortable night’s sleep despite sleeping on a lumpy ground and the pain in his leg, he had fashioned a walking stick for himself to keep pressure off the wound since it hurt to walk on it, causing him to limp. He wouldn’t let his leg deter him from climbing the hill to the campsite. The limp made it difficult, the hike up the narrow trail taking longer than it normally would have for a healthy young man. He stumbled and tripped several times, the movements jarring his cut leg and causing more pain. He had to stop and touch the leg several times, trying to ease the pain and comfort it. The next time he went on a journey, he promised himself that he would bring painkillers.
The camp sat on the highest, rockiest, and most desolate point of the trail, the trees in the area gnarled and ancient, beaten and weathered by harsh winters. The air was cooler than it was in lower elevations, and the wind whipped violently in brief periods. MacGyver could understand why Harry chose this spot to camp, the unforgiving climate fitting with his gruff personality. Still, the scenery was the most majestic and beautiful in Colorado, panoramic views of the mountains spread out before him. Many pleasant childhood memories returned to MacGyver as he looked around, but any sign of Harry recently being there was absent.
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
I thought that was so cool, I had to use it in a Mac fanfic because it's perfect for him! 
