The cabin floor rolls under Becky's feet. She gasps, bracing herself against the doorway as the world comes crashing down around her once more.
On the porch a pencil attached to a empty tin can swings erratically to and fro, tracing jagged lines on a long narrow strip of paper on a spool. The can's suspended by wires from a narrow board nailed to another in an L-shape, the whole thing braced and mounted on a round cutting board.
Her uncle's homemade seismograph actually works. She's impressed.
(To be fair most of his contraptions do, but not always. A certain egg-cooking robot and a pair of yellow-stained sneakers come to mind.)
A couple minutes later the quake stops. She breathes easier, scooping up the seismograph and gingerly stepping off the porch, mindful of aftershocks.
The ensuing silence is shattered moments later by a pounding beat. Four sleek military helicopters escorting one with twin sets of rotating blades zoom overhead from Edwards AFB, heading westward.
"That'd be the President," MacGyver says by the jeep.
"Come to inspect what's left of the California coastline, I imagine. Everything packed up?"
"You bet." He comes up beside her. Follows her lingering gaze, squinting in the sunlight reflecting off the water.
There's a new bay on the coast. One that hadn't been there previously, formed out of massive tectonic and seismic forces at work.
The Los Angeles Basin's now completely covered by the blue waters of the Pacific. Waves slap against steel, concrete and glass, the remnants of Downtown's tallest buildings breaking through the surface. Every so often bodies or other bits of flotsam and jetsam come bubbling up to the surface, to be picked up by a flotilla of rescue and salvage ships. All that remains of a bustling, sprawling metropolis.
"Guess that's it then," he says softly. "End of an era."
She swallows. "Yeah." A tear trickles down her cheek for the poor people who couldn't make it out in time. So many lives lost in such a devastating disaster.
He gently squeezes her shoulder. "C'mon. Let's get outta here."
With one final wistful glance to the west Becky climbs in the jeep. Marveling on how much the world can change in a single day.
-24 hours earlier-
"Department of Archaeology and Anthropology, Candace speaking. How can I help you?"
"Yes, hello. I'm trying to get in touch with Dr. Daniel Jackson. Is he there, by any chance? I'm a friend of his."
A moment of hesitation. "I'm sorry, but Dr. Jackson hasn't been with us for several years now."
"Do you know of any other way I can contact him? Any forwarding address or phone number?"
"No, ma'am. Like I said, we haven't seen him since he resigned his position, and that was five years ago. Sorry."
"I see. Well, thanks for your help anyway."
"No problem, ma'am."
Becky sighs as she hangs up the phone. Another dead end.
Five years since she's heard anything from Daniel. The last time was when he'd written about coming out to visit her in L.A. after attending a symposium in Denver. He never showed up, and she hasn't heard from him since.
Every subsequent email bounced back as undeliverable. Phone number disconnected. Vague rumors of his humiliation at that same symposium in Denver persist throughout the academic community, yet no one has a clue what happened to him afterwards. (Or cares to, which she finds vaguely irksome.)
It's like he's disappeared completely off the face of the earth.
Which is a real shame. She could really use someone to talk to, after her latest failed attempt at a boyfriend. Dylan's a sweet guy, but she's long ago decided against being intimate with anyone if there's no sense of connection and he's not content with merely a platonic relationship.
To be honest, she's never felt anything like the instant rapport she and Daniel had with anyone else. Not for lack of trying, anyway.
Becky absently fingers the hummingbird pendant resting just below her throat. Every time she wears it she wonders about him. Where he is, what he's doing, if he's at all happy. If she'll ever see him again.
She hopes so.
Working for the Phoenix Foundation has its advantages.
After achieving her second doctorate a couple years back Becky's earned a position in the Linguistics Department that merits a cozy office all her own with an actual window, and a salary that's fairly decent by any stretch. Phoenix treats its employees well as recompense for luring the best of the best away from jobs in other, sometimes more lucrative, areas.
She's still living with her uncle and doesn't mind, but one of these days she fully intends to purchase her own place, preferably with a view of the ocean. Especially once Uncle Mac makes his mind up about asking Nikki to move in with him.
It's richly rewarding work but Becky's always been a dreamer, and every now and then she can't help wondering if there's another destiny in store for her. Somewhere far away from here.
For now, though, she's content enough with her life.
If only the darn tremors would stop.
He ambles through the halls of the Foundation, hands stuffed casually in pockets, nodding and sharing greetings along the way. People murmur to each other in his wake, as if pointing out a living legend, though he just laughs it off.
Angus MacGyver, the man who can make anything from practically nothing. Troubleshooter and expert agent.
More consultant than agent though, these days. Still fit and trim despite being in his late 40's, even with gray hairs that keep popping up despite his best efforts to hold them at bay (with judicious applications of hair dye), knees that creak and ache more often than he'd like and laugh lines gathering at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
He passes into the offices of the Linguistics Department, stopping at a familiar door with Dr. Rebecca Grahme engraved on the nameplate.
Every time he sees that he feels a warm satisfied glow, only partially made up of an uncle's pride in his beloved niece. She's come a long way in fourteen years, from the timid, newly-made orphan to the brilliant social scientist, alight in her own sphere.
It's like watching anyone he's mentored over the years- at the Challengers Club or Big Brother program- coming into their own.
Only better, 'cause it's his princess.
He knocks on the door, hears her soft acknowledgement. Opens it just enough to see her in profile, typing on her laptop and absently biting her lower lip in concentration. The midday light through the window makes her hair- cut in a flattering A-line bob- glow.
"Hey Beck," he says, softly.
A grin lights up her face as she turns and sees him, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Hey, Unc. Just can't stay away from this place, can you?"
He gives a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe not much fieldwork these days but that doesn't mean I can't keep my hand in every now and then. Pete left me some tickets for the Twins-Dodgers game this weekend in his office before he left for D.C., thought I'd pick them up and treat my favorite linguist to lunch. Interested?"
"Sure, if you're buying." She checks the time, closes her laptop. "Though actually, I'm due to attend a lecture right now. Join me?"
"What's it about?"
"Plate tectonics. Earthquakes, specifically. The geology department's giving a lecture to anyone who's interested, right here in the building."
"Just to remind us of the seismic powder keg we're already sitting on," Mac notes, very dry. "Sure, why not?"
In the spirit of freely sharing information the Foundation offers a series of lunch hour lectures open to all employees, in a small theatre set up expressly for this purpose. Mac and Becky slip in through the rear door, finding seats at one end of the back row.
The room's remarkably full considering the day's topic, what with all the tremors occurring on a regular basis. Earthquakes are obviously on everyone's mind lately.
On stage Dr. Lewis Meriwether (gangly, thick spectacles and towheaded) and Dr. Clark Williams (robust, deep brown skin and tightly-curled graying hair) are busy studying the laptop in front of them and tapping away at the keyboard.
The presentation- projected on the screen behind and slightly above them- appears to be permanently frozen on the title slide.
Mac frowns. "Maybe I should go and help them out."
"Why?" Becky asks.
"I've been putting up with the IT equipment's quirks for years. Got one or two tricks that might help."
"Unc, they're the two leading scientists in their department. I know you still want to feel useful, but surely they can find their way around a presentation on their own."
The display suddenly unfreezes and flicks forward a couple of slides. Meriwether and Williams heave a joint sigh of relief.
On the main screen appears a detailed map and cross-section of the San Andreas Fault in all its 800-mile glory. From Mendocino to the Salton Sea, the uncomfortable and always-shifting junction of the Pacific and North American Plates.
The lecture begins with basic facts about plate tectonics in general, and the fault in particular. Meriwether and Williams take turns speaking, soft tenor and booming baritone alternating. It takes a little while, but Mac can feel the atmosphere in the room change as people begin to pay attention. He even finds himself getting caught up in the topic, though it isn't anything he hasn't heard before. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Becky's equally enraptured.
"Experts such as ourselves have been predicting what's popularly known as the Big Quake- which could devastate a significant portion of the state's population- for years," Williams concludes. "We're here to tell you it will happen. There's proof of that. The only questions are when and of what magnitude. We advise everyone to be mindful, and take appropriate precautions."
The floor shifts slightly under everyone's feet, then subsides. The crowd disperses quickly, unsettled.
Even so Mac and Becky linger for a while, waiting until almost everyone has gone. They can hear the agitated discussion between the geologists on the stage even from where they're sitting, as the acoustics in the theatre are excellent.
"I'm telling you, we should've told them of our predictions! The data we analyzed this morning-" Meriwether hisses.
"It wouldn't have done much good," Williams cuts in. "We tried to contact the Governor's office this morning with our warning, remember? Only to be told he's in meetings all day. Ditto the Mayor. The L.A. Times and other media outlets wouldn't even send reporters. Besides, people have heard far too many lunatic rants about the Big Quake these days to take our warning seriously."
"Too bad Director Thornton's out of town, his words would carry a lot of weight in the right ears." Meriwether sighs, his gangly frame seeming to fold in on itself in his despair. "So what do we do, if we're the only ones to know the end of everything's taking place as soon as tomorrow?"
"What we can, my friend. Go home and make sure our friends and loved ones are safe. Now, I'm going to lunch in the cafeteria. I hear the chicken salad is excellent today. Why not join me, hmm?" Williams sympathetically pats his distraught colleague on the back as they leave the stage.
Mac's always trusted his gut feelings to get him out of a jam. But what his intuition's telling him now has him, ironically enough, almost paralyzed with fear.
He sighs and closes his eyes, trying to banish the overwhelming sense of unreality settling over him. For years he's been the one who can solve any problem, avert almost any disaster by a modest amount of knowledge, skill and a lot of sheer luck.
Not this time.
"Oh, god," Becky whispers, her eyes wide with shock. "It's really gonna happen, isn't it?" A strong intuitive sense runs in the family. Good thing, too.
"Yeah," he answers softly. "Bound to happen sooner or later like they said. But now that it's here..." He shakes his head. "Gotta admit I don't know what to do, Beck."
"Me neither," she reluctantly admits. "Maybe we should call someone, but who? Everyone we know is out of town. Penny's up north filming a series in Vancouver, Jack Dalton's flying one of his long-distance cargo hauls, and Pete's in D.C. with back-to-back meetings. Even Nikki's somewhere in Europe on assignment. Fortunately they'll be well out of range when it happens."
"Yeah, but what about the Mayor, the Governor? We gotta warn them."
"Unc, didn't you hear what they said? They already tried everyone, even the news media. And if no one wanted to listen to a warning from two respected Phoenix scientists, how could we possibly convince anyone ourselves, with no proof other than a gut feeling?"
"There's gotta be a way. I keep feeling we should be doing something. Warning people, telling them to get out of town. Anything better than just sitting here."
Becky takes a deep breath. She places a gentle hand on his arm, grounding him. Remarkably calm in a crisis, another family trait. "I feel the same way, believe me. But there's nothing we can do. Unless," she adds with a wry smile, "you can stop a major earthquake with paperclips, chewing gum and duck tape."
He rolls his eyes but the slumped shoulders acknowledge his defeat. "Point taken. Guess we go to Plan B, then."
"What's Plan B?"
Mac turns to her, utterly serious. "We leave. For good."
"Okay. But where to? Pete's cabin?"
"Not exactly. Jack and I worked it out years ago, right after you moved in with me. If the end of the world happens or whatever, we head straight for his place in Colorado Springs."
"Military protection if things get ugly, so to speak."
He nods, glumly. "Yeah. You know me, I like to hope for the best. But in this case-"
"Better prepare for the worst." She sighs. "Yeah, Unc. I got it. Plan B it is."
They drive in ordinary traffic from the Foundation's offices in Santa Monica back to the apartment in West L.A. Everything appears so normal, it's hard to believe at any time it could become a frenzied rush of fleeing urbanites.
Becky flicks her gaze to her uncle. Mac's staring fixedly ahead, long fingers tapping against the steering wheel and a tightness to his strong jawline. Worrying about everything and everyone as he does.
She's concerned as well but panicking about the inevitable won't make it go away, as her mom used to say. Better to face certain disaster with a clear head.
Once at the apartment they both swing into action. Becky's already wearing jeans (casual Friday in the office) but changes her blouse for a practical denim shirt and flats for sneakers. Opens her closet, standing on tiptoes to reach for an old Army canvas duffel belonging to Mac, along with a travel bag she uses for overnight trips. Spreads them open on the bed beside a blue backpack, battered from years of carrying schoolbooks yet still sturdy.
She pauses, thinking fondly of her mother packing for her, three suitcases' worth of clothes and goodies for a summer vacation with Uncle Mac in L.A., fourteen years ago. Overkill perhaps, but Allison Grahme always believed in being prepared for anything.
Becky mentally shakes herself. Time to focus on the present.
Keep your feet on the ground, girl.
Clothes. More jeans, sweaters, flannel shirts and T-shirts. Socks, both cotton and wool. Shorts, underwear. Second pair of sneakers, hiking boots, a pair of sandals. Also cold-weather gear- gloves, waterproof jacket, long underwear, knit hat. Two blouses, slacks, skirt, nylons and pair of flats, in case she has to dress formally for some reason.
She meets Mac in the bathroom as they pack toiletries. "You got room for extra toilet paper?" she asks, as casually as if it were an ordinary camping trip.
He bends, reaching into the cabinet. "Yeah."
"Good." After he pulls out she ducks under, to retrieve a package of pads. Damned if she won't face her detested periods without them, end of the world or no.
Back to her room, opening the jewelry chest on the dresser. Nothing of monetary worth, but some have sentimental value. Such as the hummingbird necklace, a treasured gift from a friend, and a heart-shaped locket in antique gold containing family pictures. She places both into a small velvet bag.
Speaking of family pictures...
She takes the time to carefully separate the photos on the dresser from their frames and slip them into an envelope. Her mom, dad and brother. Herself and her uncles, at her high school graduation. Jack Dalton, Pete, Nikki and Penny, taken during a surprise birthday party for Mac at Phoenix.
Good times. Happy times.
Becky holds back a sob at the surge of memories, almost absurdly glad their friends are far away from here.
Enough. Back to work.
She wishes she could take every book she owns but space is limited. Settles for some of her most favorite fantasy and sci-fi works, including one she's reading now- Cyteen by C.J. Cherryh. Also a collection of world mythologies and The Norton Anthology of English Literature, holdovers from college.
On her desk are grammar books and dictionaries in Latin and Esperanto, languages she's learning for fun. Might as well pack them too.
"You ready, Beck?" Mac's standing by her door, dressed in jeans, t-shirt and flannel shirt under his signature brown leather jacket, hair curling just above the collar. Leather travel bag and the red nylon gym bag he usually takes to hockey practice in his hands, backpack slung around one shoulder. Still worried but ultimately resigned to their fate, whatever it may be.
"Almost. You got through to Jack yet?"
He shakes his head. "Left a message on his machine. Must be at work."
"Right." Only a few things left to pack. Wallet and other items from her purse, glasses case, sleeping mask, Walkman and spare batteries, select tapes. Her very own pocketknife. Stashes it all in the blue backpack, zips everything up.
She swallows, taking one last look around, then hefts her bags and follows Mac downstairs.
They load the back of the jeep, adding a cooler with ice packs and cardboard boxes, filled with food from the fridge and pantry. Also jugs of water, spare gas can, sleeping bags, camping tent, first aid kit. Same as for any ordinary camping trip, save for a thick wad of cash- the family emergency fund- stashed in the bottom of Mac's backpack, portable radio with extra batteries, and a shoebox filled with spare Swiss Army Knives and duck tape.
"Got a full tank of gas," Mac says, "and I checked both oil and air in the tires. We're good to go."
"Great, but we'd better shut off the gas and unplug certain appliances and electronics, too. Don't want to cause a fire on top of everything else."
"That's my girl. Thinking ahead as always."
She almost bumps into him as he comes to a halt by the front door after taking care of everything. "What's wrong?"
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just wanted to take one last look around, you know? Never stayed so long in one place before, save for Mission City. Guess it's a lot harder to leave than I thought it would be."
She can only nod agreement, finding it too difficult to talk with the lump in her throat.
For half of her life this was a second home: comfortable mismatched furniture, an eclectic mix of souvenirs from Mac's travels, stacks of books and assorted sports equipment. Some decorative and organizational touches of her own here and there. A warm, cozy atmosphere.
So many good memories.
The apartment shakes slightly. Pictures rattle on the walls, books and knickknacks fall to the floor. Becky resists the urge to pick them up, choosing instead to follow her uncle out the door.
"Must be our cue to leave." He locks the door behind them, a trace of melancholy in his flippant words.
"Must be." She blinks back unexpected tears. He gently cups her cheek and she gratefully leans into his touch.
"Hey sweetheart, don't worry," his voice full of warm encouragement. "It'll be tough going for a while, but you can do this. Be brave, okay?"
Trust her Uncle Mac to always say the right thing. "Okay."
"Ready?"
She takes a deep breath, gives a short, decisive nod. "Ready."
A new chapter of their life's about to begin, one with an uncertain future. So be it.
As long as they're together, everything will be all right.
The Phoenix Foundation has a cabin in the Angeles National Forest, high in the San Gabriel Mountains. Close to the city yet just far enough away to make for a comfortable weekend retreat.
Mac and Becky have the place to themselves (he knows where Pete keeps the spare key), so they spend the first night in relative comfort. Electricity, hot water and a big stone fireplace, perfect for toasting marshmallows and sharing stories by firelight. Cozy beds with actual sheets and blankets.
Becky sighs contentedly, snuggling into warmth. Mac's soft, familiar snores in the other bed and the slow chirping of crickets outside the bedroom window soothe her into deep sleep.
For an uncertain future it's a good beginning.
Mac wakes suddenly. His eyes dart around his surroundings, vision adjusting to the darkness.
In the other bed Becky softly sighs in her sleep. In the first few years, he used to sit by her bed after coming home late from a mission. Watching her, reassuring himself she's alive and well. That he still has a reason to keep going.
Otherwise the night is still and quiet. Too quiet, old DXS instincts insist.
There's a faint shiver along his spine, the kind he gets when something bad's about to happen.
All his senses on high alert now, he gets out of bed and gently rests a hand on her shoulder, nudging her awake. "Becky, wake up."
She yawns, blinking in the darkness. "Aw c'mon, Unc. Five more minutes, okay? Not even light outside yet."
"I'm serious. Got a bad feeling something's about to happen."
"Like what?"
A sudden large jolt, followed quickly by a violent shaking that seems to go on forever.
Becky sits up quickly, eyes wide. "Oh, no..."
He struggles to stay on his feet. "Let's get outta here."
No further argument as she puts on her glasses, grabs his hand. They hurry out of the bedroom as objects come crashing down around them.
The cabin's black as pitch, a grim imitation of a carnival funhouse. Every time they take a step, they're practically thrown from side to side. Mac can hear the crashing of glass, the groaning of the house as it rocks to and fro, and beneath it all, the rumbling of the earth itself as the quake spends its massive amount of energy. Wooden beams creak ominously.
Finally they reach the front door, pushing it open and making a mad dash outside. The ground continues to lurch under them for a few more seconds, then finally stops.
Thank god.
Not even dawn yet, but the world's suddenly full of noise as if it were high noon. Birds chirping their distress, dogs barking. The distant shrieking of alarms and wailing of sirens off to the west.
Becky shudders. "God. Must be chaos down there. Good thing we got out when we did."
"Yeah." He nods towards the jeep. "Let's sit in there for a while. Safer than back inside the cabin."
An aftershock rumbles under their feet. "Good idea," she agrees.
They unroll their sleeping bags and spread them around themselves, a layer of warmth against the early-morning chill.
Mac leans his head against the back of the driver's seat and closes his eyes, feeling suddenly drained. Probably as a result of the near-panicked flight from the cabin, post-adrenaline crash after being thrown into a crisis. An all-too-familiar sensation.
The car rocks to and fro, reminding them again of what they'd just been through.
He hears the static and jumbled sounds of a radio being tuned. He opens his eyes to see Becky fiddling with the dials.
"Just want to see if I can get any news," she says, before finally settling on a local all-news channel.
Mac shifts into a slightly more comfortable position and closes his eyes again. He's still too keyed up to sleep, but it's calming to sit there and let the voices on the radio lull him into an in-between state, neither awake nor asleep.
Now if only those darn nerve-rattling aftershocks could just stop.
Becky's eyes fly open. Just after dawn, she guesses by how much lighter the sky has become.
There's an eerie stillness and she's positive she can smell smoke in the air. Probably more than a few fires set ablaze. She's obscurely grateful she insisted on turning off the gas back at the apartment, all things considered.
A shiver runs along her spine, a feeling something really bad is about to happen.
She reaches over, touching his arm. "Unc, wake up."
Unlike her, he's used to waking up fairly quickly. "What is it, Beck?"
A loud shrieking, groaning sound arises to the west, getting even louder. Becky winces and covers her ears.
Mac pushes his sleeping bag out of the way. "Better check it out. Get the binoculars from the glove compartment, willya?"
They walk a few yards, stopping short of the cliff's edge. Good thing the cabin's well away from here, she thinks with a shudder. Otherwise they might've toppled over with the first quake.
The view to the west's one of complete and utter devastation, as far as she can see. Something about the ground seems distorted somehow, though she can't lay a finger as to what.
There's also an awful lot of haze in the air, different quality than the usual smog.
"Think that's just smoke?" Becky wonders.
"Maybe," Mac replies dubiously. "An awful lot of it, though. More than during wildfire season, though I don't see how."
The view shifts again. Almost is if it's shrinking...?
A sick feeling settles in the pit of her stomach. She grabs the binoculars for confirmation.
No, not shrinking. It's sinking.
Mac swallows, eyes wide. "Aw man. Is it doing what I think it's doing?"
She can only nod in reply, eyes equally wide. Involuntarily she and Mac move way back from the edge.
The whole of the L.A. Basin's steadily dropping downwards, probably several hundred feet.
And that's not all.
Where earthquakes happen- especially along the notorious Ring of Fire encircling the Pacific Ocean- there are bound to be tsunamis, as the undersea floor shakes and settles.
Massive walls of water surge in, rising high into the air then come crashing down, wreaking havoc in their wake. One tidal wave after another without receeding, until only the upper thirds of the tallest buildings are visible above the surface.
Mac and Becky can only watch, mute witnesses to the destruction raining down upon what was once a thriving metropolis.
Which, as they soon find out, is only the beginning.
It's not the worst road trip Mac's ever been on, but certainly one of the most surreal. And far from over.
Soon as they reach Victorville they find themselves practically riding point on a flood of refugees headed for Las Vegas, across the Mojave Desert. Not to gamble but to live in disaster relief camps, set up south of the city.
Everyone who can is fleeing inland for safety, it seems.
Significant seismic activity's not limited to Southern California or the West Coast. Not anymore, at least.
According to the news on the radio, the 12-point quake's set of something of a chain reaction, up the coast and all around the Pacific. More earthquakes and tsunamis, even select volcanoes erupting.
Damage already counted in billions of dollars, and millions of lives.
Meriwether and Williams were right, the poor guys. The end of everything, and nothing he and Becky can do about it.
Except survive.
"Jack, it's Mac. Thought you'd like to know we're still alive. Passing through Vegas now, on our way up I-15. If you haven't already figured it out from the news, this is Plan B. Be sure to leave a light on for us, willya? See you soon."
He hangs up the phone, disgusted at having to leave yet another message. What's his brother doing that keeps him so busy all the time?
A chunk of the emergency cash goes to fill up the jeep and spare can with gas (prices are astronomical with the current crisis, but there's no choice) and buy a few foodstuffs to augment their supply. Then it's on the road again.
In St. George he tries again. Not even a dial tone to be had. Phone service must be down all over the West, now.
A minor symptom of the major chaos to come.
They make their way in a northeasterly fashion, but it's slow going. All manner of roadblocks cross their path, from aftershocks rippling through the ground to landslides to fighting refugee traffic heading in the opposite direction. (Is there something else going on they don't know about yet?)
Fortunately it's early October, with the hottest days of the year behind them. Though at this rate Becky reckons it'll be almost winter by the time they reach Colorado Springs.
Days are spent driving as far as they can, using their dwindling supply of gas plus more siphoned from cars abandoned along the way.
Sooner or later they'll have to abandon the jeep altogether, but not yet. Mac's become an expert at keeping his pride and joy running as long as it has.
Nights are spent trying to pick up radio signals bouncing off the ionosphere, piecing together the news of a world inexplicably and inevitably dying.
Tremors are taking place along all of the world's faultlines, tsunamis sweeping away major population centers near every ocean. Previously inactive volcanoes beginning to show signs of life once again.
People panicking, rioting and looting in the streets of what cities remain intact. Governments collapsing everywhere.
It's rather frightening just how tenuous the veneer of civilization really is, when it comes to a crisis of this magnitude.
Worse yet, no one knows why it's happening, or if anything can be done to stop it. Odds are, Becky thinks with a trace of cynicism, if anyone does know they're probably keeping it to themselves.
After taking in as much of the day's crises as they can stand, they fix a hot meal over a campfire and spread out their sleeping bags to spoon together, Mac's arms gently cradling her.
No guns of course, but that doesn't mean they haven't created any weapons of their own, just in case. It's nothing less than a miracle they haven't encountered any threats along the way, human or animal. That doesn't mean it won't happen at all, however. Best to remain vigilant most of the time.
Yet the way Mac holds her at night, protecting her as he always has, keeping her safe and warm-
It's the only time she can relax, lately.
The airwaves these days are chock full of every kind of crazy theory or rant as to the cause. Alien influence, multinational government conspiracy, divine judgement or what have you.
Good thing neither of them buy into that garbage. Mac's always been the skeptic in the family, and she has a pretty good head on her shoulders herself, with a clear sense of when she's hearing utter balderdash. Things just happen, that's all.
Time to be realistic. No salvation's coming for them. No means of escape off Earth, either. The human race is finished, and not even by its own collective hand. It's the planet itself that's doing them in.
Once they reach Grand Junction the tremors start up again, after a whole week of quiet. Even worse than before.
Yet they keep following the road, in the general direction of Colorado Springs.
Besides, stubbornness runs in the family. Mac and Becky aren't quitters by any means.
Jack's waiting for them, after all. Wouldn't do to disappoint him.
The original plan was to take I-70 over the mountains to Denver and head south from there. However a massive landslide's blocking traffic west of Vail, with cars abandoned on both sides of the road. Meaning they have to backtrack a ways to where Highway 24 heads south, a more convoluted route over the mountains.
Every community they're going through has been turned into ghost towns seemingly overnight. It's downright eerie.
Their faithful jeep finally gives up the ghost just east of Hartsel. When a thunderstorm rolls in she spies a storage barn large enough to provide shelter for the night, and they push the vehicle inside just in time.
Rain drums against the metal roof. Farm machinery slowly rusts in piles. The scent of used engine oil makes Becky's nose wrinkle.
Mac takes out the map, spreads it on the hood. "So we're about here," he says, tapping a long finger on the paper. "60 miles to go before we reach Colorado Springs, more or less. Only take us a few more days walking. Not bad, considering."
"All of it uphill," she sighs. "Through the Rockies on foot in the middle of fall. Just peachy."
"Yeah, I know it's not the most ideal time of the year for this, but we gotta keep going. C'mon, we're almost there."
"But I'm tired, Unc," she can't help whining. "Can't we just find a house somewhere nearby and hibernate until spring?"
He raises an eyebrow at her and she sighs. "I know, I know," she grumbles. "God, I wish we were there already."
"You and me both. C'mon, let's eat and get some rest."
Dinner consists of protein bars and water from the canteen. They lean against the jeep and Becky shivers, tugging her jacket tighter around her. Fall comes on fast in the higher elevations, and the wind already carries a biting chill.
Mac opens one of the sleeping bags, drapes it around them. He slips an arm around Becky, holding her next to his heart. She burrows into his jacket with a faint sigh.
"I'm scared."
"We'll be fine," he says softly. "Just a little more."
"Don't know if I can take this much longer. I really don't."
"Yes, you can. I'm so proud of you, you know that? More of a trooper than I ever expected. My brave princess."
She can't help but chuckle. "I'm 28, you realize. A bit old to be a princess."
"Not to me." Soft press of lips against the top of her head. "Night, Beck."
"Night, Unc." She relaxes against him, sheltered from the storm in more ways than one. Falling into a deep sleep.
Morning is for unloading the jeep, taking stock and balancing the load between them. There isn't much food or potable water left, but it still turns out to be a whole lot for each of them to carry.
Mac looks around the barn, brow furrowed in thought. "With the machinery in here I can probably rig up a cart or something to carry our stuff instead."
"If anybody can, it's you," she agrees.
He does. It's not bad, wheels and axles and pipes and boards. Kinda cute, in a way.
For some reason Mac can't remember they decided to veer off course, believing a smaller road through the forest would be a more effective shortcut than further slogging along the highway. He's too tired to figure out where they're supposed to be now.
Reduced to eating berries and whatever else can be scrounged off the land after their food stash was raided by animals two nights ago. Only water to be had comes from the occasional mountain stream.
He's an expert in wilderness survival, but even so it's hard to find enough to eat at this altitude that hasn't already been gathered in at this time of the year.
Both on their last legs, dead tired and nearly starving.
There's no choice. They've gotta keep going.
One step after another.
The ground shakes under their feet but they're used to it by now. Even the Rockies aren't immune to seismic shifts.
Yet this time it's particularly bad, and there's no protective shelter to be had anywhere in sight.
The shaking soon stops, but the rumbling continues.
Becky frowns, glancing up the slope. "You hear something?"
A few rocks tumble down the mountainside, then more and more.
Landslide approaching, and fast.
Mac grabs Becky's hand, pulls her along as he breaks into a run. If they can get out of range in time...
Too late.
Head pounding in pain, Mac struggles to get everything off of his niece's buried form.
"Hang on, princess. Almost there."
When the last of the debris is removed his breath catches in his throat. Scratches and bruises along her face and hands. Glasses askew and a little scratched, though not broken (scant consolation, really).
There's a vertical gash in her left side, a deep one.
Becky moans, just barely this side of conscious. "Unc...hurts..."
"It's okay, Beck. I got you."
He removes his shirt, tears it into strips. Presses the fabric against her wound. She's losing a lot of blood. Not much he can do otherwise.
If he was particularly religious he'd pray for a miracle at this point.
Then it happens anyway.
He can't believe what he's hearing at first. The distinct, rhythmic thumping of a helicopter, maybe a mile away or less judging by the sound.
There's a flare gun in one of the outer pockets of his knapsack. Hurts like heck when he twists his arm a bit but he manages to reach it.
Mac really wants to lay down and sleep by his niece's side, but if he does he may not want to wake again. Ever.
He's gotta keep going, for Becky's sake as well as his own.
The helicopter's coming closer. It's now or never.
With a mighty effort he raises the gun straight above his head, fires.
The flare shoots up into the sky, explodes.
Suddenly it's too much. There's nothing more he can do. He'll die here right beside his beloved niece, lost somewhere in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. Jack would never know what happened, his only clue a couple cryptic telephone messages.
Mac wants to laugh at the irony, but he's way too tired.
Lies back against the cool rock, barely able to keep his eyes open. Hurting all over.
There's a loud rhythmic thumping sound in his ears, perhaps his heartbeat. No, it's the helicopter, he reminds himself.
Through narrowed eyes a glimpse of small landing wheels under the black body of a helicopter, coming to rest against the ground not far away. Then a pair of black combat boots, hurrying towards him.
"Geez. You two just can't keep out of trouble, can ya?"
The last person he ever expected to see, kneeling beside him. Same rugged features, velvet-brown eyes, familiar smirk. Hair much shorter, darker and sprinkled with gray. Dressed in green and black with unusual shoulder patches, under a rescue vest.
"Jack...?"
His twin gives a wry smile. "Good to see you too. Both of you." Frowns at the sight of their wounds. "For crying out loud. What the hell happened to you guys?"
"Tremor...landslide," Mac mutters, wavering in and out of consciousness. "Jack...Becky..."
Jack turns to her, gently touching her cheek. "Hey, sweetheart," he croons softly. "How're you doing?"
"Hurts..." Her voice a bare whisper.
"Sorry to hear that, Beck. Don't worry, you're safe now."
"Oh, good..." She faints.
"Damn." Jack lays two long fingers against her neck, then sighs in relief. "Faint but there, at least. Good thing I spotted that flare of yours when I did, huh?"
A second helicopter lands nearby, several Marines emerge. Jack waves them over. "All right, get some stretchers over here, on the double!"
A medic kneels next to Mac, carefully inspecting him for a concussion or any signs of spinal damage while the one from the other helicopter checks on Becky. She takes her vitals, injects a syringe into her arm. "She needs surgery, but we got to them just in time, Colonel," she yells to Jack.
"Thank god," Jack mutters under his breath. "Load 'em on the choppers," he orders, "and be extra careful about it. They're family."
As Mac's carefully lifted onto a stretcher he waves weakly towards the overturned cart. "Jack...our stuff..."
"Yeah, got it." Jack gestures to the Marines. "C'mon, grab their stuff and let's get back to base already. Don't wanna be out here when the ground starts shaking again. Move it, people!"
Mac's absurdly fascinated despite his exhaustion. He's never seen his twin in full military mode before.
A jostle as he's loaded onto one helicopter, while Marines carry a rather pale Becky onto the other.
"Alright Sheppard," Jack says to the pilot. "Contact the base. Two incoming wounded, one needing surgery ASAP. Let's blow this joint."
The pilot nods. With a slight jerk the helicopter rises into the air.
There's a sting as a medic slips a needle into Mac's arm, then blessed relief from the pain.
"Got your messages, Mac," Jack murmurs. "Plan B's accomplished. Good job. You're both safe now. Relax."
Thank god.
He lets the healing darkness take him away.