Sixteen Digits
By Rosie Calais
For the June 22 MacGyver Flashfic Writealong (on Tumblr). The prompt was: 22 19 75 32 49 99 18 05
"It's okay, Ri. Just slow down. You got this."
It's Jack's voice that pulls Mac back toward consciousness, toward pain so sharp and hot that it fills almost all his attention.
But in spite of Jack's soothing tones, Riley's voice is rising. "I—I don't think it's here, Jack. I don't think they saved the code anywhere other than that sheet of paper. The database is encrypted." She makes a panicked sound that's almost a sob. "We can't do it without Mac."
"I don't think he's gonna be able to tell us. Just keep lookin'." There's a soft sigh and Mac feels a hand tighten around his arm. "And we don't have time to get clear. Not even if he was up for running."
Oh. That's right. Matty said the fastest she could get exfil here would be ten minutes after the meltdown, at which point they'll all have taken lethal doses of radiation. Mac can't hear any conversation on comms anymore; the empty feeling in his ear tells him his earpiece is missing. Maybe it got knocked out in the fight. But it sounds like the timeline hasn't improved.
"Jack," Riley says again, frustration in her tone. "I can't find a thing that doesn't exist in the computer! This is one-way encryption. The actual number isn't even here."
Mac takes a breath to ask what's going on and pain shoots through his chest. He moans instead, and the warmth he's resting against shifts. He opens his eyes to a blurry cluster of lights.
"Mac?" Jack's voice is soft. "It's okay, bud. We're right here with ya."
It takes Mac a minute to orient himself to their new situation. They aren't where he last remembers them being; this room is smaller. He's lying on his left side on the floor, with his back braced against something hard. His head and shoulders are pulled up against Jack's legs, slightly elevated, and Jack's hand is gripping his upper arm, keeping him steady. The sharp pain on the left side of his chest peaks with every breath in a way that screams broken ribs. He recalls they had just gotten away from the separatists who sabotaged this nuclear plant and then… nothing.
He twists his head to look at Jack. He has a dozen questions he wants to ask, but when he takes a breath in to speak, it turns into a bubbling cough. He tastes iron, and can tell from the tightness on Jack's face that the fresh dampness on his lips is blood.
That checks out. The blood goes along with the stabbing pain and sense of heaviness when he breathes in.
He can't do anything about that. With effort, he looks toward Riley. She's squatting down nearby, leaning against a wall with her laptop balanced on her thighs. He could hear her typing before but the clacking noise of her keyboard has stopped and now her eyes are locked on him. Her face is a teary mess, her features a mask of wide-eyed distress.
To judge from the very 1960s-looking switches and lights on the panels set into the wall to RIley's side, they definitely made to the control room of the aging power plant. Built by the Soviets before men landed on the moon, it looks like it hasn't been updated since then. And thanks to the separatists, the whole place is going to turn into another Chernobyl unless Riley enters the code that unlocks the cooling systems.
The code they found in the safe at the other end of the building—before losing it again when they were briefly captured by the last holdout separatists—is the number Riley needs to re-activate the cooling systems.
Mac takes a shallow breath. It's a struggle; the pain wants to drag him down again. He'd let it, but it's obvious that Jack and Riley don't remember the code, while Mac can clearly picture the numbers scrawled across the page. "Twenty-two," he manages in a voice that's barely a whisper.
Riley's eyes flick up to Jack, a question in her face, and Jack's hand tightens on Mac's shoulder. "Twenty-two," Jack repeats. "Yeah, that sounds right. Enter it in there, Ri."
"Nineteen," Mac continues after another breath. He has to pause for another wet, wheezing cough. "Seventy-five."
Jack repeats each set of numbers and Riley enters them into her program, and looks between Mac and Jack.
They can't have much time left to stop the meltdown, but it feels like Mac can't catch his breath. "Thirty-two," he whispers.
Jack leans down over him, frowning, listening closely. "Thirty-two," he repeats for Riley.
"Forty-nine." His voice is fading and his vision is going blurry again. Sixteen digitals feels like far too many.
When Mac coughs, Jack wipes Mac's chin with a shaking hand, and his voice cracks as he repeats the next numbers. "Ninety-nine. Eighteen."
Mac coughs again, sucks in a breath. "Zero." It's barely a whisper now. Another breath. "Five."
Jack rubs Mac's shoulder in small, comforting circles and repeats the last number for Riley.
Riley types, and types some more. "That's it. That's the whole thing. I'm submitting it—" She hits a few more keys and then leans her head back, wiping at her face with one hand. "Done."
Mac closes his eyes, takes another breath. "We... good?"
"Yeah," Jack says. "Yeah, you did good, bud. Right, Ri?"
Riley makes a noise like a sob. "Yeah. That's exactly what we needed, Mac." She snaps her laptop shut and shoves it into the bag at her feet. "Can we go?" Her voice sounds small. "Can we get him to exfil?"
"We're gonna try," Jack says. His hand rubs over Mac's forehead. "You hear that, bud? We're heading for exfil now. Just hold on a few more minutes, okay?"
Mac wants to say he will. It's only ten minutes, he can do that.
He just can't, he realizes as his teammates reach down to lift him and his broken ribs scream in protest, do it while conscious.