5 DAYS

MacGyver walked out of the building he'd slept in, pulling his pack on. He'd packed everything up and slept in the instrument shack. Let his stalker think he was there now! He was walking past the tower when he looked back. He stopped, staring at the fire pit with the fire burning it.

"If I find you…" He stormed over to the pit and put the fire out.

MacGyver exited the fenced area and locked the gate, then walked out to the edge of the meadow. He yelled at the forest, "I'M LEAVING! STOP MAKING FIRES NOW OR YOU'LL SET THE WHOLE FOREST ON FIRE!"

He muttered angrily under his breath as he turned away and started down the access road to the south. He had an entire day of hiking ahead of him to find his Zen from three days ago.

/_\

MacGyver stopped, staring at the ghost of a rockslide. The scar was on both sides of the access road, but after it had happened, someone had cleared it off the road. The slide had pulled large trees from the ground, leaving the roots sticking up like fingers trying to reach the sky. He walked over to a log in the shade of three tall pines and sat down with a tired exhale.

He pulled his pack off and took his gold compass and map before setting them on the log next to him. He used the end of the flannel shirt tied around his waist to wipe his brow and then tugged his water bottle from the side pocket and drank some water. For a while he sat and did nothing more, enjoying the breezes cooling his sweaty back and hair. His moment of peace was disturbed when he heard crackle somewhere in the woods below him. He unfolded the map, sat a compass on it, and began checking his course.

Across the road and up the mountainside, brush rustled. He had been hearing bushes and branches snapping since he'd left the radio tower, keeping him at high alert. He looked toward the noise, holding his breath. More rustling. He looked around for a weapon and spotted a fist-sized stick about three feet long. He sat his map and compass on the log and picked up the stick. He sat still, waiting, and watching. There was some more rustling.

A fox dashed out of the underbrush, onto the road. Spotting MacGyver it froze. Minutes passed that neither moved, transfixed by the other. A breeze blew through the trees, causing them to groan and creak, startling the fox. It disappeared into the underbrush on the other side of the road. MacGyver smiled, letting the stick fall to the ground. He returned to his map and compass.

Somewhere up the mountain, he heard a loud crunch of wood breaking. He knew it could be another creature, but his paranoia said it was his stalker. With all the dead trees, live trees, and brush, he couldn't see too far up the slope. All he had wanted was a peaceful, uneventful vacation – was that so much to ask for?

He was suddenly sharply aware that sitting here, at the edge of a road he was completely vulnerable. He had to get moving and get back into the shelter of the trees.

He pushed his water in the side pocket of his pack and pushed his map and compass in the front. MacGyver grabbed the shoulder strap as he stood and almost fell backward when the pack pulled away from him. He tried to pull it up again and realized it was caught on the other side of the log. He hopped over and discovered the other shoulder strap and top strap were tangled in the roots of a dead tree. He tried to pull it loose, but the roots weren't budging, and his pulling on it was only making the tangle worse. It was as if the tree had suddenly come to life and was planning on keeping the pack for itself.

He heard rocks tumbling toward him and looked up. A couple of rocks rolled down the scar above him, leaped off the embankment, and landed with a dull plunk on the road. He looked up the scar. There was nothing to see, but he could see the tops of the trees further up moving in a strong breeze. Several more rocks clattered down the scar.

He wanted to believe that the wind had knocked the rocks loose, but his paranoia was much louder.

He turned back to his pack. He picked up a rock and started hammering at the roots to break them loose. All but one broke after a couple of hits. It was a thick root and his previous pulling had snugged the shoulder strap tight against the root. If he pulled hard enough, he could tear it loose, but then he'd have to head home. A strap fixed with duct tape always rubbed his shoulders and chest raw. He had to find a way to cut the root free. He wasn't letting a stalker or broken strap turn him away from the rest of his vacation.

He tried to get into his pack to get his hatchet out but the pack was snugged so tightly against the root that he couldn't get the zipper undone far enough to get the ax head out of his pack.

MacGyver turned to search the area for a rock that was naturally formed like an ax head. He spotted one a little way down the rockslide scar. He walked down the slide until he was parallel to the rock and began carefully walking toward the rock.

He was five feet or less from the rock when he realized he had seriously misjudged the stability of the scar. The further toward the center he went, the more easily the rocks were moved under his feet. Rocks shot down the slide below him, clunking against other rocks. It was like trying to walk on a floor full of marbles!

"This was a really stupid idea, Mac," he muttered to himself. "What the hell were you thinking?"

The rocks under him shifted in a very stomach jarring way and he froze. He was midway now. The side of the scar was four feet to his left, the rock he wanted three feet to his right – which was the correct move here?

He heard rocks clink above him and roll past him, a couple bashing against his calves. He looked up, half expecting to see someone there, perhaps trying to start the slide again. There wasn't anyone, but what he saw was worse. The slide was beginning to move in his direction very slowly. He started back to the edge of the scar, stepping carefully to prevent speeding up the slow-moving rockslide.

Without warming, the rockslide picked up speed like a car running off a cliff. The moving rocks rolled his feet out from under him, sending him crashing down hard on the moving rocks and earth. MacGyver clawed for anything to stop his speeding descent, but he was sucked below a layer of rocks. He curled, using his hands to cover his head. But in a rush of rocks, shrubs, and dirt, this did little to protect him from being mercilessly pummeled.

The world was spinning more as large rocks collided with his head. It felt like every bone in his body was on the verge of breaking. Rocks slammed against his stomach and chest, knocking the air out of him. When he gasped for air, he inhaled dust from the rocks.

The slide came to a slow stop. MacGyver slid to a stop near the end, but he couldn't move. Blood dripped from his ears, nose, and dozens of lacerations. His clothes were shredded, sopping up some of his blood. He felt like he had broken everything possible bone in his body. His head was throbbing, and he couldn't tell which way was up. The thought of even trying to move was too painful to consider.

A shadow fell across his face and he tried to focus on it. He couldn't tell if he was seeing a shadow of an imaginary person or this was really a person.

"From what I learned about you, I thought for sure you'd be smarter than this, Angus MacGyver," the person said.

He couldn't tell if the person was a man or woman with his ears painfully ringing.

"Why would you go out on a rockslide, you fool? What the hell were you thinking?"

He tried to answer. His jaw and face hurt too much to form words, and he was still trying to catch his breath.

"I really hope you aren't actually this stupid, or this is going to be the shortest relationship in the history of man."

The person moved and he heard a soft pop. The spinning world whirled into darkness.