CHAPTER 4

Don hadn't gotten the harness fully fastened before the explosion went off under the Chariot. The vehicle started its first rotation, which slammed his body against the driver's door, which unlike the passenger's door, was still closed. It wasn't pleasant and, in that split second, he wondered if it would have been better had the door been open and he'd been flung out.

As the ATV continued it slow, side over side somersault, his body started tumbling again. The com-mike swung back and forth on its springy cord, slamming into his left eye. That's gonna leave a bruise, he thought, as he desperately made a grab for the restraints to try to stop his tumbling routine. He managed to brace his body between the two front seats before the ATV completed its next rotation; each successive one getting quicker as it progressed down the incline. He winced when the first boulder slammed into the vehicle's window, before recalling that they were designed to take brutal punishments and remain intact.

That victory was fleeting because the cargo net behind him tore loose in one corner sending objects hurtling at his exposed back. Don had no idea what was hitting him, though he knew one of the items was sharp. It tore through his shirt, into his back, and warm blood began seeping from the wound. Too late now to wish he'd left his tough, fire retardant, orange jacket on when they had stopped.

Dark spots were already swirling on the periphery of his vision as the C-8 continued its descent, pulverizing his poor body and brain. For some reason, Judy's comment about the escape hatch not being a sunroof drifted through his mind. If this ATV ever stopped its' freefall maybe he'd get to try out the escape hatch, well if he was still alive.

Something slammed into his forearm, nearly ripping loose his death grip on the harness strap. He yelled a curse word that, had she been here, would have gotten him a vocabulary warning from the family-friendly Mrs. Robinson. Don was relieved she wasn't here because he was pretty sure this would not be an event that John would think appropriate for his wife to participate in. The mechanic was sure if Mrs. Robinson were here and got injured, it would be blamed on him, though he was damned to understand what caused this event.

The part of his mind still operating noted the C-8 had stopped rolling. He was about to interpret this as a victory when he heard a loud, groaning crack. Lifting his head slightly, which he had ducked to protect it from projectiles, he saw the front of the ATV was wedged, nose first, against a tree trunk, which had momentarily halted its forward progress. Like in a horror movie, when you know you should advert your eyes from the screen because disaster is about to strike, but you don't, he lay there, eyes glued to the front windshield. He watched as the tree, which was nowhere near sturdy enough to hold the weight of the ATV, slowly bend and start to break.

A crisp snapping sound filled the cabin as the tree trunk finally gave way and the over-balanced C-8 flipped over its nose to land with a resounding crash on its' roof. Don, whose hold was designed for side to side rolling, not head over heels, found himself airborne. He had no clue what he smashed into, ironically, it was probably the closed escape hatch and the safety cage built around the cockpit. All's he did know is his body had had enough and he passed out.

Even without his chicken, West's luck held, partially. The ATV ceased its gyrations, sliding the last few feet down the incline on its roof. It came to a rather dignified stop on the flat grassy plain. Don's limp body collapsed across the safety bars built into the roof.

With a grunt, Maureen rose to her feet to watch the descent of their only means of transportation as it tumbled down the slope. Somewhat uncharitably, she wondered what the heck West had done to cause the mishap even though she had heard an explosion. It was over in a few breaths, though it felt like an eternity as she watched the C-8 gyrate down the slope. The final flip which rested the ATV on its roof, sent up a cloud of dust into the air. The vehicle rocked a little, since its roof wasn't totally flat due to the cargo cage, but it was clear it was not going anywhere.

Still catching her breath, she waited to see if Don would emerge from the C-8. The passenger door had been ripped off along the way since it had been opened. If Don was inside and if he was alive and if he was conscious and if he was not too injured, he should be able to easily get out of the ATV. Considering what transpired, she knew that was a lot of 'ifs', even for a man who claimed to be lucky.

Standing here wasn't accomplishing anything towards getting them out of this crisis, so she walked over to the top of the slope and plotted a course that would take her to the upside-down C-8. Her chosen path wasn't too tough to navigate and it took her past the ripped off passenger door which lay flat on the earth. Other than the fact it wasn't attached to the vehicle, it looked in fairly good condition.

Three-quarters of the way to her target, she spotted a few more pieces of jettison from the Chariot and made a note of where they were in case, they needed the items. When she got to the topsy-turvy vehicle, she walked around to the passenger door to peer inside. The com-mike was out of its' holster and laying on the ceiling of the C-8. It really didn't make that much difference considering she had passed the ripped off antenna near the top of the slope. Reestablishing communications, if possible, was going to take some work.

Her eyes settled on the still body of the mechanic, who was sprawled across the roof. He had to be unconscious, or dead, because she could not imagine any other way to tolerate being in that position. His face, resting on its' side was streaked with red as was the back of his shirt.

Steadying her nerves, she moved over to the open-side of the C-8 and studied it for a few seconds. It might rock a little, but there was no danger of it moving further. The cargo inside had shifted, due to the unfastening of the corner of the net, but it seemed pretty will settled at this point. She could see no immediate menace to climbing into the vehicle.

She scrambled over the four-foot lip, then cautiously placed her feet on the inside of the C-8 trying not to step on anything vital. She was pretty sure the design engineers had never considered this scenario. Luckily, there wasn't a lot of equipment secured to the roof, mostly it was just the rollbars, which worked as designed because the cockpit of the vehicle had not been crushed.

Reaching out with two tentative fingers, she checked for a pulse in Don's neck. She was no doctor, but all the colonist had to take basic medical training. To her, his pulse felt steady and strong. She decided he couldn't be too injured, based on that and the fact he was already starting to revive. She sat back on her haunches and watched his eye lids flutter a few times before staying open.

With his face mushed into the ATV's rooftop, his visibility was somewhat limited. He could see what appeared to be a leg nearby. Taking a not too wild guess, he said, "Mrs. Robinson?"

"Yes. It's me. Are you badly hurt?"

Don didn't really know how to respond to that query. If she asked him where he hurt, he could easily respond, everywhere. But to determine how badly he was hurt, he'd have to do something he dreaded, move. He swallowed, tasting coppery blood. Great. Off to a good start, he thought sarcastically.

"Well, if you can move, I think you should try getting out of this vehicle," she said in her no-nonsense manner.

"What happened to don't move a person with possible spinal injuries? That's like basic medicine 101. Even I know that."

"Do you have a spinal injury?" she inquired; her head slightly tilted to the left as she studied him.

"I dunno."

"And neither do I. So, I guess we'll just have to assume you don't until provided with data that suggests otherwise " she said rather factually.

"I'm not a science experiment, lady. And what is this we stuff? It's the me of that we I'm concerned about," he griped as he slowly began to flex his feet as a trial.

"I can't possibly get you out of this vehicle on my own. Well, unless I grabbed you by the arms, tugged hard, really hard and hoped you slide. But in my estimation, it is highly unlikely that will be successful."

"Not to mention how painful that will be for me, which I'm sure you considered in your analysis," he muttered sarcastically as he continued to flex more of his body parts.

While Don was slowly attempting to move, Maureen backed away a little to look at the ATV's front console. To her, it looked like it was in fairly good shape. Looking back at Don, she saw he had propped himself up against the backside of the front seats. His head was bowed deeply.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying not to decorate the inside of this nice vehicle with my breakfast."

In her detached, clinical manner she said, "You probably have a concussion."

"Ya think," he ground out from behind clenched teeth.

"I do. I did take basic medical 101 you know. Got an A plus."

Slowly, the nausea began to subside. "Of course, you did. Hey, wait. Was that a joke, Mrs. Robinson?"

She glanced at his face, which was now raised, and gave him a slight smile.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, which apparently wasn't a good idea because it made him wince.

Their moment didn't last long.

"Seriously, could you move a little faster?" she demanded, all business once more.

"You got some place specific to be tonight? Party? Hot date with the hubby?" he quipped as he began trying to crawl across the roof towards the open door.

Every movement was more painful than the last, but he kept persevering. Inch by inch he made his way across the rollbars until his legs eventually dangled out the opening. He looked down and it seemed like the ground was 100 yards away. Maureen nimbly navigated to the ground, then stood, looking expectantly at him.

"Catch me?" he asked wistfully.

"Maybe I could help brace you on the way down," she said rather doubtfully.

"Yeah, no, probably not a good idea. I'd get blood on your clothes."

"Do you think the rear hatch will open with this thing upside down?" she asked the mechanic.

Though he could barely see straight and her question seemed somewhat off topic, Don tried to ponder it. "If the hydraulics were not damaged and the cargo rack is giving some clearance, it might partially open. Enough to get inside if that is what you are thinking."

"I am," she said cryptically

She climbed in the front of the upside-down ATV and scanned the control panel. It took a moment to orientate her brain to the upturned image of what she was trained on. But finally, she spotted the toggle she was looking for and flipped it. At first, nothing happened.

"Does the engine need to be running for the hatch to open?" she called out.

"No. It works off the batteries. As long as they are charged it will open. It also has a manual hand crank." He paused a second to catch his breath before adding, "Give it a second to recover. Like me, it took a hell of a beating."

After waiting a minute, she tried the switch again and was rewarded with some mechanical whirring noise as a crack of light made its way inside the vehicle. Jumping out of the C-8, she hurried to the back to watch the liftgate slowly open. It eventually reached a spot, not fully open, where it stopped. But it was pretty far up and she managed to climb into the back where she began to root around.

Don sat on the edge of the vehicle looking at the ground below. It seriously couldn't be more than four feet to the dirt, yet he felt like he was asking his body to jump off a skyscraper.

"Hey, there wouldn't happen to be a ladder back there?" he called out longingly to Maureen.

"No, but I found this." She walked around the side of the C-8 and held up a folded tarp.

He gave her a quizzical look. "And how is that gonna help?"

She didn't answer right away, but instead unfolded the tarp and spread it out on the ground. "You'll land on it when you jump out."

"And then what? You will wrap me up an bury me in it?" he jested.

She paused for a second as if she hadn't thought of that particular use for the tarp. With a slight head shake she explained. "You are too heavy for me to carry, so I can drag you away from the C-8 after you jump out of it and pass out."

His eyes flickered between the tarp and Maureen. "A. You don't know that I will pass out when I jump out of this vehicle…"

"Trust me. You will," she injected in that cool 'I'm right tone' she had so perfected.

"... and B, dragging me across the ground on that tarp doesn't sound very pleasant."

"Yes, I know it will probably be a bit of a strain for me, but the slickness of the material should help."

His eyebrows shot up his forehead making him wince once more from the cut on his temple. "I meant it would be uncomfortable for me to be dragged over the rocky ground like a sack of potatoes."

"Would you rather chance sitting there and blowing up in the Chariot?"

"Blowing up? Why would this thing explode? It's not going to explode. I'm a mechanic. I know these things."

She gave him one of her skeptical looks. "Oh. Then what made it rollover in the first place?"

"An explos…." He stopped having walked right into her trap. "You know, lady, it's not nice playing mind games with a concussed man. We already know you and your whole family are smarter than me. At least book smarter. You don't have to deliberately rub salt in the wound."

She actually had the decency to look a little apologetic. "I am simply saying for some reason, there was an explosion. We can't rule out that it won't happen again. Until we can determine what caused the first one, I think it would be prudent not to be sitting in the Chariot."

"Point well taken," Don agreed, as he took one last look downward before forcing his body over the edge. "Here goes nothing," he muttered as he slid towards the tarp.

As expected, when his legs hit the ground, they immediately not only buckled, but sent waves of blinding pain coursing through his body. Rather uselessly, he tried to break his fall with his arms, one which also buckled under his weight. He fell over, mostly on his side, on the tarp and as predicted blacked out.

Maureen walked over, gripped one of the straps sewn into the tarp and with a grunt, began dragging it over the ground towards the spot she had already picked out for their temporary camp. She tried not to drag him over too many bumps, but it wasn't easy. For once, the man was right. It probably was a pretty uncomfortable way to travel. Well, if he thought this was uncomfortable, he'd probably really be unhappy about what she was about to do next.

Maureen wasn't a callous person, but she was very practical, which tended to make her seem cold and aloof to those that didn't truly understand her. She was cautious, with her feelings and her emotions, reserving them mainly for her family and a few close friends.

The injured man lying on the ground was neither her friend or her family, but that didn't mean she wouldn't do what she could to help him. And right now, after the misadventure he had just suffered, that meant examining him and rendering any medical aid that was within her power. However, she had a funny feeling, when he woke, which hopefully was not while she was patching him up, he might see the necessity of what she did a little differently.