I woke up on a lumpy cot sometime later, unsure of how long I had been unconscious. My pack had been removed and my hands were cuffed in front of me.

I sat up slowly, my head pounding. Hesitantly, I maneuvered my hands back to explore the bump on the back of my head. When the tips of my fingers made contact, I winced away from my own touch.

After glancing around at my surroundings, I looked down at my clothes, almost expecting them to be the classic black and white striped prison uniform. The walls and floor looked to be concrete, the only piece of furniture was the cot I was sitting on, and the way out was closed off by a door with iron bars spanning it. A window stood opposite, blocked similarly to the door.

It was what stood beyond the window that suddenly caught my attention. Several sticks of dynamite sat a little beyond reach, bound together with a timer ticking down slowly from a rather obnoxious number: 00:04:23.

Instantly I was on my feet and moving to the door of the cell, checking to see if there was anything I could use to pick the lock. That was when a narrow string of fishing line caught my eye. It was attached to the top of the door, crossed the cell almost invisibly, and clung to the dynamite on the other side of the window. If I attempted to open the door, an unscheduled ka-boom wouldn't leave me more time to dwell on the particulars of my situation.

I turned around and walked to the window, trying to stretch my hands across the gap the window well created to the dynamite on the other side. The chain between my hands wasn't long enough to allow me to reach the explosive, which now read 00:04:01.

I moved back and looked about the room, my mind working furiously to come up with a solution when a little piece of paper caught my eye.

It was placed under the cot in such a way that in my earlier scan of the room, I had been unable to see it. I picked it up, guessing it to be a death note from Murdoc. I glanced at the signature before reading the rest. Yep. Some things were just too predictable. Quickly I scanned the rest of the letter.

MacGyver, obviously you know about the predicament you are in by now. It's a shame your eyes never even caught sight of the antidote... in light of that, I've come upon a solution. If you look through the door, on the far side of the wall there is a small bottle. Feast your eyes upon it, MacGyver. The last thought in your mind will be of your failure to Pete. Murdoc.

What a sick sense of humor.

Checking the note again, I crossed the room to the door, glancing through the bars and down the hall. Sure enough, a mixture stood in a glass vial within clear view, but far out of reach.

I turned my thoughts away, refocusing and attempting to work out a way to get out of this mess.

I stuffed my hand-well, hands, since they were cuffed together-into my pocket, hoping that my knife hadn't been taken with my pack. I found it with no small amount of relief and flipped the cot beside me onto the floor, clumsily cutting through the cloth surface to the springs underneath. Without hesitating, I cut two of the springs and began straightening them out before glancing at the timer again. 00:03:17.

Time was tight, and so were these handcuffs, but picking the lock would take time that I didn't have. New plan.

Once the springs were straight, I bent the end of each into 90-degree angles, creating a hook I quickly yanked the cot in front of the window, standing on it to get a better position, and then maneuvered the hooked ends of the wires between the bars. Once my hands had gone as far as they could, I carefully moved the wires further in until they caught around each end of the dynamite.

00:03:04.

I let out a long, steadying breath as I slowly began to ease the bomb closer. I bit my lip as the clock flipped down to 00:02:56.

There. I pulled the cot springs away from the dynamite and dropped them to the floor. Hastily, I followed the colored wires fastened to the timer, trying to see how this bomb was assembled, or, more importantly, how it could be disarmed.

After locating the correct wire, I grabbed my Swiss army knife again and placed it against the middle of the wire. But right before I cut through, a thought came to me. I glanced at the numbers. 00:02:39.

If I stopped the bomb, Murdoc would be back to find me shortly after his clock hit zero without any side effects. Then he would continue his attempts on my life and, more indirectly, Pete's.

I removed my knife and instead pulled a green wire directly from the clock. Five seconds later the numbers still read 00:02:39.

I reached for the jail door with my cuffed hands and it swung open easily. The string snapped as soon as the door pressed against it, but the bomb remained intact, and so did I.

Going through the doorway, I found myself in the main room where you would first enter the building. Spying a window, I hurriedly went to the wall and peeked around to look through the blurred and dirty glass. In the building across the street I could make out a figure inside. Murdoc. It looked like he was checking his watch. Counting down, most likely.

Escaping through the front door was out. I needed to find another exit.

Standing so close to the dusty window made my nose itch. I raised a hand to rub it, dragging my other arm along with it. I looked with disgust at the handcuffs encircling my wrists. A key. That's what I needed.

I glanced up and saw a second door with a sign over the top. Sheriff's Office. Maybe…

Trying to stay out of the view of the window, I moved inside the room and immediately went toward the desk that stood facing the door leading in.

A quick scan of the top of the desk revealed nothing of use, mostly because it was bare. Leaning down, I quickly pulled open a drawer and then blinked in surprise. Sticks of dynamite layered the bottom. Yep. Murdoc had most definitely been here. I shut that drawer and opened the next one with a little more care. It was empty.

I closed it and sighed. No key. Okay…time to improvise.

I did a double take when I saw my pack sitting in the corner. Walking over, I grabbed it and plunked it on the desk, unzipping the top and looking around for something that would be small enough to pick the lock... though, duct tape and homemade trail mix weren't quite what I had in mind.

As I began to move the zipper back in place, I realized the answer was already in my hand. The keychain. I quickly unclipped it from the end of the zipper and began removing the larger metal circle from the rest of the chain. Once it was free, with a little elbow grease I managed to straighten out the ring and inserted it into the lock of the handcuffs.

Oh, how I love that click. The cuffs opened and fell away from my wrists, finally giving me an opportunity to massage my bruised skin.

I walked around behind the desk to a window that was facing the alley between this building and the next. It was just enough out of view from Murdoc's bunker that I should be able to escape... well, that was the plan, anyway.

With a little bit of tugging, the window scraped open. But instead of climbing out of the opening, I turned and headed back to the cell.

I strode in through the jail door and right up to the bomb, picking up the wire and plugging it back into the clock. The timer ticked down to 00:02:38 and continued its countdown.

Using a longer stride, I returned to the sheriff's office—or Murdoc's office—and tossed my pack quietly through the window before going through it myself.

How I was going to get out of this ghost town and back to civilization I wasn't sure, but one thing I did know: if the dynamite didn't blow, Murdoc would know that I had escaped before I was ready for him to.

I followed the shadowed alley down to the other side where it let out into a wide street. Once there, and sure I was out of Murdoc's view, I broke into a dead run, reaching the end of the road and turning the corner to watch the explosion that would come any second.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of Murdoc crossing the street to the town hall... obviously he was growing suspicious since the time for the bomb to explode had passed.

In all honesty, I hoped that it would blow before he reached it. I would be dead by all appearances and maybe Murdoc would leave me alone. But, oddly enough, I didn't want him to be caught in the explosion. Internally, I warred with myself, wondering whether I should stop him or not.

I must have spent more time thinking than I was aware, because when I jumped out and opened my mouth to shout for Murdoc to stop, a thundering explosion rocked the ground.

A large fireball reached into the sky, and the boom of explosives repeated itself several times as the dynamite that had been in my cell caught other sticks and set them off as well.

I winced away from the heat, involuntarily shutting my eyes to protect them from the bright light.

Now, not that I had been paying a lot of attention to Murdoc's presence at this point-explosions tend to be distracting-but I could swear that he wasn't where he had been standing when the explosives blew. And with Murdoc's past... well, I was more than inclined to believe him capable of survival.

Flames swirled around the wooden building and sparks flew into the sky as the timber creaked and fell. The sight would demand anyone's attention, pyromaniac or not. But I couldn't focus on that; I just had to get out of there.

The way I came into town was out. With the path littered with mines, it was too risky. Besides, what would I do with a bone-dry Jeep that's 70 miles from anywhere? There has to be another way out...right?

I jogged to the very edge of the town. Murdoc had gotten here somehow, and as I rounded the last building, I saw how he had accomplished it. A truck.

I strode toward it, yanked open the door, and sat behind the wheel. No keys. Not a problem. I leaned down, tugged a few wires out, and uncapped the ends. A few sparks later, the engine roared to life.

"Goodbye, Murdoc. Hope I never see you again." I muttered to myself as I hit the gas and turned the wheel. I didn't get to go very far before a small pop sounded and smoke began to pour out from the hood of the truck. The engine died and slowed to a stop.

I slumped forward until my forehead touched the steering wheel. This was just not my day. I slammed my hand against the wheel in frustration and jerked back up, opening the door with a forceful shove.

I popped open the hood and waved away the smoke. A small, blinking object was attached to the engine. Man, did Murdoc plan ahead, sabotaging his own truck to blow just in case I came across it. I sighed, slamming the hood back down.

Moving almost automatically, I climbed back into the driver's seat. I sat there feeling more helpless and lost than I did when I was six and got lost by going to the wrong end of a busy beach. It wasn't until a lifeguard found me and radioed for my parents…

Wait a minute. My eyes flashed to the dashboard. Radio. There it was. The beautiful invention was sitting right in front of me...if it worked.

Hopefully, I flipped a switch and looked around for a transmitter. Catching a flash of silver on the far left side of the dashboard, I practically climbed over the seat to reach it. Sure enough, the transmitter was in a whole piece with one exception-the wires had been neatly sliced through.

I sighed. Never was there a man so thorough as Murdoc. The thing was... why would he destroy the radio? I mean, sure, sabotaging the engine was one thing, it was something he could stop if he needed the truck. But cutting wires was more permanent. Surely he'd have a replacement or something equally as good.

So where would he hide it? Instantly my gaze began to seek those hard to reach places of a car. The space beneath the glove box was too open, though he could have covered a hiding place with one of the rugs. Under the seat was another likely place.

I felt the floor in front of me. Perfectly level, which meant he probably hadn't hidden it beneath the mat. That left the seats.

I leaned down and poked my hand under the seat beneath me, feeling around blindly. An image of Murdoc placing a few scorpions for just this occasion suddenly came into mind, making me shake my head to clear the ridiculous thought. That stuff only happened in Indiana Jones. Although, Murdoc wasn't your average Joe...

I flinched as my fingertips brushed against something. Rolling my eyes at my own behavior, I grabbed the object and pulled it into view. Bingo. Houston, we have our transmitter.

I sat up smoothly, setting it on the dashboard and plugging the cord in before flipping the dials on the radio, looking for a station that sounded like it might reach someone.

Static met my first attempts, but soon I had managed to find a station with faint voices.

"Hello? Mayday, mayday, if you can hear me, respond." When no response met my request, I pressed the button on the transmitter. "Hola? Guten tag?" I paused, lifting my finger and hoping for a break in the static. "Bonjour?" I added as an afterthought before switching the station again.

Voices came through stronger as I turned the dial. I hurriedly pressed the button. "Hello? Anyone there? Mayday, mayday, please respond!"

I released the button and my ears filled with static. I was about to give up when a voice came through. "We read your mayday. What's your location?"

I breathed a sigh of relief as I once again depressed the button. "My truck died near the old ghost town with the railroad passing through, just east of the mapped road."

"Right." The man on the other end released the button for one moment and static filled the line again. Seconds later, it cleared. "Rangers are on the way, sir. What's your name?"

"Name's MacGyver."

"Alright, stay put, Mr. MacGyver. Help is on the way."

He sounded like a superhero cliché, but I smiled anyway. Maybe he was.