“Sam! Earthquake! Hold tight!”

“Dad!” Sam scrabbled frantically for purchase on the rock face, but his rope slipped free as the piton was shaken loose. He lunged up as MacGyver leant dangerously far over the edge of the cliff. Sam felt the rock under his feet crumble and slide. He lunged up and his fingers just caught his Dad’s as the rock gave way completely.

MacGyver gripped Sam’s hand, willing the earthquake to stop. Below him, Sam swung crazily as he tried to find a foothold on the shaking cliff. MacGyver felt their combined weight dragging him over the edge. He wrapped his arm around a jutting rock, holding Sam tight with his right hand.

The earth heaved and shuddered and Sam swung back the other way, twisting and scrabbling for a grip on the rock with his feet and free hand. MacGyver gripped even tighter as Sam turned. Sam kicked and twisted again, and pain lanced up MacGyver’s arm.

“Hold on to me. Sam! Hold tight!” MacGyver tried to clench his fingers, but they wouldn’t move and his grip slipped. For a moment, he saw Sam staring up at him, then the rock under him shook again and dust billowed up. He felt Sam’s hand slipping through his, heard a muffled yell and Sam was gone.

“SAM!” The earth kicked and rumbled again, and MacGyver felt himself sliding over the edge as he reached for his son. He pulled back and hung onto the rock. How could he have let go? How could he have failed to save his son? He’d tried so hard to hold on...

“SAM!” MacGyver tucked his head under his arm and coughed. The cliffs shivered once more and then settled. All around him, MacGyver could hear falling rocks bouncing down the cliffs. He couldn’t see anything for the dust. He coughed again. He’d lost Sam. He’d lost the person who meant most to him in the world and it was his own stupid fault for bringing him up here.

“SAM! Please don’t let him have fallen. Please let him be hanging on.” MacGyver listened, but heard no reply. He lay down flat again and looked over the edge. The dust below was clearing, but he couldn’t see all the way down. He’d been the more expert climber here. He should have made sure he was fit before taking responsibility for Sam’s life up here. And now...

“SAM!” MacGyver hung over as far as he could. Tears streaked the dirt on his face. Wind swirled the dust away, and then MacGyver could see down to the ground. The path was strewn with fallen rocks and dirt, but he couldn’t see Sam’s bright coat. MacGyver breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that meant Sam was clinging onto the rock face somewhere…

“SAM! ARE YOU OK?”

“Dad?” Sam coughed and tried again. “Dad!” He opened his eyes, seeing only rock in front of him. He put his hand to his aching head and his fingers came away bloody. He sat up slowly, feeling drunk and sick, his vision blurred. The world went dark and echoing, and Sam took a deep breath, fighting to stay conscious.

Feeding the rope out with shaking hands, MacGyver ‘walked’ his way down the first section of the cliff. Every few steps, he looked down for Sam’s yellow coat. Working his way around a collapsed section of rock, MacGyver’s hand cramped and the rope slipped through his fingers. He gasped and swore, his foot slipping on some loose pebbles and sending them tumbling down the cliff. He froze, pressed flat to the rock and breathing hard. He could feel vertigo lurking, waiting to pounce if he were to look down. Gritting his teeth, he forced his hands to unclench and pay out a little more rope.

“SAM! HANG ON, I’M COMING FOR YOU!”

He made another, more successful attempt to sit up, dirt cascading off him as he moved. The world lurched under him and he gripped the rock hard. He hawked and spat out dust and blood, pulled his feet up under him and blinked to clear his vision. Everything was blurred and doubled and he felt as though his head might explode.
“Dad?” It came out as little more than a croak. “DAD!” Sam clapped both hands to his head as yelling threatened to split it on two.

MacGyver hugged his son fiercely, then brushed Sam’s hair out of his eyes and studied him. Sam looked bad, his eyes unfocussed and his face bloody.

“Sam? Can you hear me?” MacGyver watched as Sam thought about this and then nodded. Sam’s face drained of colour as he moved and as he turned aside, he was sick. MacGyver held him, familiar with the after effects of a bang on the head. He waited until Sam had finished, handed him a rag to wipe his mouth and then helped him to sit back against the rock.

“Think you got yourself a concussion there, kid.” MacGyver checked the cut still oozing sluggishly on Sam’s head, looked into his eyes and felt his pulse. “You hurtin’ anywhere else?”

“No.” Sam thought about this, took a swift internal inventory and managed to stop himself from shaking his head. “No, I’m OK.” He put both hands to his head. “Wow…”

“Easy, now.” MacGyver squeezed Sam’s shoulder and took a shaky breath. “Thought I’d lost you there, kid.” He reached into his backpack, pulling out a first aid kit and dabbing at the cut.

“Ow.” Sam reached up to his head. “Damn, that hurts.”

“Uh-huh.” MacGyver finished cleaning the cut and taped gauze across it. “How dizzy are you?”

“Um…” Sam looked up and tried to focus, bracing his hands on the rock beside him. “Like I just got off a tilt-a-whirl.”

“Can you stand? As nice as it is here, we probably ought to get going.” MacGyver forced a smile, studying Sam’s pale face and shaking hands. He watched Sam get to his knees, breathing hard, then wobble back down. He sighed as he held Sam again, waited until he’d finished retching and sat him back carefully against the rock. He looked up sharply as pebbles rained down off the overhang and a low rumbling echoed through the cliffs. MacGyver curled himself over Sam and screwed his eyes shut.

“Hold on, kid - here comes the roller!”