Mac was back on the computer already, searching for better schematics of the labs than he’d already seen. “I try.” He smiled, hoping the fact that he wasn’t giving in would inspire Millward not to either.

It didn’t.

Millward was pacing across the lab, constantly wringing her hands as she obviously thought about what was happening inside her.

And the worst of it is she’s a doctor, so she knows better than anyone what’s happening…

MacGyver stopped typing when he realized Millward had stopped her marching and was staring at him.

“I can feel it,” she admitted honestly. “It’s started already, like something clawing at my brain, urging me to do things. You need to forget about me and find a way out of this place. In another few hours I probably won’t even remember who you are…”

“You should know something about me,” Mac countered. “I don’t walk away from people that need my help. Especially people who don’t deserve what’s happening to them.”

“You might not think that way when I’m clawing at you like a rabid animal in twelve hours time.” Millward cocked a brow. “You can’t always win.”

“If I can find another way out it’s a start.” Mac began typing again, and after a few moments pointed to the monitor.

In the dull light, a design diagram was just visible on the screen.

“This is a ventilation shaft cut into the mountain all the way up to the surface. If I can override the protocol for the access door we might be able to climb out.” MacGyver traced the tunnel’s path with his fingertip.

“Climb? I’m not turning into a monkey, you do realize?” Sharon’s lips curled into a wry smile.

“Well, it’s not strictly meant to be an exit, but there are internal features for workers to be able to get into and repair the air fans in there.” Mac sat back in his chair, thinking. “I’d need to get us in through the access doors, though and I can’t do that from here.”

“And you can’t take me out of this place, either. I agree with the General on that one. Even if you tried, he’d probably shoot me on sight.” Millward took off her glasses and absently set them on the desk.

She doesn’t need them anymore, Mac realized.

The nanites were already making improvements.

“Then we need to fix you first. And if we can do that, maybe we can even help Mitrovich.” MacGyver returned to the console and putting the schematic safely in a corner of his mind somewhere, he clicked back into the research files.

Sharon joined him, leaning on the desk to watch as the nanites programming scrolled down the monitor, string after string of code that meant nothing save for the fact it was slowly killing her.

“I doubt anyone could save Mitrovich now. Even if we could disable the nanites in him, what about the damage and irreversible changes already made to his system?” Millward closed her eyes, and Mac guessed she was imagining the tiny machines flowing through her veins. “He’s been infected too long,” she whispered under her breath.

“Maybe,” MacGyver admitted. “But there’s never any harm in trying. C’mon, we can fix this.” He turned back to the computer and stared at the pages of code that gave the nanites their instructions.

Pages…

And some of the programming was beyond MacGyver.

You’re thinking too hard! You can’t reprogram them inside someone anyway, so what other options are there?

Sharon sensed his frustration. “Will you just go to the vent shaft and get out of here? I’m sure Mitrovich and I will be enjoying one another’s company soon enough.”

Mac ignored her and rubbed at his temple. Maybe the muted lighting was giving him a headache, or maybe, just maybe an idea was forming.

“What if we take a second batch of nanites that are essentially blank, no programming at all, and program them to attack the Mitrovich ones? They’re designed to kill unwanted cells in the human body, right? So why not other nanites? Once they’ve destroyed their targets they could be programmed to shutdown.”

Millward laughed ironically. “It’s a brilliant theory, and I actually believe it might work, but, do you realize how many months it took to work out the current programming? You can’t redo all that in twelve hours.”

MacGyver refused to give in and began scrolling through the program on the screen. “I’m hoping I don’t need to rewrite everything, just the corrupted parts, and the part that controls what they target…” He was so focused now, that he didn’t even notice Millward getting closer. “Your medical knowledge will help too…”

Millward put a hand on his shoulder, and then suddenly he felt something tugging at his belt.

Mac spun around, but Sharon had already stepped back, the Beretta he’d taken from her earlier now firmly back in her grasp. She wasn’t exactly pointing it at him, but he had to be careful of his next move – they were too close for him to dive out of the way of a bullet this time.

“I know you mean well,” Millward sputtered. “But there really isn’t enough time for what you’re trying to do. I want to thank you for trying, but it’s time you got out of here now.”

MacGyver shook his head. “Just let me try?”

“Sorry, but I can’t let you do that. What if I change sooner?” Sharon eyes filled with moisture and she had to blink away tears. “I’m already dead, so maybe I should just help things along a bit.”

Millward turned the gun in her hands, putting the barrel to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered almost inaudibly.

And then she pulled back on the trigger before he could move to stop her.

The sound of the gun echoed through the room and surrounding corridors, the noise of the blast stopping Mac dead in his tracks.

Blood spattered on the wall behind and onto the stone flooring, and then, as if in slow motion, Millward’s lifeless body crumpled to join it there.

Mac’s mind screamed that he should have stopped her, that he should have seen it coming, but in truth he couldn’t have predicted the move.

He leaned over, checking in vain for a pulse, but he couldn’t find one.

Dang it we could have still beat this thing if…

“If” was always such a little word, but one that could change the fate of everything depending where and how it was used.

MacGyver reached for a lab coat that hung innocently on a hook in the corner, and gently covered Sharon’s body with it. Her hand lay still clasping the automatic, and he pried the gun from her fingers and stared at it.

Normally he hated guns anyway, but today he held a special revulsion for the things.

She hadn’t deserved this, and he’d failed in his mission.

Everyone was dead now apart from Mitrovich.

And I still don’t even know why.

Mac put the gun back in his belt. He didn’t want it near him, but he also couldn’t risk leaving it around for Mitrovich to find.

He glanced at the code on the computer, but there was no reason to carry on now.

Grabbing his satchel, he decided to head straight for the vent shaft before he became a casualty of the military countdown.

* * * *

MacGyver didn’t know why, but now that he was alone again, the corridors and tunnels at Peckwash seemed even more ominous.

Shadows seemed longer, sounds more attenuated, and time seemed to pass at twice the speed.

He came to the point where he’d removed his HAZMAT suit, and as he saw the bulky material he actually considered putting the thing back on. Maybe it would afford him some protection if Mitrovich attacked again.

Mac stooped to pick it up, and then realized someone had beaten him to it.

The suit had been torn into shreds by something long and deep – a weapon perhaps, or worse still maybe long and deformed fingernails?

He shuddered and let the remnants drop to the floor.

Mitrovich meant business, and Mac was sure tearing up the suit had been a message of what was to come next.

I need to be on my guard or Sam is going to be on his own at the cabin a whole lot longer.

Mac moved on until he reached the access panel he needed. Pulling out his knife, he took out the screws that held it in place to reveal a small console in the wall meant for repair crews.

The lockdown sequence appeared to have shutdown all the power to the unit. And no unit meant no access codes, which in turn meant no escape.

MacGyver looked in the conduits running through the wall for an alternate power source. The facility was full of cable and ducting, and some of it powering the emergency systems was still live.

He flicked out the saw option on his knife and used it to cut through a plastic channel to the cables he needed beneath.

And all the while he worked all his mind could focus on was Millward.

He’d not known her for very long, and yet he’d liked her. Would her ex-husband even care when he was given the news of her passing?

Life just isn’t fair.

Mac took the live cable he needed and temporarily cut the feed to it while he rerouted it into the console. It was tedious work, especially in the poor light, but eventually, he made the connection, replaced the feed, and the console lit up.

Now he had to break the access codes initiated on the full lockdown, and that was going to take even more time – something he was short of right now.

He glanced at his watch.

What was going through Pete’s mind topside, he wondered.

Mac’s fingers danced across the console keys as his mind raced. Three codes were required to open the vent shaft, and so far he’d broken just one of them.

Something moved behind him, and his hands paused over the keyboard. He listened, and the sound came again.

It was breathing, but it sounded more like an animal panting than a human.

MacGyver whirled around, but not in time to stop Mitrovich lunging at him.

The scientist looked angry, but somehow not quite as deranged as he had before.

Was there some of the man left in the deformed shell?

Mac didn’t get time to find out.

Mitrovich grabbed the troubleshooter’s wrist and spun him around until Mac’s face was firmly planted against the concrete wall of the complex. The scientist’s strength was so great there was no room to maneuver, no chance of wriggling free.

To make his point further, Mitrovich pulled Mac away and then slammed him back into the concrete until he drew blood. “Give me the…codes.”

Somehow, through busted and twisted lips he was managing to talk, to think. Maybe it was pure survival instinct, but he wasn’t all animal yet.

Mac shook his head. “I think you know I can’t do that. I can’t unleash what’s inside you on the public.”

Mitrovich leaned low until his mangled face was next to Mac’s right ear. “You will,” he grumbled. “Oh you will…”

The scientist yanked his prey backwards until he reached where Mac had been working on the console. He spotted the penknife and grinned.

With his free hand, he retrieved it, staring at the open blade as if it was a thing of beauty. He stayed that way for a long moment, as if his brain had frozen like an overloaded computer.

Then he shuddered and pushed MacGyver back against the wall. Taking the tip of the blade, he used it to trace a small cut along Mac’s right forearm.

The seeping blood seemed to excite him, and he shook violently as the sentient part of his brain fought the feral half.

“You know what it means if I bleed on you..?” Mitrovich sliced at his own tumor filled palm until the flesh opened up, then he made a fist and squeezed until his blood dripped on the floor at Mac’s feet. “Give me the codes or you can enjoy my research up close and personal…”

Mac blinked, he couldn’t fight the man, could he reason with him? “There might still be a way to save you. I have an idea, and with your knowledge it just might work.” He locked eyes with the scientist, but Mitrovich’s yellow orbs only gave back scorn.

“I don’t want saving. I want out!”

MacGyver remained silent, he would never give up the one password he had.

Mitrovich appeared to sense he wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

But then, in a way he had gotten what he’d originally prayed for – a worthy opponent. Perhaps not in physical strength, but in mental ability.

His grip loosened slightly as he stepped back, and MacGyver seized the chance, elbowing the scientist in the ribs as he made a leap for the open wall panel.

Mitrovich howled, not with pain, but with temper and dived to reaffirm his grip. He had speed, agility even, but MacGyver was the one thinking more clearly, more speedily.

Mac grabbed at the power line he’d only recently hooked to the console and tore it free. He spun around with the live end, just as Mitrovich barreled into him.

The current hit the older man instantly, but he seemed to absorb it, and for a moment MacGyver thought it would do nothing at all.

Then, Mitrovich suddenly backed off, like a fly that had been swatted. His plaid shirt smoldered slightly from the electrical burn, and Mac could smell the aroma of scorched flesh, but the scientist didn’t collapse – he simply stared at his enemy.

And then, his lupine gaze turned into an all-too human grin of victory.

At first, MacGyver couldn’t understand what was so amusing, but then he followed the crazed man’s eyes to his own arm.

The arm where Mitrovich had cut him.

Across the small, inconsequential wound was a handprint in blood.

Mitrovich’s blood.

Somehow, as they’d tussled, the scientist had achieved his goal, and now MacGyver had the same twelve hours deadline that Sharon had given into.

Mitrovich gave a small, insane salute and then faded away into the shadows of the adjoining tunnel. He wasn’t going to get the codes now, and his untamed psyche knew it.

Mac swallowed hard and looked at the cut. The only chance now was to finish what he’d started back in the labs, or give in like Sharon had.

Defeat wasn’t an option. There was still a cabin and a son to go back to.

But programming empty nanites without Sharon’s input was nigh on impossible.

You’ve achieved the impossible before, don’t you dare give up on me now, Mac.

Except this time, he couldn’t exactly use duct tape and a safety pin on something you needed a microscope to see.

* * * *

The lab felt cold as he entered it, but maybe that was what was happening inside his body rather than the actual temperature of the room.

As he took a seat back at the computer, MacGyver had to admit he could see why Millward had taken her own life. Maybe it was a better option for her than to have it taken and controlled by some fleet of tiny micro-machines.

Machines he now needed to command and use again.

Mac started by tapping in the information to repair the original program that someone had corrupted. That left him with nanites ready to target unwanted diseased cells. The next part was the hardest. How did he change those orders to target the original nanites?

It looked like he needed to change the profile of the objects being targeted, but that meant imputing all the original corrupt nanite data again, and it was going to take a long time.

Sharon was right…

MacGyver carried on anyway, using copy and paste where he could over and over again until his fingertips became numb.

He glanced at the wall clock. Three hours had passed.

The program was as ready as he could make it, but now he needed the actual micro-machines to encode with the data.

Data he had no clue would work or not.

The nanites were apparently stored in the adjoining lab in a refrigerated safe-room. And the room had security measures too.

MacGyver wearily pushed up from his chair and walked through to the large brushed steel door. It reminded him of something in a morgue and he almost shuddered.

The door had a card reader built in, and Mac swiped the one Eastman had supplied him with. The lights turned from red to green, but the room also had an ordinary lock.

Given the importance of its contents, he guessed only Mitrovich would have the key, and that option was definitely out.

MacGyver turned and looked around, his eyes darting from bench to bench for something he could use. When he initially couldn’t find anything, and it wasn’t exactly the environment for paperclips, he moved on to the wall of drawers on the opposite side of the room.

Sifting through various medical instruments, Mac came to a drawer containing syringes. Ironically, he’d need one soon to try out his theory, but for now, a couple of larger gauge needles were required.

He found the thickest he could and moved back to the steel door, focusing on the catch. It wasn’t the easiest lock he’d ever picked, especially not given his impromptu tools.

After snapping one of the syringes, he finally heard the barrels inside the lock click open on his second attempt.

Wasting no time, MacGyver yanked open the door and stepped inside. It was cold, uninviting, definitely like a morgue…

He pushed the thought aside and ran a finger along each batch of nanites until he reached the one he needed – number fourteen.

The tiny robots were in a thin metal cylinder inside a saline solution. Once they had their programming, he could inject them directly.

Mac closed his eyes, not liking the idea of having any more of the things inside him. He took a breath and then jogged back into the main lab.

The little cylinder slotted into a perfectly tooled hub that was able to transfer the data to the nanites. At least, that’s what MacGyver hoped as he hit the enter key on the computer and watched the program being downloaded to its targets.

The programming took another forty minutes of valuable time, and when the screen blinked “complete,” MacGyver removed the cylinder and stared at it in the palm of his hand.

So small, and yet so very frightening.

Mac found a syringe and filled it with the nanite infested solution. It looked clear, the hundreds of machines it held hiding in plain sight due to their size.

He bit his bottom lip; this was insanity to even try, wasn’t it?

Then before he could change his mind, Mac slid the needle into a vein and pressed the plunger. Of all the things he’d jury-rigged in his time, this had to be the weirdest, scariest and probably the least likely to work.

He waited, wondering what was going on in his bloodstream, and at first, it felt like nothing.

Mac wondered how long he should wait before checking a sample under the microscope, but then, something started to happen – to change.

The only way MacGyver could describe it at first was that he felt weird – lightheaded, maybe even dizzy. He grabbed the bench in front of him to keep his balance, but the room was spinning and his breathing was suddenly getting labored.

He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a mirror across the room and realized he wasn’t just pale, he was almost white.

It wouldn’t have worked for Sharon any more than it has me…she was right, it was impossible.

Somehow the inner thought wasn’t as comforting as it should have been.

Mac stumbled, even the bench no longer keeping him upright. He fell forwards, hitting the floor facedown and hard, but he didn’t even have the strength to roll over anymore.

All he could hear and feel was the irregular pounding of his own heart as it raced far too quickly.

He wouldn’t have to listen to it for much longer, though, because the room around him was turning black.

Someone’s turning off the emergency lighting?

But somewhere deep down MacGyver knew the answer was a far more ominous.

He was dying, and he wouldn’t even have the luxury of a few last words to Pete and Sam.

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