The morning sun warmed Gloria’s face as they threaded their way through the Los Angeles traffic. The minibus had started first time and clattered its way to the freeway without any problems. ‘We Three Kings of Orient Are’ filtered through the bus’s tinny speakers from MacGyver’s cassette and Gloria hummed along.

Behind them the bus was piled high with shoebox presents and emergency supplies. Everything smelled of gasoline from the spare cans stowed under the back seat and a chilly draught blew in through a window that wouldn’t close properly, but Gloria decided that any discomfort was well worth it to bring Christmas to people who otherwise wouldn’t have one. Gloria changed down a gear and the bus roared up the hill. Beside her, MacGyver sat with a map spread out across his knees, plotting the best route to Santa Rosa. News that another landslide had wiped out the main road that morning meant a long detour into the mountains and some very unfriendly country. Once they got into Baja California, they’d have to be careful.

“OK, I think I’ve got it.” MacGyver folded the map and traced the route with a pencil. “I don’t like it, but we should make it OK. We brought plenty of gasoline and oil, and we don’t look valuable or threatening, so…” He shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“We’ll make it.” Gloria sounded more confident than she felt.

“Sure.” MacGyver stowed the map and smiled. He tipped his head back and slipped on his sunglasses. “Let me know when you want me to take a turn driving.” He turned up the music, humming along with the carol under his breath.

* * * *

They stopped for gas in a tiny village around noon. The waitress in the café laughed shyly at MacGyver’s atrocious Spanish and watched them, wide-eyed behind the counter.

Gloria pulled her coat tight around her as they walked back to the minibus. Although the sun was bright, it was chilly and a cold wind ruffled the dry grass and whistled around the edges of the old wooden building. It would be a cold night, she thought, especially for those living rough or in tents. Gloria looked up, catching MacGyver’s eye as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Penny for your thoughts?” MacGyver’s smile was warm and curious.

“I’m glad we packed warm clothes with our emergency supplies. And some of our older girls knitted gloves and hats to go in the shoeboxes too. I think it will freeze tonight and those children will need all the warm clothes they can get.”

“Yeah, the temperature really drops up here.” MacGyver squinted in the bright light and flipped down the sun visor. “I’d never have figured Breeze for the knitting type, you know!”

“That boy is a constant surprise to me!” Gloria laughed. “I’m just sorry no-one took a picture of him and the girls knitting away there!”

MacGyver winced as a rock jumped up under the bus, clipped by a tyre. It struck with a hollow bang.

“I miss tarmac…” He concentrated on steering the bus down the steep mountain road.
“I hope that didn’t hit anything important.” Gloria looked out of the window at the side of the bus.

“Me too. Still, the last hundred or so rocks haven’t made a dent, so let’s hope that one hasn’t either.” Truthfully, MacGyver was worried about the state of the roads. They were a very long way from help if the old minibus did get damaged or break down beyond his ability to repair. In his head he could hear his Grandfather Harry: ‘There’s no sense borrowing trouble Bud, there’s plenty of that around for free!’. Taking a breath, MacGyver started singing along to the carols on the tape, forcing himself not to think about all the things that could go wrong.

* * * *

They stopped again just before sunset. MacGyver got underneath the bus with a torch, looking for damage, while Gloria refilled the gas tank from their cans. She stowed the can back in the minibus and crouched down next to MacGyver’s feet.
“How does it look?”

“Well…” Mac shone the torch around, bright nicks and scrapes showing on the metal underside amid the grease and road grime. “We’ve taken a few hits but I think we’re OK.” He shut off the torch and started to wriggle out from underneath.

“Mind the cactus!”

“Right!” MacGyver shifted cautiously to his left and sat up. “Thanks, those suckers are nasty!” As he stood up, he heard an engine. Looking back up the road, he saw a car approaching slowly. MacGyver waved and smiled but the occupants of the car ignored him, studying the bus and what could be seen of its contents as they cruised past. Only the driver met his gaze, with an unfriendly stare. Once past, the car accelerated, throwing up dust and dirt behind it.

“They could at least have asked if we were alright!” Gloria folded her arms and glared at the car’s tail lights disappearing into the dusk.

“Yeah.” MacGyver ran a hand through his unruly hair and watched the car vanish around a bend. He hadn’t liked the interest shown in their bus, or the driver’s expression. “They didn’t look too friendly, though. Let’s hope we’ve seen the last of them!” He wiped grease off his hands and threw the rag into the back of the bus. “Let’s get going. We’re losing the light and I really want to get to Santa Rosa before dark. These roads are bad enough when we CAN see where we’re going!”

* * * *

“How much further?” MacGyver leaned forward in his seat, picking his way through the loose rocks on the dirt road by the minibus’s dim headlights. Living in Los Angeles, he’d forgotten just how dark the night was away from any man-made lights.

“About fifty miles, I think.” Gloria shone her flashlight on the map. “It’s too dark to see any landmarks, so I can’t be sure.”

“No problem.” MacGyver grimaced as another rock kicked up against the underside of the bus. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught a glimpse of headlights. He frowned. The headlights had been there the last three times he’d checked – never gaining and never falling back. He’d tried slowing down to let the other vehicle overtake but the mystery car had slowed to match. He glanced in the mirror again.

“What do you keep looking at?” Gloria turned in her seat, but the bus was piled too high for her to see through the back window.

“There’s a car some way back.” MacGyver sighed. He hadn’t wanted to worry Gloria but they were deep in bandit country now and their mysterious companion was starting to concern him.

“Well, they’re probably having just as much trouble with… OOH!” Gloria jumped as the bus bumped into a deep pothole. “…With the roads as we are!”

“Yeah, maybe...” Mac steered around another giant crater in the road only to run over some rocks instead. There was a ringing impact right under the middle of the bus and a loud clanking noise. A smell of burning drifted in and Gloria spun around, expecting to see flames.

“Damn!” MacGyver slapped the steering wheel. He changed down a gear and put his foot back on the gas, but the bus revved emptily and then coasted gently to a halt.

“What’s wrong with it?” Gloria sounded scared, but pulled on her gloves and picked up her flashlight. “Should we go check?”

“I’ll go.” MacGyver flicked a glance at the mirror, seeing the headlights stationary some distance behind them. “Stay here, OK? I may need you to try and start it again once I work out what just happened.” He took the flashlight and got out of the cab. With one eye on the mysterious car behind them, he wriggled under the bus and shone the flashlight around.

Hanging down below the bus was a metal rod. MacGyver felt his way along it, shining the flashlight up to look. He saw a bright scrape in the one broken end of the rod, matched by a similar scrape in the other end. Turning onto his stomach, he played the flashlight beam across the ground, looking for the piece that should have connected the two hanging ends.

He was about to crawl back out when he heard the quiet crunch of slow-moving tyres on the rough ground. MacGyver scrambled backwards, knocking his head on the edge of the bus as he stood up. He heard Gloria gasp and spun around, a hand to his head. He squinted against the sudden glare as headlights flashed on high beam right in front of him. A dark figure stepped into the light and raised a gun, the light catching the edge of a long barrel. MacGyver instinctively raised his hands above his head as a voice growled,

“Don’t move.”