PREVIOUSLY ON QUANTUM LEAP:

Sam has leapt into Dai Evans, Welsh student at South Illinois University on a field trip during Spring break to the Ozarks in neighboring Missouri.  A cave in has left his three companions dead, and himself seriously injured, with among other things a badly broken leg.  In order to save the eight members of the rescue team who originally perished with him in a second cave in – Sam has to crawl slowly and painfully toward a vertical shaft from where he can be safely rescued.  Meanwhile, the rescuers are hiding a dark secret concerning Sam’s illicit presence in ‘the wrong cave’.  To add to Sam’s problems, Al has just warned him of an impending flash flood…

PART SIX

Swollen further by the storm, the underground stream had risen up over the ledge from which the Professor had fallen, and now its sheer volume was causing it to surge up the gentle incline toward the stricken scientist.

When it reached him, it struck with a force that took what little breath he had away from him. He gasped at the speed and the intense cold of it, and then spluttered as he took in water, soon realizing the wisdom of keeping his mouth shut.

The raging river lifted him, and carried him with it, buffeting him on the rough terrain, soaking him through and threatening to drown him in its angry rapids.

Sam clutched on to the canteens, which Al had so intuitively suggested as buoyancy aids, and tried to keep his head above the swirling tide.

The dizzy rush seemed never ending, but in fact it was only minutes before the helter-skelter ride was over, and the waters receded, finding their own level in the crevices and rock formations of the cavern.

A shivering Sam was deposited unceremoniously in a puddle of icy water, some 150 meters from where the waters had engulfed him.

Throughout, Al had kept level with Sam, staying always in sight, an anchor against the rush of the tide, keeping his friend just this side of panic.

“Sam?” Al queried his friend’s welfare in that simple word for what seemed like the hundredth time this leap.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Sam answered him with a look. A look that said he’d had enough. He was cold and wet and tired and sore, and he hurt like hell, and he wanted to go home.

“Hang in there, buddy,” exhorted Al, “Look on the bright side…”

Sam’s look now challenged him to find a bright side in all this. He couldn’t remember when he had last been so exhausted, so drained, so pitifully weak, so…

“You’re a lot closer than you were a few minutes ago, Sam. That little water slide has saved you a lot of crawling.”

It was true. Sam managed a feeble smile, a slight nod. Good old Al.

He was tempted to ask if that meant he now had time to take it easy for a while, to rest, maybe even grab a little sleep, but he knew what the answer would be. If he slept now, it would take way more than the hollers of a hologram to wake him.

He shivered violently, and hugged himself close. Where he’d been cold before; now he was freezing. The anorak had afforded him little protection from the soaking; enough water had seeped in to thoroughly chill his already aching bones. He bundled up the hem of the sweater and rang it out.

“And…” continued Al; determined not to let Sam sink further into albeit justified self-pity. “It’s also cleaned you up some: got that gunk out of your hair and clothes. Bet you smell a bit sweeter too!” Al made a wafting gesture beneath his nose.

Sam sniggered in spite of himself, instantly regretting the added strain on his ribs.

“Don’t tell me,” Al supplied, seeing Sam’s changing expression. “Don’t make you laugh, it hurts when you laugh.”

Neither had to say that it would have been infinitely preferable if that were the only time it hurt. Laughing he could have avoided.

Travis and Claire had a head start on the rest. They joined up with Nurse Chloe Benedict and Gian Franco Palmiero in his pickup truck somewhere on IL-13, and the miniature convoy headed East, where a few miles along, they merged onto I-57 and struck out North toward Mt Vernon. Fortunately, it still being the wee small hours of the morning, the traffic was almost non-existent, and they were able to make very good time. Nevertheless, their estimated journey time was in excess of five hours. They just hoped that the distant storm would ease up enough for Chloe’s brother and Claire’s boyfriend to get the chopper to the away team a lot faster.

To their credit, they remained totally focused and stopped only long enough to refuel the vehicles, grabbing provisions that they could consume en-route, as well as some things that might be of benefit on arrival.

They shared the driving, and took turns at map reading, and keeping in touch with Jenna on their mobile phones. They were less than reassured by her updates, both in terms of Dai’s condition, and the news that Professor Lofton was hot on their heels. Though the added medical expertise was welcome, the predicted consequences of official involvement were less so.

The Professor also kept in touch with Jenna, and at the Doctor’s behest he encouraged her to keep trying to get through to Dai, even though it was beginning to seem hopeless.

Aurora told him that shock was the young man’s worst enemy at the moment; and the more they could reassure him of their impending approach the better he would cope with the long, boring wait. Keeping still would help to stabilize his injuries, but would be frustrating to a normally active, get up and go type of student.

In addition, Dom suggested that as the others had such a head start on them, the lead team should try to find some way to mark their route once they reached the mountain and took to hiking, thus enabling the rearguard to locate the correct cave as quickly and efficiently as possible. A method of ‘signposting’ the target location to facilitate the helicopter extraction would also be a sensible contingency.

This was agreed, and those not driving set their minds to working out how this could be achieved with what they had with them.

The weight of the rucksack pressed down on his torso and Sam un-strapped it. He opened it up and examined the contents again, looking for anything he could discard. While it didn’t exactly need bailing out, those maps not zipped inside plastic wallets had soaked up enough moisture to become papier-mâché. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were mercifully wrapped in a sealed bag that had kept the bread from getting soggy, along with the chocolate bars Sam had amalgamated into the same bag to save space.  The remnants of the ham sandwiches Sam had not re-sealed well enough; and they were ruined. So too were the batteries he had taken from Cliff and Lizzie’s helmets, which he abandoned. The spares Cliff had donated were still sealed in plastic, and had remained watertight.

He threw the sandwiches out with regret; the salt content had been much needed by a body being pushed beyond its limits. In the interests of extreme economy, he also emptied the cokes into one of the empty water canteens, disposing of the cans.

Normally, both men would have frowned on such littering, but since the whole area would soon be rubble, it hardly seemed consequential.

Taking the closest he could manage to a deep breath, Sam set off once more.

“Hhnnnn-aaaaaah,” his sodden clothes were so much heavier, his limbs trembled with cold now as well as tension; his effort gained him even less ground than before.

Twice more he shuffled a pathetically short distance, his face contorted by pain.

Like a drowning man, after the third time, he didn’t get up again.

“Come on, Sam…” Al chivvied him, wondering how much longer he could keep exhorting Sam to such superhuman effort.

“I…c-can’t…”

“Save your breath, Sam, I know exactly how you’re feeling…”  Al cringed as he thought, ‘Dammit, I know he expected the leaps to get tougher, but this is just too much. This is killing him; he should be resting, he’s only human.’  Swallowing, he asked, “You’re soaked to the skin, and frozen to the marrow, and shivery, yet sweaty from the exertion, so you feel clammy and uncomfortable – how am I doing so far?”

Sam blinked an affirmation, then put a hand to his head, rubbed his forehead, then his eyes, and then drew his hand down his face wearily.

“You got a belter of a headache, right?” Al continued.

“And eyes,” Sam confirmed, “blurry…barely see…you…”

‘I’m only inches away from you, buddy. This is worse than I thought… Mustn’t let him know how worried I am though…’ Al thought to himself.  “What do you expect, dummy, its pitch dark in here.”

‘Is that all it is? Wish I could believe that. I feel so distant, can’t focus…’

Al forced a laugh. ‘Why do I always have to be the upbeat one? This isn’t helping him. I wish there was some way I could help him.’

“Dizzy as a schoolgirl on her first date, no doubt. Still feeling queasy?”

“Uh-huh,” Sam answered.  ‘If you really wanna know, Al I feel sick as a dog.’

‘Course you are; and no wonder the state you’re in. I dunno how the hell you’re staying conscious, let alone anything else. Don’t think I could hack it. Oh, God, Sam, you gotta pull through; you can’t die here like this.  Pull yourself together, Calavicci, Sam doesn’t need you falling apart on him her,’ Al thought.  “Exhausted… depressed… aching all over, and probably worst of all the persistent agony from your broken bones, what am I forgetting now…?”

‘How am I supposed to know? I can barely remember what you said twenty seconds ago, I can’t think straight…’  Sam thought.  “Isn’t… t-that… enough…?” countered Sam hoarsely.

“Oh yeah, sore throat from all the dust, difficulty in breathing…”

“Stop it, Al.”  Sam shook his head.  ‘He’s making me sound pathetic.  Am I really that pathetic?’ he wondered.

 “Had enough self-pity by proxy for now, pal?”

‘Do you despise me, Al?  Is that derision in your voice?  I’m so confused…’ Sam reflected.

‘That came out snide and patronizing; think before you speak Calavicci, you’re supposed to be on his side,” he chastised himself.  “Listen, Sam, I know it’s damned unfair that you gotta do this, but you gotta…”

‘He’s right, I do this or I die, and the others with me. Don’t much like the second option. So hard… so tired. Pull yourself together, Beckett, or this is gonna beat you… remember ‘positive mental attitude’… yeah…if I…’

“I… c-can’t… g-go… on… l-like… t-this, Al…” sighed Sam.

‘I know you can’t, buddy, and I hate having to bully you, but I will NOT let you die if there is any way to keep you alive,’ Al thought frantically.  “Sam, don’t give up…”

Sam raised his left hand and held up a single finger indicating ‘give me a minute’, then pointed it toward his ear, letting the same gesture suggest that Al needed to listen carefully to what he had and would be saying.

Sam’s eyes closed momentarily.

“…l-like…this…” he repeated, with as much emphasis as he could muster.

“What are you trying to say, Sam?” Al knew it would drain Sam’s dreadfully limited energy reserves to engage in lengthy conversation, but something was on his mind, and he needed his friend to be patient and to understand.

“Some… thing… you… said…” began Sam, turning his head to look Al in the eye. Al was crouched low, so that Sam did not strain any harder than necessary to convey his message.

“Me?” he queried, “What did I say?” Al had no idea what was in Sam’s thoughts, and the Observer was mindful that there was still some distance to cover. At least while he was talking, Sam was keeping conscious.

“Not… fight… tide…” every word made him pant, so he didn’t waste any.

“Huh?” Al was trying, but he couldn’t follow where Sam was leading, not yet.

Sam swallowed. He pressed his lips together, and then let out a slow breath.  “I’m l-letting… this…get on…on top…of me,” he explained patiently.

‘Little wonder,’ thought Al, but he held his tongue.

“I… need… to g-get… on top…” a pause, a couple of hitching breaths.

“…be… in… control…”

“How?” Al interrupted. He was starting to think that the horrendous pain had driven his pal over the edge of reason into the ravine of raving insanity.

“You… gotta… trust… me…”

“Always, buddy, you know that…” Al hastened to assure him.

“H-help… m-me…”

“Any way I can; name it, Sam.” Al still didn’t know what Sam had in mind, but his depression seemed to have lifted a little, and that had to be a good thing.

“N-need to use… my… my martial arts… training…” even thinking about it was helping Sam to focus on his speech, to control his breathing. He enlightened Al:  “Calm, control, concentration…” quoting his old sensei.

Al could see Sam’s face brighten at the prospect of being more in control of his circumstances. If it helped him attain his target, then it had to be worth a try. Yet the ‘trust me’ niggled. It sounded as if there were some risk involved. Why did Al need to trust Sam to achieve this, how was his help needed?

Sam could read Al’s concern on his open-book face.  “Meditation,” he explained. “You gotta watch me… make sure I… not lapse… unconscious… but not… interrupt…”

Al’s concern turned to alarm.  “That’s a mighty fine line to be walking pal, no pun intended,” he cautioned. “What if I don’t call it in time; let you sink too deep…?”

“I t-trust… you…” Sam assured him.

Thanks for the vote of confidence pal, but can I trust myself with something so important?

A few minutes later, Al was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, partly from cramp, partly from nerves. He was studying Sam’s face constantly for signs that he was slipping from controlled trance to a dangerous state of unconsciousness.

‘I wish you’d hurry Sam; this is really starting to fray my nerves.’

A couple of minutes after that, he could stand it no longer.

‘This is too risky; he’s been way too long. I can’t make this judgment on my own. I need Ziggy. She’s already ignored me twice though. Still sulking, I bet, temperamental…  That’s enough, Calavicci. You know what she’s like, and still you bait her.

Much as it infuriates me, I guess I’m gonna have to eat humble pie and apologize. Sam’s life is more important than either of our ego,’ he thought to himself. 

It took a portion of groveling, plus a pinch of wheedling, mixed together with a soupcon of flattery, and served with a helping of humility to appease the haughty holographic interface enough to persuade her to put in an appearance.

When he had explained the reason for his summons, Ziggy castigated Al for not calling her sooner; making him fear that he had indeed delayed too long in rousing Sam from his mediation.

He moved toward Sam, preparing to do all in his power to ensure his friend snapped out of the spell he was under.

“Not yet, Admiral,” interceded Ziggy.

“But you just said…”

“That you should have referred to me sooner. Indeed.” Ziggy was not about to forgive and forget. The capacity of her memory banks was far too vast to facilitate a wiping clean of the slate.

“Now, do you require my assistance, or do you know better, Ad-mir-al?” she enunciated his title with positive disdain, knowing she had him precisely where she wanted him.

Al bit back a snide retort, though it galled him to let her gloat. He’d have his chance to retaliate at a later date, and when it came, boy would he make the most of it! For right now, though, Sam’s wellbeing was paramount.

With a gentle inclination of his head to one side, and an expansive open-handed gesture, Al let it be known that he was putting Ziggy in sole charge.

Nevertheless, the Observer remained close, peering at his friend concernedly.

Anxious moments passed, until finally Ziggy declared that Sam should be ready to rejoin them. Al leant closer still:

“Sam?” he queried softly, so as not to startle his friend. Al’s breathing was placed on hold as he awaited a reaction. Just when he thought none would be forthcoming, and mentally cursed himself for listening to Ziggy’s recommendation to delay even as he prepared to call louder, Sam’s eyes focused on his insubstantial companion, and a slight smile creased his lips.

“Its okay, Al,” Sam reassured him mellifluously, “I’m awake. I’m okay.”

Al seriously doubted if that statement was strictly true, but certainly the invalid was exhibiting less strain in his speech. He had evidently achieved at least a measure of the control he sought.

“Ziggy?” Al sort confirmation from the oracle that Sam’s condition had in fact improved.

The holographic head and shoulders huffed self-importantly before reporting:  “Dr Beckett remains severely injured and is still in considerable pain, but has disciplined his mind in a most impressive manner – I could not have done much better myself – switching off his pain transmitters to stem the flow of unwanted impulses and filtering out the negative input almost completely.” Ziggy’s vocal circuits positively purred with admiration for her creator.

“Best get going.” Sam announced succinctly, “Don’t know how long I can maintain this level of control.”

Without further preamble, he resumed his reverse shuffle, moving purposefully and making far greater ‘strides’, so to speak, than before.

Al was heartened to see his friend coping so much better, though he worried that it had to be too good to last. He was careful to appear buoyant, though and not to project his concerns. The last thing he wanted was to undermine the positive upturn in Sam’s attitude and aptitude. He’d take what hope he could get and cling on for all he was worth.

For a while, Sam concentrated exclusively on gaining as much ground as possible with each move, his face an inscrutable mask.

Al kept pace, and kept silent, unwilling to risk any distraction that may be detrimental to Sam’s supreme display of self-control.

Then, inevitably, something happened to spoil the splendid rate of progress. It was nothing major; no trumpet sounding, symbol-crashing flag waving grand event – just a simple little annoyance, like the mosquito buzz that keeps the tropical tourist awake.

In fact, it sounded much the same at first. Eventually, they realized that it was the radio spitting as Jenna attempted to resume contact with Dai. The interference did not sound quite the same as before, however, and when Sam attempted to initiate contact from his end; the press of the ‘talk’ button produced an unexpected reaction.

“Ack!” a startled Sam dropped the microphone and shook his hand.

“What happened, Sam?” asked a concerned Al, though he had a pretty good idea.

“Darn thing gave me a shock!” confirmed Sam, rubbing at the shiny red marks that were smoothing out the whorls and loops on his fingertips. That stung and he placed them into his mouth, letting his saliva soothe the seared flesh. Suddenly, he wished he hadn't done that either as he remembered what had covered his skin moments before the flood. Though they had been washed after a fashion, it was still an unsavory thought, and crawling across the ground had not exactly kept his hands hygienically clean.

“Must have been the flood water, short-circuited it,” Sam calculated logically.

“Don’t worry about it;” advised Al, “you’re doing so well. Just focus on getting to that shaft. We’ll make sure they find you once you’re there.”

Sam took advantage of the pause to take a sip from one of the canteens, turning his nose up when he tasted the syrupy flavor of coke rather than cool refreshing water. The remnants of the equally sickly sweet peanut butter and jelly sandwich lent him further sustenance.

Refueled, he moved onward once more toward his goal.

This time, the movements made him wince. Nowhere near as bad as earlier negative reactions, but his control had obviously slipped a notch as a result of the jolt of electricity from the radio. Both Sam and Al were instantly aware of it, and the implications for his progress – not to mention his endurance and sanity.

“Talk to me, Al,” Sam requested. “Anything, as long as you keep it light. Distract me so I don’t start to think…”

“Say no more, Sam, don’t go there,” Al interjected quickly, lest the mere mention of the possibility undo all the benefit he’d gained.

At this point, Al realized that Ziggy had surreptitiously absented herself again.

“Shall I call Zig back so we can give you our famous double-act?” he jested.

“Not yet.” Sam was still shuffling his carefully choreographed way along the cavern floor, mechanically. ‘She might tell me something I don’t want to know,’ he thought to himself, and immediately dismissed the thought before it depressed him.

Al was casting about for some trivial chitchat to keep his friends spirits up. It was something he was usually expert at, to the point of extreme annoyance at times, but his own worries and those for Sam’s condition were clouding the joviality region of his brain.

“Tell you what, Sam,” he finally latched on to something, “I sure could use some vodka to go with all this lime you got here!”  He waved his hand at the limestone walls.

“Cute,” responded Sam, frowning with concentration.

“Who, me?” Al began getting into his stride, “Nah. Now Courtney the new canteen girl – SHE’S cute!”

“Al!” Sam feigned shock, though he knew well enough his friend was all talk, “I’ll tell Beth you said that!” As if he could… if only he could.

Al also carried the thought through, and determined not to give Sam time to get maudlin.  “If I told ya once, buddy, I told ya a hundred times – just cos a guy ain’t in the market to buy…” he tilted his head in a ‘do I need to finish?’ querying gesture.

They finished in unison:  “Doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy window shopping!”

“Albert Calavicci, you are incorrigible!” Sam smiled indulgently.

PART SEVEN

They continued in similar vein for some time as Sam edged his way gradually closer – ever closer - to his promised resting place.

Finally, Al quipped, “Like the dog chasing his tail, Sam, the end is in sight, you’re nearly there!”

“Not before time,” Sam breathed, glancing over his shoulder to confirm the voracity of Al’s assurance. The light of dawn was already creeping through the trees above, and filtering thinly down through the shaft, though the renewal of the storm kept it from announcing its presence with any vigor.

Still, compared to the oppressive pitch darkness of the cavern, the faint glow of morning was a welcome contrast.

The proximity of the ‘finishing line’ spurred Sam on to one last burst of effort, and in a handful of moves, Sam’s pale face was bathed in the pale rays of early morning light, and the clear trickle of rainwater dripping down the walls of the almost vertical shaft.

Already soaked to the skin, Sam shuffled just a little further, to shield himself from the gentle shower, though he tilted his head as he passed, catching a few precious drops of liquid in his parched mouth and moistening his cracked lips.

“Can I rest now?” he eventually dared to ask his companion, his eyes pleading for some reprieve at last.

Al smiled compassionately at him, but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pressed the button on Stephen’s Mark II handlink and summoned Ziggy once more.

The hologram shimmered in immediate response this time, though the look she shot at Al could have cheerfully carved him a new breathing hole.

“How long, Ziggy?” Al queried.

She tilted her head and cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

If the image had been more than head and shoulders, the foot would almost certainly have been tapping.

“Humans still expect my many talents to include mind-reading!” she complained. “Let me see, ‘How long is a piece of string?’ unlikely that you would stoop to such inanities in the circumstances, though I have come to expect such inappropriate behavior from you, Admiral.”

“Inappropriate?  Inappropriate?? Why you…”

“Now, now,” interjected Sam wearily, “when you two children have quite finished bickering…”

Both combatants stopped and looked at him guiltily.

“Listen, I’m struggling here, I don’t know how much longer I can… keep it together,” Sam confessed, “I’m so tired.” He sighed softly. “So the question is, Ziggy, how long until the rescuers get here, so I can rescue them and leap outta here.”

Sam imagined that Ziggy turned away from him deliberately, that she was hiding something, but it was just the imagining of a tired and overworked brain. It had to be.

Al saw it too, though.  What was the hologram playing at now; why was she avoiding Sam's simple question?

“The advance team is approximately 20 minutes from your location, Dr Beckett; the others are five to ten minutes behind them, as closely as I can calculate given the fluctuations in the timeline caused by your presence and actions.”

“And how long…’til the cave-in?” Sam swallowed hard, haunted again by the very idea of the mass burial he was to prevent.

“The storm will gather in intensity and discharge another powerful burst of lightening in thirty seven minutes and sixteen seconds from now. Anyone below ground at that point will certainly be killed.”

That was not an option Sam was willing to contemplate.

“So I just have to make sure I’m out, and none of them come in.” Sam muttered more or less to himself - looking up at the steep shaft that was his escape route. How far was it? There was already a rope dangling down, used no doubt by the party to facilitate their decent.

Could he climb out without assistance? Did he have the strength to make it alone? Sam shuffled to get a better look.

“Ggggggnnn,” a muffled moan escaped his lips. The tenuous grip he had on his self-control was loosening by the moment. The answer to his rhetorical questions was a resounding, “No!”

“Easy, Sam,” counseled Al, “Help will be here soon enough. You’ll be out of this cave and leaping outta here before you know it!”

“Still the arrogant human presumes to think he knows more than I do!” Ziggy shot at him, in a whisper designed to reach the Admiral’s ears alone.

Al glared at her. The crazy bucket of bolts was really losing it. What on earth was she ranting about now? He thought he caught a hint of worry mixed with the anger on her expressionless face, though, so he declined to rise to her bait.

“Have a drink and some food, Sam, keep your strength up,” he ordered, and then made a strategic withdrawal to a discreet distance so that he could interrogate the supercomputer without giving Sam cause for concern.

After an uneventful journey, the first two cars arrived near the Lake of the Ozarks in record time, a while before dawn, though the last half hour had been slower going, as they met the inclement weather.

They detoured off road, and made it further than they would have dared hope before the pick-up’s wheels started spinning in the mud.

Striking out on foot, they sought confirmation from Dai, via Jenna, that they were headed in the right direction, but she informed them in desolate tones that there had been nothing but an occasional crackle from his radio for the past couple of hours or more. As requested, they left a ‘breadcrumb’ trail for those following.

Jenna’s eyes were red and tired from weeping. She had kept her lonely vigil, and tried every few minutes to renew contact with Dai, but as the night progressed inexorably toward morning, her hopes were fading. From the little contact he had managed, Dai had sounded so strained, so much in pain. As difficult as it had been for her to listen to him in that state, how much worse must it have been for him? And what if he was right about the others? It didn’t seem possible that they could really be dead. Jenna had never experienced the death of someone she knew before. Her parents were divorced, but she still had regular contact with her father. Her grandparents on both sides lived just close enough for a couple of visits a year. She spent her days in the comfortable assurance that she could see any of them whenever she wished. It was inconceivable that she would not see Lizzie, Cliff or the Professor ever again. During the long silences, she prayed to God that Dai was wrong, and that all four would soon return and recover.

Sam nibbled unenthusiastically on a chocolate bar; all that remained of his provisions. He was vaguely aware of Al and Ziggy exchanging what he assumed to be insults in whispered but harsh tones some distance away. Though exasperated at their continued juvenile behavior, he had more demanding concerns. Now his physical labors were at least temporarily halted, he found himself unable to sustain his iron-willed focus, and the pain was starting to re-assert itself with a vengeance.

In a desperate attempt to divert himself, Sam tentatively reached for the radio to see if there was any way he could fix the short circuit and get it working again. Fleetingly, he thought again of Al’s jibe about MacGyver. How would he have achieved the task? What did he have in his pack that could help him?

He rummaged cautiously, not wanting to earn another zap from the offending equipment, and feeling the tenderness of blistered fingertips from the last one as he tried to pick things up. To be on the safe side, he disconnected the battery to the radio, preventing any possibility of an encore.

After a while, he had the stirrings of a plan. He used the nail-file from the manicure set he had so fortuitously packed, substituting the rounded end for a screwdriver to open up the radio and look inside. It didn’t take long for him to locate a burnt out wire that had come unsoldered from its contact, which was blackened by carbon deposits. The file was again conscripted to rub these away so that a good connection could be re-established.

Using the scissors, he cut away the damaged cabling, and stripped the plastic casing back a way to make a clean link. Frowning, he realized that it was now just not quite long enough to re-connect. He needed something to bridge the gap. It was so close - he refused to be beaten. He tried several times to wriggle and jiggle and juggle it so that the two sides met, but it was just a tad too much of a stretch.

He paused, tired by his fruitless efforts, and sipped again from his canteen. Thoughtfully, he pondered his problem, as he munched on the chocolate. It was not too bad, not too rich, a brand he was unfamiliar with. He looked idly at the packaging and recognized that it must be a British brand that Dai had either brought with him or had sent out by a relative: An outer paper wrapper of purple with white writing; boasting that a glass and a half of milk went into every bar. The inner foil wrapper was the same rich regal purple hue on the outside, plain silver on the reverse.

Plain silver… silver foil!

“One to me, MacGyver!” Sam muttered to himself as he twisted the silver foil into a long thin slither around the shortened wire, and using it to span the breach, holding it firmly in place with a remnant of the duct tape that had already proved its worth.

Pleased with his efforts, and wanting Al to share in his triumph as he tested it, Sam looked up in time to see Ziggy shimmer and disappear.

Al watched her go with a face like thunder.

“Al?” queried Sam, some of his enthusiasm dampened by the dour expression on his friend’s face. “What’s going on? Haven’t you two finished your little squabble yet?”

“Huh?” Al hurried back to his friend’s side, frowning. “Wha...? Oh, no, we’re good pals again, it’s nothing!”

There were few things that could be relied upon to ring alarm bells in Sam’s ears so loudly as Al’s assurance that ‘it’s nothing’.

“Don’t give me that Al,” challenged Sam, “Come on, out with it…”

“What you been doing there, Sam?” evaded Al, gesturing toward the now re-assembled radio, “Don’t tell me you fixed it?”

“And why not?” Sam’s feeling of achievement allowed him to be sidetracked in spite of himself. “Child’s play really,” he allowed himself a small boast. It wasn’t exactly rocket science, but not everybody could have done it. Not in the circumstances he was in. He blinked hard, refusing to give in to the negative sensations that were threatening to swamp him again. It was getting harder and harder to disregard the pain.

“Time for a test run, I think,” Sam announced briskly.

“Careful, Sam, if you haven’t got that right, it could zap you from here to the middle of next week!” Al shook his own hand in mock distress.

“O ye of little faith,” countered Sam, though privately he metaphorically crossed his fingers. What he could have done in civilized surroundings with one hand tied behind his back was a whole different ball game in a deep dark dank cave in a less than exemplary state of health.

Bracing himself against the possibility of further sparks flying; Sam took hold of the microphone and pushed the button decisively.

“Jenna?” he wondered if she would still be there after all this time - so long without contact.

“Dai?” hesitant, quiet, almost reverent. Then, again, with more volume and enthusiasm, “DAI?? Is that you?”

“I’m here.” As usual, he avoided direct confirmation of the lie.

“Oh, my God, we were so worried. What happened? Are you all right? Why did… what…”

Now he was so near the opening, and the storm was in remission, the signal was much clearer. Hardly a crackle disturbed the transmission.

“Calm down,” counseled Sam. “There was… flash flood. The radio short-circuited. I’ve… just… fixed it.”

He heard her sigh of relief and fully understood it. The long night had probably been as much an ordeal for her in its way as it had been for him.

“Why did it take so long Dai?” she queried after a moment. “Did the flood hurt you worse?”

“Didn’t help any,” he confessed. “Still, it did… help get me nearer… the exit. Took… long time to… crawl the rest of the way, though.”

Sam heard her gasp.

“Crawl? Did you say ‘crawl,’ Dai?” she asked incredulously, “I thought your leg was broken…”

“It is…” Sam confirmed, grimacing as the pain bubbled ever nearer to the surface of his consciousness.

“You were supposed to keep still…”

It was obvious they hadn’t heard his cautions. Sam looked at Al, alarmed, and made a motion tapping his wrist with his forefinger – how long did they still have left until the cave in?

Al understood and consulted his watch:  “Just over 18 minutes, Sam.”

“Jenna.” There was a commanding tone to his voice, despite the dryness of his mouth, “Listen carefully…”

“Dai?”

“Warn others…I had… t-to move… whole cave… unstable… collapse… any minute… understand?”

Al listened as Sam’s breathing became more and more labored; watching his façade of calm cracking like a china vase newly knocked over by the proverbial bull.

“Oh God, Dai! How awful!”

“Warn them, Jen…please!” reiterated Sam, an edge of panic chipping away at his control.

“Sure Dai, hold on. They are real close to you, don’t panic, ‘k?”

The news that they were close was a double-edged sword. The promise of an end to his exertions was welcome, but with their approach came the danger of their imminent demise. What if he couldn’t prevent it, if all his efforts had been in vain?

“Al…” he began softly.

“Ahead of you, buddy. I’m on my way.”

Al’s image vanished as he relocated outside to see exactly how far away they were.

It was only as Sam found himself alone that a sudden thought occurred to him.

“Jenna?” the voice was soft, distant, and dream-like. She had heard it so often in her mind, in her desperation to be convinced he was all right, that she imagined for a moment she had once more imagined it. Or had she?

“Dai?” it had to be him, it just had to be. Please God, let it be him.

“DAI?? Is that you?”

“I’m here.” Two simple little words, spoken quietly, but conveying volumes, and oh, so good to hear!

“Oh, my God, we were so worried. What happened? Are you all right? Why did… what…”

Her tongue was tripping over her teeth in its haste to ask the myriad questions her brain had tossed out over the past few hours.

“Calm down,” Dai told her. Shouldn’t she be telling him that? Her brain was addled by the mix of concern and relief. “There was… flash flood. The radio short-circuited. I’ve… just… fixed it.”

She heaved a huge sigh of relief. A fault with the radio had kept him from communicating, nothing worse.  “Why did it take so long Dai?” she queried after a moment, her worry mixed with a hint of annoyance that he had let her stew alone so long. “Did the flood hurt you worse?” She immediately felt guilty for her cross tone, and was full of concern again. Dai would not have worried her deliberately.

“Didn’t help any,” Dai admitted. “Still, it did… help get me nearer… the exit. Took… long time to… crawl the rest of the way, though.”

        A loud gasp escaped her lips. Had she misheard or did Dai…?

“Crawl? Did you say ‘crawl’, Dai?” she asked incredulously, “I thought your leg was broken…”

“It is…” Dai assured her, and she could hear the pain in his voice. Poor Dai, what had he been through?

“You were supposed to keep still…” she remembered the doctor’s advice. Advice she was sure she had passed on, but of course could not be certain he had heard.

“Jenna.” Dai ordered, “Listen carefully…”

“Dai?” what new surprise did he have in store for her?

“Warn others…I had… t-to move…whole cave… unstable… collapse… any minute… understand?”

“Oh God, Dai! How awful!” No wonder he sounded so strained.

“Warn them, Jen…please!” he sounded terrified, and no wonder. If he had spent the night trying to escape from being buried alive, he had every right to be anxious. She just hoped the others could get to him before it was too late.

“Sure Dai, hold on. They are real close to you, don’t panic, ‘k?”

He didn’t answer. She supposed it was a tall order at that. She was pretty close to panic herself, and she was warm and dry and safe and unharmed.

She reached for her mobile phone and fast-dialed Claire’s number. Last time they had called they were well up the mountain – they should be almost at the right group of caves by now.

As they made their weary way up the mountainside, none of the group felt much like conversation. They kept their heads down against the persistent drizzle, and concentrated on looking for signs that they were on the right track. Travis and Claire fretted for their friends, and worried about the consequences of their actions. Nurse Chloe Benedict worried what kind of foolishness her baby brother had roped her into now, and whether or not either of them would have jobs tomorrow.

Gian Franco Palmiero worried that his efforts here would not be enough to keep the nurse from reporting him to immigration. To his credit, he also worried for those they had gone to find. If his limited English served him well enough, the group in the cave needed more help than this rag-tag rescue party had to offer.

Claire’s trill phone tone shook them all from their dreary ponderings.

When she relayed Jenna’s message that Dai had re-established contact and was fearful of a new and massive cave-in, they were at once both relieved and alarmed. Claire wondered again if they had bitten off more than they could chew, and wished that they had summoned a professional team with equipment to shore up the roof like you saw in disaster movies set in old mine shafts.

They picked up their pace, and crossed their fingers, hidden in the depths of their pockets where they plunged them to keep warm.

According to the maps, the group had to be in one of the caves reached by the tunnels hidden by the foliage between the trees just up ahead. The caves went deep, deeper than the tree roots, and could only be reached down long narrow passageways. Needles in haystacks came to mind. They all looked alike from here.

“Any sign?” Chloe asked Claire. She was just finishing a long grueling shift when Joey called her. She was tired and her feet ached, and this was a million miles from what she’d had planned for her down time. She’d managed to grab a couple of hours sleep on the way, but Gian’s pick-up was not exactly well sprung, and she was far from well rested.

“They definitely came this way!” Travis announced. Examining signs of trampled undergrowth had proved problematic, as the rain had thoroughly washed the tracks away. Luckily, their interest in all things ecological meant that he had an eye for anything amiss in the landscape, and was able to spot damaged branches and other little telltale signs of their passage.

Carefully, they picked their way through the dense foliage, checking each cave they came to for indications of occupancy.

Within moments Al had returned, reporting that four people were indeed in the vicinity, and heading toward the tunnels that included the cave entrance he was currently guarding.

He didn’t conclude with his usual, “soon be leaping” declaration, but Sam was too preoccupied to notice.

“Oh, Al, I… I’ve just realized…”

Sam looked up at his Observer with such a curious expression that Al leaned down, concerned.  “What, buddy? What is it?”

“I… I’ve been… crawling through…this cave… all n-night…”

“I know buddy, but you can take it easy now, they’ll have you out of here any…”

“No…” Sam interrupted; “I m-mean…” he reached instinctively toward his friend, though they both knew they could not make physical contact.

Al looked at him quizzically. He knew the pain was making its presence felt again, and wished he could do something to alleviate his friend’s suffering. It looked as if the torment was really taking its toll; Sam was not making any sense.

“You... you’ve been… been here… whole t-time…all night… with m-me…” Sam’s face reflected the tremendous gratitude he felt for his best friend’s dedication. “Couldn’t have… have d-done it… alone…”

Al looked sideways at him, embarrassed, and waved a dismissive hand.

“It was nothing… no problemo.”

“Nonsense… means… more…”

“You don’t have to say anything, pal, really.”

“But…”

“Just drop it, okay?” Al snapped.

“Al?” Sam knew his friend found praise discomforting, but his reaction was extreme nonetheless.

The Observer shrugged.

“Tell me….” pressed the scientist.

Al looked thoughtful for a moment, and then conceded:  “If you must know, I didn’t have a choice. When our beloved Ziggy took umbrage, she thought she’d teach me a lesson. Locked me in the Imaging Chamber. It was either sit it out in this cave with you, or sit it out in that one alone. I figured we’d both prefer company to solitude, that’s all. Besides, I didn't want to give Miss Chips-are-everything the satisfaction of knowing she got under my skin."

Sam’s jaw dropped. They both knew that Al wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving him alone in any case, but the revelation explained a lot.

“No w-wonder you… you g-got a bit… t-testy. W-why didn’t… you… t-tell m-me?”

“Why? You couldn’t have done anything. You have – had – enough on your plate.”

Sam knew how much Al hated to be shut in anywhere, his acute claustrophobia born of long periods of torturous confinement in the cages of ‘Nam.  It was a testimony to the depth of his friendship that he had managed to hold it together in order not to alarm the leaper. No amount of gratitude could express the intensity of his appreciation. Nor could he ever hope to repay the debt he owed his partner, for this and all the other times he’d helped the time-traveler accomplish his missions.

“Al…”

“I know buddy. Don’t get all mushy on me, okay?”

They exchanged smiles, and an understanding that went way beyond words.

A murmuring outside interrupted their banter.

“They’re he-ere!” Al announced, aping the old movie.

PART EIGHT

“Into the… home stretch… at l-last…” Sam gritted his teeth and slid over to the rope, hauling himself into a sitting position and fastening it securely under his armpits. The maneuver placed tremendous strain on his damaged ribs, and had him panting profusely.

Al looked away sorrowfully, unable to bear the look of pain mingled with relief in his friend’s eyes.

“It’s this one, look, the rope!” they heard clearly from above, and in moments a face appeared at the opening way above them, before Sam was blinded by the bright beams of a searchlight.

Resisting the urge to shout a response, Sam instead took the radio mike once more, and repeated in clipped words and breathless phrases his entreaty to Jenna to warn the rescue party about the impending collapse of the cave, and hence the need to avoid loud noises.

The caution came just in time, for Travis had been about to announce his imminent decent.

“Tell him I’m coming down,” he relayed through Claire, who was talking to Jenna on her mobile.

“No!” Sam responded to the radio. It was frustrating to be speaking to someone so close by such a convoluted route, but though Ziggy had told him the cave would collapse at a certain time, that didn’t mean their careless actions couldn’t bring about that sorry state earlier.

“Dai, they’ve come to get you out, let them help you,” entreated Jenna.

“No-one… come… down…” repeated Sam, “too… da-dangerous…”

He reached up, wincing as the movement pulled on his broken bones and strained muscles. A strong yank on the rope served both to test the solidity of the fastening, and to focus the attention of the student up at the other end.

As he passed his instructions through Jenna, he gestured to emphasize his point.  “Tell him… stay… there… pull me… up…”

It would not be as comfortable an ascent for him as one assisted by helping hands and the support of a stretcher, but it would be safer for the others. And that, after all, was why Sam Beckett was there. He’d lost Lizzie, Cliff and the Professor. He had no intention of losing anybody else; whatever the cost to himself. Besides, he’d already endured probably the longest night of his life. A few more minutes of pain would be worth it. Then he could leap, knowing he had saved their lives, and the blue haze of nowheresville would cure him of all ills.

“But…”

He understood their point of view. In their position, he’d probably have insisted on going down, believing the injured party to be delirious from pain. He knew he was not delirious though. And Sam KNEW the cave would swallow them forever if they didn’t heed his warning.

“No!” he breathed again. “N-now… please…”

“Brace yourself, buddy.” Travis passed the message along, at last acceding to Sam’s demands.

“R-ready.” Though he wasn’t at all sure he really was.

“On a count of three…” Sam heard faintly from above, and then echoed from the radio a moment later.

“It’s this one, look, the rope!” announced Claire excitedly at last. Travis was beside her in one stride, flinging himself to the ground and peering into the dark depths of Hell for signs of his friend. A faint glimmer from the dying battery of a helmet torch broke the blackness. It had to be Dai. Mr. Palmiero passed him a torch he’d sensibly brought with him from the truck and Travis sent down an exploratory beam.

Just as he was about to call out and tell his room-mate not to worry, that he was on his way, Claire gestured him to silence. Then she repeated the warning to avoid loud noises, lest they bring half the mountain down upon Dai’s head.

“Tell him I’m coming down,” Travis instructed, moving himself into position ready to descend the rope.

“Dai says no” Claire reported, much to their collective amazement, as she put a restraining hand on Travis’ arm. “He says it’s too dangerous.”

Suddenly, Travis felt the thick cord tug in his hand. He looked down to see Dai miming something to him. Squinting to try to interpret the signals, he was grateful when the translation came through.

“He wants you to pull him up from here,” Claire explained.

“But…”

They tried to reason with him, but he would have none of it.

Finally, they conceded that as the man on the spot, he may be right about the state of the place. They would try it his way.

“Brace yourself, buddy,” advised Travis as he and Gian Franco took a firm hold on the rope.

“R-ready.” Came back the unconvincing reply.

“On a count of three…” suggested Travis, as the girls moved in to lend what strength they could to the tug-o-war.

“One…” “Uno…” joined in their European friend.

“Two…” “Due…”

“Three…” “Tre…”

“Heave.”

Sam felt the rope go taut, and instinctively pushed off with his uninjured leg to assist the process. As they pulled, his chest strained against the rope, which rubbed his bruised torso.

He grabbed hold of the rope with his left hand to steady himself as he felt his body rise up from the cave floor that had been his close companion for so long. His head spun as his equilibrium was re-aligned.

Slowly and jerkily, the lifeline was hauled up. At the last moment before he completely left the ground, Sam grabbed at the backpack, and wriggled his way into its straps.

Al queried his action, which had obviously cost him in energy and pain.

“Surely that’s served its purpose now, Sam? Why not just let it go?”

“I’m…not…l-leaving…it…” was the enigmatic reply.

“Aaaaahhh!” a sharp gasp escaped Sam’s lips as he began his ascent proper. His head tilted backward, eyes wide.

“Steady, morons, he’s not a sack of coals!” berated Al, though of course they could not hear him.

“Ggnnnnhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Still clutching the rope with one hand, Sam leaned his head against his up stretched arm and tried not to think about the ever-deepening drop below him. It was not as hard as he might have imagined. Having been more or less horizontal for so long, his circulation took exception to his being practically vertical once more. The blood rushed down to his feet, and the force of gravity exerted its inexorable pressure on his crushed and twisted bones. The impacted fracture, having miraculously withstood his nocturnal scramble, now succumbed to the pull of the earth’s core, and the fragments separated as if he’d been stretched on a rack.  “Aaaaarrrrrggggggh!” the cry was heart-rending, though weak and lacking volume.

“St John!” Al yelled, and then remembered, correcting himself on his error.  “Ziggy! Keep me centered on Sam!” ordered the Observer, who had been left looking up at Sam’s retreating form.

Relocated to the same level, Al locked eyes with Sam.

“Hang in there, buddy,” he encouraged. “I’m here, Sam, I’m right here.”

Sam gave him a withering look through eyes dulled by pain and exhaustion.

Al suddenly realized what he had said.  “Sorry, pal. One of these days I’ll engage my brain before I put my mouth in gear.”

A miniscule twitch at the corner of Sam’s mouth led Al to know that he was forgiven. Sam knew he couldn’t help being King of the Puns; it was second nature to him. At times, it was a deliberate defense mechanism to avoid facing unpleasant situations, a trick he’d learned to help keep him sane in his jungle prison. Other times, like now, he did it without even being aware of it. Sam knew his friend would never deliberately make cruel jokes at his expense.

As he got closer to the opening, Sam’s muted grunts and groans, leaking from lips pressed tightly together, could be heard to echo in the grunts emitting from the team pulling more or less rhythmically now with rapidly blistering hands on the tough rough cord from which he dangled.

“Nearly there, Sam; easy now, buddy.”

Sam screwed his eyes tight shut, and gripped onto the rope ‘til his knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, the going got a whole lot smoother, and he found himself rising with stomach churning rapidity.

Before he could catch his hitching breath, hands had reached down and were grabbing for him, hoisting him out of his tomb and easing him onto the ground, removing the backpack and trying to make him ‘comfortable’. Voices all around him clambered for his attention.

The rest of the rescue party had arrived.

He kept his eyes shut.

Though the storm had picked up again, and they were all getting drenched, the comparative brightness of the great outdoors was more than his aching head could bear all at once.

“Let me look at him,” a mature female voice, with the trace of an accent Sam couldn’t immediately place.

As she leant over him, Sam caught the scent of her perfume, strong and musky and sensuous, and such a pleasant contrast to the stench of the bat excrement. Nevertheless, it assaulted his beleaguered senses, and he coughed.

“Steady, lad,” A deep, rich male voice, kind and concerned. “You’re okay now, you’re safe.”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Sam put it down to a combination of the merging of his host’s brainwaves, and the delusions of a pain racked brain.

He wanted to keep his eyes shut. He wanted to let go and drift into much needed sleep, but that word safe kept him anchored. No rest for the leaper until they were sure disaster had been averted.

He wasn’t given free will with his eyes either. The doctor lifted each eyelid in turn and shone a narrow beam at him, boring deep into his brain.

He squirmed.

She directed him to follow the beam.

He tried.

She tutted.

She began studying his anatomy, praising his ingenuity in protecting his limbs so well. She decided the ribs were best left undisturbed until they returned to civilization. She questioned him as to exactly where it hurt, and examined him thoroughly. “As a precaution,” she suggested the application of a neck brace, and began to apply one. Though his neck, along with almost every part of him, was stiff and aching, Sam was expert enough to know it was unnecessary.  He declined, politely but insistently.

As for the leg: “Is bad, much damage.”

She agreed he’d done an excellent job with what he had, but she had something more efficient; a self-inflating protective splint that would encase his leg totally and cushion it on the return journey.

Firstly, however, she would need to remove his ‘Heath Robinson’ device, and “reduce the fractures” before he could be moved further.

Sam knew that meant attempting to re-align the broken bones, and it was not a pleasant procedure.

“Do not worry,” she reassured him, rummaging in her big black bag, “I have pain relief here, and anesthetic. I shall put you under while I work, you will not be feeling a thing.”

Not feeling was a huge temptation, but predictably it was not that simple. As the doctor was loading the needle in preparation to inject him with her knock out drops, Travis decided to play the hero and declared he was going down to find the others.

“No!” Sam protested. Though the objection screamed inside his brain, it came out as a hoarse and barely audible croak.

Travis kept moving toward the rope.

“No!” Sam yelled again, reaching out an aching limb to halt his progress. The movement was clumsy and uncoordinated. He managed to grab Travis by the trouser leg, slowing him and making him turn, but in doing so, he knocked the doctor’s arm, and her syringe and bottle tumbled from her hands, smashing and spilling the precious elixir on the rain-soaked ground.

Sam swallowed hard, and tightened his grip on the young man’s leg. Travis looked at him, confused.

“Danger…” the prostrate figure managed to expel.

“For you, yeah buddy. But I can move, man. I can run in there and…”
         Sam shook his head and held unyieldingly.

“NO!”

“This is it, Sam,” warned Al, “here it comes.”

PART NINE

Travis was struggling to free himself, but despite his weakness and disability, Dai’s grip was iron clad. Sam felt Travis starting to pull away, and dug his fingers in deep into his ankle, waging that a bruise or two would be fair trade off for the student’s life.

Then it came.

From out of the storm-blackened clouds a bright white crack split the sky asunder, running helter-skelter down the wall of the horizon, and striking the ground mere yards from where they were gathered, impacting with the force of a wrecking ball, causing the earth to shake and quake in fear all around them.

The mountain above them shuddered; cried out in terror and then went to pieces, falling in upon itself, the trees lying down to carpet the new nest that had been hollowed out.

The assembled group stumbled and tumbled, losing their footing, grabbing at each other for stability, missing or mistiming and falling to their knees, or worse.

Noise and confusion and shouts and blurred motions enveloped Sam, leaving him feeling as if he were lying wounded in the midst of some mighty battleground. In a way, he supposed, he was.

Finally, it was over, and an eerie stillness settled all around with the dust, which having risen up from the depths, had been forced back down by the beating of the rain, covering everything around – flora, fauna and humans – with a thin film of clay.

After a while, the doctor sat up, and enquired:  “Is anybody hurt?”

A small noise escaped Sam’s throat.

“Not you, muchacho, I know about you.” She patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Be brave, I shall attend to you momentarily.”

Gradually, the others clambered to their feet and checked themselves over. They were bruised to varying degrees, and their dignity had taken a battering, but they were largely in one piece, they told her.

Travis couldn’t put his weight on the ankle Sam had held, having sprained it badly in the melee. He held no rancor toward his friend though; far from it.

“Geeze, man.” He leaned down and made to clap Sam on the shoulder, then thought better of it, much to the time-traveler’s relief. “You were right! You saved my life!”

“Any… time…” whispered Sam, with a wan smile, “but… don’t… make… h-habit…”

“Sure, gotcha.” Travis grinned.

Mr. Palmiero wandered toward the newly created crater.

“Careful!” cautioned Claire.

“Madonna! Quande grande?” he commented, with an expansive gesture.

Sam looked up at Al wearily, expecting to feel the familiar tingle that heralded the start of the leaping process, and to see Al’s famous “well done” smile.

Neither was forthcoming.

Sam challenged his friend with a questioning look, and when Al avoided looking him in the eye, he knew his answer before the Observer spoke.  “Sorry, Sam. Zig’s convinced that you have to do something else before you can leap, but she insists she has no data to suggest what. I was hoping she was wrong. I’ve told her that if she doesn’t bring me some answers soon, I’m gonna have Tina re-allocate all her microchips to the canteen dishwasher.”

Sam’s expression was more than Al could bear; “I know buddy, I know. We’re working on it, I promise, just take it easy.”

Nothing about his current circumstances had the mark of ‘easy’ stamped on it. Sam let his head roll to one side, and blinked back a lonely tear.

The doctor was pulling another syringe from her bag, shaking her head.  “All gone.” She muttered to herself, finding no more vials of anesthetic, “Poor muchacho.  This should soon help to ease the pain a little.” She told Sam with forced cheerfulness as she injected him in the abdomen with a liberal dose of analgesic.

“Can I have some help here, please?” she shouted to the others.

Professor Lofton and Travis Hunter were instantly at her side, the latter kneeling awkwardly but without complaint.

“Hold him still. This is not going to be pleasant, chicitito. I am sorry. Courage, this should not take long.”

Hands reached out to restrain him, and Sam winced at their touch.

“Carefully” the doctor warned, “we do not wish to injure him further.”

‘Amen to that,’ thought Sam.

The doctor removed a large pair of scissors from her bag, and began cautiously cutting away the tape that held his makeshift splints in place. Though she was gentle, the exercise made Sam squirm with discomfort, and he appreciated the anchor the two men were giving him. It was to get worse before it got better, he knew.

“How are you doing?” she turned to Dom, “What is his name again?”

Curiously, the Professor looked down at the invalid as if trying to remember, or to recognize him. A puzzled frown crossed his dark, handsome features, then he shrugged, “Uh, Dai, Dai Evans.”

“Ah, yes, Dai.” She looked in Sam’s eyes again, “Is my little drug working yet, huh?”

“S-some…” Sam informed her, feeling with gratitude a slight blurring to the edges of the stabbing pains that assaulted him.

“Good, good.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I shall be as gentle as I can.”

So saying, she nodded to the two men to brace him, and taking a firm hold of Sam’s leg, she began to manipulate it.

“Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh!” No longer constrained by the possibility of burial, Sam’s voice let loose. His hand clawed at the arm restraining him above the elbow.  “Nooooooooooo!” His body went rigid, and he bit his lip.  “P-p-pllllleeeeeeeeeeeeaaassssssssseeee.” He screwed his eyes tight against the agony.  “W-w-wait…” Sam held the doctor with a pleading look, panting hard.

“I am sorry, I must…”

“I know…” he conceded, “backpack… pocket, r-right… side…” he gestured feebly toward it.

Dr Gonzales had no idea what the young man was asking for, but she was prepared to humor him, and had her nurse take a look in the appointed place.

“This?” queried Chloe, bemused, as she held up the soft leather specs case.

Claire snatched it from her, “That’s Lizzie’s!” she declared, frowning at the state of it. What were those marks? Looked like someone had been chewing on it. She gave Dai a hard stare.

“S-sorry,” he whispered, disconsolately, “but… I… need… m-more…”

“Dai! How could you?”

She suddenly realized fully for the first time that he was right, that Lizzie had no further use for the article. She threw it down at him, hitting him square in the chest, and rushed off into the woods, sobbing furiously.

“Shouldn’t somebody go after her?” queried a concerned Travis, looking from one friend in need to the retreating figure of another.

“I’ll go,” volunteered Matt Roebuck. He’d been out on double dates with Jenna, and Claire and Travis, so knew them quite well. He’d met Dai and the others a time or two as well.

Travis nodded his gratitude, Sam his approval.

The doctor recognized Sam’s plan for the specs case, and endorsed it.

“Good thinking!”

Her assistants were less astute, and she had to explain:  “Put it in his mouth, let him bite down. It will help him to ride out the pain, and prevent him from biting his tongue or breaking his teeth.”

As the Professor folded it in half and placed it between his teeth, Sam imagined he gave him another curious look. ‘Probably wondering why Dai would think of something like that,’ he assumed.

The Professor looked strangely familiar to Sam; he must be picking up Dai’s memories.

The thought came unbidden that this man was a genius in his field, and Sam could hear himself saying jocularly: “We’re on the same wavelength, you and I, Dom!” Why would Dai talk to his Professor like that?

Sam bit down hard on the leather as wave after wave of agony assaulted him with each tug and twist the doctor affected on his leg; breaking through the barrier of the pain relief he’d been given.

It was just the pain that was causing these random thoughts. It was delirium, nothing more.

‘Oh, God, how much longer?’ Sam felt he was choking on his self-imposed gag. His sweat mingled with the now dwindling rain and ran down into his eyes, all but blinding him.

Travis wiped it away for him, and his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

Jenna rubbed her aching neck. When all this was over she was going to sleep for the whole of the rest of spring break.

It was so frustrating sitting there, not knowing what was going on.

She knew that they were busy doing what needed to be done, and that they had to concentrate to ensure the success of their mission, so that keeping her abreast of the situation was low on their list of priorities. She understood that, and would not have wanted to jeopardize their efforts. This was precisely why she resisted the urge to keep asking what was happening every few minutes.

The time dragged dreadfully, for her though. She supposed it was all rush and blur there, frantic activity, pulling Dai from the cave, organizing the rescue of the others, everyone trying to do their part and not get in each others way and feeling like they were contributing.

She got up and paced the floor of the communications room.

“They also serve who only stand and wait.”

The quote from she didn’t remember what came to her mind, along with the thought, ‘whoever said that was an idiot who never had to stand around and wait.’  Finally, she could take the tension no longer.

“Dai, are you there, have they got you?” she asked the radio.

Predictably, she got no response.

‘Dammit.’ She thought to herself. ‘If only I had some idea what was happening.’

She tried Claire’s mobile a few minutes later, and after so many rings she was about to give up, a sobbing, barely articulate Claire told her that yes, they had rescued a badly injured Dai, but that a bolt of lightening had caused the cave to implode, completely sealing in the others. If they had been alive before, they most certainly were not now. She also passed on her horror at what she perceived to be Dai’s callousness over the specs case, before degenerating into paroxysms of sobbing once more.

Jenna was left staring at the now inactive mobile phone; trying to assimilate the information she had been given. She had tried to convince Claire that she was wrong about Dai; that he would never be so cold-hearted as Claire suggested, but she was not sure her friend was totally buying it. They were all struggling to come to terms with what had happened, Dai more than any of them – he’d had to live through the worst of it. Jenna told Claire that she should cut him some slack, and give him an opportunity to explain, and by the time she hung up, Jenna hoped there was a good chance she would do so.

Finally, the doctor declared she had done the best she could.

Though he’d been through purgatory to achieve it, Sam had to admit that the muscles weren’t tugging so hard on the bones, which had been re-aligned into more or less natural positions. With help from Nurse Benedict, they eased the battered limb into the long thin ‘life preserver’ and pulled the cord.

Instantly, it blew up like an aircraft life jacket, filling with air and fitting itself snugly to the leg from hip to ankle. As the pressure increased, Sam felt some renewed discomfort, but once it was fully inflated, it began to have a numbing effect. And the support it provided was indeed a vast improvement on his improvised splints.

“Better, yes?” enquired the doctor, removing the leather bit from between his teeth, and looking once more deeply into his eyes.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” he exhaled, breathing heavily, then “yes, thank… you,” he whispered.

The doctor started organizing the group, preparing the stretcher and having the others gather up all their belongings for the hike down the hill.

Sam turned his head and searched out his futuristic friend, who shook his head sadly. They still had no answers as to why he hadn’t leaped.

“You just gotta be strong a while longer, Sam. Hang tough.” Al knew how much he was asking of the leaper. The Observer himself was tired out from the long, emotional night. How much worse it had to be for Sam, with the added burdens of the agony of his injuries, and the angst he’d felt for those who were lost. He looked totally done-in.

“I don’t… wanna… b-be… strong… Al” he breathed petulantly. “I’m tired of t-the… p-pain and… I’m… t-tired of… b-being… tired… I… wanna… g-go…h-home…” his eyes closed momentarily and a sob escaped his throat.  “I… wanna… s-sleep…” he locked eyes with Al, “n-need… r-rest…” his expression was accusatory, “y-you… p-promised… I… I… c-could… r-rest…”

Following Dr. Gonzales’ instructions, the Professor, Travis, Joey and Gian flanked the patient on either side. Nurse Benedict prepared to support his head.

“What’s he saying?” the young medical assistant enquired. “Who’s he talking to?”

On some automatic level, Sam’s genius brain was still operating. His excuse came readily - and with some help from Dai, he felt - though it was still hard to articulate.

“Back… pack…”

“Huh?” came a chorus of confused onlookers.

“Hanks… had… Wilson,” he explained, referring to the volleyball in Dai Evan’s favorite film of the moment, “I had… Al.” Again a look told his Observer how much that had meant to him, though he was still aggrieved by the broken promise. “Called… backpack… Al.” he invented, “for… company.”

“I should be insulted, Sam. Bad enough the time you told Edie I was your dog, but a backpack!” nevertheless, he chuckled at Sam’s ingenuity, and then in his defense reminded Sam, “and to be fair, buddy, I only promised you rest, not sleep or anything else. These guys are gonna do all the hard work now, and you can lie back and let ‘em!” He knew it was a cop out, and he knew it was unfair, but it was the best he could offer.

Those assembled seemed to buy Sam’s explanation, all except the Professor, who tilted his head to one side, cocked an eyebrow, and seemed to look directly at Rear Admiral Calavicci.

“I think it is high time we got this young man out of here,” pronounced Aurora Gonzales, and like a conductor directing an orchestra, she gestured as she instructed:

“On a count of three… one… two… three… lift!”

“Ggggggggnnnnnn”

“Left, left, left, left, and… down.”

“Gggnnnnaahh!”

They lowered him as gently as they could onto the waiting stretcher, and strapped him firmly to it. For his further protection, the doctor had covered him with the sort of space age blanket they gave to marathon runners, like a huge thin sheet of toughened tin-foil, and tucked it in place with a warm woolen blanket over the top.

His arms were left outside, and Dr Gonzales gently inserted a needle into the back of his hand, taping it in place with more traditional micropore tape. Soon, she had set up a saline drip to counter shock and dehydration. Nurse Benedict was entrusted with keeping the fluid pack steady above him.

“Comfy?” she asked him.

That was a bit of an overstatement; he was a long way short of comfortable, but he smiled weakly at her all the same. He would go so far as to say it was a definite improvement.

Right on cue, Matt brought Claire back into the fold.

Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she was calm once more.

Matt took over stretcher duty from Travis, who though he had managed to keep steady with the others for the short move, was still struggling somewhat with his ankle, despite the support bandage the doctor applied. Matt, in a display of macho bravado, donned the backpack, which Sam still insisted could not be left, declaring it would not slow him down in the slightest. Since Sam had consumed almost all the provisions and the canteens were all but empty, it was no longer particularly heavy, save for the weight of the radio.

Sam caught Claire’s eye, and let her know with a pleading look that he wanted to talk to her. With some reluctance, she nodded her concurrence, and approached closely, so she could hear his faint words.

Knowing that she needed answers, Sam was able to reassure her that her friends had not suffered, unlike himself. She was ultimately able to accept that he had done all he could, and more, and apologized for her outburst. Sam told her of his personal reluctance to ‘rob the dead’, but she saw his necessity had been real and extreme. He also told her that he had placed in the backpack a couple of items which he taken for a different purpose, not his own, and charged her with seeing that it was fulfilled. In the top pocket of the backpack he had carefully squirreled away Cliff’s watch, and Lizzie’s bracelet, which he thought their families may wish to have returned to them. Tearfully, Claire promised she would see to it they found their way home.

Sitting once more in her lonely waiting room, Jenna reflected that nothing would ever be the same with the now depleted group again. Not only were some of their crowd gone forever, those left would always have this experience hanging over them, affecting the way they thought and felt about each other. They had all lost a measure of innocence this night.

The party set off slowly back down the mountain, the four able-bodied men carrying one corner of the stretcher each, keeping Sam as level and stable as they could as they picked their way through the undergrowth.

The rest of the group kept pace, Claire allowing Travis to lean on her whenever his ankle became really bothersome on the rough terrain. Though he had tried to tough it out at first, he finally admitted her support was more than welcome.

Dr. Gonzales walked at the head of the stretcher, keeping a frequent eye on her patient to see how he was bearing up.

After a while, his sporadic feeble moans began to become more pronounced, and his face contorted with increasing frequency as the group slipped and slid on the muddy ground, jostling him despite their caution.

She called a temporary halt.

“The analgesic, it is wearing off, yes?” she stroked his cheek soothingly with the back of her fingers.

“Uh-huh,” admitted Sam regretfully, knowing that in these far from controlled conditions, it could be dangerous to administer a repeat dose of the powerful drug.

The doctor opened her huge black bag once more, and drew out a small canister, a breathing mask and some tubing. She connected the equipment, and tucked the canister into one of the straps on the stretcher, making sure it was firmly wedged in position, and in a way that would not exacerbate any existing injuries. Then she slipped the mask over his nose and mouth, though she didn’t fix the strap behind his head.

“Hold that on,” she told him, taking him by the left hand and placing it on the mask, “and breathe slowly and evenly.”

She turned the valve on the canister and a mixture of gas and air hissed its way up the tubing. Resisting the urge to hyperventilate, Sam pressed the mask tightly to his face and sucked in lungful after lungful of the concoction, basking in the lightheaded euphoria it offered. While it was not strong enough to block out all the pain, it certainly helped.

All too soon, the doctor shut off the tap.

“Enough for now,” she decreed. “You are sensible fellow, no?”

“Think… so.” Sam shot a look at a sniggering hologram.

“You can reach control?”

Sam tried, and with a little effort, he could reach to turn the tap/faucet unaided.

“Good.”

         “Not too much, now. Not too often, understand? You have much pain, I know, chicitito, but must use only when really, really cannot bear pain without. This cylinder only one we have, not hold too much…”
         “Ration…” Sam let her know he understood. He understood too not to overdose on the stuff. It could do strange things to a person to breathe too much, too fast. Just knowing it was there helped somehow.

PART TEN

The storm - exhausted by its nightlong tantrum and having vented its fury on the undeserving cave - had by now cried itself to sleep.

In its stead, a melancholy sun looked down from a sorrowful sky, and bathed them in its sympathetic rays.

After a while, Al told Sam he was going to head back to the Project to “shake Ziggy by the gauge circuits ‘til something helpful drops out,” and that he would be back before the leaper knew it.

“Get… some… sleep,” suggested Sam, seeing the bags under his friend’s eyes, the sagging posture. There was little the Observer could do for him without a new mission statement; he would be better rested; at least one of them would be.

“Maybe forty winks,” Al stifled a yawn, “but I’ll check back with you soon, buddy.” So saying, the Observer slipped back to the future.

“I know you tired, but not good idea to sleep just yet.” Dr. Gonzales smoothed his rain-plastered hair from off his forehead, and stroked his temple. “Soon; we get you off mountain soon.”

As good as her word, a short time later, and only once more having had to resort to the gas and air, they reached a clearing in the previously dense woodland, and were reunited with the UH-1 “Huey” army helicopter Matt and Joey had ‘parked’ there.

The doctor handed Professor Lofton her car keys:  “I go with muchacho here, you drive my car back,” she instructed.

“You come too, and you,” she motioned to Travis and Chloe to ride with them in the chopper.

That left Mr. Palmiero to drive his pickup, and Claire to take the Excursion. Without others to share the driving, it would take them longer to affect the return journey, but they agreed they would all meet up later to discuss what had happened.

Manhandling Sam into the belly of the beast necessitated his recourse to the gas and air a third time. He felt like he was flying long before Matt and Joey had kicked life into the mighty motor.

He felt his stomach lurch as they took off, and closed his eyes, trying to blot out the wild wind they had whisked up, and the sight of the ground disappearing below them.

The doctor checked the drip, and then stroked his arm through the torn and tattered sleeves that barely covered it, and spoke to him soothingly.

“Muchacho valiente,” she smiled, “You are doing very well.” He half heard her, but it was getting harder and harder to focus on the here and now. His mind took off on a flight of wild fancy of its own.

‘I am in a lecture hall with Professor Lofton – obviously honing in on one of Dai’s memories.

‘No, something is wrong. Dominic Lofton is in a seat in the front row, eager and attentive, and I’m the one delivering the lecture.

‘Is this a fantasy of Dai’s? That the student should become the master?

‘The huge hall is packed to the rafters, all eyes upon me. I scan for Travis, Claire, any of the others, but they are not there. This is a strange fantasy. Normally, if teens dream of outsmarting their elders, then their friends are there to witness and applaud.

‘Applaud.

‘The sound of applause from the assembled group reaches my ears, and I hear someone thanking me for a most interesting and thought provoking lecture, and opening the floor for debate.

‘Thanking me, Dr Samuel Beckett.

‘I’m delirious from pain. Confused, that’s all. Understandable, after all I’ve been through.

‘Yet it is so clear, as if I am standing right there, and I almost feel I can remember this.

‘Yes. Yes I do remember this.

‘Al arranged that I give this lecture, “Evolution versus Creation; can a Scientist be a good Christian?” to boost the funds for the project.

‘He argued that I could spare a few hours to keep us on budget, or else I risked having to call a halt to the work altogether.

‘I didn’t want to do it. There was so much demanding my attention at headquarters. But as usual, Al bullied and cajoled until I gave in.

‘And one of the highlights had been the bright young man in the front row, who asked the most perspicacious questions in the debate, and with whom I had a very interesting conversation afterward.

‘Dominic Lofton. 

‘Small world.’

“That is the spirit, Pequeño,” Aurora brought him back to reality; returning the smile he hadn’t realized had crept to his lips. “I am very impressed. You are one – what is it Dominico says? – ‘one tough cookie’; no?”

“I d-don’t… feel… so… tough…” confessed Sam, his eyelids drooping heavily, “Tired… so…so…t-tired…”

“I know, chicitito,” she ran her fingers lightly over his forehead and he found it very comforting, “Relax, I soon have you mended now, you see, back together like new!”

Sam liked this woman. She was obviously a good doctor, and had a wonderful bedside manner. He smiled up at her, this time aware he was doing so, and told her:  “You make…me s-sound… l-like… Humpty… Dumpty.  H-hope you…can d-do better… than… they… d-did with… h-him!”

Aurora Gonzales laughed aloud, a rich beautiful laugh.

“Ah, chicitito, if I cannot, then I give up medicine and go on Broadway, and believe me; you do not want to hear me sing!” She patted him lightly on the shoulder, her beaming face enough to warm the chill in his aching bones.

As they neared their destination, she allowed Sam to avail himself of the mask again. Though he had not complained, the frown on his fine young features and the dullness of his eyes spoke to the level of discomfort he was enduring, and it was more than any young man should have to tolerate. Aurora determined he would not suffer one moment or one iota more than was strictly necessary.

Thus, Sam floated out of the helicopter once it had landed on the roof of Memorial Hospital, and the rotor blades had ceased their slicing through the morning air. He took no interest in his surroundings. He merely drank in the pain relieving mixture gratefully, and permitted his mind to drift to happier times.

A long time later, a dozing Jenna was awoken by her mobile. Claire had stopped for breakfast and a rest - too tired out by the long hike down the mountain and having to deal with unfamiliar emotions to keep driving. She had thoughtfully if belatedly remembered that Jenna had not been relieved of duty.

Claire brought her up to date on the situation, and assured her that she had made friends with Dai again. Until their ‘debriefing’ arranged for that evening, there was little any of them could do but keep their heads down and hope for the best.

 “…ting to come out of it now, Dr. Gonzales.”

Sam was aware of voices, sounding distant and distorted. He coaxed his heavy lids into lifting the shutters over his eyes, and looked at faces looking down at him - bleary eyes barely recognizing one blurry face in the haze.

“There he is! How are you doing, Mr. Evans?”

“Kinda muzzy…” he mumbled.

“Do not worry. It is to be expected, it is a residual from the anesthetic. It will soon pass.”

“Not… worried,” it was hard to talk. For one thing his tongue felt more furred up than the element of a kettle in a hard water area. For another, his brain was in much the same state. “Muzzy… feel… good… after…”

“I understand, Mr. Evans,” the doctor precluded his need to elaborate, “you feel a little better, yes? No?”

“Hmmm,” Sam seemed to consider the question for a moment, “w-warmer… dryer… bones set… clean sheets… com…f-fort… table… bed… dosed t-to… eyeballs…wit… morphine…” he managed a lopsided grin, “so y-yes…better…”

“That is the spirit, Mr. Evans!” Dr. Gonzales laughed.

“W-why s-so…formal?” Sam wanted to know, “I t-think… I pre-preferred… ch-chi-chicitito!”

Aurora patted his hand and smiled.

“Sleep now. Rest,” she commanded, “You have earned it, chicitito.” She leaned in and whispered the word with subtle emphasis and a broad grin.

Sam didn’t need a second invitation. Allowing his tired eyes to close, he instantly sank into a blissful slumber.

The medication transported Sam into a vivid, multicolored dream world, full of vibrant images and melodious sounds.

He dreamed wonderful Technicolor dreams of his childhood, reliving memories of happy days with family and pets and love and warmth and peach cobbler so real he could smell it!

He dreamed glorious dreams of success in studies, and graduations, and approbation.

He dreamed dreams of hope and elation; dreams of wonder; dreams of joy.

He dreamed dreams of past leaps, of triumph over tragedy, of life affirming-happy ending-good old days…

It was almost like his life flashing before him, and his dreams aroused memories in him, memories he had so long been robbed of, memories of Donna and Sammi-Jo and Stephen.

He didn’t want the dreams to end.

Yet end they did, all too soon, to be replaced by nightmares that erased all trace of the blessed memories. Nightmares even more vivid than the dreams had been, all too real and yet at the same time surreal.

He was back in the dark dank deep dreary cave, alone, and he was crawling, dragging himself toward the exit. Every agonizing move was revisited as his nightmare progressed, only worse. For in his nightmare, the further he crawled and the more he hurt, the greater became the distance left to cover. Each time he looked, his target had receded further into the distance. And when he looked down at his broken leg, the bones, the flesh, the muscles, all were stretched to hideous, horrendous, excruciating impossibility. His body was moving, but his leg just kept growing, like a stick of Tina’s gum she had chewed and was playing with, drawing it ever longer and thinner out of her mouth, before chewing it up once more.

He looked along the unbelievable length of his rubber bendy toy nightmare leg, and saw the reason for its failure to accompany him on his journey. Back in the distance, holding on like a drowning man to a life preserver, three corpses held tight to his ankle, and cried out to him not to be left behind, lost forever in the wrong cave.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

PART ELEVEN

He awoke with a start, his heart pounding at ninety miles an hour, thudding in his chest, echoed by a pounding in his head. He was hyperventilating, sweating and shaking, and even as he opened his eyes, the images lingered on.

“Oh God!” he breathed through his frantic panting, clutching at his aching broken ribs as he fought to re-establish a grip on reality, and still the panic within.

The pulling, dragging feeling on his leg remained, and he found himself looking down along the cast for signs of zombie activity, ashamed of the thought even as he did so.

“Al! Where are you, Al?” he cried out apprehensively, still breathing hard and fast.

His cry of terror had a brought a nurse scuttling to see what was the matter, and she soothed his brow, and tried to settle him back in the bed. He was not aware he had partially risen in his alarm. He offered little resistance, and was relieved that, once back on the pillow, his head slowed its carousel ride, though the rest of him still trembled.

Another nurse bustled in close on the heels of the first. His long sleep had transversed a shift change, and he didn’t recognize either of them.

“Who’s Al?” the second angel asked kindly.

“I heard it was his backpack. The guy got delirious and started talking to his backpack!” the first sniggered. “Can you believe it?”

“Kirsty!” reprimanded the other girl, “Shhhh, he can hear you!”

“Al?” Sam sought his friend in a halting, pleading tone, looking round in despair at not seeing him.

“Take it easy,” advised the tactful nurse, who then turned to Kirsty and said, “He seems a little feverish, still delirious, I’m going to fetch Doctor Mellors.” With which she hurried back out.

“W-where’s Doctor… G-Gonzales?” Sam suddenly found himself desperate to see a friendly face.

“Oh, she’s been suspended!” blurted Kirsty, then realized with a gasp what she had let slip, flinging her hand to her mouth as if she could push the words back in.

Sam’s already troubled face creased into a worried frown.

“Why?” he asked softly, afraid he already had some idea as to the answer.

Kirsty considered for a moment, knowing that she should not breach confidentiality, but too tempted by the opportunity to gossip.

“We-ell, don’t tell anyone you heard it from me, but she’s supposed to have stolen drugs and stuff. I wouldn’t have pegged her for a dealer, or a user, but I guess you never know.”

Sam was horrified.

“I d-don’t think she took them for her own gain,” he defended his Florence Nightingale, “and you should be careful…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his warning about slander, for the duty doctor hurried in, and began a thorough and somewhat intrusive examination of the patient. Once more, Sam’s eyes were assaulted by bright beams of light that he was commanded to follow.

“Makes my head ache,” he complained.

“I’m not surprised,” commented Doctor Mellors, matter-of-factly. “You have a concussion.” His tone did not hold the sympathy of Dr. Gonzales, and Sam wished again that she was there, with her precise enunciation and her friendly ‘chicitito’. Dr. Mellors was proficient at his job, but his bedside manner needed work. Maybe he is just overworked, Sam excused him.

Having asked a lot of questions, made some hasty notes on Dai’s chart, and increased his meds a little, the Doctor instructed the nurses that they should “keep up the quarter hourly obs” and let him know if the patient had another ‘episode’, before rushing out, throwing the parting shot to Sam that he should try to relax and get some sleep.

The two things seemed to Sam to be mutually exclusive at this point, and though he was still exhausted and craved sleep desperately, he was afraid to give in to it, terrified of a repeat of the dreadful nightmare.

After adjusting his pillow and fussing with his sheets, the two nurses left him “to rest”, telling him to use the call button if he needed anything.

To add to his distress, as they left, he heard Kirsty gossiping again:  “Did you hear, Michelle? The cops want to talk to that one, only the docs say he isn’t fit enough. They think he murdered two of his friends, and a Professor! Do you think we’re safe…?” as they drifted out of earshot, Sam again heard Michelle cautioning Kirsty to be careful what she said.

The rumor did nothing to calm Sam’s fluttering pulse.

“Al?” he ventured again, feeling very alone and very frightened.

The increased dosage of morphine was making him feel drowsy, but he blinked hard and fought to stay awake. ‘Ironic,’ he thought hazily, ‘now everybody else is telling me to rest, and I’m still so damned tired, but here I am keeping myself from falling asleep.’

As illogical as he knew it was, still Sam resisted the lure of sweet slumber, the nightmare was still with him in all its graphic detail, and he could not bear the thought of another like it.

Sam tried to concentrate on a shadow on the ceiling, and balance the effort to relax frayed nerves with a desire to avoid unconsciousness. He was tending to swing wildly between the two.

“Sam, what’s going on?”

Sam had not heard the telltale whoosh of the Imaging Chamber door, nor noticed the entrance of his called-for friend. The sudden sound of Al’s voice so close and so loud startled Sam visibly, and he cried out:  “Jeeze, Al, I’m already halfway to a heart attack!”

“That’s what I mean, Sam. Ziggy started having kittens, said your vital signs were way off the scale. She was predicting you were being murdered! I got here as fast as I could.”

“Bad dream,” Saying it aloud suddenly made it sound ridiculous.

“Must have been a doozy!” countered Al, not unsympathetically, ‘Nam had left him with a few vivid nightmares of his own, that only the comforting presence of his beloved Beth had been able to quell.

“Trust me, Al, you don’t wanna know,” Sam said plainly.  ‘Any more than I want to have to describe it.’

“Its okay, Sam, I’m here now,” the Observer soothed maternally. He had tactfully changed after his own much needed nap into a far more subtle suit of silver grey, to be kinder to his friend’s aching head.

Though something explicit was weighing heavily on Sam’s mind, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. The nightmare had been appalling, and he wanted to forget it, but a nagging feeling persisted that within its atrocity had been a warning for him, a message that would help him leap.

While he waited for the fog to lift and reveal the answer, Sam told Al of the disturbing rumor circulating about his being a murderer.

“Surely nobody really believes that Al?” he asked miserably.

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Young nurses watch too much TV, that’s all. Overactive imaginations. The cops have to investigate any suspicious death, especially when there are no bodies to examine. It’s just routine.”

“Still no predictions from Zig?” enquired Sam, with not the slightest hope of a positive response.

“She won’t commit to any thing, says you are so far outside the original history that everything is in flux. She maintains that you were absolutely unquestionably here to save their lives but on the other hand there are odds of 93% that there’s some other wrong that needs righting. She’s flipping out, one minute she insists there is nothing else for you to do, the next she says you can’t leap ‘til something else is done.”

Just thinking about it made Sam’s head hurt worse.

He was still so tired.

His eyelids began drooping again as his body surrendered to the meds.

“Ashk Zig,” Sam’s words were starting to slur. “W-what ‘appen to doc?” he roused himself with difficulty. “N-nurse shed she shush- shusp-ended…”

“Okay, Sam,” Al held up his handlink.

“Oh,” added Sam, the light of comprehension dawning on him unexpectedly as he pondered the Puerto Rican’s fate, “And ashk Dai w-why t-they w-were…in wrong… c-c-c-cave…”

“I’m on it, pal. Try to get some shuteye. You look beat.”

It was hours rather than minutes before Al once more materialized in Sam’s hospital room.

After a restless time tossing and turning the leaper had at last managed to avail himself of some refreshing sleep, and had not been further troubled by nightmares. He was stirring as Al arrived, though not yet fully awake.

The Observer decided not to announce his presence, especially after the reaction that had elicited the last time. He merely waited patiently for Sam to surface from his slumbers naturally, filling his time by gazing idly out of the door to Sam’s room, feasting his eyes on the pretty young nurses who bustled hither and thither in the corridor, going about their duties in their figure flattering uniforms.

An appreciative smile creased his lips; his head tilted in pensive manner as he mentally rated each one out of ten.

“Al? A-Aal?” Sam eventually noticed his friend and tried to attract his attention, but a particularly stunning angel of mercy was holding his concentration. Sam whistled softly in a coo-eee sort of tone.

“Albert Calavicci, did you come to see me – or the nurses?” he enquired, his manner offended and petulant.

“Huh? Oh sorry, Sam.” Al drew himself reluctantly away from the eye candy. “You, of course, though – no offense - I gotta admit the scenery is pretty compulsive viewing.”

"Leave the nurses alone, Al!" warned Sam, to which Al replied, "I got no choice, Sam, I'm a hologram remember!  Though if I weren't they'd sure have a good time finding out how solid I can be!"

Sam raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes heavenward. Even twenty odd years of marital bliss could not suppress Al’s inimitable impishness.

Having been reprimanded, Al became attentive to his pasty-faced pal. The recent repose had obviously been beneficial, but Sam still looked somewhat the worse for wear, and clearly had a long way to go to full recovery.

“How you doing, buddy? You’re looking better,” he encouraged.

“Hah, that wouldn’t be hard!” Sam countered; emphasizing that “better” should be taken as a relative term. In truth he was still weak and his head hurt, and the drugs were making him woozy. His prime complaint at that moment was a basic one though. He was still significantly dehydrated.

“Oh boy, I’m so thirsty!” 

“I’d pour you a drink if I could, pal,” Al shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of ‘what’s-a-hologram-to-do? “but you’ll have to hang on for the nurses, one is due in…” he appeared to be listening, “in about three and a half minutes.” A glance toward the door suggested Al had his hopes as to which one would appear.

“Meantime, Sam, you can soak up some information.”

“What have you got for me, Al?” Sam seemed positively energized by the prospect of progress.

 “Well, I don’t know what prompted you to suggest it, Sam, but it seems you were bang on the money with that question for Dai.”

Sam shuddered at the memory of the prompt.

“It took me a while to get it out of him, between his Swiss cheese memory and his tight lipped ‘gotta keep the secret we swore to’ college crap, but I think we’ve worked out what the problem is that’s keeping you from leaping.”

Sam looked hopefully to his friend, who despite his smile was avoiding direct eye contact.

’Just as I suspected, they’ve found the problem, but not the solution.’  The leaper sighed - a resigned, weary sigh.

“Missouri is famous for its bat caves, Sam. That area of the Ozarks alone has 22 official park caves, with regular guided tours.”

“But I wasn’t in one of them.” Sam was an excellent mathematician – he knew how to put two and two together.

“Far from it, my perceptive pal,” Al confirmed. “The University group visited all 22 of them last year, but the bats in them, though some of them are uncommon, were not the species they were really interested in.”

“So they struck out on their own?”

“That’s just it, Sam. They got permission to explore some of the ‘private’ caves. Since they were studying the bats with a view to saving ‘em from extinction, the rangers were happy to co-operate.”

“So what the…?” Sam hunched his shoulders, and shook his head, a perplexed expression on his face.

“They were warned not to go in certain other caves…”

“The ‘wrong’ cave…”

“Exactly. Dai said that when Cliff was exploring one of the permitted groups of caves he saw some of these ultra rare bats…”

“Myotis bechsteinii” Sam supplied from his photographic memory.

“Whatever,” dismissed Al, “Anyway, he spotted these bats on the move, and followed them back to your cave. Made detailed drawings and maps to locate exactly where they were. The same maps incidentally that the kids used to find you.”

“Why didn’t they just ask for permission…?” Sam interjected, his headache starting to worsen again.

“They did. Up front and above board and goody two shoes. But it was denied.”

“They just wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Sam spoke softly, miserably. A part of him could understand their overwhelming enthusiasm for a cause they felt strongly about. Hell, he’d been down that road big time. In their case, it didn’t seem like something worth dying for though.

“Somehow, they persuaded Professor Cooper to ignore the embargo. Evidently, he’d been searching for these particular bats for years; I guess he just let his passion for his subject cloud his better judgment.”

“I’m still not clear why it is such a big deal, Al,” Sam challenged.

“Because you changed history, pal,” stated the Observer, who – seeing Sam’s horrified expression – hastened to add:  “Before, none of them survived to face the consequences. They had been clearly and expressly forbidden to enter that cluster of caves. This was why they didn’t call in the official search and rescue team to get you out. They knew they faced serious charges if you were caught inside.”

Sam realized that in his tormented state, he had accepted the ‘home-grown’ rescue without question.

“They’ve been found out.” He felt the pieces of the puzzle slot into place.

“What happens to them, Al?” Sam asked dejectedly. He had saved their lives, but to what end? He kept telling himself that whatever was coming, at least they were alive, they had to be better off alive. Didn’t they?

TO BE CONTINUED