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It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the sudden stop at the bottom.
When the tree branch snapped under his weight, Mac was more concerned with falling. With the ground coming into focus quickly, his fear of heights gripped him so securely, paralyzing him from doing or thinking. Auxiliary instincts kicking in, he reached for a branch -- anything to stop his fast descent.
Small branches and twigs snapped no sooner than he grasped.
His body bounced and twirled like a pinball being shot and deflected. Each hit racking up bruises and bumps.
When Mac’s hand found a thicker branch, the world entered slo-mo mode, gravity suspended only to rush back to real time as the pull was too great ripping through his rotator cuff. He immediately lost his grip.
Screaming out, he continued to fall.
As a man of science, Mac relied on data and hypotheses to shape his view of the world.
Jack had once asked him about his belief in God and he’d evaded the question, citing “science.”
“Then who do you call in times of trouble?” He’d wanted to say Mother Mary to complete the lyrical reference to “Let it Be,” but he didn’t. The last thing he wanted was to show a lack of reverence for Jack’s belief in a higher power.
Falling through the air, the only name on his lips was “Jack.”
If Mac believed anyone could save him, it was his partner, not God.