Author's Note: Due to a problem with a very old account, which this website staff is unable to fix for me, I am re-posting this story under this newer account of mine. I am working with them to resolve the issue, but until they figure it out, this story will appear twice on this website.
CHAPTER ONE
Umbabwe knew there would be trouble this night. As he tended his family's fire, he could hear the elders whispering in the next hut as they passed the gontin pipe around their circle. They had heard the screams only moments before. Screams of agony and terror. The direction from which they came made Umbabwe certain it was Hoogadin's family who was suffering.
Now, the sounds of fear drew closer to his home. His mother called to him from the pigskin hide flap covering the door of their hut. But Umbabwe did not wish to go inside. He wished to eavesdrop on the elders. His mother was insistent, however, so he obediently went to tend to his family's needs. To prepare for the unexpected.
As he stopped in the doorway, he chanced one more look at the afternoon sky. He could hear them approaching, some kind of animals on a rampage. His mother called them demons. His father called them evil. The black, curly hair on Umbabwe's dark-skinned neck stood on end. Whatever was coming, he knew it was not good.
Umbabwe was afraid.
"It's been so quiet lately," John said to the emptiness surrounding him on Thunderbird 5. "I wish something would happen."
As if on cue, the red light in the middle of the Control Panel flashed slowly at first, then picked up more speed until finally it just stayed on.
Help! Cheetooh! Cheetooh! Wild dogs kill family! Help!
"Finally," John breathed as he picked up his microphone. "This is International Rescue receiving you. Can you tell me more about what's happened?"
"That's right, Father," John said from his portrait screen on the wall. "Seems like a pack of wild dogs has gone crazy, started killing anyone they can get their jaws around."
"Hm," Jeff Tracy said, leaning forward in his chair. "Has World Animal Control been advised of the situation?"
"Yes, I contacted them, but two of the people killed on the island were from WAC. They're not having much luck. Even tranquilizers aren't stopping those dogs."
"What's the population of this island?"
"It's a small place barely three times the size of Tracy Island called Cumbaquay. It's rather primitive, with only about two hundred permanent residents. Fifteen have been killed so far, plus the two WAC officers. Some kid with an ancient HAM radio placed the call."
"Right. John, call that boy back and tell him International Rescue are on their way."
"F.A.B."
Jeff turned to a panel near his desk. On this panel were ten different switches, each leading to a different part of Tracy Island. He pressed the switch marked 'Game Room.'
"Boys, get up here right away."
"Nice shot, Virgil!" Gordon applauded as Virgil's thirteenth shot in a row hit the target dead on.
"Ah, it's just luck," Alan teased as Scott aimed his rifle at the next target.
"Luck has nothing to do with it," Virgil retorted, frowning.
They watched as Scott fired, hitting his target dead center as well. "Nope. It's years of practice."
"Years and years of practice," Alan said from across the room.
"Do I sense a Methuselah comment around the corner?" Scott asked menacingly, laying down his rifle and starting toward Alan.
Alan stumbled backwards, hands up defensively, shaking his head. "No, not at all, Scott, not at all. I'm innocent."
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," Gordon piped up, laughing.
Virgil bowed graciously, flipping his hand around and around in front of himself. "Your Grace," he said, trying not to laugh.
Buzzzz-buzzzz. Boys, get up here right away.
"Uh-oh, sounds like we have work to do!" Alan crowed, racing out of the room before Scott could reach him.
The eldest Tracy son frowned slightly. "You know, sometimes I think that kid gets a little too happy about his work."
"Naw, he's just glad he had a reason to duck out," Virgil replied as the remaining three brothers headed for the door. "Wonder what's up this time."
"Ah, there you are," Jeff said, standing in front of his desk.
"What's up, Father?" Scott asked.
"Scott, I need you to leave in Thunderbird 1 right away. Contact John once you're airborne, he'll give you the destination and details."
"F.A.B."
Scott walked quickly to the wall, placed his back against it and gripped two light fixtures, one on either side of and slightly above his head. The wall flipped around and he found himself on a moving gantry leading to Thunderbird 1, International Rescue's fastest vehicle.
"Virgil, I want you to follow Scott in Thunderbird 2. You'll need Pod 1. I've had Brains load it with all the medical equipment we have and his new tranquilizer formula. I want both Gordon and Alan along on this one. You may need all the hands you can get. John will explain on the way."
"F.A.B.!" the three replied.
Virgil headed for a tall painting of the rocket ship his father had used on his first and only mission to the Moon many years before. As soon as he was stationary, the picture flipped backwards and Virgil slid onto a padded slide that ferried him down a long chute into the pilot seat of Thunderbird 2, International Rescue's freighter craft.
Alan and Gordon headed for the passenger elevator that would take them into the back of Thunderbird 2's cockpit. They talked quietly as they rode, wondering what the scoop was on this particular rescue.
"Thunderbird 1 to Base. I've received the details from John. What's the action on this one, Father?"
"Well, WAC is sending out another team to help corral the dogs. Since their tranquilizers have proven ineffective, I'm hoping Brains' new concoction will do the trick. He's improved it since the alligator incident four years ago. I want Virgil to get the wounded off that island while Gordon and Alan help you keep the wild dogs at bay 'til WAC arrives."
"F.A.B. I'll contact Thunderbird 2. Scott out."
Jeff leaned back in his chair and sighed. This mission sounded simple enough, and he fully expected his sons to return none the worse for wear.
"Jeff? Oh, there you are, Jeff."
"Hi, Mother."
"Did I just hear the boys take off on another mission?"
"Yes, a remote island about a hundred miles from here. A pack of wild dogs has gone crazy and started attacking people."
"Oh, dear, that sounds dangerous."
"It shouldn't be too bad. Less dangerous than a burning building, I'm sure."
"I don't know how you can be so blasé about these missions, Jeff."
"Almost five years of them, Mother. I guess it just gets to be old hat."
Grandma frowned, then her face softened again. "I came in here to let you know that Tin-Tin, Kyrano and I are going to the mainland for groceries and some other shopping. We should be back in a few hours."
"All right, Mother. Have fun."
"I will, Jeff, I will. Kyrano's left some coffee on for you in the kitchen."
"Now that sounds like a good idea," Jeff replied, rising from his seat. He could use some coffee. As easy as this rescue sounded, as sure as he was they would succeed with no problems, when his sons were out there facing any kind of danger, no matter how minimal, he never could keep from worrying. A fact he tried valiantly to keep from everyone else. 'Worry: The Curse of All Parents,' his mother had once called it. How true.
"I wonder what could make a pack of dogs go crazy like that," Alan mused.
Gordon shook his head. "Don't know. Especially since they've been peacefully coexisting with the inhabitants of the island for years."
"John said that kid Umbabwe sounded pretty shook up," Alan said, a frown creasing his forehead.
"You would be too if you watched a bunch of wild animals kill your entire family," Virgil stated grimly.
His brothers nodded in silence as Thunderbird 2 continued on her way.
"Stoy flah may koo Cheetooh," Umbabwe whispered, stroking his dead mother's long, braided hair. "I have called the Saviors. Chinsacwa. They will come. Mee cheet Chawba. They will save you, Mother. Mee cheet. They will save you."
He knew full well that his mother was dead. International Rescue could not bring her back, as she'd been torn nearly limb-from-limb, as had his father, his grandfather, the other four elders and his two sisters. Silent tears rolled down the fourteen-year-old's cheeks as more screams of terror came floating across the breeze.
"Hindaqua, tay shon...my friend," he cried. "Mee swen qo...not you, too."
"I can see the island now, Father. It looks pretty peaceful from up here," Scott reported from his vid picture on the wall.
"I just heard from John again. Umbabwe, the young man who first called for help, has transmitted again saying the pack of dogs has attacked his friend's home about a mile up the beach from his present coordinates."
"Oh, man, they just won't stop. I'll be landing at Danger Zone in one minute."
"F.A.B."
Umbabwe heard a strange sound, one he had never heard before, a high-pitched whine. He scanned the skies, wondering if the Cheetooh, or Saviors, as the residents of Cumbaquay called them, were already arriving. Then he saw it...something that made him momentarily forget the horrible scene of death surrounding him. He stood and walked to the edge of the beach, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare with his hand.
A machine appeared on the horizon and within a minute was directly above him. He stood awestruck and watched as fire shot out from the machine's belly, making a large, frightening sound. The machine lowered itself until it rested on legs in the sand. Umbabwe saw a piece of the machine open and flip down, forming stairs. Then two blue-clad legs appeared. As soon as the body above the legs came into view, Umbabwe knew the Saviors had arrived.
"Cheetooh, Cheetooh!" he hollered, running toward the stranger. He skidded to a halt directly in front of him. Umbabwe had never before seen a white-skinned person, and was even more perplexed by the fact that the man's hair, instead of being jet black like his own, was of a brown color similar to Umbabwe's skin. He stared hard at the man, more than a little frightened, but grateful for the stranger's presence.
Umbabwe had heard of the Cheetooh from Hindaqua's cousin, the only indigenous resident of Cumbaquay to leave the island in the last forty years. The cousin had spoken of an amazing rescue performed by the Cheetooh during his time in the United States, a rescue in which they had saved a family of three trapped in the subterranean garage of a new building with over three hundred floors. He had told them that all one had to do was call for help, and Cheetooh would come save you.
"Mee shay Tonaqua," Umbabwe breathed, eyes large as saucers.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," Scott said, frowning at the young man in front of him. "Are you Umbabwe?"
The boy nodded. So, the Cheetooh spoke the language Hindaqua's cousin had taught several of them. The language of the White Gods. "I say you White God," he repeated in English.
"No, I'm not a god. My name is Scott. I'm from International Rescue."
"Cheetooh," Umbabwe nodded emphatically.
"Right. Cheetooh," Scott smiled. "Are you alone here? Where are the dogs?"
"Family dead," Umbabwe replied, head bowed. "Hindaqua family dead...there." He pointed up the beach to a point Scott could not see. "Dogs there."
"Okay. Now, listen, another of my ships is on its way. We're going to do everything we can to keep these dogs from hurting more people. I need to get airborne so I can find the dogs. Do you understand?"
Umbabwe nodded. He'd picked up most of what the White God had said, but didn't understand that he'd be leaving in his ship again until Scott began ascending the stairs to Thunderbird 1.
"No! Tonaqua, no! Showpa cheet! Save me!"
Scott turned and frowned. The boy was all alone with his family dead. And who knew where those dogs were now? They could be doubling back. If Scott left Umbabwe on the beach alone, he could very well return to find the boy had faced the same fate as his family and friends.
"Okay, Umbabwe. You come with me, but you must not touch anything and you must remain totally silent. Understand?"
He nodded and followed Scott into Thunderbird 1. Scott soon had the young man strapped into a seat at the bottom of the cockpit while he climbed into the pilot's chair suspended in the middle of it. Umbabwe stared all around him in awe. He was not used to such technology. The closest thing he'd ever seen to this was the ragged HAM radio he'd found on the beach and, slowly but surely, finally gotten to work. But this...this was breathtaking. He listened as the White God spoke, to whom he did not know.
"This is Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 2 and Base. I've located Umbabwe. He pointed me in the direction of the dogs' last known location. I'm taking Thunderbird 1 up now to see if I can spot them."
"F.A.B," Virgil replied. "ETA to Danger Zone now three minutes."
"Okay. Hopefully I can give you new coordinates to land before then."
"Scott? Where's the boy?" came Jeff's voice.
"Um, he's strapped in here in the cockpit, Father. I didn't want to leave him at the mercy of the pack in case they doubled back." Scott was worried. He knew damn well how dangerous it was to have a stranger in the cockpit with him, but he'd had to make a snap decision, one his gut told him had been the right one. But what would Jeff think?
Virgil, Alan, Gordon and Scott held their breaths waiting for their father's reaction.
"Good job, Scott."
Scott smiled. "Thunderbird 1 out."
Opening his side view ports, Scott flew his bird low, trying to find the place Umbabwe had pointed to. It didn't take him long...roughly a mile from where he'd picked his charge up off the beach he found a hut surrounded by something that looked like the carnage from one of those old horror flicks they used to show back when he was a kid. He gulped, and then looked further inland.
Umbabwe bit his lip. He, too, witnessed what had become of his friend Hindaqua and his family and wanted to cry. But in the tradition of the Cumbaquayan, Umbabwe did not shed a single tear. He was the last of his family now. He had to be strong. He had to be a man.
"Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 2. I think I see them."
"Where, Scott?"
"It's dense, overgrown...there's no way you could land here. I can't even land here. This is gonna be tough. Put her down at IR 3, reference G. And please tell me you brought the Muncher."
Scott listened as his brother radioed their father.
"Thunderbird 2 to Base."
"Come in, Virgil."
"What else did Brains put in Pod 1 besides the medical equipment?"
Brains himself answered the question. "Uh, I, uh, I put in Med 1 and, uh, the Tranquer."
"No Muncher?"
"O-Oh yeah, that t-too."
Virgil smiled. "Brains, remind me to buy you a drink when we get back."
"F.A.B.!"
"You get that, Scott?"
"Yeah, I got it. I'll buy him one, too. I'm heading back out to land near the coordinates I gave you. We'll assemble in two minutes."
"F.A.B."
Scott glanced down at Umbabwe and frowned. The portion of the boy's body not concealed by the small cotton cloth wound around his waist was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "You okay, Umbabwe?"
He looked up at Tonaqua. Why was it so hot? Nodding dumbly, Umbabwe returned his gaze to the window as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Tonaqua must come from a white-hot place, he reasoned. That was the only explanation for why his machine was burning like a fire.
Thunderbird 1 landed gracefully about twenty feet back from the ocean just as Thunderbird 2 fired retros right next to her sister ship. Within the space of a minute, all four brothers and Umbabwe had gathered in the small space between the two ships. Umbabwe was lost in the unbelievable size of this larger machine. He had never seen anything as big as that before. It was the color of the leaves on the trees, whereas Tonaqua's machine was the color that lined the clouds floating high in the sky.
Umbabwe watched as the other Cheetoohs descended from their machine. He was surprised to see that they were all Tonaqua just like the one who called himself Scott. But even though they were white of skin, they were all very differing shades. Umbabwe didn't know the White Gods could be different colors of white.
He also stared in awe at their hair. The larger man had hair the color of the bark on the Wamba tree. The one following him down the steps had hair the colors of the sunset on his beloved island. And the final one looked like his entire head was ablaze with the glory of Shoonay, the Sun Goddess. Surely Shoonay herself must bless this one.
As they gathered into a small group, he also noticed their eyes were of differing shades. Was there really so much variety in the world of the White God, he wondered? Scott had eyes that mirrored the color of the sky just as Shoonay descends for the day. Wamba had eyes the color of the moss on the Wamba tree. Umbabwe found that fitting. The gods of the Earth must favor him. The sunset-haired man had eyes a color Umbabwe had never before seen, a color that almost mirrored his hair. And the one blessed by Shoonay...the teen's eyes widened when he looked into eyes the color of the sea. Surely this must be the leader of White Gods, for he was blessed by both Shoonay and the Sea God Bahnay.
The four pilots were startled when Umbabwe suddenly genuflected at Alan's feet, face touching the ground, knees tucked tightly beneath him.
"What's he doing?" Alan asked.
Umbabwe looked up. "Shoonay Bahnay mee spanga."
"Huh?" Alan said, scrunching up his face.
Scott placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Umbabwe, we don't understand what you're saying."
Umbabwe looked up, but had eyes for no one but Alan. "Tonaqua, White God, blessed by Goddess Shoonay. Blessed by God Bahnay." Seeing their looks of utter confusion, he added, "Hair of sun, eyes of water," before returning to his position of reverence.
Gordon chuckled. "Seems he thinks you're blessed by the gods or something."
"Very funny, guys," Alan frowned as his brothers tried to keep from laughing.
"Umbabwe, stand up. Believe me, Alan's no god. None of us are. We're just here to help."
Finally, with gentle urging from Scott's hands, Umbabwe came to his feet, still unable to stop staring at Alan. For his part, Alan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under such scrutiny.
"So what's the action, Scott?" Virgil asked.
"Well, it looks like the only way we'll get into that jungle is with the Muncher, so Virgil, you get that going."
"F.A.B."
"Gordon, you get the medical gear loaded onto Med 1 and follow as Virgil cuts a path for you into the jungle. I'll meet you in Pod 1 and give you a hand."
"F.A.B."
"What about me, Scott?"
"I want you in the Tranquer, Alan. If you can get a clear shot at those dogs, you need to knock them out before they kill any more people."
"F.A.B," Alan replied, glad to be escaping his new admirer.
"Umbabwe, listen to me," Scott said gently as he placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "We'll need your help to navigate. Can you show us how to get to where we saw the dogs when we were in the air?"
He nodded, stealing glances back toward where Alan had disappeared into a giant cavern, which emerged beneath the great ship the color of leaves. He was a bit confused. If the Blessed One were so blessed by the gods, why did this one called Scott seem to be telling everyone what to do?
"Good. Okay, let's go, we have to help Gordon load Med 1."
Not having a clue what Scott was referring to, Umbabwe followed silently, wondering once again why he felt so awfully hot. Since they were no longer in the machine belonging to Scott, he could not blame it on the White Gods themselves. Perhaps Shoonay was angry with them for allowing the evil animals to destroy the lives beneath Her. Perhaps Her revenge was to make Herself burn more brightly. But Shoonay did not seem to affect the White Gods. Then again, Umbabwe reasoned, they were gods, just as Shoonay. Her powers would have little effect upon ones such as them.
Virgil was the first out of Pod 1. The Muncher, something Brains had finished only about 6 months ago, had not yet been needed on a rescue, so this was her maiden voyage. She was about the same size as the Excavator, but had a large opening in the front that could only be described as a mouth. She was painted a dark forest green with the name MUNCHER in capital letters on both sides. The purpose of this machine was to "munch" through dense vegetation, enabling International Rescue to reach formerly inaccessible Danger Zones. It would then spit out what it had eaten in the form of mulch through an exhaust in the tail section that was only about half the width of the machine itself. Virgil put the monster in gear and began forging the trail for his brothers.
Alan emerged next with the Tranquer, a small machine no bigger than the Booster Mortar. This machine was painted midnight blue and had the word TRANQUER in block letters on each side. Much like the Booster Mortar, it had a single barrel in the front, but this one was only about as wide as a shotgun barrel. Between the barrel and the cab where Alan was seated behind the controls, there was a tank of Brains' new tranquilizing agent, which he, in his dryly humorous way, had called KED...or...Knock 'Em Dead.
The liquid was sucked into the barrel, where an empty dart waited. Once full, a green light on the Control Panel would flash, telling the driver it was loaded and ready to be fired. The engineer claimed his latest invention could knock an elephant out upon impact. Given that WAC's tranquilizers had been ineffective in stopping the pack of wild dogs, everyone hoped Brains' claims were true. Alan put the little tractor in gear and began following Virgil as he blazed the way.
Back in Pod 1, Scott and Gordon rushed to load as much medical equipment onto Med 1 as they could. This was another new vehicle designed and constructed by Brains and Tin-Tin to aid the brothers in providing on-the-spot triage to victims. It stood as high as the Mole and was just as wide. To keep Umbabwe's mind off what was happening around him, Scott engaged him in conversation as he and Gordon finished loading Med 1.
"Umbabwe, how did you escape the dogs?" he asked.
The boy shook his head. He did not understand the word 'escape.'
"The dogs, when they attacked your family, how did you survive?"
"On top home," Umbabwe replied. He was now almost dripping in sweat and breathing rather rapidly.
"Say, is he sick or something?" Gordon asked, frowning. "He doesn't look so good."
"I know," Scott replied, eyeing the young man warily. "I'm not sure what's wrong with him, maybe he's in shock or something. Listen, I'll drive Med 1, why don't you keep Umbabwe in the back and see if you can get him to cool down."
"F.A.B. Umbabwe, come with me," Gordon said, motioning for the boy to follow him into the back of the vehicle.
Shaking his head as though trying to clear his mind, Umbabwe followed the Sunset One into the large white truck. He had seen two lines of red criss-crossed on each side and formations in block letters that he did not understand...they looked like MED 1, but Umbabwe could not read. He offered no resistance as Gordon, anticipating a bumpy ride, strapped him onto a cot. As Scott pulled Med 1 out of the Pod, Gordon took Umbabwe's temperature.
"Gordon to Scott."
"What's up?"
"He's burning up. His temperature's at a hundred and two."
"Well, then he's in the right place. Apply the ice packs, give him a hypo spray of ASA, and see if you can't bring it down."
"F.A.B."
Virgil found the way fairly easygoing, only having to change course once or twice to avert trees too large for the Muncher's jaws. He just hoped he was going the right way, considering Umbabwe was too feverish to point them in any particular direction. Gazing at the vid screen that occupied the space normally held by actual cockpit windows, Virgil panned left and right constantly, trying to find any sign of the wild dog pack. Within ten minutes, he and the Muncher had broken through the jungle into a clearing.
"My God!" he exclaimed, slamming on the brakes.
"What?" Alan practically screeched over the intercom. "What happened?"
"There's...there are...bodies. Everywhere. It's..." Virgil closed his eyes and looked away. He'd never seen a massacre like this. Ever. The clearing was littered with bodies and body parts. There was blood all over the place, covering the four huts that dotted the center, staining the ground red...it was just everywhere. Worst of all, he could easily make out limbs and extremities that had been viciously separated from their owners. Squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, he swallowed hard, took a large gulp of air and reopened them.
"This is the Muncher to Med 1 and Tranquer."
"Virgil, what's going on?" Scott asked.
"I don't think we'll find any survivors here."
Scott frowned. He'd never heard his brother's voice so flat. So emotionless. He knew whatever Virgil was seeing must be horrific. He was employing his best defense mechanism: complete emotional detachment from the situation.
"Can you tell where the dogs might be?"
Virgil scanned the perimeter of the clearing, now completely ignoring the carcasses. "No, I...wait. Wait. Yes, there. At eleven o'clock I see signs of the undergrowth having been disturbed."
"Right. Then off we go."
"Scott..." Virgil's voice sounded strangled.
But his big brother knew exactly what the problem was. "Hang on. Alan, Gordon, meet up in front of the Muncher."
Within fifteen minutes, the four boys had finished the grim task of moving bodies and body pieces out of the Muncher's way. Virgil's face was as stone, belying nothing of what he might be feeling. Scott was more or less stone-faced himself. Gordon looked like he was going to hurl, and Alan blinked about a thousand times per minute trying to keep the teardrops from escaping his eyes. In the end, they all re-boarded their vehicles and continued on their way.
"Scott to Gordon. How's Umbabwe doing?"
"Not good, Scott. I can't get his temperature down. I even gave him another ten cc's of ASA, and he's melted almost every ice pack we have. His temperature's risen a degree."
"We need to get him to a hospital, and fast. But we need to corral these dogs so they don't kill more of his people." These were the times Scott hated the most on rescues. They were no-win situations. If someone left now to take Umbabwe off-island to a hospital, it might mean the remaining three would not be able to effectively contain the wild dogs until WAC arrived, which meant more people would be killed. If they kept going after the dogs, Umbabwe might die.
Gordon understood the predicament. "The needs of the many, Scott."
"Yeah, I know. Outweigh the needs of the few," Scott finished. It was a quote from a Star Trek movie he and Gordon had seen at least fifty times, if not more. Old-time sci-fi movies like the Trek ones were fond favorites whenever they got to the mainland together. Scott sighed. "On we go. Do your best, Gordon."
"F.A.B," he replied quietly.
Twenty minutes passed before Virgil finally saw something moving in the brush ahead of him. "Muncher to Tranquer and Med 1!"
"What is it, Virg?" Alan asked.
"I just saw something move ahead! It was small and low to the ground. The cover is too thick for me to be sure, but it may have been one of those wild dogs."
"Keep going, Virgil. Alan can't get the Tranquer up there without a clear path," Scott said.
"F.A.B."
"This is World Animal Control Team 2 calling International Rescue."
Scott pressed a button on his Control Panel. "This is International Rescue. Go ahead, Team 2."
"This is Byron Anderson, WAC Team 2 Lead. We've just landed near your vehicles on the beach and assume you're the ones who've cut into the jungle. Have you found the pack of dogs yet?"
"No, Mr. Anderson, not for sure. My buddy thinks he may have spotted them. We're doing our best to cut through the undergrowth in an attempt to catch up to them."
"Fine. We're going to head down the trail you've made in our Containment Vehicle. How far in are you?"
Scott checked his readings. "We've gone .six miles."
"Roger that. We'll use best speed to catch up."
"Thank you. Will keep you informed of any new developments."
"Much appreciated. Over and out."
Another five minutes passed before the pilots all heard a blood-curdling scream. In the back of Med 1 with Umbabwe, Gordon hopped to his feet; stopping the work he was doing trying to keep the increasingly frenzied young man from breaking free of his restraints. "What in blazes was that?"
Virgil skidded to a halt. "I've come upon a clearing. The dogs, they're here! They're attacking!"
"Move off, Virg, let Alan get in there!"
"F.A.B!"
Virgil turned the wheel all the way to the left and hit the gas, forcing the Muncher into another area of the jungle. This left the way mostly clear for Alan to move the Tranquer into position. He pushed through the last two feet of vegetation as fast as he could before popping out into the clearing. His eyes widened as he watched the vicious attacks.
There were five dogs in total. They had obviously banded together as a pack after being abandoned. All were sickly skinny, looking like they hadn't eaten in weeks. One was about eighty pounds with short slate gray fur. He was chasing a mother who was clinging tightly to her screaming baby.
The second dog was only about sixty pounds and colored white with large black spots. She was chasing the big gray dog as a third dog, roughly the same size and coloring, barged into one of the six huts in the clearing. The fourth dog, a large Wolfhound-looking creature, was in the process of ripping a grown man to shreds, while the final dog, a black short-haired one, turned to stare the Tranquer down coldly, as if he had no idea that this small vehicle was about twenty times the size he was.
Alan knew he could take the black one out without potentially hitting one of the running and screaming humans. He loaded the dart and hit the green button on the panel. His aim was dead on and the dog went down as soon as the dart pierced its skin. He then turned his attention to the Wolfhound one who was mauling a man about twenty yards in front of him. He aimed, lining his shot up as carefully as he could, and fired. Once more, he was deadly accurate as the hound yelped and collapsed on top of his victim.
Alan hit the two black and white dogs successively before finally turning to the large gray one. "All right, then, fella. Here, doggy, doggy." Alan sat back from the scope for a moment. "Now why do I recall that the last time I tried calling something big and mean to me, I got a knock on the head for my efforts?" He sighed and took aim again. Easily taking this last dog down, he got on the mike. "This is Tranquer calling Muncher and Med 1. I have neutralized the threat. But there are a lotta people we need to get to a hospital."
"F.A.B," Scott replied. He could hear the Muncher returning to their position.
In no time at all, the WAC team arrived on the scene and loaded the unconscious dogs onto their transport. Thanking International Rescue profusely, they also helped the boys load those members of the clearing who were still alive into Med 1. The hound had succeeded in killing the grown man. There were four other people who were pretty badly injured, and another three with minor injuries. Once everything was set, the group headed back to the beach.
"Right, Scott, Med 1 is loaded and we have all patients secure for flight-"
Virgil was cut off by a deafening scream coming from inside the Pod.
"What the-?" Scott ran to the Pod, followed by Alan and Virgil. "Gordon! Gordon, what's going on?" he yelled as he reached Med 1.
White-faced and visibly shaken, Gordon staggered up to his big brother. "Umbabwe," he whispered, "got loose."
"Virgil, Alan, spread out. He didn't leave the Pod. He's in here somewhere. Gordon, did he hurt you?"
He shook his head.
"Okay, then go sit down before you fall down."
The three brothers fanned out center, left and right peering into the shadows of the Pod interior. Without warning there was a sound that could only be described as a war cry. It came from directly above Virgil's head over to the right side of the Pod. He stopped and looked up just as Umbabwe leapt out of nowhere right on top of him.
The young man was dripping in sweat and had a crazed look on his face. He was screeching words in Cumbaquayan as he landed atop Virgil, sending both of them sprawling to the floor. Virgil was too surprised to even yelp.
Alan and Scott raced over. Scott tried manhandling Umbabwe as he pummeled Virgil's body and face. Alan was trying to grab Virgil by his uniform and drag him away. Gordon joined the effort, all four men yelling as loud as the kid.
Umbabwe continued screaming as Scott and Gordon succeeded in pulling him off Virgil. He struggled between them for several minutes, and then suddenly went limp and quiet. The assault over, Alan helped Virgil sit up and checked out the various bumps, bruises and gashes that were showing up on his face.
"Oh, man, why the face?" Virgil groaned in mock sincerity.
"Don't worry, pretty boy, I don't think any of them are bad enough to leave a scar," Alan smiled. His smile faded, however, when Virgil glared at him.
"What got into that kid?"
"I don't know, Virg. It's like he's gone crazy or something," Scott replied.
Just then, Umbabwe tore out of his and Gordon's grip and ran out the Pod entrance. The four boys ran after him and could only watch in horror as the teen shimmied up a nearby tree, edged out onto a limb and took a swan dive, hitting the sand with a sickening crunch.
"My God," Virgil breathed.
Alan went and knelt down next to the boy's lifeless body, needlessly confirming the lack of a pulse. He shook his head, frowning, and rejoined his brothers. "What the hell happened?"
"I don't know," Gordon replied, even though Alan hadn't really been asking him in particular. "He was strapped down to the cot, his fever was rising. I kept trying to cool him down but was also securing the other passengers for the ride. Suddenly he let out the most god-awful scream I've ever heard and ripped right through the restraints. He grabbed me by my uniform and shook me, screaming right into my face. Finally he let me go and bolted."
"Well, we can't do anything more for him," Scott said, stunned as the rest of them. "Let's get the remaining victims out of here."
"F.A.B," Virgil replied. "You up to playin' nurse, Gordon?"
"Yup. Let's go."
Scott watched them enter the Pod. "Alan, you'd better give Gordon a hand. I don't think he should be alone down there, just in case."
"Right, Scott. We'll see you back at Base."
"F.A.B."
Scott waited until Thunderbird 2 had taken off before boarding his own craft. He strapped himself into the pilot's seat and suddenly realized how hot it was in there. Wiping his arm across his forehead, he made a mental note to have Brains check out the refrigeration unit upon return to Base.