Message in a Bottle Chapter 1, a thunderbirds fanfic

This is not my much anticipated sequel to A Quiet Year (I'm anticipating that once I've finished the marathon effort that I am currently working on my muse will allow me to write it), but a much shorter (by Purupuss standards) story.

As usual, thanks to D.C. and Quiller for proofing. Hopefully between the three of us we've obliterated all the typos. Anything you discover can be attributed to Halloween gremlins and their destructive habits.

Naturally I can claim none of the Tracy clan or their friends as my own; nor Tracy Island, and, of course (as much as I'd love to) none of International Rescue's craft, including the Thunderbirds.

Please do not post this story in a C2 or any other site without first asking my permission.

:-) Purupuss

-B-O-O-

Message in a Bottle

October 31st

Alan greeted his brother warmly. "Ready to head for home, Johnny?"

"Home? I thought this was home" John indicated Thunderbird Five's control room. "It's been so long since I've been anywhere else."

"Sorry about that," Alan apologised. "We did intend for you to be home for your birthday, but it's been one rescue after another..."

"I know."

"...and you know how strict Dad is when it comes to making sure that we're well rested before flying Thunderbird Three..."

"I know."

"...and of course there was the…"

John held up his hand. "Whoa, Alan. I know! You don't need to tell me anything."

"Yeah, you do don't you." Alan gave a wry grin. "There's not much that we miss from up here."

John responded with a grin of his own. "Apart from sunshine, fresh air, and peace and quiet."

"And you'll be itching to get back to it all. Anything I should know?"

"Things have quietened down, thank heavens…" John gave Alan a quick debriefing. "Right I think that's it. Anything you need to tell me?" His hand hovered over the button that opened the airlock between Thunderbirds Three and Five.

"Yeah." Alan winked. "Watch out for Gordon. He's got something planned for Halloween and by the look of his grin, it's something big."

"Hence your rush to get up here?" John guessed. "So you don't get trapped by one of his tricks…" He raised an eyebrow. "Or blamed as an accomplice?"

Alan held up his hands. "Hey, I'm innocent this time."

"Yeah, sure…" John drawled. "You weren't due to launch until 1300 hours. It's not even 0900 yet. I'm guessing that Dad ordered you onto Thunderbird Three to keep you and Gordon separated."

"Are you coming, John, or are you planning on spending the next two months up here with Alan?"

John pushed the airlock button and spoke into the intercom. "Be with you in a minute, Scott."

"Big brother's getting impatient," Alan chuckled. "He saw Gordon wandering around with a mysterious looking bag and he's scared that he'll get home and find his bedroom knee-deep in slime or something."

Alan's mischievous grin had John worried. "Just so long as no one's slimed mine," he growled with a warning glare.

Alan held up his hands. "Innocent," he protested.

"I'll believe you. Thousands wouldn't." John gave his youngest brother's broad shoulders a protective squeeze. "Have a restful tour of duty, Alan," he said, "and don't go having nightmares tonight." There was nothing jocular about his manner. "Just remember that this time you're gonna be the one who's surrounded by the stars, not me."

Alan nodded mutely. He knew that John was talking about nightmare: singular; not nightmares: plural. It was a secret that had been shared between the two of them for almost all his life.

And Alan wished they'd both been able to forget about it.

"If you do dream it, call me," John was saying. "Whatever the time."

"I will," Alan promised.

"Because I'm not dead."

Alan managed a chuckle. "And you've got no plans to be."

"Exactly." John smiled and turned to leave.

"John!"

John turned back. "Yes?"

"Thanks. Thanks, erm..." Alan groped for the right words. "Thanks for understanding."

John acknowledged the gratitude with a nod. "See you later, Alan."

The airlock closed between them.

Alan stared at the blank surface, remembering the first time he'd dreamt the nightmare; a recollection so vivid that it seemed like yesterday. Yet he had only been a young child, little more than a baby.

It had been an October 31st, like today. And it had been the night that John had read him the story.

John had always been quiet; at his happiest with his nose in a book as he read silently to himself. It wasn't often that he would invite his brothers into his world, but when he did, it was a delight to his youngest sibling. John had the knack of making a story seem to come to life; as if he was determined to show his listener the scene that played out in his mind's eye.

This Halloween story, and Alan could remember it clear as a bell, had been about an astronaut. To a young boy whose father had only recently retired from that career, this was excitingly relevant to his life.

This mythical astronaut had blasted out from Earth and travelled for miles before crash-landing onto an asteroid. Alone, with no way of calling for help, he had come up with an idea. In the ruins of his spaceship he found an airtight container and one sheet of paper. Writing on the page with the oil that had leaked from the ship, the astronaut had sealed his message of distress inside the container. Then, taking a length of tubing and a piece of metal, he'd fashioned a catapult and prepared to launch his SOS out into space, just as shipwrecked sailors would toss a message in a bottle into the sea. But at the moment of firing the catapult he'd slipped, releasing the container, not vertically, but into orbit; low and slow enough to be unable to escape the asteroid's gravitational pull, but high and fast enough that the astronaut had no chance of capturing it for a second attempt. For the rest of his life the marooned man was taunted by the sight of his only chance of escape orbiting above him; just out of reach; glimmering like the stars in the sky.

The story, and the way that John had told it, had sent delightful shivers down Alan's spine. He had listened enthralled, before being put to bed and drifting off to sleep.

It wasn't a restful night.

The dream had started out innocently enough. Alan was floating in darkness. He was unafraid, in fact he felt safe and secure, as if he were wrapped in a protective cocoon. Then he became aware that, way off in the distance, something was floating in the dark void.

Slowly the dream zoomed into this 'thing', and the closer he'd drawn to it, the greater the feeling of dread had grown in the pit of Alan's stomach. He didn't want to see this, but he knew that he had to…

He needed to…

Then he became aware of the stars. Lots and lots of shining stars. All different colours. All beautiful.

All representing death.

Only that first time Alan hadn't understood that that was their meaning. He wasn't old enough to understand the finality of the cessation of life. He just knew that the stars were bad and that he didn't want to see them anymore.

But still that irresistible force had drawn him closer and closer to the 'thing' and he began to make out a shape…

A shape of a body…

John's body.

His big brother was floating; his right leg bent at a strange angle, surrounded by the dark void and those bright, vivid, traitorous stars. Alan had reached out to him, but John's body had remained out of reach, no matter how far he'd stretched and how loudly he'd yelled at him to wake up.

And Alan had known that he'd never touch his elder brother again. Never again would John read to him one of those wonderful, magical stories.

Then John's body had been sucked backwards; changing, blurring, become indistinct until he was just a distorted smudge: a pale squarish blob in the distance.

And Alan had woken up sweating and shaking in fear.

That first Halloween he'd run into his brother's room, desperate to make sure that he could still touch him. He had to know that John was warm, and solid, and lying in his bed; not floating cold and still amongst the stars.

And John had woken up. Alan could still remember the sense of relief as he'd poured out his story and his fears, and then John had let him climb into bed next to him and held him as he'd shivered and wept and then finally fell into a deep, dream-free sleep.

Jeff had been surprised to enter John's bedroom the following morning only to find his two fair-haired sons curled up together. Even at this early age, Alan was fairly independent, but if he did need the comfort of an elder he'd approach his dad or Scott. Never John.

John had said that Alan had had a bad dream and he'd heard him crying and he'd gone and comforted him, and Jeff accepted that. No one mentioned the dream again.

Unfortunately for Alan, the dream hadn't been that easy to forget.

It was exactly one year later: Halloween. It was exactly the same dream: John floating bent out of shape amongst the stars and Alan unable to reach him. It was exactly the same sense of fear and foreboding and once again Alan had ended up in John's bed in his brother's warm and comforting arms.

And so it happened every Halloween. Although as Alan grew older and wiser he came to realise that John wasn't merely floating away. He knew that the dream represented John's death and what that tragedy meant. He also managed to restrain his need to climb into bed with his brother, contenting himself with standing in the doorway to John's bedroom, watching his chest rise and fall with each life-giving breath. Then John would somehow sense the blue eyes on him, open his own, and ask Alan if he'd had the dream.

"Yes."

"I'm okay, Alan. I'm not dead and I've got no plans to be."

And Alan would heave a sigh of relief.

Then John went to Harvard and Alan thought that this year it had to be different. This year he couldn't have that dream because John wasn't even in the same time zone as he was. And then he'd dreamt that dream and had rung John in a panic, and John had soothed him and told him that he was well and had been enjoying observing the stars rather than being killed by them.

Eventually Alan had left home and gone to university before travelling the racetracks of the world. Surely now, with nothing to connect him to his home and John, that dream wouldn't be able to track him down and torment him?

He'd been wrong.

Nothing he'd done and nowhere he'd gone had banished his Halloween nightmare from his life.

Alan supposed that his one saving grace was that John had always been so understanding about it. Not once had he teased his younger brother. Not once had he told him to grow up and leave him alone. Not once had he complained about being disturbed by panicked young man who should have known better.

Alan couldn't understand it. He never felt this frantic about real life situations. John had become an astronaut, had flown into space, had spent months alone on Thunderbird Five and on occasion when on duty with International Rescue, had got into perilous, life-threatening situations. Yet not once had Alan felt the fear that that dream inspired. It was the same when one or more of their brothers was in danger. Even when his own life was on the line he never felt the blood-chilling, stomach-churning, bone-freezing fear that accompanied that October 31st nightmare.

October 31. That was today. And John was descending to the safety of the Earth well away from the black void of space and treacherous stars. "They can't hurt you this year," Alan told his unhearing, departing brother as he watched Thunderbird Three turn back for Earth and flare out of sight. "I'm not going to dream that dream again."

He was right.

-F-A-B-

Alan spent that first day doing what he always did upon arriving back at Thunderbird Five. He reacquainted himself with all her systems, ensured that everything was working as it should, and did the few minor maintenance tasks that were part of every day life on board a satellite.

All was well and he was happy. He liked it up here; a fact he rarely admitted to anyone. He'd long ago learnt that a well timed gripe about the loneliness he endured would always guarantee an extra piece of his favourite dessert from Grandma, a sympathetic cuddle from Tin-Tin, and on the odd occasion, an offer to do an unwanted chore by one of his brothers.

One of the reasons why he liked to be floating high above the Earth, beyond the reach of four caring, but sometimes overbearing brothers (not to mention his father and grandmother), was that he was his own man able to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Sure there were disadvantages, like having to prepare his own meals, but they helped while away the time between duties.

Life, he reflected, was good.

"Base to Thunderbird Five."

Alan looked up from his lunch. That was his father's voice. Taking a quick drink to wash out his mouth he hurried over to the microphone. "This is Thunderbird Five. Go ahead."

"How are you, Alan? Settling in okay?"

"Yes, fine. I was just having a bite to eat."

"That's good…" Jeff sounded slightly distracted. "Talking bite to eat; you haven't heard from John have you? It's lunchtime and we're waiting for him."

For no real reason a chill ran down Alan's back. "John? No."

"He went for his usual walk after he'd settled in and we haven't seen him since."

Alan was dismayed at how much effort it was taking to keep his voice calm and steady. "Have you tried calling him up on his watch?"

"Yes. No response."

Alan wasn't surprised. John, after a month of never-ending chatter from the millions of messages that rattled daily through Thunderbird Five's control room and the constant pressure of waiting for that one message that could save a person's life, liked to make the most of his downtime before starting his Earth-based duties by cutting himself free of human contact. Even if it was only for the couple of hours while he got some sun and fresh air, it was enough to recharge his batteries. And to make sure that he was left alone during this brief respite, he always left his watch on his bedside table.

Alan reminded his father.

Jeff grunted. "He'd better start wearing it again. Especially if he's going to lose track of the time and be late for his meals."

Alan felt that chill again. John always knew the time. His astronomical studies included an ingrained knowledge of the placement of the sun at various times of the day and even after over a month in space he was as accurate as a watch to within ten minutes.

John would know that it was after twelve midday.

Jeff sighed. "Don't worry about it, Alan. We'll start eating and he can have his lunch when he gets in."

Alan smiled a smile that felt stiff and wooden. "Okay, Dad. In that case I'll go back to my lunch too."

But Alan didn't go back to his lunch. Something gnawed at him and worried him. He knew that something was wrong, but he didn't know what.

But he did know that it was something to do with John.

Bypassing the dinner table he went to his quarters. There, lying where it had landed on the floor after being tossed towards the bed, smiling a benign smile up at him, was a favourite childhood toy. A white teddy bear.

Never before had Alan brought Benz up to Thunderbird Five with him, and in fact the bear had been shoved to the back of his cupboard and forgotten for the last few years. But this year he was going to be on Thunderbird Five on the night of "the dream" and for some reason he dreaded being alone; even if his only companion was a dirty, worn toy.

He'd resisted the impulse, taking Benz out of the cupboard and then a few hours later pushing him back in again. In the end he'd packed the bear deep into his case, piled his clothes on top as camouflage, and preyed that none of his brothers would discover his secret.

"Where's John, Benz?" he asked, picking the bear up.

Benz, as he'd expected, said nothing in reply.

Alan dropped Benz onto the bed, and told himself to stop being stupid and to go and finish his lunch.

But he couldn't eat. He sat there, looking at this meal and wondering if John was sitting down at home enjoying his.

Somehow he knew that John wasn't, and a quick call to his brother's unresponsive watch proved it.

Finally it all got too much for him. Tapping into Thunderbird Five's console he directed the camera built into her underside directly at Tracy Island. Then zooming in as much as he could and boosting the resolution to the maximum, he started taking photos. Photos of each square metre of his home.

As soon as the first photo was uploaded to the computer he was peering at it, zooming in even further until he could see each individual pixel and the photograph was an indistinct series of blocks. Then he zoomed the photo back a few steps until the pixels were merely blurry shapes and started looking…

And looking…

After an hour of looking at out of focus photographs Alan's eyes were tired. What was he doing? Even if the camera had spotted John amongst the trees, and bush, and rocks, and buildings, the odds of Alan recognising him were just on nil. All he was seeing was one indistinct shape after another. And at this resolution even the colours were almost indistinguishable. Was that the dark green of a shrub, or was it the almost black of a lump of scoria, or a bit of mid-afternoon shadow hiding the pale sand?

Tired, frustrated, and wondering if he was being foolish he loaded another photograph and zoomed into its pixels.

Then he froze; the blood in his veins, the marrow in his bones, and all his muscles and sinews turning to ice.

He'd seen this before. Not with his living awake eye, but with his mind's eye; his sleeping eye…

At night…

In the dark…

On Halloween.

He was, and he knew this with an utmost certainty, as sure as he knew that he was in a space station in geostationary orbit above Earth; he was looking at his brother John.

Alan lunged for the radio.

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy glanced at his watch. He was, he had to admit, starting to get a little worried. As a rule John was conscientious and respectful towards others. For him to miss a specially prepared lunch on his first day at home, with no explanation or apology, was unheard of.

Then again, it had been a hectic few weeks and John had overstayed his tenure on Thunderbird Five. It was a stressful job, being on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week, especially with the rescues that they'd had recently, and Jeff figured that John, finally able to relax, had lain down somewhere in the shade of a palm tree and had fallen asleep. Sooner or later he'd wake up, realise the time, and come rushing back into the house full of apologies.

"Has that boy turned up yet?" Grandma asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she entered the lounge.

"No, Mother."

"His lunch has been spoilt."

"I know, and I'm sure he'll apologise to you when he gets back. He's probably fallen asleep somewhere."

She humphed. "I thought he looked tired. You forced him to stay up there for too long this time, Jefferson! It's not good for him!"

"And if I thought it was safe to go and get him earlier I would have done. It's been a stressful few weeks and we're all tired."

She glared at him as if she was itching to mount a challenge and put out to realise that he was right.

They were both saved from the discussion when the eyes in Alan's portrait flashed. Fearing that his sons were about to be called out to yet another disaster, Jeff initialised communications. "Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

"Dad! We've got to save him. Now!"

Jeff blinked. "Dad! We've got to save him. Now!" was not an accepted radio greeting in any organisation that he'd been involved with; especially not one that succeeded, in part, by its professionalism and ensuring that the relationships between its members was kept secret. "Alan?"

"John! He's at Sea Star Shore! See…" A blurry indistinct pale image against a dark background flashed up in place of John's portrait. "He's hurt his leg and I don't know what else. He can't be dead yet. You've got to get over…"

"Whoa! Alan!" Jeff held up his hand to curtail his son's frenzied excitement. "What are you talking about?"

"Can you see the photo?"

"I can see…" Jeff stared at the collection of pixels as the remainder of his sons entered the room. "Something… Has anyone heard from John?" The reply was an almost choreographed shaking of heads.

"You won't!" Alan insisted. "He's hurt. He needs help fast!"

"He's what?" Scott stared at his youngest brother. "Where is he?"

"Sea Star Shore. You've got to go there str…"

"Whoa!" Jeff said for a second time. "What other evidence have you got, Alan?"

"Other evi…? Dad, please… You're wasting time!"

"You've only shown us an out of focus picture…" Jeff indicated the photo.

"That's John! I know it is! He's lying on the rocks at Sea Star Shore. He's hurt his leg! If we don't do something soon he'll die!"

"But, Alan," Virgil protested. "The picture looks nothing like John. It doesn't look like anything!"

"You're wasting time!" Alan set his sights on another target. "You believe me, don't you, Grandma?" he pleaded.

"Well... Alan…"

Tin-Tin wandered into the room and Alan made a metaphorical grab for his girlfriend. "Tin-Tin. John's hurt and Dad won't do anything about it. Tell him he's got to get down to Sea Star Shore straight away!"

"What?" Her eyes round, Tin-Tin turned to Jeff.

Put out by the accusation, Jeff snapped. "Alan! You must have some other reason to assume that John's at Sea Star Shore."

"I don't…" Alan admitted. "I just… I just know!"

"How do you know John is hurt, Alan?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Because of the photograph!"

"Photograph?"

"That one." Gordon indicated the pixelated screen that looked more like a blurry game of Tetris than an injured member of the family.

Tin-Tin studied it. "Where did you get this photo from?"

"I took it from Thunderbird Five. I boosted the zoom and resolution to the max and that's the best I can get. See..." Alan zoomed the image out and the pixels were transformed into a reasonable representation of the dark rocks and seas of Sea Star Shore. "I know that was John! We're wasting time, Tin-Tin…!" He turned to another trusted source of help. "Scott! Fellas…!" The wave of helplessness was almost drowning him. "Please, someone! Get down there and help John! Before it's too late!"

"Jeff," Grandma said quietly. "Humour the boy."

Jeff had a feeling that pandering to Alan's fantasy would only make whatever was wrong with him worse. But if seeming to place some credence in his claim calmed his boy down, then that couldn't be a bad thing. It would be a long time before Thunderbird Three could reach Thunderbird Five, and he didn't want Alan doing something drastic in the meantime.

"Dad..."

Jeff glanced up at the second to last portrait in the row. Alan was leaning into the camera, looking as if he were intent on crawling through the video screen in order to undertake the search himself.

"Please, Dad…"

Jeff couldn't see what made Sea Star Shore different to any other bay or hill or valley on the island, but he didn't want to risk Alan bursting a blood vessel. "Okay, Scott. Take a hoverbike and check it out."

Without any hesitation or words of complaint, Scott uttered a monosyllabic "right" and left the room. Jeff figured that his eldest didn't offer any arguments because he was simply glad to be able to do something rather than listen to his kid brother make crazy statements… Even if that something was an unnecessary wild goose chase.

"Dad…"

Clearly Alan still didn't think they were doing enough and Jeff, exasperated by his son's insistence, only just managed to stop himself from sighing out loud. It looked like he'd have to humour Alan even more. "Virgil... Standby in Thunderbird Two."

"F-A-B."

"Load Thunderbird Four." Standing by in an underground hangar wouldn't hurt anyone and would appease Alan. "Gordon... You go with him."

"Okay."

"Dad..."

Jeff could almost feel Alan's pleading looks boring into the side of his head. "Tin-Tin," and this time he did sigh. "You can go too."

"Yes, Mr Tracy." With a frightened look at her boyfriend, Tin-Tin fled the room.

Jeff relaxed. Alan must be happy now…

"Dad!"

Or maybe not. "Do you want me to go down to Sea Star Shore too, Alan?"

"Yes! You've got to see for yourself!"

"Very well." Jeff stood and walked purposefully towards out the door.

But the Tracy patriarch didn't head straight for the hoverbike bay. Instead he took a detour to the lab. "Brains, I'm worried about Alan. He's got it into his head that something serious has happened to John."

Brains looked alarmed. "S-Something serious!? Like what?"

"He's convinced that John's hurt his leg. But all he's got to go on is an out of focus photograph of Sea Star Shore. We're humouring him in the meantime, but I want you to prep Thunderbird Three so she's ready to launch to the space station as soon as we get back.

"Y-Yes, Mr Tracy."

-F-A-B-

Scott, trying to analyse what was happening, hurried down to where the hoverbikes were stored. Thumbing one into life he set off; all sorts of thoughts and questions jumbling through his mind.

He had never seen Alan like this before. Out on rescues the younger man had never shown any signs of fear, even when his own life was in jeopardy. In fact there had been many occasions when Scott had had to rein him in; stopping Alan from leaping headfirst into something that required a little more thought. Yet Scott had just seen Alan gripped by a very real fear. And he had seen fear often enough to know what it looked like.

Why was Alan so convinced that John's life was in peril? When Scott had left him alone on Thunderbird Five a few short hours ago, Alan had appeared to be 'normal' and even a little excited at the prospect of returning to the space station. So why the sudden conviction that a nondescript blur was in fact their brother's body?

And where was John?

Then Scott remembered a night long ago. He'd still been a teenager; not quite ready to venture out into the world, but old enough to believe that his seniority meant that he had some kind of paternal reign over his brothers. It was Halloween, just like today, but it was late and everyone had retired to bed. He'd been hungry and was venturing towards the kitchen with the goal of pilfering some of Grandma's seasonal baking. He'd seen a light underneath John's door. Grumbling to himself that John shouldn't be reading at this hour he'd reached for the doorknob.

A wet sniff had made him stop: big brother antennae quivering.

Alan?

"Hey... Alan…" John was soothing. "It's all right… I'm all right."

"But it was so real, John. I couldn't get to you."

"You've got to me. You're sitting next to me."

"But you were dead!"

"I'm not dead and I've got no plans to be." Despite his confusion at what was happening, Scott had smiled at John's quiet humour.

Humour that had done nothing to ease Alan's fears. "Every year; every Halloween it's the same dream, over and over."

"That's what you've got to keep reminding yourself, Alan. It's only a dream. I'm all right and you're all right."

"But why does this happen to me every year?"

There had been a pause as John had tried to think of an intelligent answer. "Was it exactly the same dream?"

"Yes," Alan had gulped. Clearly this dream, whatever it was, had made an impact on him. "I can't reach you and you're floating in the darkness..."

Scott had continued to listen before, his snack forgotten, he'd tip-toed back to bed. He hadn't been able to sleep as he'd lain there wondering what else was in Alan's dream... Remembering that he'd overheard Alan say: "...all I can see of you is a blob… A pixilated blob…"

Just like he'd had seen on the screen only moments ago…

Scott Tracy wasn't as willing to dismiss his brother's claims as his father was.

He rounded a palm tree and looked down. Sea Star Shore stretched out before him; the sun reflecting off the water in bright contrast with the dull black of the raw volcanic rocks. But, while it was rocky, the bay was far from barren. The absence of sand had made it an ideal habitat for innumerable species of brightly coloured sea stars and early on in their colonisation of the island the Tracys had dubbed it "Sea Star Shore." It had been John, with his love of words and alliteration, who had thought of the name.

But, up here as he looked down, Scott couldn't see the sea stars. He could only see the black rocks, the mats of kelp swaying in the water, and the sun reflecting off the sea. It looked stark and dramatic and a place you wouldn't want to be trapped when the tide came in.

He pointed the hoverbike down the path and pressed onwards.

-F-A-B-

It was cold and dark inside Thunderbird Two's hangar, but her cabin was warm, well-lit, and tense. Thunderbird Four was loaded and the aeroplane and her crew were waiting.

Tin-Tin had held her tongue for as long as she could, but finally she could take it no more. "Why are we still here? It's Alan who needs help!"

"Tin-Tin's right," Gordon agreed. "John's fine. He's nodded off under a tree and he'll come back to the house sometime soon and think we're all a bunch of idiots for believing Alan's crazy story..." He scratched his head. "You don't think this is a Halloween prank the two of them came up with, do you?"

"Trying to get the better of you before you get the chance to get the better of the rest of us?" Virgil asked. "No."

"No, it wasn't a joke!" Tin-Tin wrung her hands together. "Alan was frightened. Really frightened!"

"I think you're right," Gordon agreed. "Either that or else it was a performance worthy of an Oscar."

"What are we doing!?" Unable to stand the tension anymore, Tin-Tin jumped to her feet. "You... We should be in Thunderbird Three flying to Thunderbird Five," she berated the two Tracys, "not sitting here doing nothing! He's your brother," she jabbed a finger in their direction, "and he needs your help!"

Her comment spawned an idea in Gordon's mind. "You don't think Dad said for us to wait in Thunderbird Two, but he really meant that we were to leave in Thunderbird Three? Maybe he was trying to fool Alan into thinking that we believed him and is hoping that we'll be able to sneak away without registering on Thunderbird Five's radar?"

"No," Virgil disagreed.

"Yes!" Tin-Tin's nod sent her black hair flying. "I'm sure you are right, Gordon." She pulled on his sleeve. "Come on! Let's go!"

Gordon allowed himself to be dragged towards the cabin door. "Coming, Virgil?"

Virgil didn't move from his seat. "No," he repeated.

Tin-Tin dropped Gordon's arm and turned to the pilot; her hands on her hips as she glared at him. "No?"

"No."

"No?!"

"Why not, Virg," Gordon protested. "You know it makes more sense than sitting here waiting until it's too late."

"Too late for what? Don't forget Alan's not the only one acting out of character. Where is John?"

Gordon folded his arms. "I told you. Asleep somewhere. But he'll wake up when he hears Thunderbird Three blast past him."

Virgil shook his head. "I can't believe that Alan's in any danger while he thinks we're waiting here to help John. And if something has happened to John, I'd rather be able to go to his aid in this girl than waste time returning in Thunderbird Three first."

Gordon made an exasperated sound. Then he turned to Tin-Tin. "We could go, you and I. Do you feel up to co-piloting Thunderbird Three?"

"Co-pilot Thunderbird Three?" Whereas before Tin-Tin's expressions had wavered between concern, frustration, anger, and on occasion an amalgam of all three, now she looked alarmed. She wanted to get to Alan, but she wanted to get there safely.

Her mind overruled her heart. "No, Gordon. I have not had enough experience in piloting Thunderbird Three to assist you."

"Well, you can fly Thunderbird Two. Why don't you stay here at the ready and Virgil and I will take Three?"

"Yes!"

"No."

"Virgil!" Tin-Tin's briefly raised hopes had been just as swiftly dashed. "I can fly Thunderbird Two!"

"I know."

Gordon wasn't ready to give up. "Maybe Tin-Tin staying here while we go to Five was Dad's plan all along?"

"Or maybe it was his plan that we sit here until we're told otherwise? Don't you think he would have found some way of telling us if he wanted us to launch Thunderbird Three?"

Tin-Tin was wearing her frustrated face again. "But we can't just sit here!"

"You don't have to, Tin-Tin." Virgil prepared to open the link to Thunderbird Five. "Why don't you talk to Alan? Keep him calm, remind him that Scott's out searching, and that we're ready to move at a moment's notice."

Tin-Tin, realising that this was the best compromise on offer, at least until Virgil vacated the pilot's seat, agreed.

-F-A-B-

Scott had reached the bottom of the cliff that flanked Sea Star Shore. The predominant ocean current on this side of the island had made the bay a magnet for all kinds of flotsam. Driftwood and other debris were piled up at the high tide mark against the base of this cliff, and Scott wouldn't have been surprised if Alan's blob had proved to be a large lump of wood.

His eyes trained to spot the smallest sign of trouble; he scanned the scene about him. To his left was the steep cliff; almost un-climbable. Ahead of him, was a field of black scoria, dotted with a colourful array of sea stars. These were intertidal species; waiting patiently for the incoming waters to sweep back over them so they could begin feeding again. To the right was the sea; the sinking spring sun glaring off the waves.

Not seeing anything of interest he gunned the hoverbike's motor and, hugging the driftwood line of the cliff, traversed the length of the bay to where he assumed Alan's blob to be.

Nothing.

His reverse trip, made with his eyes squinting against the sun's reflection off the sea, was just as futile. No sign of John and no sign of large, vaguely humanoid bits of driftwood.

He found himself back where he started; somewhat concerned that he hadn't managed to find anything to explain Alan's mysterious object. He was just considering a repeat journey when he spied something glinting at the tide's edge. Allowing the hoverbike to settle on the rocks, he dismounted and approached it.

It was a bottle being pushed further inland by the incoming waves. As he got closer he realised that it appeared to have a message inside. Curious, his other quest forgotten for the moment, he picked up the bottle and opened it.

A quiet hum from the track told him his solitude was about to be broken. Carrying the bottle he walked over to meet his father. "Did Alan order you down here?"

"I thought it was better for his health, and judging by the way your grandmother was glaring at me, better for mine if I obeyed," Jeff admitted. "Have you found anything?"

"Only this." Scott tipped the bottle upside-down and tapped its contents into his palm.

"It doesn't say Happy Halloween, or something, does it?"

Scott looked up from the note he was trying to unroll and hold flat. "You think this is Alan and John's idea of a joke?"

"No. I'm just trying to find an acceptable solution to their behaviour."

"I can't see John playing a cruel trick like this. Or Alan… Or even Gordon for that matter…" Scott succeeded in reading the note. "I am a message in a bottle... Now that I could happily attribute to Alan." He tossed the bottle and the note into his hoverbike's carrier.

"Have you checked the bay?"

"Yes. I've travelled the length of it there and back." As was his habit when in rescue mode, even if he wasn't sure there was anyone to rescue, Scott surveyed the scene as he spoke. "I was just about to walk the length of the bay in case I missed something. It's hard to see anything against the glare of the sun."

"Fine. Once we've done that I want you and I to take Thunderbird Three and go and get Alan. I've warned Brains and he's making sure that she's A-OK." Jeff thought for a moment. "We'd better take him with..."

"John!"

"...us." Jeff found himself finishing his sentence to thin air. He watched as Scott sprinted across the rocks and then splashed into the tide. But of John he could see nothing.

Then Scott scooped something out of the water. What Jeff could see, between two small volcanic outfalls, looked like a ball of fair hair. If it was John he was unconscious...

Or worse.

Stumbling through the waves and slipping on the wet, sharp rocks, Jeff ran after his eldest son.

Scott was trying to protect his supine brother from the rolling the waves. "John! Can you hear me, John?"

John was limp and unresponsive.

Cradling him in one arm, Scott felt his neck for a pulse. "He's alive!"

-F-A-B-

Alan hugged Benz. He knew that Tin-Tin had been trying to reassure him, and he probably shouldn't have snapped at her the way he had, but he didn't need to hear her platitudes. What he needed to hear was that John was going to be okay. So here he sat; bottled up alone in Thunderbird Five's control room with only a stuffed toy for comfort.

The airwaves were silent. He'd shut down the international receivers so that the only voices he could hear were those from Tracy Island.

The problem was that no one seemed to be using their radios to communicate. He was trapped: alone and uninformed.

"Hang in there, John," he said to his missing brother. "You promised me you've got no plans to die yet. Don't break your promise..."

He jumped when another voice intruded into his seclusion.

"Thunderbird Two: immediate launch. Destination: Sea Star Shore. We've found him. He's in the water and unconscious."

Alan almost cried at his father's announcement. John was still alive!

He had been vindicated!

-F-A-B-

"Can you pull him to shore?" Jeff puffed as he reached his sons' side.

"No, something seems to have caught his leg."

"Can you pull it free?"

"I want to see what's trapping it first. Hopefully it's only kelp. Can you hold him?"

Jeff stepped up and cradled his son's head, taking care to ensure that the pale face was kept clear of the water.

When he knew his father had a firm hold, Scott released his limpet-like grip of his brother. Stepping back he saw blood on his hand. "He's got a head wound. Probably what knocked him out."

"Serious?"

"Dunno." Scott stripped off his t-shirt and wadded it up, trying to keep it as dry as he could. He bent down into the water so that he could see where the blood was oozing. "I don't think it's too bad. The water's made it seem worse than it is," he said as he placed the dryish cloth against the wound and guided his father's arm so that it was holding the makeshift bandage in place. "Have you got him?"

"Yes."

Taking a deep breath, Scott ducked his head under the water.

It wasn't kelp that had trapped John here.

Centuries ago when the island's volcano had erupted, the molten lava had run down its flanks until it met the sea. Here, the sudden shock of the red hot rock hitting relatively cold water had caused the leading edge of the lava flow to solidify quickly. But that moving behind had kept pushing, standing this particular slab upright.

Eventually the eruption had stopped, the land had cooled, and life had colonised the area. The passing of the centuries and the continuous action of the salty waves against the slab had loosened it.

It had remained standing, Scott assumed, until today when John had stepped on it and it had tipped; slamming down on his leg.

Scott tugged at the rock, but was unable to move it. Unwilling to give up so soon, he shifted his grip and tried pulling from another angle. Finally his lungs screaming at him that they needed air, he stood, gasping. "He's…. trapped under… a boulder."

"Can you free him?"

"Not by… hand." Scott took another breath and dove beneath the waves again. This time he ran his hand's down his brother's leg, trying to ascertain what, if any, injuries John had sustained. He couldn't feel anything major, but then much of the foot was beyond reach.

He surfaced again, uncomfortably aware that the tide was now over his hips. "We need some of our equipment, but I don't want his body temperature dropping while it gets here. Can you hold him while I get a space blanket?"

Jeff could have held his son out of the water forever. "Go!"

His lungs already straining because of the lack of oxygen, Scott ran back to his hoverbike and, barely giving himself time to sit down, started driving. As he sped across the rocks he used the hoverbike's onboard radio to establish communications with anyone listening. "Thunderbirds Two and Five. Victim has head wound and is unconscious. Unable to remove from water. Tide incoming. Need jack to free trapped leg. Immediate first aid treatment: bandage against head wound and am about to wrap in space blanket. More information to follow."

He was at his destination and off the bike before he received a response. Spotting a long, stout driftwood branch, he tested its strength. Satisfied that it wasn't going to break, he reached into the hoverbike's carrier he pulled out a shiny metallic square. Then hoisting the driftwood to his shoulder, he ran back to his brother.

The tide was higher and Jeff was struggling to keeps John's face above water.

Scott, the Pacific Ocean encircling his lower chest, glanced up to the high tide mark. It seemed a long way away and uncomfortably high up. He let the branch float next to them as he unwrapped the space blanket. Then working with his father to hold it in place and fighting the salt water, which seemed intent on stopping the blanket from passing underneath the unconscious man, he managed to wrap it around John's head and torso, tucking it in so it wouldn't float free. It wouldn't keep him dry, but at least it would stop him losing the body heat that was vital to keep him alive.

"Have you contacted everyone?"

"I've given them the basics and Thunderbird Two should be on her way..."

-F-A-B—

"Thunderbirds Two and Five. Victim has head wound and is unconscious. Unable to remove from water. Tide incoming. Need jack to free trapped leg. Immediate first aid treatment: bandage against head wound and am about to wrap in space blanket. More information to follow."

"Right!" Gordon was on his feet. "I'll get into my wetsuit." He ran from the flight deck.

With a "F-A-B." Virgil was on the radio, responding to his brother's call. As he punched in the eight-digit pin that retracted the cliff face he ran his eyes over the control panel; a habitual gesture undertaken before every flight. "Preparing to exit hang..." He froze; one button short of entering the command.

Tin-Tin felt her stomach drop. "What's wrong?"

Virgil pointed at the radar, his face grim. "Flight XY879!"

Flight XY879 was the only commercial route whose flight path flew over their patch of ocean. They'd learnt to keep a wary eye out for it, but because the aeroplane's journey was only made once a week it seldom interfered with the launch of the Thunderbirds.

But it was interfering today.

Gordon, well practised in the exercise, had wasted no time getting into his wetsuit. He ran back into the cabin, aware that he wasn't feeling the usual vibrations or hearing the expected sounds. He was horrified to discover that they were still inside the hangar and that the door was still closed. "What are you doing?! Why are we still here?"

Virgil pointed at the radar. "It's flight XY879." The passcode reset itself and he entered all but the last number again.

"So!? Let's move!"

"We can't!"

"Can't?" Gordon stared at his brother. "What are you talking about? Forget XY879! John's life is at stake!"

"I know that!"

"The tide's coming in!"

"I know that too!"

"He's going to die if we don't do something!"

"I know!"

"Then move!"

"We can't! Not yet!"

"Why not!?" Gordon balled up his fists and took a step forward. "If you're not going to do something then I will!"

Until this challenge, Virgil's eyes had been glued to the radar, willing that aggravating dot to disappear, while Gordon's eyes had been venomously boring into the back of the pilot's head. But now the younger stood over the elder, breathing heavily and looking ready to take control of the transporter himself.

Not knowing what to do or say to ease the situation, Tin-Tin wrung her hands together. Emotions were running high and she feared that someone would say or do something they'd later regret. She wracked her brain for something she could say that would ease the situation.

Virgil got to his feet, staring his brother down. "You'll do what?" he asked quietly.

"Do what you seem afraid to do."

Virgil glanced at the radar before eyeballing Gordon again. "I am not afraid."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You've got a funny way of showing it."

Since the challenge had started no one's voice had been raised and Tin-Tin found this was even more frightening than the earlier shouting match. "Please... Stop," she pleaded.

But Virgil didn't appear to hear her. "I am just doing what John would want us to."

Gordon's jaw dropped. "What?"

"He'd be devastated if International Rescue had to cease operations because we put his life before the lives of goodness knows how many others."

Gordon stared at his brother as his mind processed what Virgil was saying.

"You'd feel exactly the same if you were in John's situation. And so would I. And so would Scott and Alan."

Gordon sagged. "You're right."

"Believe me, if I thought it would get us to John any quicker, and wouldn't tell the whole world where we're based, I'd ram those doors." The passcode reset once more, and, with a groan, Virgil re-entered the first seven digits again.

Gordon nodded. Then he ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I'm just…"

"Yeah." Virgil clapped his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Me too." He reclaimed his seat and stared at the radar.

-F-A-B-

"F-A-B…. Preparing to exit hang..."

Alan, hugging Benz close to him, stared at the radio. What had caused Virgil to break communications so abruptly? A quick glance at Thunderbird Five's scanners told him. Flight XY879 was tracking across their airspace.

Suddenly angry he thumped Benz, then, just as quickly, he hugged the bear; as much as an apology as for his own comfort.

What could he do?

His could demand that Thunderbird Two proceed as arranged, but forced himself to keep calm. John wouldn't want it any other way.

The only way he was going to get through this was by remaining composed, professional, and detached. "This is Thunderbird Five to danger zone. Acknowledging your report. Flight XY879 has entered your airspace. Immediate launch of Thunderbird Two impossible. Situation is being monitored closely, and further information will be supplied as available." He considered adding an order to "respond", but decided that his father and brother would have their hands full. If they needed to make a response, then they would.

-F-A-B-

Jeff and Scott, the water high up their chests, heard Alan's message and looked at each other. Things were getting dire.

The driftwood branch had floated away from them and Scott had to swim several strokes towards the shore before he was able to retrieve it. Jamming one end in the gap beside John's foot he applied his full weight.

Nothing.

After a quick breather he leant hard on it again.

This time he thought he felt it move… Praying it wasn't his imagination he leant on it again. "Can you help me?"

Jeff, with some reluctance, left John floating in the water and added his own weight to the lever.

It didn't move.

"On the count of three!" Jeff commanded, tightening his grip on the branch. "One… Two… Three…!"

Together father and son pulled and pushed, willing the branch to move a millimetre… A fraction of a millimetre! A nanometre! Just enough to pull John free!

With a crack that created a mini-Tsunami, the branch snapped. His full weight already leaning backwards, Jeff fell, knocking John.

Scott had been pushing on the branch and after its sudden disconnection had plunged head first into the water. Trying to avoid impaling himself on the branch's jagged edge, he had to roll clear, brushing against his brother's injured leg.

He resurfaced only to be hit full in the face by a wave. Choking he heard a spluttered, "Scott!"

Turning back, he thought for an instant that John had regained consciousness.

John had to a certain extent, but the few messages that were getting through to his brain were telling him that his arms and legs were pinned, that various unidentified things were attacking him, that he was trapped in water, and that he was in trouble. Unaware that his father and brother were doing their utmost to save his life and that he was wrapped in a blanket for his own survival, he thrashed out, trying to push the enemy away.

"John!" Jeff shouted. "It's us! We're trying to help you!"

"Hold him still!" Scott demanded. "He'll hurt himself more!"

"I can't! John, please, calm down…"

John ripped his arm free of the blanket and, desperate to escape what his brain thought was a dangerous situation, flung it wildly, whacking his father above the eye.

Scott swum closer. "John… Johnny… It's us… It's Dad and Scott... We're trying to help you…" He ducked the flailing arm and grabbed it. "It's Scott, John. We're not going to hurt you."

Jeff slipped behind his injured son and wrapping his arms about him, pinning the thrashing arms to John's sides. "I think I've got him," he panted. "He's relaxed."

But John hadn't relaxed. He'd slipped back into unconsciousness, his head lolling on his father's shoulder. A wave lapped at his throat and rose up his ears.

Scott, bruised and scratched, his shin aching from one of John's kicks, examined and analysed his brother's perilous situation. No matter how dedicated he was to saving his brother (and Jeff was to protecting his son), it was getting close to the time when they were going to have to let John go in order to preserve their own lives.

Jeff looked at his eldest, his eye red from John's attack. "We're running out of time."

"I know." Scott raised his arm. "Calling Thunderbird Two. How much longer are you going to be?"

"I don't know." They could hear the frustration in Virgil's voice. "They've still got a visual on us. I've never known them to take this long!"

"We're running out of time, Virgil. Can you give me an ETA?"

The airwaves were silent. For once in his life, Virgil was unable to calculate the duration of a flight.

By now the tide was lapping John's chin and his trapped and injured leg wouldn't allow him to be lifted any higher. It was time for drastic measures.

Scott made a decision. "I'm going to get a laser."

Jeff stared at his eldest son from over John's shoulder. A laser? But the lasers in the hoverbikes weren't strong enough to cut through raw rock. "What are you going to do?"

Scott's eyes reminded Jeff of diamonds: cold, hard, and unyielding. "Whatever it takes to save his life."

A chill that was unrelated to the tropical water made Jeff shiver. This, he now understood, was what Scott had to face each time that International Rescue were called out. That perhaps this rescue would be the one where he would have to make the decision that would save a life, but change it forever.

Swimming more than he ran, Scott made it to the hoverbike and yanked open the toolkit. He withdrew the small laser that was secreted in there and checked it. It wasn't powerful, certainly not in the league of the lasers in International Rescue's kit, but it was useful for clearing paths as you travelled around the island. Any rogue overhanging or fallen bits of wood were able to be dealt with quickly and efficiently. In a matter of seconds this little laser could carve through a branch the width of your arm…

Or a leg.

Scott shoved the laser into his shorts' pocket and then, for a split-second, hesitated. He grabbed a roll of tape out of the toolkit and slid it up his arm like an ungainly bracelet. Popping one of the hoverbike's panels off, he grabbed the two thickest air hoses and pulled them free. Then he was running again, back into the water.

Jeff was spluttering against the waves that were washing into, and over his face. "Can't stay… here… much longer…"

"Here," Scott handed him one of the hoses. "Can you breathe through this?"

Jeff accepted the hose, stuck it in his mouth, and inhaled. It wasn't perfect, water was still being pushed up his nose and the tube tasted disgusting, but he was willing to put up with more discomforts than that if it meant he was able to help John.

"I don't know if this'll work," Scott admitted. Trying to seal his brother's lips around the tube, he placed it inside John's mouth as he pinched his nose. "Can you feel air coming out?" He asked, coughing when a wave threatened his own air supply.

Taking clear not to block the end of the tube, Jeff placed his hand near the opening. Then he grinned, breaking the seal around his own breathing tube. Coughing against the unexpected inflow, he nodded.

"Good. Hold it still while I fix it into place." Scott started ripping bits of tape off the roll and using it to seal John's nose and mouth around the tube. "He's not going to thank me when we remove this."

Jeff doubted that. But the water sweeping over his head prevented him from speaking.

-F-A-B-

Virgil, with Gordon and Tin-Tin standing at his shoulder, watched, frustrated, as the dot that was flight XY879 crawled across the radar screen.

The cliff face door opening code reset itself once again and, also once again, Virgil entered the pin.

Tin-Tin, desperate to do something practical, grabbed Gordon's arm. "Why doesn't one of us take a hoverbike and some equipment?"

"The track's too uneven for a fast trip." He tapped the radar in the hope that the annoying blip would disappear off screen. "Assuming that something hasn't gone haywire with this thing and we're getting a false reading, Thunderbird Two would still get there first." He tapped the screen again. "This is working, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," Virgil asserted before an uncharacteristic indecision overtook him. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five."

They were unaware that at their call Alan, wanting to hide the fact that he was relying on a stuffed toy for support, had thrown Benz onto the floor out of sight of the communications' video cameras. "This is Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Virgil."

"Are you still reading XY879?"

"Affirmative."

"ETD?"

"Can't be much longer now, can it? Say… Five minutes?"

"Five minutes…" Virgil sighed. "Let's hope that's not five minutes too long. Thanks, Alan."

"F-A-B."

"Why don't you take Thunderbird Four, Gordon?" Tin-Tin suggested. "XY879 won't have a visual of the runway now and you can do an emergency launch!"

"I could, but Sea Star Shore's too shallow. By the time I reached John Thunderbird Two would be already there."

What followed was a frustrated silence punctuated by an electronic beep when the passcode reset itself yet again.

This time Virgil entered all eight digits.

"What are you doing?" Gordon yelped as the interior door started moving and Thunderbird Two crept forward. "They'll see us!"

Virgil kept his aeroplane moving, keeping pace with the door that was falling outwards. "I don't think so. Not if we keep the island between it and us. They won't be able to get a visual and, hopefully, their radar won't pick us up either."

"You're taking a gamble."

"Yeah, I know. But it's a commercial not a military flight and I don't think their radar's going to be too worried what's happening this far below and behind them… I hope."

The internal door was now lying flat on the tarmac and Virgil increased Thunderbird Two's ambling pace to that of a quick stroll, keeping a wary eye on the relationships between them, the island, and the jet. "We're going to do a vertical launch. Make sure you're strapped in." He stopped well short of Two's launch ramp and checked the radar again. "They're still within range."

"You're kidding!?" Gordon pulled on his safety harness's straps. "It is XY879 and not a Tiger Moth, isn't it? Are they flapping their arms or something?"

Virgil made his decision. Igniting the VTOL jets he rose up off the ground until he was about ten metres over the runway. Then he turned and, not gaining any height, hugging the contours of the land, and making sure that the island was between them and flight XY879, set off to rescue his brother.

-F-A-B-

Jeff and Scott were treading water now. John was submerged with only his breathing tube keeping him alive. But they couldn't help but notice that lifesaver was failing. Bubbles of air were leaking from around the tape and with them John's life.

Jeff too was submerged, tape keeping water out of his nose as he tried to support his drowning son.

Scott knew he could prevaricate for no longer. Treading water he pulled the laser out of his shorts' pocket, shook it to remove the excess water, and, pointing it out towards the open ocean for a test firing, squeezed the trigger.

Jeff, looking up through the incoming waves washing over him, saw a blast of intense light and realised what Scott's plan was. He knew there was no other option, and resolved that no matter what happened from now on, he would always be there to support his sons. But nothing could induce him to watch the operation, so he closed his eyes and waited for the moment when he could pull John free.

Scott, still treading water, stared at the smoking laser in disbelief. The tool had been designed to be able to operate during the most intense tropical cyclone, but clearly its waterproof design wasn't enough to withstand being submerged in salt water.

The laser was dead and John was close to joining it.

Or was he?

Taking the biggest breath he could, Scott dove under the waves. Sea stars shuffled away as he braced his bare back against a rock and placed his feet firmly against the troublesome boulder. He dug his fingers into crevasses and pushed with his legs as the jagged scoria and a colony of mussels sliced into his back and hands. But he didn't give up.

He wouldn't give up! After a quick trip back to the surface for a replenishing breath he was back underwater; pushing; groaning; his own breath escaping from between his clenched teeth.

Just a little, he pleaded. That's all we need. Just a little. Come on. Please...

But the boulder refused to move.

A wave washed over the tip of Jeff's air tube. Then another. Choking, he had no choice other than to surface. Treading water he became aware that instead of being bright blue, the sky above was now a dark green shadow.

"Scott! They're here!" he bellowed, fearful that the big Thunderbird was already too late. "Scott!"

Down underwater, all his focus on that one obstinate rock, Scott didn't hear his father. He'd already determined that he wouldn't leave John until his body forced him to give up.

I won't give up!

The shock of someone touching him on the shoulder nearly caused him to gulp in a lungful of water. It was Gordon holding a jack, and Scott didn't wait to see his brother's signal to surface before he pushed himself upwards.

Gasping for air he surfaced; dimly aware that Tin-Tin had placed a mask over John's face and was purging the water out, before pumping it full of life-giving oxygen.

Time to get out of there.

Disorientated, his oxygen-deprived brain trying to get its bearings, Scott didn't know which way to go until someone grabbed his shoulder and guided him. Weak, his lactic acid-infused legs kicking ineffectually; he did his best to follow along until he felt something hard beneath him. He found himself lying on the floor of Thunderbird Two's elevator car next to his father: bruised, bleeding, gasping for breath, and dreading how this Halloween nightmare might end...

To be continued...