Notes:

This story was the winner of the Tracy Island Writers Forum 2014 Pick-a-Prompt Challenge. The prompts came from fellow TB author Molly Webb. I chose the prompt "He knew he had to keep absolutely still."

There are two occurrences of the 'f' word in this story. There is also a 'b' word. You have been warned.

Thank you to Samantha Winchester for assisting me in telling this story properly.

YU LAN

Chinese tradition holds that on the full moon of the seventh lunar month
the gates of hell open, and ghosts and spirits can enter the realm of the living.

Date: Friday, July 20, 2035
Time: 2:30 a.m.
Location: Tracy Island, South Pacific Ocean

The grand home lay sleeping atop a soaring cliff, created many thousands of years ago by the now-dormant volcano that formed its peak. The villa's windows were dark, framed here and there by billowing white curtains, or softly clattering vertical blinds. The rise and fall of insect song was a gentle backdrop to the deep slumber of the family which called this remote tropical island home.

The black velvet sky was dotted with twinkling stars, joined by the steady white light of Venus, and punctuated by the perfect circle of a full moon. Large and brilliant in its slow and steady trek across the sky, it bathed calm South Pacific waters in its ethereal glow, creating tiny sparkling points of light on the waves like diamonds cast from the Hand of God.

With three of their usual number absent, seven souls were left to drift on dreams of heroism and despair, of triumph and defeat. The man from Malaysia who had known so much strife before the island had become his refuge. The woman from Kansas, whose golden years were being spent in Paradise surrounded by those she loved most in the world. The inventor, scientist and engineer, whose mind brought forth great advancements only dreamed of by most.

And four brothers. The eldest's mouth twitched, the single sheet covering his naked form slithering away as he rolled over and turned his back to the open sliding glass door. The second eldest was face-down, nose and mouth buried in his pillow, dead to the world as he softly snuffled. The third in line lay on his right side curled slightly forward, a pillow held between his arms as his eyes moved in REM sleep. And the second youngest slept on his back with arms and legs splayed out in all directions, floating on watery dreams.

As often happened to this family of saviors, the blissful silence of the night was shattered by the blare of an alarm, bringing with it the jolt of sudden awakening for each and every one of them.

Hallway doors hissed open and closed. The pounding of feet on hardwood floors echoed off the walls as lights automatically switched on in advance of their approach. The ding of an elevator, mumbled and grumbled words of acknowledgment, and then the grind of gears as the metal box ferried four men to their destination on the villa's first floor.

As the elevator doors slid open again, its passengers joined the three occupants whose bedrooms were on the first floor of the house. One minute later, all seven were standing inside a large room dubbed 'the office,' which also served as a lounge when guests were present.

Moments before, Scott Tracy had been dreaming of pushing his beloved rocket plane, Thunderbird One, to her very limits at sixty thousand feet above the earth. Now he pushed away the office chair from behind his father's – mostly his, now, truthfully – antique wooden desk. With Jeff Tracy currently at Lady Penelope's mansion in England, Scott was wholly in command of International Rescue. And the team he led stood before him now, waiting eagerly to find out what had caused the International Rescue klaxon to sound. Scott ran a hand through his wavy walnut brown hair while the command computer hummed to life and information from their space station, Thunderbird Five, began coming through.

"At least it's close," Scott muttered, leaning forward with his left hand supporting his weight on the desk and his right tapping out commands one-fingered.

All heads turned toward the wall opposite Jeff's desk to see what the situation was. Second from the right in a row of five digital portraits was a picture of blond-haired, blue-eyed youngest son Alan, currently with girlfriend and fellow International Rescue member Tin-Tin Kyrano in New Jersey on business for the family corporation. Scott double-clicked a command that transferred a complex, busy screen full of information funneling to them from space, from Jeff's desktop computer to Alan's portrait frame.

"Do we have audio?" The question was asked by middle son John. He absentmindedly brushed at the stubborn curl which always fell over his forehead unless he forced his light blond hair into submission with copious amounts of gel and hairspray.

"No," Scott replied with a shake of his head. "Five alerted us based on local television and radio reports."

"I see it's in China," commented the fourth son, copper-haired Gordon, who had the distinction of being the only aquanaut in the family. "They haven't had any seismic events in the last decade, have they?"

The man who'd made all of International Rescue possible from a technical perspective, peered at Scott through the lenses of an old pair of glasses, evidently not yet having had the chance to put in the contact lenses he usually wore these days. "Gordon is, ah, correct. Scott, what region is that, exactly?" he asked, scratching at his head through short brown hair that stuck out in every conceivable direction.

"According to the triangulation of the reports Five has been monitoring for the past forty-five minutes, we're needed near Zhongnan Mountain, southeast of Xi'an."

The even tones of their father's best friend, and Tin-Tin's father, filled the air before Scott's brothers could ask any more questions. "What is the nature of the emergency?" Kyrano asked, eyes glued to the feed from Five.

Scott looked up in surprise. Kyrano was always present here in the office at the beginning of any rescue operation, but he very rarely spoke. "A chasm is opening up, swallowing homes, villages and people," he replied, looking back at the computer and clicking through a few pages of data with the mouse. "No one has made any calls for help. John, get on with locals in…however you say the name of the closest city, northwest of the mountain." Scott tapped a couple of keys and a map appeared in his portrait. "That one," he said, moving the mouse to cover a long word that began with the letter S.

John, fluent in thirteen languages and passably conversational in eight more, darted down the narrow hallway behind the control desk toward the auxiliary command center where he'd be able to use a communications device in peace.

Scott turned his attention back to Kyrano and frowned at the look on their old friend's face. "Do you know something about this region?" he asked. It wouldn't have surprised him if the answer had been yes, since he knew that Kyrano and Tin-Tin had traveled to many countries while on the run from Kyrano's half-brother.

"Not personally," Kyrano replied, stepping closer to the wall portrait as Scott zoomed out slightly so that Zhongnan Mountain was central on the screen. "But if I'm not mistaken, there is a positive energy vortex located not far from this mountain, near the Xi'an Pyramids." He turned to face Scott. "It's where the Center of Tibetan Enlightenment is located."

Scott half-shrugged, never having been one to place much stock in the touchy-feely things Kyrano held so near and dear. Like his father, Scott struggled with believing in anything he couldn't touch, see or hear. Besides, even if he did believe in it, Kyrano had said the energy vortex was positive…so it could only help, right?

John raced back into the room. "Guys, this is bad. Real, real bad."

Everyone turned to look at him.

"I just spoke to the head of the Shibianyuxian police force. They're trying to evacuate over two thousand people from their streets. It seems Five was right on; there's a chasm opening in the ground and its traveling fast toward the village."

"The town doesn't look that big," Virgil noted, the first time he'd spoken. The slowest of the family members to rise to wakefulness no matter how much sleep he'd gotten, he was currently in the process of digging the butt of one hand into his left eye and trying in vain to smooth down his wild chestnut-colored hair with the other. "Why are there two thousand people on the streets?"

"Yu Lan." The answer came from Kyrano. "The fifteenth day of the seventh month in the lunar calendar is Ghost Day to the Chinese."

Gordon glanced at his wristwatch display. "But it's the 20th of July, not the 15th."

Kyrano nodded. "Yes, but this celebration was most likely in honor of the full moon. Locals often shift the day of their annual festival to coincide with its appearance."

"All right, look," Scott said, grateful for the sliver of knowledge but impatient to stop talking about the whole thing and get on with some action. "John, Gordon, Brains, you're in Two with Virgil. China's only four hours northwest of us, so I'll get there quick and assess the situation."

As Scott spoke, Virgil took five long strides to a floor-to-ceiling painting of the rocket ship their father had once commanded on a mission to the Moon. Within seconds it upended him onto a sliding chute that would ferry him to the pilot chair of International Rescue's workhorse, Thunderbird Two.

Scott stepped to the side of his father's desk and backed up against the wall behind it. Above and to either side of his head were two light fixtures; he grabbed hold of them with both hands, and was just about to hit the button under his right thumb when he was stopped by a sudden movement.

As John, Brains and Gordon raced out of the lounge into the hallway to take the main elevator to the back of Thunderbird Two's cockpit, Kyrano had darted forward. "I will ride with you," he stated.

Scott stared at him. This man so rarely requested anything, and never made demands. But Kyrano's words just now had sounded very much like an order…something so unusual that it took Scott's brain a few seconds to process it.

"Why?" Scott asked when his gray matter had finally caught up.

Kyrano swallowed and locked eyes with him. "Please. No questions. Just allow me to ride in one of the jumpseats. I will not interfere."

Scott didn't have time to argue, and his grandmother wasn't going to be any help, considering she'd just sunk onto the couch with her eyes half-closed. "Okay, fine, come on," he said crisply, waiting until Kyrano was standing nearly nose-to-nose with him before thumbing the switch that started the wall rotating on its turntable.

International Rescue had been created by Jeff Tracy, and was manned by his entire family, Brains, the Kyranos and multiple agents the world round. They existed for the sole purpose of saving the lives of people who would otherwise perish, whether due to man-made or natural disasters. After nine years of operating in full-swing, once again they were off and running…this time without their patriarch there to oversee.

And this time, for a type of disaster that was neither man-made nor natural.