Chapter Two

"Hold her steady, Virg."

Strong hands gripped the steering yoke until the whites of his knuckles shone through tawny skin. Beads of sweat mustached his upper lip as Virgil Tracy's every muscle grew taut with tension. With complete control. With the knowledge that he and the giant ship that responded to his every twitch were all that stood between life and death for the lone figure on the roof below.

"Two degrees left!" barked Field Commander Scott Tracy.

A slight course correction. Eyes darting from instrument to dial. From screen to readout.

"Steady," whispered through the speakers, the voice of Alan Tracy as he swung perilously beneath the nose of Thunderbird Two. "I can almost touch her."

Within the cockpit there wasn't a sound to be heard save for the hum of Two's engines and Alan's breaths in sharp, staccato cadences and rhythms that brought life to his every thought and movement without words. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Virgil wondered if Scott wasn't holding his breath, the lives of a stranger and his baby brother hanging by a thread strung from the hatch in Two's nose.

"John, give me a foot, max, slow reel."

An indicator light to the right, signaling the winch was being operated. Virgil watched the numbers change in one-tenth-of-an-inch increments as their brother John slowly, ever-so-slowly, let out the cable as asked.

Not one of them could see any other, save for Scott as he hovered opposite his sister ship in Thunderbird One. His eyes, Virgil was sure, were glued to Alan's rain-slick form.

The rains had kept International Rescue operating in ten-hour rotations for thirteen days, and there was no end in sight. They'd all become used to everything being caked in mud. The equipment. The 'birds. Themselves.

So many had been saved.

Too many had died.

This tiny town had been thought deserted or at the very least, all its inhabitants dead. Thunderbirds One and Two had been nearby en route from one medium-sized town to another as they fought Mother Nature and fatigue to bring hope to the helpless. A heat signature had registered. Scott had diverted to investigate. His clipped tones had spoke of weariness, yet had been interlaced with joy at having found one more human being alive, rather than lifeless amongst the fields of bodies being washed away in ditches and rivers-turned-white water rapids.

Wondering fleetingly how Gordon was faring with the handful of sick and injured people in Two's pod, Virgil held himself so very still, his eyes constantly reassuring his mind that his course had not changed so much as a fraction of a degree.

"Okay," came a grunted half-whispered update from Alan. "My feet are on the roof."

Scott had seen a hatch open in the corner of the flat roof as he'd hovered nearby trying to pinpoint the life sign his computers told him was there. Seconds later this woman had appeared, and waved at Scott when One's powerful spotlight turned in her direction.

They almost had her.

And then it would be on to find the next victim. And the next. And the next.

"Some people are saying it's the end of the world," Gordon had told them just after they'd brought four survivors from the next town over aboard. "Like Noah and the Flood."

Virgil had seen nothing in John's or Scott's faces as stone masks hid their private thoughts. Alan's eyes had grown just a bit wider as Gordon had turned and taken his leave to escort the patients to the pod.

John had at last broken the silence. "Do you really think it is?" he'd asked so softly Virgil could barely hear him over Two's whine. "The end of the world?"

His hands had suddenly seemed the most interesting things in the world to Virgil, eyes moving down to settle on them. Perhaps to avoid seeing fear climb into the features of his brothers' faces. Perhaps to avoid showing them his own.

"Well, if it is," Scott had finally replied, getting all eyes to turn his way, "we're not going down without a fight."

And so now, they were fighting. On less sleep and even less enthusiasm they forged ahead, their father in constant contact, their agents and auxiliary units the world over having to deal with disasters in their own communities as the rains expanded beyond the confines of the US. As they threatened nearly every square inch of Earth.

Maybe it was the end of it all. Maybe their efforts were futile. Maybe they'd have to return to Tracy Island to launch Thunderbird Three for their space station, just to survive. Their dad had already agreed that whatever people were aboard Two when and if that call was made, were coming with them, and as many more as the two 'birds could carry, to capacity.

They couldn't save everybody, but at least they'd be in space. Their own sort of ark, Alan had noted in the strange silence that had followed Jeff Tracy's directive.

Virgil heard a sound that made his heart skip a beat; the clap of thunder was loud even through Two's thick hull. Before he could even ask the question, Scott announced, "That storm cell we've been watching is here. Alan, you've got to get that woman strapped onto you, now." Calm. In command.

Afraid.

Virgil sat there holding his breath, waiting for the word to be given so John could start winching Alan and his charge back to safety. So Virgil could pull them up above the storm clouds to some modicum of safety.

And then…the unthinkable.