As soon as they touched down on the roof of the hospital, Scott slammed the collective down and idled the throttle. He gave a nod of thanks to the pilot before leaping out of the pilots seat, knowing he couldn't have got to the hospital any faster without crashing. The cold air outside hit him like a brick wall. It was like cool water to a man dying of thirst and Scott gulped down a replenishing breath. He stepped down onto the helipad, the drumming of his pounding heart easing slightly. His ears screamed from the roar of the propellers, the freezing wind knocking off his cap and sending it far off into the air. He stepped around the side of the helicopter, scrabbling at the door before throwing it wide open.
He was greeted by the sight of Gordon leaning over Virgil doing chest compressions. Whatever Scott was going to do or say left him with that sight, like crossing a threshold to a room and forgetting why you went there. He could barely hear his little brother's frantic counting over the surrounding din.
"Twenty... Twenty-one... Come on... Please... Twenty-four.. Twenty-five... Twenty-six... Twenty-seven... Ugh, no..." Gordon spoke with the rhythm of each compression, making Virgil's body jolt and his head loll around on the stretcher. The blanket they had used to cover his mangled legs was soaked with blood.
The frightening sight had a strange effect on Scott, like seeing a glass falling off a counter and knowing that you will catch it, when your brain processes a million different thoughts in an instant.
He remembered Virgil running around a hotel room, seven years old, chatty and thoughtful. Scott remembered sitting on the high double bed watching all his little brothers jump about the room. They marvelled at the big beds, the huge bath, the fancy coffee machine... It was like a big adventure for them. Scott's mind was busy with thoughts far too dark for a nine year old. He pondered how much he loved them all. He worried what on earth he was going to do when he told them that Mom had had the baby, but wasn't coming home. He didn't want to tell Grandma that he was scared. It was Virgil's soft voice that broke his thoughts, saying, "Wait. Scott, are you crying?"
In the present Scott's eyes were dry, yet they burned with every sharp detail of the scene before him. He could tell Gordon had shed tears, which he hadn't seen him do since John's funeral, not even after the most harrowing of rescues. He was almost angry, but only because if Gordon couldn't hold it together in this moment, then Scott had to do it. He had to stay composed when one of the people he loved most in this world lay dead on a stretcher.
He noted, with grotesque amusement, it was somehow far easier to see Virgil like this than it had been hearing him scream in agony.
"How long?" said Scott, his voice coming out small and betraying any fear he couldn't suppress. He turned to glance over his shoulder as Gordon started another round of compressions, relieved to see a team of hospital staff approaching carrying a load of equipment and a fresh stretcher. When he turned back to Gordon, he was tilting Virgil's head back. Scott watched him pinch his brother's nose, leaning down to clamp his mouth over his to give him a couple of rescue breaths.
"Just now," grunted Gordon breathlessly as he rose before violently pushing his arms into Virgil's chest, "One... Two... Three... Come on... Five... Six... Virgil, please..."
It was Virgil that had taught Alan how to walk. He was early to it, spurred on by his older brothers. Scott once found Virgil, stocky and laughing, racing a one-year-old Alan down the corridor. Only they weren't running, but monkey crawling on their arms and legs.
A nurse tapped Scott on the back. He heard the team bustling behind him as he said "Gordon, let them take over."
Gordon had a wild look in his eyes, as if he had been asked the impossible. A doctor eased past Scott to stand by the stretcher. He placed a face mask attached to an ambu bag over Virgil's face and encouraged Gordon to count down the compressions. Once he hit thirty, the doctor squeezed the bag to push air into Virgil's unmoving lungs. Then Gordon took a step back, arms raised, as a nurse took over compressions for him.
Scott automatically told the team all the injuries and vitals he knew of and they expertly transferred Virgil into the building within minutes. One man in green scrubs, who looked to be of Indian ethnicity, lingered behind to make sure they had got all the information they needed.
"Please do what you can for him," Gordon said to him tiredly, his expression lax.
The surgeon put a hand on his shoulder, "International Rescue deserves all the fight we have. I promise we'll do all we can."
He led them off the helipad to the roof entrance of the hospital, but Scott could see Gordon's faltering steps beside him and knew what was about to happen. He turned in time to steady his brother before he fell flat on his face. Gordon's amber eyes were almost rolled back in his head, his body shaking. It had all been a bit too much. He reeked of blood. It caked his hands and chest. All of it was Virgil's.
"OK, buddy..." said Scott soothingly, supporting Gordon's weight as he swayed on his feet.
"I can't stand up..."
"I know, you're gonna faint," said Scott gently, "Let yourself go, don't fight it."
"I never f..." Gordon's tanned skin bleached into a sallow white, even down to his lips. His legs buckled. Scott eased him down onto the concrete ground, one hand in his coppery hair and the other checking the pulse in his throat.
"I got you, buddy."
"I'm sorry, Scott..."
"Don't be."
The Indian doctor left to get help, though Scott knew it was unnecessary. He knew what was going on. It was emotional shock. He talked to Gordon soothingly, keeping him calm. His eyes slipped closed but he still managed to respond, nodding occasionally and muttering apologetically, as the blood slowly made it's way back to his brain.
Scott watched Gordon through the window of his private ward room ten minutes later. Gordon was now alert and bright, apologising again to the nurse. Scott didn't need to lip-read to know what he was saying. 'I'm fine, ma'am, really. I just had a big girly swoon, it happens to the best of us...'
The smiling nurse lightly slapped his shoulder, chastising him about so-called 'girly swoons'.
Scott took the opportunity to contact Thunderbird Five and Tracy Island to update them about Virgil. The last he had heard was that they had managed to restart his heart, but had to get him into emergency surgery to control the bleeding. There wasn't even a question about the damage to his legs as it was unlikely he would survive. Robert had to shut down his comms quickly, but not fast enough for everyone to know he had vomited all over the floor of Thunderbird Five.
Eventually the Indian surgeon he had met earlier, Dr Nair, emerged to inform him that they having complications with Virgil's surgery. They were working hard to fix arterial damage, but his left leg may need to be amputated. Scott mulled over this knowledge just wishing he could tell himself it was all just a bad dream.
He was feeling shaky from low blood sugar, remembering he hadn't eaten in about fifteen hours. The last thing he cared about right now was food, but remembering from past experience, he knew everything was harder to deal with when there was no glucose reaching your brain. Plus, Gordon was definitely in need of some energy. He spoke to a man in one of the little side rooms of the ward, asking where he get food. The man was dressed in a shirt and black pants, the ID badge around his neck informing Scott he was a junior doctor named Luke. Looking down, he saw that Luke had his left pant leg rolled up, revealing a nasty deep cut just below his knee.
"You stay put," he said kindly, "I'll find you something to eat."
"You don't need to do that, just show me where to go," insisted Scott, raising a reassuring hand.
Luke looked Scott up and down, then raised a questioning eyebrow.
"I've got plenty spare clothes in my locker, if you need to look a bit more inconspicuous."
He was right, Scott had been drawing a lot of attention with the uniform. He glanced down at himself and saw that he was covered in a fair amount of blood.
"Any of that yours?" Luke asked.
"No. It's my... Colleagues," Scott corrected at the last second before he said 'brother's'.
His wrist communicator suddenly bleeped and he jumped. Scott looked up at Luke.
"Sorry, I"-
Luke nodded his head in understanding. "I'll be here if you need anything."
With that, he hobbled back to his computer. Scott headed back to Gordon's room. He was glad to find it was only his little brother in there, busy sluicing water over his face from the tiny sink near the bed. The water turned a rusty colour as the blood rinsed away.
Scott raised a finger to his lips at Gordon's questioning look. He pressed a button on his watch and saw Robert's face appear. He looked sweaty and his eyes were red, but he was brave.
"The Thunderbirds are locked down completely. The police are guarding them. But I can't find any sign of Alan, not even on the GPS," he said, looking desperate, "I've been trying to get him on his wrist comm but there's been no response. There's no sign of sabotage with his watch either. I've sent out a description to the emergency services to look out for him."
Scott swallowed. In all the horror, he hated to admit that he had almost forgotten about Alan. He wondered how many more disasters could happen today. Tracy Island getting hit by a tsunami must be next in the plot. Or a nuclear detonation. He heard Gordon take a long, despairing sigh.
"We'll head back to the crash site and ask around," said Scott, holding on to whatever thread of hope he had left, "Maybe he's passed out in a hospital somewhere... As soon as I update Base... Consult the surgeons..."
"I wouldn't talk to your dad," said Robert softly, "I'll update him. Tell me about Virgil. How is he?"
Scott felt his throat constrict. Robert must have seen the despair on his face, for his eyes went wide with horror, "No... He can't be... Scott, he's not-"
"No! No, Rob, he's still with us," said Scott quickly, "He's... holding on."
"Scott, if I could be down there I would. I want the whole truth."
He took a few moments to sit taller and plan what he was going to say, but knew there was no way he could soften a blow like this.
"He might lose a leg. If the surgery doesn't kill him."
Gordon raised a to his mouth, his eyes glistening. Robert let out a shocked breath. Then breathed in again, deliberately slow. He fixed Scott with an anxious stare.
"As long as we don't lose him."
Then there came a shrill scream from out in the corridor. Both Scott and Gordon were moving in an instant. When they made it out into the corridor, they saw a few people crouched down by someone on the floor. Scott felt a bolt of shock as he recognised the person lying there. It was Luke, his arms splayed wide, a single gunshot wound in his forehead.
In his splayed right hand, broken and speckled with blood, was Alan Tracy's watch.