Chapter 17.

Virgil surveyed the disaster around him through watery eyes.

Seven minutes in, and things weren't going as he'd planned.

The tacos Gordon had picked up from the mainland were a lot spicier than any of them had either wanted or anticipated. Under normal circumstances, Virgil would have accused the aquanaut of deliberate sabotage, however one look at said aquanaut's tortured face confirmed to Virgil that that particular theory was null and void.

Despite his hardened exterior, Virgil's spice tolerance was embarrassingly low. He was fighting desperately to conserve his glass of milk for as long as possible, however was losing precious ground by pausing every few seconds to wipe away the sweat that was accumulating on his brow.

Alan wasn't faring much better. The youngest had tears streaming down his face and had resorted to taking dainty nibbles of his taco in an effort to save his burning taste buds, all concerns about winning long forgotten. He had also foolishly drained his own glass of milk within the first ten seconds, and was now staring longingly at Scott's.

John looked to be holding up surprisingly well. He seemed to have gotten into a regular rhythm of chewing and swallowing, no doubt aided by the three years of braces that had accompanied him throughout high school. Confident in his strategy of 'slow and steady', the redhead was refusing to fall victim to the frantic desperation that was consuming brothers one and four, respectively.

Scott, as usual, was relying on speed as his primary weapon. The eldest had given up on chewing several minutes in, no doubt because it took too long. This seemed to be serving him relatively well, however had led to several unplanned choking fits which had cost him valuable seconds. The pressure of winning had also caused his temper to rear its ugly head, giving rise to frantic foot stamps and table slaps when he noticed Gordon and John closing in on his lead.

Gordon wasn't particularly fast, but possessed the unnerving ability to cram twice as much food into his mouth as a regular person. He took longer to chew and swallow than all of the others, but used the spare time to shred his next taco into smaller pieces that he could easily shovel into his cheeks as soon as space became available. It was an unorthodox strategy, but it meant that the aquanaut's mouth was never at anything other than full capacity.

Over on the other side of the table, Alan gagged and threw his taco down in disgust before beelining to the fridge.

"Spicy!" the youngest wheezed, groping for the milk carton and taking several large gulps, a healthy amount spilling down his front in the process.

With Alan officially out of the race, Virgil felt some of the pressure ease. He'd been determined to not be the first one to bail out, but had no reservations about coming in fourth.

"I'm done!" the engineer announced, swallowing his final mouthful and fumbling madly for his own glass of milk. The cool liquid provided him with some much needed relief as it washed down his throat, taking the worst of the lingering spice with it.

John's eyes widened as he realised that his chances of winning had just increased by fifty percent, his previous strategy of 'slow and steady' undergoing some rapid modifications as he began to experiment with Gordon's stuffing strategy.

Scott made a noise of alarm when he saw John try and cram two tacos into his mouth at once, stamping his foot in impatience as he tried to bully a particularly stubborn mouthful down his throat prematurely.

Gordon remained stoic, his energy focussed on using his fingers to try and enlarge the pouches in his cheeks. Virgil snorted with laughter when the fourth Tracy realised that he could no longer close his mouth.

As Gordon regurgitated some of the half-chewed mess inside his cheeks in order to make room for chewing, John suddenly paused, frowning as an itching sensation began to travel up and down his throat. Perplexed, the redhead peeled back one side of the taco in his hand and scrutinised its contents.

"Uh, Gordon?" John pulled out something limp and red, pinching it between his thumb and index finger, "Did you ask for tomatoes when you placed the order?"

Incapable of speech due to the sheer volume of food in his mouth, Gordon nodded his head, crumbs flying everywhere.

"You fool!" John hissed, panic coursing through him as his mouth began to tingle, "I'm allergic to tomatoes!"

Gordon gave his brother a blank stare, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster.

Scott glanced up briefly from savaging his sixth taco, "Grandma! Assistance!" he yelled, his voice heavily muffled.

There was a sudden pattering of feet as Sally materialised at the top of the stairs, "Are you boys okay? Should I get the buckets?"

Scott shook his head and motioned impatiently to the panicking John, whose face had broken out in a rather angry looking rash.

"Oh! You poor kid," their grandmother cooed as she doddered down the stairs towards her ginger grandson, "Is there anything in this world that you're not allergic to?"

"Whiskey and doughnuts," John replied seriously, rubbing at his cheeks when the inside of his mouth began to sting.

Sally sighed and shook her head as she wandered over to the medicine cabinet and retrieved John's supply of antihistamines. The redhead seized the pills eagerly and chucked them down his throat, washing them down with the last of his milk.

"I can't tell where your hair ends and your face begins," Virgil snidely remarked, somewhat sore over his failure to reclaim his pride from the claws of his taco-savaging eldest brother.

Alan snorted in amusement, politely hiding his mouth behind a fist when Sally shot him a glare that nearly set his eyebrows on fire.

"One minute left, guys," the youngest announced, leaning over to glance at Scott's phone, "Make it count!"

Both Gordon and Scott made high-pitched noises of alarm as they crammed, crunched and chomped for all they were worth. By Virgil's count, Gordon was halfway through his eighth taco, while Scott was just starting his seventh.

"Forty seconds!" Virgil unhelpfully added, sniggering when Scott braced his hands against the table and swallowed a mouthful without chewing.

Gordon had abandoned his hamster strategy and was shovelling handfuls into his mouth in a final sprint towards the finish line. A stray tortilla crumb that escaped down his throat prematurely brought about an unplanned choking fit, however was swiftly quashed by a large slug of milk.

"Twenty seconds!" Alan reported, banging his fists on the table in time with a chant of, "Scott! Scott! Scott!"

Sally, who'd been busy pressing an ice pack to the base of John's neck, glanced up and started a counter chorus, "Gordon! Gordon! Gordon!"

"Scott! Scott! Scott!" John chanted, clapping in support when his eldest brother made a lunge for his eighth taco.

"Gordon! Gordon! Gordon!" Virgil cried, pumping his fist in the air when the timer went off, "Alright! The final score stands at seven and eight to Scott and Gordon respectively! Well done, fishboy!"

Gordon groaned and flopped facedown onto the table. His hands and mouth were stained red with chilli sauce and a stray piece of lettuce was stuck to his cheek.

Scott gave a wheeze of fury before rounding on his aquanaut brother, only be halted in his tracks by an eye-wateringly loud belch escaping.

"Ha! How does it feel to have your manhood kicked to the curb, eh Scotty?" Gordon bleated, hiccupping loudly, "Looks like your mouth isn't as quick as the rest of you. You're lucky that Gordon Tracy is merciful in victory, otherwise I'd take you on for round two."

"I need a beer and to punch somebody in the face," Scott grumbled, his face rapidly turning the same colour as John's rash. With the aura of someone who had just lost a barfight, the eldest seized his glass of milk and downed it in two clean gulps.

Gordon merely snorted and took a ladylike sip from his own glass. After staring blankly into space for a few seconds, he swivelled to face Virgil.

"Okay Virg," he slurred, blinking sluggishly as a food coma began to take hold, "I need you to tell Kayo that she needs to wear something lightweight and yellow when she gets back from saving Marge and Tina. Shorts and a tank top are preferable, but not mandatory. I-I think I need to go and lie down for a bit…"

Alan frowned as Gordon staggered to his feet and tottered off in the direction of the staircase, "Uh, Gordo? Kayo's not rescuing Marge and Tina, she's doing recon in Argentina."

"They sound like lovely people," Gordon mumbled over his shoulder, his eyes lidded, "Tell Kayo to give them my phone number if they fancy a ride in a yellow submarine."

Dubious looks were exchanged across the table when Gordon tripped on the first step and promptly starfished on the floor.

"Someone should go with him," Virgil commented, grimacing when his stomach gurgled in delayed protest, "Just to make sure he doesn't break his neck."

"I'll look after him," Sally offered, wandering over to the aquanaut and hauling him off his belly and back onto his feet, "Time for a nap, kiddo."

Gordon responded with a belch that accelerated global warming by a decade.

"Oh, almost forgot," Sally muttered, rummaging around in one of her pockets before fishing out a piece of paper and suspending it over the bannister, "Virgil? Lady Penelope called earlier with your score. I've written it all down on here for you, dear."

Virgil could only groan as Alan and John sprang to their feet and rushed over, jumping and elbowing each other like hungry baby birds in their haste to be the one to catch the descending slip of paper.

Scott let out another loud belch and shook his head, his complexion green.

"I might need that bucket after all."