As far as I can see, every inch is unmoving, silent in the morning air. The wind is cool against my skin but I don't stir to pull my robe closer to my body. The trees shift in the slight breeze, swaying gently to a noiseless tune that only they can hear. By now, soft light has crept up the sky, bathing our island in its pale glow. Streams of placid colour streak the atmosphere like Virgil's paintbrush on a crisp new canvas.
I stand alone, inert with the familiar feelings buried deep within my soul. I get this way every time there's a rescue, every time the boys are away with their craft, flying to danger zones thousands of miles away. I'll only rest when, in a few endless hours time, I see the silhouette of Thunderbird 1 in the distance, announcing their return. Thunderbird 2 will soon be behind her, the massive green body casting a shadow over our private atoll. Every nerve will be on end until I know they're safe, the adrenaline from the rescue still fresh in their blood.
Inside, I know their father is stewing over a cup of coffee; his hands wrapped around it, trying not to worry about the peril his sons could ultimately be in. Every few minutes he'll glance up and run his eyes down the row of portraits on the wall, wishing, desiring, needing some sign that everything is going smoothly. He won't relax until he gets one and then the tension will ease from his muscles and he'll lean against the back of chair, weak with relief.
It's not easy living with five men who, at one point or another, will risk their lives for someone else. They do it without hassle, without cause, just wanting to help out. No rewards are given, pictures aren't taken, information about their identities is never leaked. To everyone on our planet, they're a bunch of nameless faces, putting themselves before others for nothing in return.
And I stay home, sick with worry and wondering if the goodbyes I said before they left will be the last words they hear from my lips. I'm restless, prowling around in my slippers, waiting until a signal comes through saying they're out of harm's way. Then sleep will come, when I return to my room and lay my tired head upon the pillow. My dreams will be haunted with atrocious scenes and dreadful endings to unsuccessful rescues.
But I can't help but think about how brave they are - they don't ask questions; they just do whatever is needed of them. For this, people from far and wide, from every corner of the earth, worship them. No one knows who these young men, the ones who put everything on the line if need be, the ones who won't turn down anyone, no matter the consequences and trials they have to face, even are.
Since we began this journey of secrecy, everything has had to be perfect. One slip and the globe would be all over us - all over them. They don't want gratitude, they don't want payment, they just want to help out the people of the world.
And they do.
I glance out at the sun as if seeing it for the first time. It's rising over the hills of the island now, bright rays shining in every direction and announcing daybreak. Bursts of colour radiate from its center, sending strands of light dancing across the sky. It reflects off the ocean, the mirror image clear to my eyes. I've been out here for hours now, but I still can't shake the feelings of dread that tug at my insides. I doubt this reaction to rescues I'm not on will ever go away.
In the distance, a ship sails across the sky like a bullet penetrating the air. It's engines roar in my ears, waking up my brain as I raise my head to the sound. The sunlight hits the silver of its body, shimmering in the early morning warmth. Thunderbird 1 is a knife in the space, slicing the peace with its immaculate blade. I take a profound breath, drawing the content feeling over myself like a cozy blanket and wrapping myself in its security.
They're home.