Eleven: It never rains…
"Father!"
Jeff, the last person to arrive at the storm shelter, was waylaid by his eldest son in the hallway. "What, Scott?"
"We don't know where Cook and Co are."
"What! Where were they last seen?"
"Unless you've seen them later, in the lounge."
Jeff shook his head in exasperation. "I sent them here. They obviously didn't listen to me. Where's everyone else?"
"In the shelters," Scott admitted.
"Okay… Organise a search party. I'll take the lounge."
"F-A-B."
"Joe!" Ned called into the blinding rain. "Joe! Answer me!"
The only answer was the scream of the wind.
"Joe!" Ned tried again.
There was nothing except the wind and the roar of the water lashing at the house beneath his feet.
Soaking wet, Ned retreated inside. He could only assume that his friend had been swept away. From what he'd been able to see of the churning waters the current was heading towards the front of the villa. If he could get onto the patio then maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to pull Joe out.
He ran for the lounge.
"Cook!" He heard someone yell from the hall. "What are you doing? Head for the shelters!"
"It's Joe," Ned yelled, making a beeline for the titanium shutter's manual controls. "He's fallen into the water... Outside…" he added belatedly as he reached for the switch.
Jeff stepped into the room and saw what the reporter had in mind. "Don't touch...!"
He was too late. With a low rumble the shutters started to retract. "Stop them!" Jeff ordered and broke into a run.
The titanium shutters had done their job well. However the plexiglass doors were less adept at maintaining their integrity against Cyclone Sylvia. Jeff was no more than two steps into his run towards the controls when the, now exposed, doors blew inwards. The resulting inward rush of air sent Jeff flying backwards and he slammed up against the wall beneath Gordon's photograph. He held up his arms, protecting himself against the plexiglass shards, as a chair mimicked his flight before splintering itself against the wall under Alan's portrait.
"Dad!" Gordon, closely followed by Alan, came to his father's aid.
"I'm - all - right," an obviously winded Jeff managed to gasp out.
Seeing that his two youngest brothers had one crisis under control, Scott sought to resolve another. The panel that hid Thunderbird One's hangar had been pushed open, leaving the gunmetal grey rocket plane exposed to the world. "Give me a hand," he yelled at Virgil putting his shoulder to the panel.
Even their combined efforts were ineffectual against the wind.
"Leave it!" Jeff ordered, struggling, with Gordon and Alan's assistance, to his feet. "Joe's outside."
"He's what?" Scott fought against the wind as he tried to make his way to the patio. "This is impossible! Virgil! Alan! Go get the hurricane gear."
Ned, when the wind had roared inside, had been blown into the area that contained Jeff's desk. He was struggling to fight his way out of the constrained space when Scott crawled over to him. "Joe's outside!"
"I know! What happened? Where is he?"
"He wanted to film the storm. The wind caught him and blew him into the water."
"Water!"
"Yeah," Ned nodded frantically. "The house is surrounded by water."
"How deep?"
"Uh..." Ned tried to remember the landmarks that he'd seen in the short time that he'd been outside before the cyclone hit.
"Never mind," Scott heaved himself up so he was able to reach the desk, which had already been stripped of all its papers and smaller items. Deciding not to chance his father's computer, he flipped a switch and the eagle ornament flew up, coming loose from its housing in the process. As it flapped about, tethered only by the wires that connected the microphone to the rest of its circuitry, Scott tried to raise his brother. "Tracy Island calling Thunderbird Five."
John came on line. His eyes widened when he saw the damage that was being inflicted on his home. "Scott..."
"John! How high's the water? Joe's out in it. How high is it against the house?"
"One point five metres below the patio," John replied. "Scott, if he's out there..."
"Yeah, John, I know. Is the water still rising?"
"No. It seems to have reached its peak."
"Thank heavens for small mercies," Scott muttered. "Let us know the instant there's any change."
"You've got to help him!" Ned pulled at Scott's shirt. "You're International Rescue, do something!"
"We will," Scott tried to be reassuring as he shouted over the wind which was roaring through what had previously been the sanctuary of their lounge. "The guys are getting the gear."
"Scott!" His name had to be repeated three times before he heard it. He looked over to where Alan was beckoning him.
"Stay there," Scott instructed Ned. I'm going to get ready." He attempted to crawl to the comparative calm of the hall before deciding that it was easier to roll with the wind. He ended up crashing into the wall and was pulled to safety by his brothers. "The place is surrounded by water and Joe's fallen in," he stated as he accepted the overalls handed to him by Alan.
"Water!" Gordon ran from the hall.
"It's impossible to talk over the wind," Scott added. "We'll need full communication masks."
"Got them," Alan said and pulled open a bag.
"Better get one for Ned too," Scott suggested. "And a set of grav-gear."
"Got a pair of those for me?" Jeff asked. He was already kitted out in his own overalls.
"Are you up to it?" Scott asked.
Jeff pulled himself up and looked his eldest in the eye. "Are you saying I'm too old?"
"No. Just that that was quite a knock you took back there." Scott pulled up the fastening at the front of his overalls. "Everyone ready?" he asked as he donned his mask.
Virgil looked at his brother's overalls seeing the International Rescue logo. Then he looked down at his own, which were still covered by bits of masking tape. "If this is going to be our last rescue," he said tugging at the tape on his chest, "then I'm going down with the flag flying proudly."
"Me too," Alan agreed, ripping the already partly detached tape from his front. "No need to hide now."
Gordon came running up to them, pulling up the back of his wetsuit as he did so. "What's the action, Scott?"
"First thing we do is find Joe," Scott's grim manner told them that he didn't hold out much hope. "Alan, take the laser and get rid of the balustrade. Gordon, bring the victim locator. I'll try to close the shutters. Virgil, you get Ned to safety and then stay back here in case we need more equipment. It's too hard to fight against that wind to risk sending someone back and forth." He picked up a cable, securely tethered one end and then hefted it over his shoulder. "You can send the required gear along this, okay?"
"F-A-B," Virgil replied.
Alan was already crawling lizard-like against the wind to the patio doors. He wore grav-boots and grav-gloves, devices that allowed him to maintain his grip on the floor. He came to the step that marked the piano's platform and adjusted the laser strapped to his back before he started to crawl to the upper level. The wind hit him full in the face, nearly forcing him back, but the grav-gloves took hold and he moved forward again.
Virgil, using the same lizard-like action, made his way over to the desk. There he came across a drenched and windblown Ned Cook, trapped in the alcove formed by the desk. "Here!" Virgil shouted through his mask and the howling wind. He held out a duplicate mask. "Put this on."
Whether he heard him or not, Ned seemed to understand and took the proffered mask. With some difficulty and Virgil's help, he managed to slip it over his head and into position.
"Can you hear me?" Virgil asked.
"Yes," Ned nodded his head frantically. "You've got to help Joe!"
"Don't worry, we've got that under control," Virgil tried to be reassuring. "Put these on," he handed over a set of grav-boots and grav-gloves, "and I'll get you to safety."
Ned looked at the strange garments. "Why do I have to wear these?"
"When they touch something a force field is turned on and they adhere to the surface of the object. There's a switch inside the thumb of the gloves, and above the big toe, which temporarily turns off the force field and allows you to move." Virgil helped Ned pull on one of the gloves. "It takes a bit of getting used to. Put your hand flat on the floor."
Ned did so. "I can't move it."
"Good. Now find the switch..."
Ned's hand flew free.
Virgil gave him a brief lesson in how to use the boots and then pointed to the door leading to the hallway. "That's where we're going..."
"But Joe..."
"We'll only be in the way. There's not much room out there..."
Alan had reached the patio. Maintaining his low profile on the stucco floor he activated a grav-pack on the front of his overalls. When he was sure that he was practically glued to the ground he slid the laser around from his back, wrestling with it until it was pointed in front of him. His grav-gloves maintaining a firm grip on the gun he pointed it at the base of the balustrade. One quick pull on the trigger and the metal disintegrated. After the vaporisation of the second support the balustrade began to lean drunkenly.
"How's it going, Son?" He heard his father's voice in his ear.
"Grandma's not going to be too pleased," Alan grunted as yet another support disintegrated.
"She'll understand. Any sign of Joe?"
"I haven't had a chance to look," Alan admitted. "I can't see through the balustrade with this wind and rain. He switched off the laser and used the instrument to push at the ironwork. It fell forward into the water with a splash. "Can anyone see him?"
"I've got the victim finder," Gordon said. "If he's within the area of the courtyard I'll spot him."
"IF he's within the area of the courtyard," Alan clarified. "What if he's been washed further away?"
Scott had succeeded in making the trip to the shutter's manual controls. Using the grav-gloves to assist him in standing, he pressed the buttons that started the shutters closing again. His plan was to close them until most of the room was protected while still leaving a reasonable sized area to pass through. The plan was thwarted when the shutters moved a quarter of the way across the windows and jammed in the shattered plexiglass. He gave up and crawled outside...
Ned had mastered the grav-gear well enough to crawl three quarters of the way across the room. He was nearly at the door when he realised that the strength of the wind had been dramatically reduced. Looking towards the patio doors he saw that, at least in part, the shutters were doing their job. Inspired, he changed direction.
"Hey!" Virgil yelled after him. "Where are you going?"
"To get Joe!"
On what remained of the patio four figures peered out through the gloom.
"Can you see anything, Gordon?" Scott asked.
Gordon had the eyepiece of the victim finder pressed to his facemask. "Nothing yet... What is that?"
"What's what?" Alan asked, shielding his mask against the water that was pouring down it and obscuring much of his view.
"There," Gordon pointed. "Halfway across the courtyard."
"I think I see what you mean," Scott said. "It's like a big slab of concrete sticking up in the air."
"How big?" Jeff asked.
"It's almost like there's another building out there, but it's not quite square," Gordon was still searching for Joe. "Hang on..."
"What?" he received a simultaneous reply from his three relatives.
"At the base of that thing, whatever it is... I think I can see Joe. What do you think, Alan?" he handed the scanner to his brother.
"Yep," Alan peered through the victim locator. "That's him. He's caught on whatever that thing is."
"I see him." Scott pointed towards the base of the unknown object.
Jeff strained to see something other than the rain and the remains of what had once been his tropical paradise. Then all of sudden he could see it. Something large, flat and grey in colour, standing up against the skyline. Then looking down to where the water lapped against the object he could just make out a man's head, bobbing in the water.
"Virgil!" Scott was ordering. "We're gonna need the winch and two lines. Not the 'Suckers', they're not long enough. Get the heavy duty one. Once you've got that get the spare streamlined scuba cartridge and the stretcher... Just in case."
There was a reply of "F-A-B" in his earpiece and a short time later there was a tug on the cable. Jeff and his sons, fighting against the winds, managed to pull the winch into position.
"Here, Gordon," Scott handed his brother a harness. "Are you able to put this on?"
"I think I'll need a hand." After a short struggle Gordon had the harness about his torso, and a streamlined scuba oxygen cartridge on his back. He edged closer to the edge and looked down. "I know I said I wanted to go for a swim, but this is ridiculous."
"If you want to back out, that's okay," Scott told him. "You're taking a risk."
"So, what's new?" Gordon replied. "Besides I've often dreamt of being able to jump from up here into the swimming pool." He looked back down into the fast flowing waters. "There's a lot of debris about, isn't there?"
"Why don't you take the stairs?" Alan suggested.
"Too exposed and I'll snag the feed-line," Gordon replied. The second scuba unit arrived on the rope. "Send it down when I'm in position," he suggested. "I'll only snag on the rubbish when I'm swimming… Okay, time to get this show on the road. Do you think you guys could lower me down? I can't stand against this wind and it's too dangerous to jump in."
With a lot of manoeuvring Gordon managed to turn so his legs were hanging over the edge and Alan and Scott had, with the grav-gloves assistance, hold of his arms. "Okay, Fellas. Let me down slowly."
"Father! Will you keep an eye out for anything dangerous in the water?" Scott requested.
"F-A-B."
The wind caught Gordon's legs and threatened to swing him under the patio. He, Alan and Scott had to fight to stop him from crashing into the concrete.
"It's clear!" Jeff yelled.
"Ready, Gordon?" Scott grunted.
"Ready, Gordon replied. "On the count of three… One… Two… Three…" He hit the water and disappeared into its murky depths. When he emerged, moments later, he was already metres away from safety.
Ned reached the shattered plexiglass window. Keeping his back to the titanium sheets he inched his way upwards until he was standing. Then, plexiglass crunching under his feet, he edged his way closer to where Cyclone Sylvia was screaming into the house.
Virgil watched the reporter in frustration, before he noticed another problem. The painting that hid his link with Thunderbird Two's cabin was tilting in the wind. As he watched the footplate rose towards the ceiling before falling back to the floor. He took another look at Ned, who was feeling his way around the edge of the titanium, and then crawled across to a couch that had managed to avoid being swept away with everything else in the lounge. Tipping the couch over so it was lying on its back was easier than he expected, and it didn't take much effort to send it sliding across the room so the back was holding the footplate on the ground. Satisfied that he'd done all it was possible to do at that moment, he crawled back to the hall and ran to the shelters to warn Brains to prepare for at least one patient.
By diving occasionally beneath larger bits of flotsam and jetsam and letting the current do much of the work, Gordon was nearing his objective. Back on the patio his family were too concerned about maintaining enough slack in the feed-line to notice Ned gingerly slide around the edge of the shutter. He stood for a moment, held upright by his grav-gloves and the force of the wind against his body, before he decided that it would be easier to mimic the others and lay down.
Gordon was pulled up suddenly. Looking behind him he saw that a tree was caught over the feed-line. "I'm stuck!"
"Are you caught on that tree?" he heard Scott ask.
"The feed-line is."
Scott thought for a second. "Can you dive beneath the water? Maybe the tree'll float over."
"Okay. I'll give it a go." Relying on his scuba cartridge to supply him with oxygen, Gordon dove down to where, only a week ago, he'd been sunning himself on a deck chair.
Scott's plan was successful and Gordon held him say, "You're clear, Gordon."
"Good. I'll stay down here for a bit. The current's strong, but at least I'm not battling the waves and winds."
"Don't forget you've only got half-an-hour of oxygen," Scott warned.
"Don't worry. That won't be far from my mind," Gordon moved forward again. As he struggled against the salty waters he came to realise that even after only five days out of the pool, he had lost condition. Swimming exercises on dry land were no substitute for the resistance of real water.
The wind was whipping at the feed-line, pulling more slack from the winch than was necessary, while at the same time pulling against the swimmer fighting his way through the water. Gordon resurfaced only metres away from Joe, panting slightly. "I'll attach the feed-line to this thing and clip Joe to it. Get ready to send down the second line and scuba gear."
Scott's "F-A-B" sounded distant in his ears.
Joe was pressed up against the slab; his eyes closed and body limp as tumultuous waves bashed him up and down its length. There was no obvious sign of life until the cameraman got a face-full of water and started choking. Relieved that the man was still alive Gordon moved closer, trying to catch the same wave.
Upon feeling his rescuer's touch, Joe began to thrash about. His flailing arms knocked Gordon's mask, nearly dislodging it from his face. Reluctantly Gordon moved back out of harm's way.
"What's he doing!" Ned yelled. "Why isn't he helping him?"
"What are you doing here?" Scott yelled back. "You idiot! Get back inside."
"Not until he's got Joe. What's he doing?"
"Joe's fight or flight instinct's kicked into action," Alan explained. "He doesn't realise that he's fighting someone who's trying to help him. If Gordon got too close now and Joe knocked Gordon's mask off, or dislodged his oxygen feed, they'd both be in trouble. Gordon will have to wait until Joe calms down."
"How long will that take…?"
As he spoke they saw Joe's thrashings weaken and watched as Gordon swam forward to keep him afloat. "Tighten up that feed-line and send down the oxygen," he demanded. "I've fixed this end to this… thing."
"On its way," Scott replied. "How's he look?"
"Bit hard to tell," Gordon was finding it difficult to maintain his hold on the victim. "I can't take any vital signs."
"How's his colour?"
"Pale. Really pale. He's in shock."
"Get some oxygen into him and see how he responds," Scott suggested as the scuba gear reached its goal.
Gordon looped the lightweight cartridge over his arm and pulled the attached mask down over Joe's face. Then, as he wrapped a rescue tube around the distressed man, Joe's face contorted and he let out an involuntary shriek of pain.
"We've got a problem, fellas," Gordon said. "He's injured."
"How? Where?" Scott asked.
"Maybe internal. Could be referred pain or anything. I can't tell. But we're gonna have to stretcher him out of the water. There's no way I'm going to let him be pulled up by this tube."
"Okay, Gordon. I'll get Virgil to get a stretcher. One of us will have to come down and help get Joe into it."
"I'll go," Alan offered.
"Thanks, Alan. Did you get that, Gordon? We'll send Alan and the stretcher down the feed-line. Do what you can to keep him comfortable in the meantime."
"It's not easy," Gordon said as Joe was pulled from his grasp. "If only it wasn't so choppy…"
While Gordon was trying to get a firm hold on the cameraman and prevent the waves from causing any injuries to either of them, Alan and Scott clipped a stretcher to the feed-line. Then Alan struggled into a harness. "I'm ready, Scott."
"Take it easy, Kiddo. Don't unclip that harness from the feed-line," Scott warned.
"Don't worry," Alan reassured him. "I don't have any breathing gear on. There's no way I'm going for a swim."
"Be careful, Son." Jeff helped Scott ease Alan over the edge of patio.
Alan was immediately caught by a gust of wind which sent him and the stretcher swaying uncontrollably. "Just as well I don't suffer from motion sickness," he muttered as he began his slow decent down to the broiling waters.
Gordon was watching his brother's progress until he realised that something large and dangerous was drifting towards him. "Incoming!" He moved so his body was between the tree and Joe.
Alan stopped his downward motion and watched helplessly as the tree bore down on his brother. It seemed that there was nothing that could avert disaster, when a wave broke over the woody plant sending it rolling away. One of the lighter branches brushed against Gordon, pushing him against Joe, before it moved on.
"Gordon!" Alan yelled. "Are you all right?"
"Alan," Jeff yelled, his vision obscured by the salt spray and never-ending rain. "What's happening?"
"Don't panic," Gordon reassured them. "I'm okay."
"What about Joe?" Ned asked.
Gordon's reply was not reassuring. "Get down here and make it snappy, Alan."
Alan was nearly down to what could now be called sea level. Wave after wave crashed over him sending him into an uncontrolled spin. One exceptionally large wave knocked his mask askew. The shock made him inhale a lungful of water and he lost his grip on the stretcher as his body reacted by coughing. The stretcher swung around, catching him on the back, winding him a second time.
"Take it easy, Alan," Gordon advised. "Get your breath back then start again."
"I'm okay," Alan choked out and readjusted his mask. Then he took a deep breath and continued his decent. He was in the water now, the stretcher floating out beside him, and it was easier to swim than to continue to rely on the winch. He pushed the stretcher towards Gordon. "There's a backboard attached. Get him on that first."
"F-A-B." With tired fingers Gordon placed a neck brace on Joe and then strapped him onto the backboard. "That was easier than I expected."
Together and with care the Tracy brothers slid Joe onto the stretcher, making sure there was no way he could slide off. Gordon strapped the injured man's scuba cartridge so it wouldn't interfere with anything. "There you go, Alan. Get him out of here."
"What about you?"
"I'll wait until you're both safe. I've got oxygen, you haven't."
"Okay. Pull me up, Scott!"
"Watch the feed-line doesn't snag on anything," Scott instructed his father as he reversed the winch's action. Slowly the machine pulled the two men up the gradual incline. Scott directed his next comments into his microphone. "Virgil, you and Brains get ready, will you?"
"We're standing by, Scott."
The stretcher neared its goal. "You're doing it," Ned breathed. "He's going to be okay."
"Wait till Brains has checked him over," Jeff cautioned.
"Brains! Why Brains?"
"He's our resident medical specialist," Jeff told the amazed reporter.
"You're kidding!"
"No," Scott admitted. "He's not such an absent-minded scientist, huh?"
The stretcher had reached the edge of the patio. "Good work, Alan," Jeff congratulated as he reached down and helped Scott pull Joe, held rigid on the stretcher, onto the patio. Together they pulled him into the lounge.
Brains and Virgil pulled the stretcher and its unconscious occupant out of the worst of the weather before picking Joe up and carrying him to the infirmary.
Jeff and Scott returned to help Alan clamber back onto the patio.
"Your turn, Gordon," Scott announced.
"Good. I feel like I'm in a washing machine."
"Unhook the feed-line and we'll pull you in."
"F-A-B." Gordon turned to release the connection. "Hang on! I've seen this slab thing before! It's the bottom of the swimming pool!"
"It's what?" Jeff asked.
"The bottom of the swimming p…"
Gordon's last word was swept away in the whirlpool that opened up beneath him. The bottom of the pool that had been Joe's saviour sank down out of sight…
As did Gordon…
To be continued...