He was floating through the lounge at home and the room was in disarray. Furniture had been overturned and smashed. Peering into the open body of the piano, a small grey fish stared back at him before darting for cover beneath the instrument's strings. He turned, swimming through the rest of the house. As he swam down the hall the palm trees lining it fell back, creating currents that brushed against his face and hands.
Now he'd reached the storm shelter. With a deep breath he pushed the button that slid open the electric door.
His family were in there.
They hadn't stood a chance.
As he watched, Tin-Tin floated past, caught up in a deathly embrace with her father and Alan. There was Gordon. Upside-down, a big goofy smile on his face as though he'd finally achieved his dream of living under water. Grandma was still holding her knitting and the wool had wrapped around Scott, tying him to Mobile Control. Ned Cook was holding a camera, which whirred even though it had long ago run out of film.
Now his father floated into view, face down, arms outstretched. No, that wasn't right. His father had always looked to the stars in life, and in death he would continue to do so. Reaching out he took the hand that had held him when he was a child, and watched in horror as the flesh fell away, exposing brilliant white bones. They began to fall… Sparkling, shining, like tiny stars, each making a sound as they landed on the floor of the storm shelter that should have protected them all.
The bones still fell… The tinkling sound continued…
John woke up. The sound he'd heard in his dream had persisted, telling him that someone was trying to reach him. He opened communications. "Thunderbird Five."
"John?" Virgil looked and sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
John rang his hand over his face and tried to push the memory of his nightmare to the back of his mind. "I'm glad you did."
"Bad dream?"
"Yeah. I dreamt they were all dead. They'd drowned in the storm shelter."
"That's unlikely, John," Virgil reminded him. "It's watertight."
"I know, but tell my subconscious that."
Virgil looked at his brother appraisingly. "Have you been sleeping in your uniform?"
"Yeah. In my chair," John pushed his hand through his hair. "I don't want to leave the communications room in case they call."
"You'd hear them anywhere on Thunderbird Five."
"I know, but I'm happier keeping close."
Virgil made no comment about this statement. "What was the dream?"
"You don't want to know. The only good thing about it was that it made a change from the recurring one I've been having."
"Are you going to tell me about it?"
John managed a chuckle. "It's like a scene out of the 'Wizard of Oz'. The whole house is picked up by the cyclone and is taken to China."
"China? Why China?"
"I don't know. I just know that when I find them there, they're trying to talk to me and I can't understand a word they're saying."
"But you understand Chinese."
"I know some dialects, but not this one. I'm not even sure if it's Chinese they're speaking." John chuckled again. "Can you imagine Scott's frustration when he tries to order me about and I don't know what he's saying?"
Virgil laughed. "I think your subconscious is rebelling. You're sick of being the second kid."
"No," John turned thoughtful. "I'm not sick of that. I'm sick of not knowing that they're all okay."
"You and me both, John," Virgil agreed. "What do you think's happened?"
"Something's got to have happened to the antenna! Maybe the roof's leaked."
"You don't think it's something more serious?"
"I'm trying not to think that." John changed the subject. "Have you had any interesting dreams lately?"
"I'd like to say yes, but I can't even say no," Virgil admitted. "I haven't been able to sleep since we arrived in England. I've got this nagging pain in my knee. It's like something's irritating a nerve."
"Pain?" John looked at his brother in concern. "Did you knock it during the flight? You were thrown about a bit."
"Maybe. I don't remember hitting it. The weird thing is that my leg only hurts at night when I'm trying to get to sleep. I'm fine when I'm moving about during the day."
"Have you seen Brains about it?"
"No. There's no point worrying him, he's got enough to worry about as it is. Besides, usually by the time I'm up and dressed the pain's gone and I've forgotten about it." Virgil yawned. "I tried to take a nap this afternoon, but couldn't fall asleep. I'm tired enough, but I don't know if I'm not sleeping because of my leg, or if it's because my body clock's confused at suddenly finding itself on the other side of the world, or if it's because I'm worried."
"And are you worried?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Yes…"
Lady Penelope had permitted Brains to make use of her computer and he was occupying himself by trying to hack into Thunderbird Five. Parker brought him a cup of coffee and found the little scientist surrounded by cartons that had been delivered over the last two days, various pieces of electronics and a computer that looked as though a small bomb had been placed under it. "Mister Brains!"
Brains hadn't heard the butler enter. Startled, he dropped the circuit board he was holding. "Don't d-do that!" he insisted. "The static electricity in the carpet will ruin it." He retrieved the board and studied it morosely.
"'Er ladyship's computer!" Parker exclaimed. "What 'ave you done to h-it?"
"I'm improving it, P-Parker," Brains said with dignity.
"H-Improvin' h-it?" Parker looked aghast at the mess.
"Y-Yes. It was very out of d-date."
"Out of date?" Parker repeated. "She only bought it last month."
"'Last month' means last year's t-technology," Brains explained. "I'm employing next year's."
"By destroyin' h-it?"
"I can assure you, Parker, it will be b-better when I've finished with it."
"What h-are you tryin' to do h-anyway?"
"I want to access the c-computers on board of Thunderbird Five. I want to see if there's been any s-seismic activity in the area lately."
Parker wasn't slow to cotton on. "You think there might 'ave been h-an h-earthquake on the island h-and h-it's done somethin' to the shelter?"
"Th-That, unfortunately, is a possibility that I am f-f-forced to contemplate. V-Volcanic eruption is another possibility."
"Lumme."
"Or if a c-crack had opened up in the strata above the house, d-destablising the rock face and c-causing a rockfall."
"H-Is that possible?"
Brains nodded. "Tracy I-Island had sustained a lot of rain in a sh-short time." He turned back to the computer. "I hadn't had the opportunity to access the g-geological data obtained from the i-island's seismic equipment b-before the c-cyclone hit. Th-There will be backups of all the d-data, up until when the r-radio mast collapsed, in Thunderbird Five's computers. If I can access them it may g-give us a better idea of, ah, what we're up against."
"Why don't you just h-ask Mister John, to check h-it h-out 'imself?"
"John is w-worried enough as it is. I w-wouldn't w-want to add to his burden."
"No…" Parker agreed.
Brains bit the end of a screwdriver in thought. "Surely the fates couldn't be so c-cruel as to wipe out an entire family," he said to himself.
"No," Parker nodded. "Not twice h-in one person's lifetime h-anyway."
"No," Brains agreed, and then looked sharply at the butler.
Parker gave him a smile, such as a benign uncle would bestow on a favourite nephew, and turned to leave. "H-If 'er Ladyship asks, H-I'll tell 'er you're repairin' h-it."
"Thank you, er, Parker."
The model paraded up and down the elegant Persian rug. "'As you see," the woman standing proudly to one side noted, "we 'ave created a gown wheech will flow with the wearrer."
"Indeed," Lady Penelope murmured appreciatively. "What do you think, my dear?" She turned to Tin-Tin.
"What?" Tin-Tin looked at her blankly. "Oh!" She looked back at the model. "It's lovely."
"Would you per'aps prefer somethink in another coleur?"
"Shantelle is right," Lady Penelope agreed. "This is not quite your colour, Tin-Tin. What would you recommend, Shantelle?"
"Get moi the swatches, Veronique."
"Oui," Veronique, the model, opened a satchel and pulled out a selection of materials. She handed them to Shantelle who flicked through them.
"Mademoiselle would suit a bold coleur. Per'aps... orrange. An orrange as bright as the flame from a rockit?" Triumphant she held up a colour similar to that of Thunderbird Three.
Tin-Tin made an unintelligible sound.
Lady Penelope leant over and patted her on the arm. "He will be all right."
"I wasn't thinking about Father," Tin-Tin admitted.
"Neither was I."
"Oh!" Tin-Tin blushed. "I was thinking about all of them…"
Lady Penelope smiled an understanding smile before turning back. "Thank you, Shantelle. You have given Tin-Tin and myself plenty to think about. I will contact you soon."
Shantelle gave her a stiff smile in return. "Merci, Madame."
"Parker will show you out." Lady Penelope pulled on the bell-pull, as swatches and various items of clothing were packed away.
"You rang, M'Lady?"
"Yes, Parker. Mademoiselle Shantelle is leaving. Kindly help her with her bags."
"Certainly, Madam." Parker bowed and picked up some of the many cases. He carried them out to the car.
"Au revoir, Madame," Shantelle said, as she and Veronique retired from the room.
"Au revoir," Lady Penelope replied. "I will be in touch."
The doors closed behind the French ladies.
"Well, that was a complete shower, Shazza," Veronique said, when they were alone in the hall.
"Shhh, Ronnie!" 'Shantelle' hissed. "They'll hear you. We're supposed to be French, remember?"
"I remember," Veronica griped. "Which means all I get to say is 'oui', and 'non'. Hardly stimulating conversation, isn't it? 'Er Ladyship' wasn't even interested in what you were showin' her."
"Ronnie!" Sharon turned to face the model. "Lady Penelope's our ticket to the big time. It won't hurt you to forget that you're my kid sister occasionally and to pretend you're a top international model. All you need to do is smile and look beautiful. I've got the hard job, I've got to try and get inside the minds of these toffs and work out what they want that'll make them part with their not so hard earned cash."
They started when someone cleared his throat. "H-Is there h-anything else, Ladies?" Parker asked.
"Non," Veronique said.
"Non," Shantelle echoed. "Merci, Parkur."
"Merci, Madame," Parker bowed. He watched as they climbed into their car and drove away down the long, winding driveway. Then he closed the front door and retreated to the lounge where Lady Penelope was talking to Tin-Tin. "H-Excuse me, M'lady."
"Parker?"
"May H-I 'ave a word?" Parker gestured with his head to indicate that he wished to speak to her ladyship out of Tin-Tin's hearing.
"Excuse me," Lady Penelope apologised to her friend. "What is it, Parker?"
"The young ladies 'oo just left," he whispered. "H-I have reason to believe that they h-aren't what they seem."
Lady Penelope smiled. "Have you only just learnt that?"
Parker stared at her. "You knew?"
"Of course I knew. 'Shantelle's' accent is simply appalling. She knows next to no French and doesn't know any of the landmarks of her, supposedly, native Paris. Also no real designer of any stature would visit a client at their home. They would expect me to visit them."
"H-If you knew, why do you let them come 'ere?"
"I believe in supporting up and coming talent. If that means being a patron to 'Shantelle', who is obviously talented and would do well if she stopped trying to be something she's not, then I am willing to do so."
Parker shook his head, trying to make sense of this logic. "'Ow's Miss Tin-Tin?"
"Not herself, I'm afraid. How's Brains?"
"Tryin' to keep busy," Parker prevaricated.
"And Virgil?"
"Last I 'eard 'e was up in 'is room talkin' to Mister John. They was tryin' to work h-out why Tracy Island's not answerin'."
"Last you heard, Parker?" Lady Penelope raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"There was h-a bit h-of dust on the floor by the door. Me ear 'appened to rest by the key 'ole."
"Parker!" Lady Penelope was appalled.
"Yes, M'lady." Parker retired from the room.
To be continued…