Chapter Six: Back to Basics
Considering all the technologically advanced equipment that International Rescue had access to, it felt very strange to be using a twentieth century electric drill to break through the wall of rock.
Stowed in the rear of the Mole sometime in the forgotten past, the drill appeared something of an antique to Alan's eyes and when Virgil had pulled it out of the vehicle he had wondered whether being trapped in the dark for so long was starting to get to his brother. The drill belonged in a museum - not on a rescue with the Thunderbirds.
Ten minutes later and Alan was eating his words with a healthy dose of ketchup on top of them. The archaic drill was cutting through the rock like a knife through butter - albeit a knife with a great deal of force behind it. Alan's head was throbbing in time with the surging power of the machine but he refused to back down. Somewhere on the other side of the implacable stone wall, his oldest brother had fallen worryingly silent. Giving up simply wasn't an option.
As he worked, Virgil ducked back inside the broken shell of the Firefly. At first Alan thought he was simply avoiding the sharp backlash of slivers of rock but then he heard murmured voices of conversation in his headset; a light question and Virgil's deeper reply.
Alan listened distractedly as the drill continued to pummel the rock. Suddenly he felt a change in the rock in front of him and he paused. "Virgil ...!"
With a groan that shook the very foundations of the mine around him, the wall Alan had been attacking collapsed inwards. He switched the drill off quickly and held himself very still as the rumbles died away and only the light tinkling of smaller rocks and pebbles slipping through the cracks between the larger rocks could be heard.
"Great work, Alan!" Virgil's voice came through Alan's headset as his brother stuck his head out of the Firefly to see what had happened.
Alan grinned appreciatively and after leaning the drill against the side of the Firefly, he started towards the hole.
"Be careful of the rubble," Virgil warned, ducking back inside the vehicle and emerging with something clasped in his right hand. "Here - take this." Virgil handed him a flashlight, which Alan quickly activated.
"Thanks." Alan picked his way back towards the entrance of the new area, and swung the torch beam about inside, eyes straining.
"Can you see him?"
"No …" Alan continued to swing the beam about the small space, carefully covering every inch of it. However much he wanted to hurry, this wasn't the time for mistakes.
Suddenly the light hit something out of place in the forbidding darkness of the cave. "Wait – yes! Yes, he's here!"
"Okay, see if you can get him out –"
Alan didn't even wait for Virgil to finish; he ducked through the gap in the rock and was enveloped by the darkness.
It was disorientating at first. Alan blinked as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and then he swung the torch back around until it was centred on the fallen figure he'd spotted from the entrance. Taking a deep breath, Alan started moving carefully across the floor, determined not to disturb any more of the life-threatening rock. The beam danced in front of his eyes, buoyed by his movement and the darkness of the rocks felt oppressive. His vision began to narrow and as his head gave a particularly vicious pound, Alan stumbled, the torch falling from his grip.
"Steady, Alan, steady," Virgil cautioned.
"I'm okay," Alan replied quickly, raising a trembling hand to touch the back of his head. The bleeding appeared to have stopped but the wound was still sore. Combined with the claustrophobic darkness and it was enough to make anyone feel ill. "I just tripped."
Before Virgil could object, Alan continued across the uneven floor and crouched down beside Scott's motionless form.
"Scott ..." he whispered, as he played the flashlight's beam across his brother's body in an attempt to access Scott's injuries.
Even though Virgil had warned him what to expect, it was worse than he could have imagined.
A huge chunk of rock was lying across Scott's lower body, pinning his legs beneath it. Above that his upper body was twisted around so that his cheek was resting against the hard stone floor, his hands resting limply beside him.
A sick feeling worked its way up from Alan's stomach, filling his mouth with bile. He'd seen people injured before - had had his fair share of knocks, scrapes and broken bones - and he knew this was serious.
Scott was worryingly still.
"Alan?" Virgil's voice sounded in his headset, but it was smothered by the sense of urgency that was rising up inside of Alan. Scott's condition was bad - it was really bad. Alan fumbled with his gloves, ripping them off his hands with shaking fingers before feeling for a pulse in Scott's cool wrist.
It was weak and thready; Alan could barely feel it. And to make matters even worse, as Alan leant again Scott's chest, tracking his heartbeat, he realised something else.
"Oh God, Virgil – he's not breathing!"
Virgil Tracy stared at the Firefly's damaged communications array as his little brother's words echoed around his mind. Suddenly this was no longer simply a rescue of faceless people – suddenly this was personal. And for it to be Scott ... Virgil shook his head furiously.
The voices coming through the commlink and his headset hadn't ceased and they were both tinged with a similar level of controlled panic.
"Virgil, what's going on?" That was Tin-Tin - still somehow managing to maintain a level voice despite her obvious concern.
"Scott? Please, Scotty, just open your eyes!" That was Alan - and he sounded frantic.
Virgil didn't even have to think about who needed his attention most. "I'm sorry Tin-Tin, I'll have to get back to you." He turned and clamoured out of the blackened hull of what had once been the Firefly, snatching up a spare flashlight as he did so.
Quickly yet carefully, he followed Alan's route across the rubble-strewn floor. As he slipped inside he caught sight of his brothers; Alan had put his flashlight down on the floor and was bending over Scott. The light from the torch gave them an almost luminous appearance.
Virgil pushed his emotions aside and tried to concentrate on the mission. "Alan? What's his condition?" He was straining to remember what Scott himself had told him earlier.
"His legs - his legs are trapped under a piece of rock ..." Alan took a deep breath and when he spoke again, his voice was somewhat more controlled. "I can't find a pulse and he's not breathing on his own.I'm starting CPR."
Despite the severity of the situation, Virgil couldn't help being impressed by how Alan had managed to pull himself together. In the past he wouldn't have had a clue what to do and he probably would have completely panicked. Now however, Alan quickly pulled both his and his brother's helmets off before leaning over Scott. Positioning his hands carefully he alternated between pushing down on Scott's chest and breathing into his mouth.
"Any change?" Virgil asked anxiously as he hurried towards them.
Alan shook his head, gulping in a breath of his oxygen tank before transferring that clean air into Scott. He repeated the motion several more times while Virgil was forced to watch helplessly as his baby brother fought to save the life of the eldest Tracy son.
After what seemed like several hours but was probably only a few minutes, Alan's hands stilled on Scott's chest. He pressed his ear against Scott's open mouth and then snapped upright.
"He's breathing again!" Alan shouted gleefully, his voice trailing off into coughing as what little dirty air there was left in the cave infected his lungs. Virgil quickly handed him his helmet and his younger brother tugged it back on again.
"He needs oxygen –" Virgil started to say, but before he could finish his sentence, Alan had risen and scrambled out of sight. He returned moments later with an oxygen mask and fresh cylinder in his hands.
"I put a couple of spare ones in the Mole," Alan explained, as if sensing Virgil's surprise.
Virgil took the mask and slipped it carefully over Scott's head as Alan checked the connection between mask and cylinder. Once the mask was safely in place, Alan turned the oxygen tank on and both brothers pulled back, waiting.
Scott's chest continued to rise and fall gently. It was the most wonderful sight Virgil had ever seen and he felt like cheering. Instead he wrapped an arm around his little brother's shoulders. "Great work, Al. You saved his life."
Alan blew out an explosive sigh of relief, but didn't say anything. There was no need for words.
Gordon Tracy decided he liked pickaxes. There was something very rewarding about hacking wildly at the rock walls that had threatened to choke him to death.
Of course, he wasn't doing the hacking. With a dislocated shoulder it would have been like poking curiously at a gaping wound and that wasn't something Gordon was particularly interested in trying.
There was also the fact that out of the three of them, he was the least qualified to be swinging a pickaxe around. The slender Cain had been working in the mine for over ten years and the short, stocky – not to mention decidedly grumpy – Alwyn had been working as a miner for over twenty. Both had the weathered skin and bulky muscles of hard labourers and their faces were streaked with soot, dust and now a certain amount of sweat.
While they used their axes to attack the wall, Gordon worked at clearing the debris as best he could. At least his arm wasn't hurting so much now; the miners had helped him to fashion a crude sling to immobilise his shoulder and he could actually move his fingers without his arm feeling like it was going to drop off.
So far they'd broken through a surprising amount of rock. Though he knew it was slightly amusing, Gordon couldn't help admiring Cain and Alwyn's skill with their pickaxes. Despite the severity of the situation they were working in perfect tandem with one another. When one stepped forward to strike the wall, the other waited behind to fill his position once the blow fell. In this was they were able to conserve their strength and work for longer periods of time – Gordon supposed it was something they'd perfected in their years down the mine.
And those were years that he was damn well appreciative of now. Of all the people Gordon would choose to be trapped in a mine with, a pair of miners would forever be top of his list. For one thing, their knowledge of the mine's layout, even with all the changes the cave-in had caused, was just freaky. Without them Gordon would have been completely lost and would probably have dug himself in completely the wrong direction.
Of course, he might not have chosen these particular miners …
Alwyn had barely said two words to him – but both of those words had been hostile and grudging. Cain on the other hand, had hardly shut his mouth. Now Gordon could respect a clever tongue but rather than being amusing, Cain's endless questions about him, life in general, and International Rescue specifically, were making him wish for the solitude of his little rock prison.
"… Must be so exciting, flying out on all these missions in those cool ships – what are they like inside? I bet they're all completely high-tech, with loads of buttons and knobs …"
Talking incessantly was probably Cain's way of coping. The loss of his colleagues, the ever-present threat of death … it was enough to make even Gordon blanch and he'd at least experienced similar things before.
Best not to think about it, Gordon told himself firmly. Focus on the digging.And if Cain wants to talk ... he's not doing any harm. Let him talk.
Now that they had stabilised Scott's condition, Virgil allowed himself to believe that they just might all be able to get out of the mine alive.
Perhaps it was a foolish hope – particularly with Gordon still unaccounted for – but the fact that Scott was no longer in immediate danger filled Virgil with such potent relief that he felt that anything was possible.
He sat quietly besides his brother as he waited for Alan to retrieve some more equipment from the Mole. Scott was so still; he looked almost like he was sleeping. His dark hair was scattered across his face with wild abandon and Virgil carefully brushed it back as his eyes scanned those familiar features.
Scott Tracy. His big brother … and his best friend. Virgil didn't know what he would have done if they had lost Scott. To lose any of his brothers was unthinkable, but somehow, with Scott the idea was even worse. He was always the strong one, their Commander, the last man standing. To lose him ... well, it had always been a risk of International Rescue – would always continue to be one – but they'd never come quite so close to utter disaster before.
Not that Scott was completely out of danger; he wasn't by a long shot. There was still the problem of his legs to deal with, and the huge chunk of rock that was pinning them down.
Reluctantly, Virgil abandoned his position by Scott's head and moved down to where his legs were pinned. Here he found some long-awaited good news. Although it was true that Scott's legs were trapped beneath the slab of stone, the rock had fallen in such a way that it imprisoned, rather than crushed, his legs. From his cursory examination Virgil couldn't tell if Scott had avoided breaking any bones but at least this meant he and Alan could probably move the rock away without doing any permanent damage to their brother.
Heavy footsteps announced Alan's return and Virgil looked up in time to see his little brother clamouring back through the gap he'd created, pulling a backboard with him. He rose to help Alan and together they lay the board down alongside Scott.
"We've got a backboard, a neckbrace, an IV line and as much morphine as I could grab," Alan told him. "Oh, and I contacted Tin-Tin too. Let her know what was happening. She's going to have the paramedics waiting at the mine entrance. How's Scott?"
Virgil blessed his baby brother's initiative, thinking once again how mature and responsible Alan was becoming in such a time of crisis. Forward thinking had never been one of Alan's strong points, but when it mattered he had anticipated Scott's needs exactly. Looking up at him Virgil wondered at how once again he'd fallen into the family trap of underestimating Alan Tracy.
"Scott's the same," Virgil replied. "Good news is his legs seem to be the only injury and they're trapped rather than crushed."
"So do we move him now?"
"I need to get the IV in place first. And I'd probably better give him some morphine too. We don't want him waking up and screaming the whole place down." Virgil pulled the sleeve of Scott's protective suit up and sought a vein in his brother's arm.
Beside him, Alan looked up at the makeshift ceiling of Scott's little prison. "I don't think it would even take screaming. This place looks pretty precarious, Virg."
Virgil was intent on securing the IV and didn't reply. He was aware of Alan standing up and moving out of his line of sight but his older brother's medical needs were currently more pressing than his youngest brother's worry.
He slung the IV bag over his shoulder in an effort to keep it elevated and then turned his attention to the morphine. It was the work of moments to inject the dosage into his brother; basic first aid was something Virgil had had a lot of practice at in his years with International Rescue.
Behind him Alan's feet crunched against the loose rock on the floor as he moved about the small space. Virgil adjusted the position of the IV bag and then turned his attention to the rocks lying across Scott's legs.
"Alan, I could do with a hand over here."
His little brother didn't reply.
"Alan?" Virgil called again, twisting around to see that Alan was standing several feet away. Alan's back was to him and his hand was pressed against one of the rock faces.
Virgil frowned. "Alan –"
"The rock …" The words came slowly to Virgil's ears and he noticed that Alan's voice sounded strange.
"What about the rock?"
" … It's really warm …"
"Alan?" Virgil didn't like the uncertain note in Alan's voice. His little brother had never sounded like that before.
There was a pause and then Alan visibly shook himself. When he spoke again, his voice was much stronger. "Virg, I think the fire's near. The rocks are almost burning!"
Virgil swore viciously. "That's the last thing we need right now. Hasn't the damn thing been deprived of oxygen for long enough yet?"
"Apparently not," Alan replied dryly, stepping back towards Virgil and keeping one hand on the wall at all times as he did so. "We moving Scott now?"
"Yeah. If the fire's nearby it could collapse another part of the mine." Virgil edged around the bottom of the rock on Scott's legs, allowing Alan to take his previous position on the other side. "We've gotta get this off first. I don't know how heavy it is so be prepared to lift."
"FAB."
Together, he and Alan slipped their arms beneath the rock and obtained as good a grip as they could. "Just try and slide it off without it touching Scott's legs. On three. One, two, three!"
With a wrench Virgil and Alan threw their weight at the stone. It shifted a couple of inches until it was balancing precariously above Scott's vulnerable legs.
"Again!" Virgil cried. "One … two … three!"
This time they heaved the rock clear. It clattered to the ground, breaking up into a number of smaller pieces that pelted Virgil. He ignored them, intent upon Scott's legs. The material of his International Rescue uniform was ripped in several places and there was definitely a certain amount of blood. Virgil hands probed gently beneath the debris and as he had suspected, they found a significant amount of swelling in Scott's right shin, which strongly suggested he'd either fractured or broken the bone. His left leg wasn't in much better condition; it was more torn up than the right, although the injuries seemed to be more superficial than anything else. Even to Virgil's untrained eye it seemed that Scott was going to end up on crutches for a fair few weeks.
Still, he knew his brother would willingly pay the price for still being alive.
"Right, let's get him onto the backboard. I'll lift his legs, you drag him across. Be careful of his head and neck. I don't think he's got a back injury but we don't want to risk it."
Alan moved around to Scott's head, but before he prepared to lift his brother, he paused, looking back at Virgil. "Wait, don't you want to give him some morphine before we move him?"
Virgil stared at him. "I did give him some. A few minutes ago. You watched me do it, Al."
Alan was still for a moment. After a pause he said hurriedly, "Oh, yeah – you're right. I remember now. Sorry."
Virgil eyes flickered over Alan's face, hidden inside his helmet. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"Virgil, I'm fine. It's Scott you should be worrying about. And the nice char-grilled look we're gonna acquire if we don't get out of here fast!"
The kid had a point; one that Virgil couldn't deny. So instead of quizzing Alan further about his health, Virgil turned back to the more pressing matter at hand: their older brother.
"On three then. One – two – three!"
Virgil lifted Scott's legs carefully, trying his hardest not to disturb the broken bone or any of the multiple abrasions. At the same time Alan grabbed hold of Scott's upper body and dragged it across onto the backboard. Once his torso was firmly in place, Virgil lowered Scott's legs gently onto the board and set about securing the straps around his brother, all the while trying not to cause him any more discomfort. "Done," he said once the last strap was in place.
"Give me a sec." Alan lifted Scott's head and slid the neckbrace into position, fastening the straps across his brother's forehead. It was only a precaution but one that neither Virgil nor Alan was willing to forego. "Right, neckbrace is on. We're good to go."
"Right." Virgil checked that that bag of IV fluid was still slung over his shoulder and then turned back to Scott. "Let's get him out of here."
"FAB."