"Gordon, you need to stay here."
"I can't – I need to – Virgil, he's – he went away – he's – I'm fine – it's too hot–"
"That's because you're freaking yourself out, fish."
John inserted the IV into Gordon's hand and sighed. When he had returned to the house and helped an ailing Gordon to undress as much as necessary, he had discovered the red-head's water bottle was still full, and had rolled his eyes. A lot. Where some of the lack of self-care would have been a result of pure stress and worry over Virgil, some part of Gordon likely thought he could save some for Virgil when he found him. That he could take care of Virgil where he felt he had failed earlier. Their brother's soft heart may be buried under several layers of colourful paper and confetti complete with tripwires and the occasional clown horn, but it still beat pretty strong.
"Virgil is going to be fine. If anyone can find him, Alan, Scott, and Scott's trademarked Internal Virgil Radar Signal can."
But deep inside John had his own doubts.
"But–"
"No." John soaked a cloth with some cool water and wiped it gently over Gordon's face and chest. "You need to rest, Gordon." There were slight burns to the back of Gordon's neck where his backpack had rubbed off some of the sunscreen, but otherwise it appeared the only thing ailing the redhead – medically at least – was mild heatstroke and the remnants of a panic attack. Which would be uncomfortable but only problematic if Gordon did anything stupid like run off after Virgil.
They needed reinforcements.
No.
They needed to explain the situation to someone who would be coming home in the next day or so and had the most right to know of any of them. They had to prepare him for what he might face.
John picked up his phone, pressed his speed-dial, and took a deep breath. The phone clicked as the person on the other end answered.
-000-
Dad?
"John! How's it going on the island? I'm on my way back now. Please tell me you're not calling about Gordon flooding the pool area again." The Tracy patriarch chuckled to himself. There was no answering laughter. "John?"
Dad, are you sitting down?
"John, what's going on?"
Jeff Tracy had five boys. He had had his share of phone calls about one of them doing something naughty and another ratting them out. He had also had his share of calls about one of them doing something stupid. Calls from doctors and nurses and on one memorable occasion a security guard of a well-known car brand were not unfamiliar to him. But he had yet to receive That call. And he prayed he never would.
Dad … Virgil's gone missing.
Missing, not dead.
"When?"
A couple of hours ago.
Jeff searched his memory. There had been something earlier, on the news. A heat wave of epic proportions.
"What's the current temperature on the island?"
Ninety-five. And climbing.
"John …" There was no use in saying any more. His boys all knew the importance of getting out of the sun on days like this. He was working on installing industrial air-conditioning units for these very days, despite Gordon's insistence on giant fans.
I know, dad. I know. Scott and Alan are out searching for him now.
"Where's Gordon?"
He has mild heatstroke. He's in the sickbay – I had to sedate him so he would stop trying to get out of the bed. Another panic attack.
Jeff closed his eyes.
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in half an hour."
Okay, we'll see you – wait.
Jeff felt his heart rate, already whirring like an engine, pick up impossibly faster.
"John? What is it?"
It's Alan, he's just come back into the house. He's – Alan! What's going on?
The sound started to fade as John moved away from his watch and Jeff prayed – he prayed – that his sons were alright. There was silence for a minute before John's voice returned, rushed, but without dread or despair.
Alan says they know where Virgil might be, they need ropes, he's heading back there now. They need another person, I'm going to–
"John, you stay with Gordon. We can't go searching for two people, and heatstroke is nothing to joke about." Especially for Gordon. They both knew it.
Okay. I'll be here. We'll see you soon.
-000-
Scott saw Alan through the trees, running again, before he rounded the corner and skidded to a stop a couple of metres back from the edge of a chasm.
There were two close rock walls on either side of what was effectively a crack in the ground. They sat close together at the top where the two Tracys stood, but they moved further apart as the crack grew deeper until they opened up on a rocky shore currently being eaten up by waves. A ledge blocked most of the shore from view. It was not a sheer drop but it was close.
"Alan, what are we doing here?"
Alan shrugged, pulling the drone from his bag and fiddling with the base as he puffed.
"I used to come here a bit while you were all away. Good place to get away. It's out of sight of the house but you can still see the 'Birds flying in." He stepped back and dug the console out of his bag, scattering the rope. "I told Virgil about it last year when I broke my arm."
"Was this how you broke it?" asked Scott quickly, and raised an eyebrow when Alan looked away guiltily.
"Ah, no. No, it wasn't."
A whirring noise and the drone came to life. Alan frowned, pressed a couple of buttons on the console. The drone slowly rose into the air and then descended down into the crevice.
Once down there, the camera flicked on and off and Scott watched as the drone seemed to move as if caught in an upward breeze.
"What's wrong with it?"
"The heat's messing with the electronics, the computer keeps fritzing."
Scott heard beeping noises from the screen accompanied by a constant muttering of "Come on, come on, come on …"
He turned his back and looked up at the house. He could barely see it through the rocks and trees surrounding the house. He hoped John had gotten Gordon back okay, because this worry over all of his brothers was exhausting–
"It's him! It's Virgil!"
Scott whipped around, scanning the crevice desperately, trying to catch a glimpse of a blue helmet or blue uniform before he realised he was not meant to be looking for one of the International Rescue team – he was meant to be looking for his brother. There was no hint of skin or hair.
"Where?" He asked Alan, moving closer to the edge and already beginning to plan a map in his mind to climb down the convoluted face of rock. "I can't see him."
"There, right there!"
Scott rapidly shuffled back and peered at the screen.
The drone's camera showed a blurry figure curled up on one of the rocks slightly hidden by a ledge. Scott could not see any gushing blood, but that did not mean there was none.
"How'd he even get down there," muttered Scott as Alan slowly moved the drone down between the rock walls. He glanced between the screen and the crevice and then further out.
"Probably came in across the rocks during low tide." Alan pointed out to where the rock walls opened out slightly and the tips of rocks could be seen barely holding themselves above the rushing waves. "There's an unofficial path from the beach. It's not the safest but it's doable."
"And you've done this before?"
"Every time you lot get too hard to deal with, so yeah, a lot." Alan looked Scott in the eyes. "And no, I don't tell anyone when I do."
"You can add that to the list of things we'll be discussing later," said Scott, turning back to the crevice. "See if you can fly lower, we need to see if he's injured." He watched the drone descend further, heard a click of protest over the sound of the sea, and then the drone plummeted.
"We've lost it." They both stared at the crevice.
Scott ground his teeth for a moment, considering.
"I'm going down." He took off his backpack and began ferreting through it.
"Scott …"
"We can't get to it by sea. It'll have to be down the rocks." Scott glanced up. "And that tide's coming in real quick."
"Scott, that opening isn't that wide, it barely fit the drone."
"Well, despite Gordon saying otherwise, I haven't gotten quite that big yet," said Scott with a grunt, climbing into the harness.
"I'm smaller than you, I'll fit easier."
Scott glanced up. Alan had unpacked the pulley system from a sea rescue some time ago, where the metal had been treated to prevent degradation from the salt water. The ropes threaded through it, however, were not the ones that usually went with the pulley system.
"Where did you find these?"
Alan shrugged.
"John gave them to me, they were the only ropes we could find in the moment," he explained, hesitantly handing them over. "They're not treated though, John said they wouldn't take much weight."
"I'll be fine," said Scott. Alan shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking between the ropes and the crevice.
"I don't think this is a good idea," said Alan carefully.
"Noted," replied Scott. "But Virgil is injured and needs help."
"And you need to be the one to provide that help?"
"In these circumstances, yes," said Scott. "Gordon has heatstroke, John is looking after him, dad is away in New Zealand, and you've been running around all morning – don't think I didn't see you sprinting to get the ropes. We – Virgil and all the rest of us – can't afford you passing out on the way down."
"You can't afford me passing out at the top either."
Scott sighed.
"With this system I can lower myself down, you'll just need to keep an eye on things up here." He put a hand on Alan's shoulder and grimaced as heat leached through the t-shirt. "Alan, you need to sit down for a bit. Under the shade. That shade." He pointed at the treeline behind them. "Keep an eye on the rope, make sure it doesn't snap, and keep in touch with John up at the house." He smiled. "And wish me luck."
A sigh.
"Fine. But when you get to him, tell him he owes me a new drone."
Scott looked from Alan to the rocks and gave a grim smile.
"Somehow, I don't think the threat of having you looming over him when he wakes up will help bring him back."
"Just … bring him back. In one piece. I'll let John know we'll need a bed for Virgil," said Alan, handing over the ropes and starting to tie them to the rocks. "And remember, you don't have a helmet so try not to knock out any more of your brains, yeah?" He grinned as much as he could in the circumstances, and Scott rolled his eyes as he waited for the punchline. "You won't have any left."
"Gee thanks, sprout," replied Scott and he rigged himself up, tied the rope to one of the trees, checked everything was set up properly, and began tipping over the edge.
"Stay in the shade," he said before his head dipped below the cliff edge.
"Yes Mister Field Commander sir," came the muttered reply and Scott spared himself a small smile at the petulant tone before his entire focus moved to the rock wall in front of him. One hand on the rope to feed it into the carabiner, one on the rope that had been released, and both feet on the wall to keep himself from dragging down it.
"How far down until the squeeze?" called Alan from the top.
Scott took a breath and squeezed himself sideways through the beginning of the trench-like walls. They ran for about a metre before opening out enough for him to breathe, but it was a tight fit.
"Right about now," he grunted.
His hands were careful to keep the rope as much away from the rough surface as possible; Alan's worry had been infectious and the last thing he needed here was a fraying rope. Scott gave himself a few more inches and wiggled through the gap. The drone had not had this trouble, able to turn sideways and slip through the narrow two jutting pieces of rock. It would be faster to go this way than to climb up to the top of one of the rocks to get over it and then lower himself down from there. Less dangerous as well.
But that did not Scott from cursing the four pieces of cake he had snuck from the pantry not even a couple of hours ago. Counting out his 'Bird's supplies was a very, very boring job. And how Scott wished right now he was back at it, that one of his brothers was not stuck down a cliff side and another in the sickbay with heatstroke.
"Scott?"
"What?" he called back, as much as he could with his breath caught somewhere between his shoulders and the middle of his chest.
"Can you fit?"
Scott pushed himself through the last half-metre and did not reply out of pure spite.
"Well, that was … somewhat surprising."
"Don't be rude, sprout."
"At least Gordon no longer has any excuses for taking your biscuits?"
"That's who has been going into my biscuit jar?" Scott grumbled to himself as he sunk further and further down the rocks. "I'm going to keep going."
There was a pause from the top.
"I still think this is a bad idea."
"Again, noted. You better still be sitting in the shade." They both knew Alan was not sitting in the shade. Scott huffed quietly to himself.
"Scott, come on," came the plaintive call eventually, "we could rig up a shelter or something from where you are now and wait until the tide goes out again."
"That's a couple of hours away, Alan. It's too risky."
"I dunno, I just …" He sounded distracted and his voice kept fading in and out as if he were turning away to look at something. Or he were falling asleep.
Gordon's pale face as he collapsed flashed through Scott's mind and he swallowed.
"Alan?"
Scott lowered himself another metre, listening carefully as he did so.
"Alan?" he called, a little louder. "You okay up there?"
There was no response.
"Alan?"
Scott risked a short glance around. Even if he were to climb back up to get to Alan, there were no easy handholds at eye-level or in the surrounding area. And a quick glance below showed the shadowy outline of another younger brother currently definitely unconscious in the heat.
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose.
Any climb back to the top would waste time, and honestly, Scott was not sure the ropes could last two trips down these cliffs. They would be stuck until the tide went out enough to walk over the shoreline rocks, or else they would waste time digging through the old boxes of supplies looking for better equipment. Scott did not know whether Alan had reached John already to start looking for anything else, but at the current response rate from Alan, Scott doubted John would be receiving any communication from the youngest Tracy.
Scott would just have to keep going down. And pray the rope would hold.
The ledge sat about four metres below him. It would be a nasty drop and sudden stop if he fell, but if he swayed himself into the rock in front of him and ran his arms down it as he went…
He lowered himself another half-metre and eyed the top of the cliff. The rope stretching out before him vibrated a little and Scott heard a soft twang somewhere up above.
"Hey, Alan?"
Again, no reply.
Scott turned back to the ledge.
It would not be the first time he had uncontrollably skidded down a rock wall, not even the first time he had gone down for an incapacitated brother at the bottom. But the two experiences he had had were painful in his memory and even more painful was his father's face when he had recovered well enough to be yelled at for being reckless and impulsive. It had been a fair assessment at the time but Scott wagered his father would not have a different take on the current situation either, especially considering Scott had wilfully used these half-assed ropes.
He could move himself down while the rope was still intact, slowly as he could, so the fall would be shorter. Scott glanced up and then below again. As long as it did not jolt whatever issue the rope was currently having, he would be fine. Skidding freely without a working rope system rope and skidding freely after screwing up the rope system, it was basically the same thing.
Scott moved himself as close to the wall as he could and slowly manoeuvred the descender. He managed to lower himself, bit by bit, until the gap to the ledge had shortened to three metres, then two, then, as he stretched out a foot to test the distance. Only to jolt with the sound of a scuffle up the top of the cliff and then a sudden voice.
"Scott! Grab the rope!"
A rope came flying past his face and Scott tried to grab hold. It was no use. It swayed away from him and out of reach.
Scott looked up.
He barely registered the snapping sound above him before a frayed end of the rope came to join him.
And Scott slipped, skidded, and fell with it.
-000-
"What's wrong?" asked Gordon through a thick tongue.
The light around John's head seemed to pulse as if he were an angel. Maybe he was an angel. He was currently holding a water bottle to Gordon's lips so Gordon supposed that was a fairly angelic and goodly activity. But the line between his eyebrows got bigger as he did so and his mouth looked sad. No. Not sad. It was like that time Gordon had filled the pool filter with jelly mix.
"Scott's done something stupid," said John, taking the water bottle back, "I can feel it."
