Chapter Ten

Gordon had reached the last corner now, the one at the back of the hangar furthest away from Thunderbird Two. Or at least the back of where the hangar supposedly still was, although he couldn't detect anything at all, even a disturbance in the air. Something held him back, though, from actually stepping over the boundaries marked by the green lines on his visor.

Just in case.

He was really glad he was doing this alone…he felt equal parts ridiculous and nervous. There was a weird kind of gravity to the words on the paper, said out loud, even if there hadn't been time to really do anything but learn them phonetically. But surely this couldn't work. The logical part of his brain rebelled against it.

But it had to work. If it didn't...

He cut off those thoughts. Concentrate, Tracy, You have to get this right. He laid the fourth photo-covered rock down; read the words one more time, slowly and clearly. Then he stood back and waited.

Nothing. He made himself breathe in and out, release the tightness in his chest, stay calm. The air was heavy and warm, still wet from the rain, and now that the storm had passed the ever-present songs of the cicadas and frogs had returned.

Something moved.

Gordon's heart skipped a beat. At first he thought he was imagining it, but no…there it was again! A faint, insubstantial line had appeared where there had been nothing but air. He pushed up the visor in case it was a transmitted artifact, but it was still there. He backed up a bit more; watched with mouth open in astonishment as the hangar building returned to visibility, like watching a slow fade-in on a movie screen. "Dad! John! It's working! It's working!"

John's voice came back instantly. "Gordon, we've got a situation. You have to get back to Thunderbird Two right now. As fast as you can!"

"But Johnny, I can see the building –"

"Get back to Two right now!" John shouted.

The hell…? But Gordon knew better than to argue with that tone of voice. He took off running down the side of the building toward the front and the runway. It took only a few seconds before he rounded the corner –

– And skidded to a halt, face to face with the stuff of nightmares.

"What the hell..?" he hissed out. "John…"

"We think they may be zombies, Gordon," his father cut in. "Seeking revenge on the people who murdered them."

"Zombies?"

"Well, we're not sure they're zombies, Dad," John broke in. "They might not actually—"

"Just get out of there!" Jeff shouted. "Get back to Two!"

Easier said than done. Gordon sized up the oncoming figures, which were between him and safety. If Thunderbird Two was safe from them.

It was like looking at something out of a black and white movie. They were eerily colorless, all shades of gray and white; their faces looking like they'd been smeared with pale warpaint and their eyes impenetrable dark holes. Some wore menacing looking carved animal masks, equally devoid of color. They shuffled slowly toward him, moving as though in a trance, but completely silent. He had to suppress a seriously cold shiver when he looked back toward the back of their ranks and saw how they seemed to just materialize out of nothing, first as wispy gray puffs of smoke and then slowly taking solid form as they drifted forward.

The trees were full of them.

This couldn't be happening. Gordon was sweating hard now. He backed up from the corner of the building, out of sight. Maybe if he put the bulk of the hangar between them… Could they walk through walls?

He ran back down the side of the building to the corner where he'd just been, paused, and risked a quick peek around. The rear of the hangar was clear so far. He raced down it.

As he reached the other corner a loud bang made him skid to a halt. What the hell? The sound came again, and again, growing louder each time. It was coming from the other side of the hangar.

He braced himself, then slowly put his head around the corner.

There were dozens of them now, moving ponderously down the ruined runway toward the hangar. "John," he hissed into the wristcom. "What are they doing?"

"They're all going to the front," John said slowly, the disbelief still thick in his voice. "They're banging on the doors. Trying to get in. Gordo, you gotta get our guys out of there."

More and more of the eerie gray figures joined in the slow, rhythmic banging until the noise echoed off the trees surrounding the airfield. The sound made Gordon's blood run cold.

As he watched them pass, his eyes fell on the side entrance to the hangar, two thirds of the way down the wall. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had to risk it, no matter what his orders had been. If he retreated to Two now, he might not get another chance to help his brothers.

The best defense is a good offense. Gordon took a deep breath and ran for the door.

Virgil didn't have much time left.

Scott sat with him, talking to him, but it had been many minutes since his brother had answered. His pulse was very weak now, his breathing shallow. With quiet desperation, Scott tried to prepare himself for the idea that he was very likely going to lose the man who was not only his closest brother but his best friend, here on this concrete floor in an abandoned aircraft hangar in the middle of nowhere. He would have done anything at that moment, given anything, if it could change the terrible inevitability that was staring him in the face.

Where the hell was Gordon?

"How is he?" Sam Winchester crouched down beside them, nodding at Virgil.

Scott could no longer find words. He knew the misery in his eyes would tell the other man all he needed to know.

"I'm sorry, man," Sam said, and Scott could tell from his expression that he meant it sincerely. "If there was anything—"

The first bang on the doors startled everyone, reverberating through the hangar. Even Gaat and Crowley broke off their verbal battle to look back in that direction.

The banging came again. It slowly grew louder, as if the numbers of whatever was causing it were getting larger. There was an odd, staggered rhythm to it…like dozens of metronomes, all perfectly regular in their own motions, but some of them slightly out of step with the others.

Sam looked at Dean. "Zombies," they said together.

"Zombies?" Alan said.

Scott scrubbed his fingers through his hair. "Zombies. Well, why not?"

"Look on the bright side," Sam said. "If the zombies can see the building…"

"…then the building's back where it belongs!" Alan finished. "Gordon did it!"

Scott threw caution to the winds. He lifted his wrist. "Thunderbird Two from Scott. Come in, Gordon. Do you read me?"

The side door crashed open, banging back against the wall. "Five by, Scott," Gordon said from the doorway, taking in the situation with one sweeping glance.

Oh, thank God… "Gordon! We've got to get out of here now!" Scott jumped up, drawing the Sig Sauer, eyes on Gaat and Crowley.

Gordon glanced down at Virgil, concern clear in his eyes. "He's gonna need a hoverstretcher, Scott."

"Get one from Two. Take Al with you."

"Better take me instead," Sam said. "I've been to this party before." He drew his sidearm, looked at Gordon. "We may have to shoot our way through those things. They're pretty stupid but they're persistent."

Scott spotted Virgil's shotgun, lying on the floor a few yards away. He grabbed it and handed it to Gordon. "Any tips for us while you're gone?" Scott asked.

"Aim for the head," Sam said. "Shoot them, knock off their heads with a blade…anything you can find."

Dean reached behind him and produced a Colt .45 automatic with ivory grips and a lot of engraving. "Don't waste your time with body shots," he said. "It will only piss 'em off."

He glanced at Sam, his brother nodded, and Sam and Gordon were gone. Scott turned back into the room.

The banging was nearly deafening now. Crowley was arguing with Gaat, telling him to let him out of the circle so he could help them fight. Gaat was equally insistent that if Crowley took the wards off Thunderbird One, he'd let him out. The more things changed, Scott thought, the more they stayed the same. Especially with those two. They seemed to have completely forgotten the existence of the Tracys and the Winchesters.

Bigger fish to fry right now.

"Christ, Scott." Alan said, gesturing toward the hangar doors. "Look!"

Dents were appearing in the metal. The zombies, if that's what they were, had terrifying strength…or terrifying numbers.

They were going to need all the firepower they could find. Scott hunted around for the shotgun he'd been carrying when they'd first come in, found it up against the wall. He tucked it under his arm and checked the clip on his Sig Sauer, saw Dean and Alan doing the same with their own weapons. Alan crouched down beside Tin-Tin, who was still sitting there against the wall like a doll, staring into space. "I don't know if you can hear me, honey, but it's going to be all right. We're going to get out of here."

Scott walked over to where Dean was standing, focused on the hangar doors. "Hinges are giving," Dean said. "It won't be long now."

"Somebody here order a hoverstretcher?" Scott swung around to see Gordon guiding the stretcher through the door, Sam bringing up the rear. They both looked considerably more disheveled than when they'd left.

Sam took aim at something outside the hangar and the shotgun boomed. "Let's move, people. We have to get out of here now."

Gordon guided the stretcher to Virgil and lowered it swiftly to the ground. He and Scott shifted their injured brother, very carefully, to its padded surface. Virgil didn't stir at all as they fastened the straps; Scott tried not to think about what that might mean.

"Scott," Gordon said as the stretcher raised back up to hover height. "How are we going to get Virgil to the hospital without One?"

Scott froze, staring at him.

With a tremendous boom, the right hand hangar door tore away from the concrete and crashed to the floor. The zombies were in, and there was no more time.

Gaat thundered orders to his demon henchmen and they moved toward the incoming gray horde, shotguns at the ready. The zombies were falling over each other as they poured through the gap. There were so many of them…the demons weren't going to be able to hold them for long.

Scott glanced from them to his Thunderbird, standing ready with her hatch open and her ladder down. He raised his wristcom, triggering One's systems. Her exterior lights came alive instantly, and he knew her engines had begun to spool up. "Get everyone to Two," he rapped to Gordon and Alan. "I'll get One."

"Scott, you're crazy!" Alan burst out. "You can't do that alone! I'll come with you!"

"No, Al, you have to get Tin-Tin out of here safely."

"I'll go with you," Dean bared his teeth in an unholy grin. "Always wanted to ride in a rocket."

Scott met his eyes, nodded. "Let's go."

Scott risked a quick look behind them as they ran. The zombies had overrun the demons now and were heading for Gaat and Crowley. Gaat abruptly twisted around and started running for his own transport. Crowley jumped up and down, yelling expletives after him.

Dean swiveled, running backwards for a few steps, firing at the gray figures. He and Scott were barely ahead of them now; it was like trying to outrun the incoming tide. Scott heard him yell, swung around to see one of them hanging off his arm. He shoved the shotgun in its face and pulled the trigger, and it blew apart with a high pitched shriek.

The zombies had surrounded them now in a pincer maneuver. Scott and Dean turned until they were back to back, and started firing.

"Keep moving!" Dean shouted over the creatures' piercing cries.

Through the mass, Scott saw that several of the creatures had fallen across the red-painted circle, breaking its spell. Crowley's face broke into a predatory grin and he stepped across their bodies to freedom. For a moment he and Scott locked eyes through the throng. Crowley gave a mock-salute and vanished.

Scott couldn't even take the time to process that. There was no time even to think. He knew he must be almost out of ammo, but in any case it was hand to hand combat at this point – he and Dean were kicking and shoving and tearing the zombies off them. Then Scott's back collided with something hard and he realized to his relief that it was Thunderbird One's ladder.

A sudden roar behind him made him swing around – Gaat's jet was taxiing toward them. The zombies broke and ran toward it, trying to hang on to the wings and the tail. One scrambled over the back of another and crawled up on to the jet's nose. Gaat started zig-zagging the aircraft in an attempt to shake it off. Dean stared in fascination.

"Come on!" Scott grabbed Dean's arm, shoved him up the ladder; scrambled up behind him. They wouldn't have long before the zombies remembered that Gaat's jet wasn't the only aircraft in the hangar. Something grabbed his ankle – he didn't even look, just fired the shotgun back at it. The grip fell away and then Scott was into the cockpit and closing the hatch behind him.

"Wow," Dean was saying, looking around him in awe. "This is cool, man!"

"I'll give you the tour later," Scott said. He pointed Dean at the jump seats in the rear of the cockpit. "Get yourself strapped in."

He jumped into the pilot's chair and pulled down the harness. He switched on the viewscreens. One's engine was still spooling up. Come on, baby, come on…

Scott triggered the coms. "Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One. Come in, Gordon."

"Here, Scott," Gordon's voice came back, sounding both winded and relieved.

"Is everyone safe?"

"Everyone's safe. What's happening in there?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

The green ready lights blazed on at last. The ship started to rock as the zombies grabbed hold of One's struts. "Can you do anything about that?" Dean asked.

"Yep." Scott said tightly. "I can now."

He hit the ignition and Thunderbird One's massive engine roared to life. Dean let out a whoop. On the monitors, Scott could see the zombies below, trying to climb up the struts toward One's belly. He gave the VTOL jet a blast, watching the gray figures burst into flames. "That's the way to do it!" Dean hollered. "Fry those suckers!"

One was off the ground now, hovering toward the hangar doors. "Gordon," Scott said into the coms, "We're about to blast out of here. I want you to get ready to hit this place as hard as you can. As soon as you see us come out, give it everything you've got. Clear?"

"FAB."

There was a solid sea of gray figures in front of him, jumping for his ship, trying to grab on to it. Scott couldn't risk moving too fast; one collision and it could be all over. He kept her just high enough that the zombies couldn't reach him. Just another few yards… They were throwing things at him now, he could hear them bouncing off the hull. Good luck with that, guys…

After what seemed like hours, they finally reached the open doorway and Scott punched it. Thunderbird One swooped through and out into the clearing. The missile proximity warnings instantly began to blare at him and he knew Gordon had painted the hangar and was getting ready to obliterate it. Scott hit the boosters and pointed One at the open sky above the clearing. He heard Dean yell behind him, the sound immediately choked off by the g-forces.

Then the night turned white. The sound hit a moment later, a deep rumbling roar. Scott banked One through a tight turn, riding out the buffeting of the blast's shockwaves. The hangar was exploding like a fireworks factory, huge balls of fire rocketing up into the sky. Scott hit the VTOL jet and they hovered in place, watching the place of their nightmares destroy itself.

When it was over, there was nothing left but a great big crater in the earth and a shower of flaming debris that floated slowly back down. There was nothing on the proximity scanners – the zombies seemed to be gone, the forest quiet again. When he was sure it was safe, Scott finally swung One around and headed her back toward the far end of the clearing, where Thunderbird Two sat with her tail toward them.

It occurred to him then that in the chaos, he didn't know if Belah Gaat had gotten out. It also occurred to him that he wasn't going to lose any sleep over the possibility that he hadn't.

He brought One down beside her sister ship. "Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One, is everyone all right?"

"All present and correct, Scott," Gordon came back. "Coming out with Virgil now."

"FAB, Gordon. Nice shooting."

He stripped off the harness and got the hatch open in record time, jumping most of the way to the ground. Dean came down after him almost as fast. Gordon pushed the hoverstretcher out of Two into the open, followed by most of their little band. "Sam!" Dean called out, his voice high with excitement. "You shoulda been up there, man, it was awesome!"

Scott's heart ached at how still and pale Virgil looked. Gordon had him on oxygen and was carrying a medbag. "I'll go with you, Scott," he said. "He might need intubating in flight."

And then, without warning, there was another person there – a dark haired man in a beige raincoat.

Scott whipped the Sig Sauer from his holster. "Who the hell are you and where did you come from?"

"Cas!" Dean said in obvious recognition. "What are you doing here?"

"I would have thought that would be obvious, Dean. You told me you were in trouble. You were right, Crowley left you behind – so I have come to return you to your own time period."

"He's not a demon, is he?" Alan asked worriedly.

"Oh, no," Sam assured him. "His name's Castiel. He's an angel."

Scott closed his eyes for a moment. Maybe there was still a chance, if he pinched himself hard enough, that he'd wake up and all of this would never have happened.

"I was right?" Dean said. "Oh, you mean future me was right."

"Present you, technically speaking," Castiel pointed out. "This you and Sam are from the past."

"Let's not argue about that now," Sam said hastily.

Castiel had seen Virgil now and he approached the hoverstretcher, his face somber. "This one is dying."

Scott flinched. "Not if I can help it. I have a fast ship, we can get him to the hospital in time."

Castiel looked at him. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head just a little.

Scott felt as though his heart had frozen solid and was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. "No," whispered. "It can't be. There has to be something…"

Not this, not after all they'd just been through. To lose him now…

Castiel studied him for a long moment, as though he could hear Scott's thoughts. Then he turned back to Virgil, setting his palm flat against his chest.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Scott barked.

Dean caught his arm before he could spring forward. "Scott! It's all right. Trust me."

A glow built around Castiel's hand. It grew rapidly until it was so bright that Scott and the others had to turn away, shielding their eyes. Then, abruptly, it was gone.

And then the impossible happened. Virgil slowly opened his eyes. Gone was the deathly pallor…he looked as rested as if he'd just come out of a good night's sleep. He started to say something, lifted a hand to his face and brushed aside the oxygen mask. "Hey, what's going on here?" he said. "Why's everyone looking at me like that?"

All Scott could do was stare.

"Hey," Alan said. "Where did the Winchesters go?"

Scott tore his eyes from the sight of Virgil sitting up as if nothing had ever been wrong. Alan was right, the Winchesters and their strange friend Castiel – what had Sam called him, an angel? – were suddenly nowhere to be seen. And then Tin-Tin stepped out through Thunderbird Two's open hatch, looking very confused, running her hand through her thick dark hair. "Alan…I don't understand," she said. "How did I get here?"

She stopped when she saw the occupant of the hoverstretcher. "Virgil!"

Castiel. Scott couldn't help it – he started to laugh, congratulating himself that it sounded only the tiniest bit like hysteria. "Come on, guys," he managed to splutter. "I think it's time to call Dad."

He already knew the look on his father's face was one he was going to treasure for a long, long time.