Here we go again! Take a deep breath, hold on to your hats and lets go!

Gordon frowned at the twelve year old. Hair stuck in every direction, Alan glowered back at him over the bowl of cereal he wasn't even pretending to eat. Gordon felt a little hurt. If it had been any of the others, Alan would have at least made the effort to poke at the soggy mess with his spoon.

"I'm not going to the store," Gordon told him.

"Didn't ask you to," Alan responded in a voice that sounded like the last rusty vocal chord of a terminal smoker.

Gordon ignored the twinge of pity that flared briefly. "I'm not allowed to go to the store."

"Not my fault."

"Scott told me not to leave you. Under any circumstances. Those include, but are not limited to; unforeseen, extenuating or mitigating."

Alan scowled. "Still not my fault."

"You understand what I'm saying to you?"

"You understand it's not my fault?"

It sounded like a bark, the rasping snap of a rabid mongrel. Gordon was grateful there was no snot so far. He was happy to live in a slime free world.

"You should have told Scott if you wanted something else for breakfast."

"You should have asked me if I wanted breakfast."

Alan stood, clothed in a thick hoodie, sweatpants and, from what Gordon could tell, two pairs of socks. It wasn't exactly shorts weather, but Gordon didn't think it was that cold.

"I'm going back to bed," Alan announced, sounding miserable and unwell and Gordon's bad mood took a guilty backseat. The kid did look like crap.

"You want some more of that cough syrup?" he asked sympathetically.

"Can I have some Tylenol?"

"That bad, huh?"

Gordon reached into the little bag Scott had dropped on his bed that morning as a wake up call. Gordon had noticed his older brothers were all dressed and ready to go and realised Scott had already been to the store while he and Alan continued to sleep. Even Virgil was awake, or as awake as he was ever going to be at this hour, sipping store brought coffee and fastening his coat. Scott had brought Gordon's attention back to the bag, telling him he could give Alan some syrup when he woke up, to dose him every four hours after that and if he was having trouble with his temperature or a headache, some Tylenol.

It was kids stuff, but Scott still made Gordon go over the guidelines before waking Alan to say goodbye. The pre-teen, bleary eyed and desperate to go back to sleep, allowed their three older brothers to hug him, took a spoonful of the cough medicine from Gordon and curled back up again.

Now, Gordon gave his brother a tablet, made sure he had a bottle of water by his bed and retreated.

Darkness surrounds him. Pulsating, rolling, it sweeps over his senses, enveloping him in velvet.

Gordon sighed as Alan's breathing evened in sleep. Best thing for the kid, if he was honest, but boring as hell for him. He'd watched as Alan had buried himself in the blankets he'd stolen from his brothers the night before, wriggling to get right in the middle of the nest he'd made himself, trapping himself in the warmth and shutting out the room and Gordon.

Peering at him now, Gordon could only see the bright shock of golden hair amid the grey covers. Alan normally liked to stretch out on his stomach as he slept, it was a sign of illness when Alan curled up under the covers like a creature hibernating from the winter. Gordon sighed, looking around the room and wondering how he was going to amuse himself.

"I never hurt anyone."

The voice that comes out of the void is quiet, but it isn't a whisper. It has no respect for the nothingness of the place, no fear of breaking the silence. It sounds deadened, as if the steady black swallows it. It comes from just behind Alan, spoken into his ear and he freezes, afraid to turn around even though he's prevented from seeing. There's a chill in the air he recognises and his heart, thumping against his ribcage, doubles its efforts.

Apparently, the decorator of the motel had thought people would have travelled to Blackwater Ridge in order to work. While the rest of the room was mismatched and of the basic variety, there was a small desk added to give the occupant a place to drop a laptop or a sheet of paper and get cracking. Gordon sat in the chair that accompanied the desk, upon which one foot rested, ignoring the magnificent view of the mountains in favour of watching Alan. Unknowingly, he bit on the nail of his left thumb.

A faint glow is spreading from behind him and almost against his will, Alan turns. Human souls, he has learned, seek the light. It doesn't illuminate his surroundings anyway. He comes face to face with the hooded stranger from before, who turns from Alan, taking the light with him. Alan remains rooted to the spot.

Alan's breathing changed, no longer even and he began to move restlessly. Gordon could hear the beginnings of the cough Virgil had predicted and he grimaced. Poor kid was going to get it bad by the sounds of things.

The man walks a short distance, stopping and lifting the lantern higher. Alan can hear something now, a creak, the sawing of a laden rope as it swings slowly. There's a taste on the cold air, one that Alan has become very familiar with and his mouth dries. As he draws in breath, frost bites into his lungs. Winter has teeth, and a taste for cruelty.

As a rule, the Tracy gene pool produced fairly healthy specimens. Naturally, childhood illnesses had come and gone – in a family of five children, what came around, went around – but the common cold and cough rarely plagued them into adulthood. One thing Gordon did know, however, was when a Tracy fell ill; he tended to do it in spectacular style. If you were going to do something, you might as well do it right. It was a family motto and it extended into every area of their lives.

The man looks over his shoulder, his face a skull bleached white by the dim light of his lantern, his eyes twin depths. His gaze bores into Alan, bold, challenging, measuring. Then he moves; lowering his arm, he is flesh once more. He steps to one side, revealing that which had drawn him. Alan screams.

Another thing that always made Gordon hate being sick, was the fact he often had the worst nightmares of his life during the illness. As another restless toss sent the bedclothes sliding, Gordon wondered if his little brother suffered the same way.

Bound wrists, curled hands. The only reminders that this was once human. Beneath them, the arms are missing muscles, the body is torn and flayed, a leg has been broken away. It rotates slowly on its rope, and Alan recognises the hood that hangs limply at the back. It mirrors the head it adorned in life, slumped forwards on that ruined chest.

Gordon stood slowly, trying to get a good look at Alan without waking him. The child had rolled onto his back, sweaty face flushed with fever. Strands of thick blond hair stuck to his face and even as Gordon watched, Alan's shut eyes tightened. The twelve year old let out his breath harshly, laying his cheek flat against the pillow now, unable to find peace.

Ice has formed within Alan. It breaks with each breath, forming over its own cracks and splintering anew. His palm tingles, blood frozen to his skin. On the outer reaches of the shallow pool of light, more figures appear. Alan calls to them, his voice shrill, looking for Tommy. Tommy, who is so like Gordon, who is so full of life, death could never be a barrier.

Gordon came to a decision. Crouching by the bed, he reached out to shake Alan's shoulder. The boy responded with a murmur, but didn't wake, so Gordon shook him again, harder this time.

"Alan?"

Alan's voice dies, swallowed by the empty shell of this prison. The figures are looking at him, some sad, some angry, all gouged. No movement, no speech. When the creature rushes Alan, it's out of nothing, so sudden it hits him before he can see what it is.

"Alan?"

With a strangled gasp, Alan opened his eyes. The breath triggered a cough, deep and bone rattling and Gordon quickly pressed the water bottle into the kid's hand. Alan seemed shocked to find him there in his room and Gordon, belatedly realising he hadn't woken Alan from a nightmare, but from a vision, backed away swiftly.

"It's all right, I'm your brother," he hastily explained.

"It was moving too fast for me to see," Virgil explained hastily. He stopped to glance at Scott. "Couldn't you have gotten a rucksack?"

"What's wrong with a duffel?" Scott asked defensively.

"Don't you think rangers would have, you know, equipment?"

"A duffel is equipment," John joined Scott's side. "If you're military."

"Stop helping me," Scott grunted. "It was all we had in the trunk. The store didn't exactly sell a range of bags along with the toothpaste and flu remedies."

"Whatever," Virgil shrugged. "As I was saying, I didn't get a look at the thing on the video clip and when I froze the frame, it was blurry from the speed it was moving at."

"Did you get anything useful?" Scott asked, still sore about the duffel jibe.

"What Shaw described to John and Gordon last night sounded a hell of a lot like it," Virgil replied, not in the least fazed. "I think we're dealing with the same thing that attacked him and his family."

"Wonderful," Scott snorted. "That's very helpful Virgil. Still no idea what it is?"

Virgil pointed at John. "That's why we have him."

"That's what I like so much about these family outings," John quipped. "It's the love."

"Shhh," Scott hushed them. "There they are. Hayley!"

Hayley exclaimed her surprise that the three Tracy boys had turned up, admitting she hadn't thought they'd actually come. She was even more surprised when she saw John.

"What did you feed Alan last night?" she laughed.

Scott smiled. "This is John. Alan's with my other brother, Gordon."

"There's more of you?" Hayley queried. "Are these two related to you as well?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Virgil told her, a soft smile playing with the corners of his mouth. "We look nothing alike."

"Are you ready?"

The voice matched its owner. Gruff and unimpressed, the man dismissed the men in favour of speaking to Hayley. Scott took the opportunity to size him up. Middle aged, he'd kept his figure. Blunt and square, shorter than Virgil, Scott nevertheless assumed he could handle himself. In fact, he reminded him of one of those documentary makers who went looking for rare snakes or poisonous spiders, thrilling in endangered species and big man eaters.

"This is Roy," Hayley introduced him quickly. "Roy, these are the men I was telling you about."

Roy spared each Tracy a single glance.

"Right," was all he said and Scott saw Virgil and John exchange glances. Roy headed off, Hayley following and Virgil brushed past his older brother.

"You're not allowed to hit him," he warned.

"Unless you can prove it's to save his life," John amended. He lifted a finger in caution. "No cheating."

Scott was beginning to realise it was going to be a long hike.

Before Alan had been born and Tracy Industries boomed out of the stratosphere, Jeff Tracy had made it his personal mission to show his sons the great American outdoors. They had camped, fished, hiked and found excuses to stay up late. The prospect of spending time with their father and without their mother insisting they wash was the highlight of their school holidays. Alan had missed a lot, although the Tracy patriarch had managed to take him occasionally. Scott guiltily remembered promising to take his littlest brother camping the next time he was on leave.

Scott wished his father had continued taking them on trips into the wilderness. It wasn't that he was lost. Scott had, after all, completed several training sessions that involved being dropped somewhere in the woods and having to rough it for the next seventy-two hours. If push came to shove, Scott could survive in the harshest of terrains and he was more than prepared to ensure his men made it out alive with him.

Virgil was moving easily through the scrub too, eyes taking in everything, face revealing nothing. He had that annoying ability to be as one with whatever surroundings he found himself in; as shown on the memorable occasion eight year old John had filled his boots with worms and insects. While their parents hadn't seemed particularly pleased, Virgil's famous calm hadn't rattled. In fact, Scott recalled, Virgil hadn't blinked an eye, not even when he'd shoved John into the pond two days later as revenge. Virgil wasn't bothered by the slightly sinister air to the woods, looking for all the world as if he'd been brought up in them.

No, the problem, Scott felt, was John. Although blessed with a willowy grace, the tall blond did take on the appearance of a startled giraffe on occasion. Gifted genius he might be, but clearly he'd spent far too much time in front of a computer or running track. Track, Scott recognised, was orderly, precise and rarely extended to the woods. If it did, John wouldn't have to worry about it for more than a couple of hours. His lack of wood lore showed, although Scott supposed he should be glad John wasn't the squeamish type. At least he wasn't going to pitch a fit if he got dirty, or found a bug. Scott made a mental note not to let John stop to study anything.

Scott wasn't the only one to have noticed John. Roy kept shooting the young Tracy derisive glances, seeming to take great pleasure in every stumble. Scott was beginning to get pissed off with the tracker. Virgil, ahead with Hayley, was either choosing to ignore it – give that man an Oscar – or he really hadn't noticed.

Scott was a leader, a commander of men and as such knew when a wise man chose to delegate. Moving quickly up, he nudged Virgil.

"Have a word," he hissed.

"He's doing that giraffe thing?"

"Oh yeah."

Leaving Hayley with Scott, Virgil dropped back.

"Dude, be cooler."

If Scott had tried it, John might have chosen to take offence. But, as Gordon had pointed out already, Obi-Wan Kentracy was on their side and Scott couldn't help but be relieved. He certainly never wanted to try going up against his brother.

"We're heading west," John answered. "I'm trying to memorise our route."

"You don't think Roy's gonna get us down again?" Virgil asked him.

"I'm being prepared."

"Oh?"

Scott could hear the laughter in John's voice as he explained himself. "I think Scott might decide we can do better without Roy."

"You make it sound like Scott's got a short fuse, John," Virgil answered, knowing their big brother could hear them.

"Don't count on staying in the same camp. All I'm saying."

Scott smiled apologetically at Hayley.

"You know why I was so surprised you turned up this morning?" she asked abruptly, apparently having missed the conversation behind her.

"Why's that?" Scott asked.

"You don't look like rangers. You're hiking in sneakers, jeans and I think that one that was just here was wearing biker boots. Have you even packed any food?"

Scott smiled. "I told you we weren't regular rangers. Excuse me."

The eldest Tracy son moved forward again, coming to walk with Roy. Scott was attempting to prove a point to his pesky younger brothers. Control was, reportedly, his middle name.

"What do you think we're gonna find?" he asked, conversationally.

"Son, I've been hunting in these woods for a long time," Roy replied, not bothering to look at him. "We're not gonna find anything we're not expecting."

"Right," Scott agreed. "And you came loaded for bear?"

Roy finally turned to look at Scott. "What of it?"

"Have Yogi or Bambi ever hunted you back?"

Roy took Scott's arm in an iron grip. "You'd better watch your step," he warned.

Scott lifted an eyebrow and without breaking eye contact, Roy stabbed his walking stick into the ground. The snap resounded in the area, bouncing off trees and coming back to haunt Scott. Roy scoffed at him, before moving wordlessly on. Scott gritted his teeth, before meeting his brother's concerned eyes.

"Bear trap," he acknowledged, damning himself for being a fool. If he wanted to get everybody off the mountain safely, he couldn't afford to get into a pissing contest with the guide. And if Virgil was right, he couldn't slip up again.

Alan stared out the window. It had taken him a long time to remember who he was, much less where he was and he knew Gordon was blaming himself for that. Alan felt bad for his brother, had even tried to explain it was probably just the throat infection making him feel lousy and not as able to recover so fast, but Gordon had squeezed his shoulder in such a way Alan suspected the red head thought he was just trying to cheer him up.

His emphatic ability was in full swing and Alan found it draining dealing with Gordon's emotions as well as his own, so he'd focused hard on that drained feeling. Tired himself after the late night and the stress of calming Alan down, Gordon had fallen asleep where he sat. Alone, Alan tried not to think of the vision and especially avoided looking at his palm. The blood wouldn't be visible, rationally he knew that, but he could see it in his minds eye and he doubted he'd be able to cope with that right now.

As always, the remnants of the vision continued to swirl in his mind, stray feelings and images. Alan allowed his eyes to wander up and down the street in search of something to distract him. He was feeling rough, but going back to bed just wasn't an option. Pressing his hot cheek against the cool pane of the window, Alan was surprised to see a familiar figure hurrying up the street.

Alan stood. With a quick glance at Gordon, he made up his mind and slipped from the room, wanting to know what Gary was doing back in town. Once in range, however, all thoughts of going back to report to his brother fled. Gary was feeling determined and Alan fed off it, gaining new strength.

"Gary!" he called. "Wait up!"

Gary stopped and turned. "Alan?"

The twelve year old reached him, smiling. "Where're you going?"

"No way," Gary spun and quickly continued. "You're not going to talk me out of it, kid."

Alan bristled at being called a child, considering Gary had only two years on him.

"Talk you out of what?" he demanded. "I could help you."

"I'm going to find Tommy. How are you going to help?"

"My dad always told me never to go someplace strange alone. How well do you know those mountains?"

Gary didn't reply immediately, but he didn't stop walking. "My whole family's on that mountain," he said eventually. "You think I'm gonna stand around waiting for them to come home?"

Whether it was the fact Alan had spent too long cooped up, guarded by overprotective brothers, or if it was simply an overflow of Gary's emotions, Alan didn't care. He didn't spend too long exploring the reasons, but reached out to stop Gary.

"I'm coming with you."

Gary stared at him, before shrugging and walking away. "Try to keep up."