PART TWELVE: THE SUMMIT*
He's halfway there.
Dev's just started waking up again, and so John stops, gets him to talk…how many fingers is he holding up, can he track the movement of John's index finger, everything they teach you to be a field medic. Everything he and his brothers learned and keep up-to-date on, for what they do.
Everything Dev knows nothing about.
Including the fact that – if John's not mistaken – International Rescue's arch-nemesis is behind what's happening here in this region of the world.
Wait.
What's that?
What's that sound?
It can't be.
It can't be!
John looks up and to the left. He sees nothing.
To the right. Still nothing.
Turns and looks behind him and…there.
It's Thunderbird One.
He wants to cry, laugh, shout, jump up and down, wave his arms. But he can't, because he'd give himself away far too much, and though Dev might not be completely tracking what's going on around him, he is leaning on John right now to keep him upright. So at the very least, no jumping up and down.
How can they have known John's here?
How did they find out?
Father's intuition?
Extrapolation based on John's theories, who he was taking leave to see and the location of his concerns?
Or are they here because others need rescuing in the aftermath of the earthquake and—
A loud explosion rocks the mountain again, and this time, John and Dev both go to their knees. Instantly the sky is filled with ash, blocking out the sun. Blocking out Thunderbird One.
That ash will force him to land. They'll never get to us. Never see us.
His heart, elated mere seconds ago, plummets.
Worse yet, the mountain hasn't stopped shaking. "Oh, my God," John breathes, clutching Dev close. There are literally only inches separating them from either side of the ridge, and they've sunk two feet into the snow, which means he truly doesn't know whether there's solid rock for those inches, or snow that'll give out if so much as a feather's placed on it.
So he hunkers down, wraps his arms even tighter around his friend, and prays. Prays that Scott gets out of there before One's too damaged to fly. Prays that nobody else in the vicinity will die because of the earthquakes and, now, the volcanic eruption. Prays that he and Dev will somehow make it.
The cold is getting to him.
Denali has stopped shaking, but he hasn't. It's all taking its toll, and he can't think of anything to do but keep pressing for the summit. Because if he and Dev are going to meet their end with ash raining down on them and making an already difficult breathing altitude nearly impossible by clogging their airways, then they're going to damn well put a stop to the Hood's cloaked transmission device before they do.
His and Dev's arms are wrapped around each other. Dev is conscious, and tracking fairly decently, John thinks. "I d-d-don't think I c-c-can get us d-d-d-down from he-h-here," John manages to get out through chattering teeth, muffled by the roar of the lava-spewing volcano the next peak over and the frozen balaclava covering his lips.
"I don't know how you got us this far," Dev replies in that clipped perfect-English accent of his.
John barks out a laugh. "Just l-lucky, I g-g-guess."
They're quiet for a moment, Dev's arms squeezing him tighter as John shivers even harder. "We must continue, John."
John raises his head and looks at him, peering through the ice crystals covering his eyelashes and the ash that's gathering around the eye openings of the balaclava.
"If there is a hidden transmitter at the top of this mountain, we must disable it." Dev reaches up and brushes the ice crystals and ash away from John's eyes. "The John Tracy I know never gives up."
At any cost, John completes IR's motto within his own mind. He nods, not sure whether he's actually doing so or if his head's just shivering harder than the rest of him. Dev's right. They hadn't come this far, survived falls and busted bones just to give up and freeze to death here so close to the top. So close to being able to put a stop to the Hood's plans.
John struggles to his feet with Dev supporting him as best he can. As they take their first step forward, he vows to himself that Dev's going to be made an International Rescue agent if they get out of this intact. Because after all this, the man deserves at least that much.
Just wait 'til he finds out what John really does for a living.
One foot in front of the other.
John first. Then Dev. John again. Dev again.
It's so slow-going, but after endless minutes they're almost there. They stop about five feet from where John's last scans told him the cloak signature was located. Dev is now standing on his own, looking all around but unable to see much further than his fingers at the end of his extended arm.
"This is bad," he says, then dissolves into a coughing fit that takes him to his knees. "Why is it…erupting?" he chokes out.
John finds the walk has warmed him enough that he's no longer trembling so violently, at least. "It's this damn signal generator here, whatever it is, I'm convinced of it," he replies, his short, shallow breaths making it easier for him to breathe. He shows Dev how to do it, how to minimize what he's intaking. Their balaclavas are keeping the larger ash particles out of their mouths and noses as they inhale, but John knows the finer particles are going to get through no matter what. Without any protective masks on-hand, there's nothing they can do about it.
Dev watches as John turns his hand-held device on, listens as it blares its warning that they're just about on top of whatever it is that's sitting here cloaked.
Then, another explosion.
And Denali moves beneath them.
Only this time, whatever's under the cloak moves, too.
Sparks shoot out from the top – and from that point, John discerns that the structure's at least twelve feet tall.
Shit.
Dev cries out and crab-scrambles backwards, barely stopping in time to keep from going over the edge. John looks at him, yells, "Stay put!" and slowly moves toward the cloaked 'thing' even as the air around them grows thicker and darker with more ash. He knows this means the volcano's erupted yet again.
He supposes it's good they're at the top of the highest peak in this mountain range, because it'll keep them from the lava flows.
On the other hand, the higher they are, the worse the air's going to be. He can barely take a breath now without it wanting to choke him. He kneels, digs down about a foot, cups clean white snow in his hand and quickly shoves it up under his balaclava and into his mouth.
Gotta keep hydrated if he's going to try what he knows he's going to try.
John Tracy, you are an idiot.
Possibly. But he can't leave this thing functioning. Not when it's become more than obvious it has to be at the root of the evils surrounding them. Courtesy of the Evil plaguing his family, he reminds himself.
John gets to his feet and walks forward with arms outstretched until his left hand hits something. A good five minutes of running his hands up and around the structure he can't see, and he realizes it's definitely a tower of some sort. He feels out four legs that go up at an angle, probably meeting in a point higher than he can reach with a satellite-type apparatus perched on top. No matter what kind of transmitter it is, John knows the ash in the air means no signal will get through to the ionosphere for the time being, which means now's a good time to strike.
There's one thing he's got in his backpack that isn't in any way, shape or form normal mountain-climbing gear. He shucks the bag from his back, unzips it and reaches deep into the bottom of it. His hand pulls out a small two-by-two silver square with nothing but a serial number to identify it's precisely what he intended to grab out of one of their store rooms on Tracy Island.
He has to take one of his gloves off, though, to activate the small device. It can't blow the tower all to hell if he can't depress the button on the box's front face and key in the activation code to arm it.
He hears hissing. He hears popping and crackling and looks up. More sparks coming from seemingly nothing high above his head. He quickly pulls his right glove off, prompting Dev to scramble forward on his hands and knees.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dev yells out at him as he comes closer. "Your hand will freeze!"
Let it freeze, John thinks, turning the explosive unit over, tapping a tiny button to bring it to life, and groaning as the whipping wind makes his fingers completely numb. "Dammit!" he puffs out, willing his hand to work. "Come on," he drones, concentrating on moving his index finger over the tiny nine-number panel.
Zero first.
Dev comes even with him.
Next, an eight.
Dev fishes John's glove out of the snow and ash covering the mountain.
A seven.
John's fingers curl in protest of freezing.
Three.
Dev leans forward, gets eyes on what John's doing.
One.
John's hand stops. His breaths are coming rapidly. Pain gives way to rigidity gives way to complete numbness.
Dev looks into his eyes for seemingly endless seconds. He looks down, pulls his own hand out of his glove. He wraps his warm palm around John's index finger. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
John swallows thickly, willing himself not to choke. Not to cough. Not to pass out. Suddenly can feel his finger again, and touches the number four on the panel.
Quickly he shoves the explosive device up against the leg of the tower he can only feel because of Dev's bare hand warming his own finger just enough to sense the hard surface. He grabs his glove, yells at Dev to put his own back on, and slides his own over his hand which he's sure must be frostbit now.
"Get back!" John hollers, shoving at Dev's chest so hard the man tumbles backward a good two feet along the slippery ridge.
John gets up and turns to run. But he just can't move fast enough.
*Summit: The highest point or part, as of a hill, a line of travel, or any object; top; apex. (Definition from www DOT dictionary DOT com.)