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Gordon would be glad when he reached the island. Every passing second increased the tension. He waited for the shout of alarm, for someone to be sent after him, to be dragged back in disgrace, leaving Scott to his fate. But he had made it away from the ship and out into open water without incident. No one had been watching. Frankie was the only one looking towards the island. Anyone else awake would be looking at instruments and radars and Gordon was small enough to slip under both. No signal was given.
Despite knowing he had completed the first step, Gordon couldn't relax. He felt his heart in his mouth for the entire journey, something that stretched an age. There was a reason why the ship had moved as soon as Scott had launched. He only knew what he had picked up from Scott about the weapon. By the sounds of it, no one was sure on its range. They had no idea if they were safe or sitting ducks and so had fled to a safer distance. Gordon knew the closer he got, the more chance he had of being hit. He only hoped that – as with the ship's instruments – he was too small to trigger an alarm.
The sun had risen when Gordon was only halfway there, beating down as he directed the boat towards the island. He was glad he had left early; if he'd had to do the whole journey in this sort of heat then he would have never made it to the island. Common sense told him there had to be drinking water there considering there seemed to be an inhabitant, but Gordon had come prepared anyway. Still, he sipped sparingly at the water, not wanting to finish it too quickly. Whoever did live on this island had shot his brother down. Gordon wasn't planning on knocking on the door to ask for a drink.
It was a relief when the water became shallow and clear, the waves calming to a gentle ripple. Gordon cut the engine and used a small oar to propel him the last part. He had avoided being shot so far and didn't want to draw attention to himself now. When the boat slowly grounded itself on a rocky beach, he leapt out, ignoring the water lapping around his ankles. He took hold of a rope and hauled the boat further up, hiding it behind some larger rocks. It was his – their - only way off the island and he didn't intend to lose it.
When he was sure it was secure and hidden from prying eyes, Gordon hoisted his small bag onto his back. He didn't have much - what food he had been able to charm out of the chefs, water and some medical supplies. Despite his optimism telling him that Scott was alive, Gordon knew his big brother might have a scrape or two to patch up after crashing that spectacularly.
He took the gun from the top of the bag and pushed it through his belt. He wasn't sure what would be missed first - him or the weapon. He also knew there was no way he was risking Scott's life for anything. He was going to make sure that whoever was responsible for this found out what happened when you messed with a Tracy. His actions now might be more extreme than when they had been children taking on playground bullies, but Gordon knew it would prove to his brother he had grown up.
Satisfied he had everything he needed, he set off at a jog. He wanted to move fast, but knew tiring himself out wasn't going to help anyone. The beach gave way to a thick forest and he blew out a breath in annoyance. Why couldn't have someone signposted the way to his brother?
But when he took the first few steps into the trees, Gordon stopped. A small smile began to work its way over his face. It was as if someone had done just that, for on the ground by his feet was a small piece of metal. Normally, he might have overlooked it. But he was in a forest. There was only one source he could think of that would cause metal to be scattered around. Keeping his eyes peeled and moving slowly to make sure he didn't stray, Gordon began to slowly follow the pieces of Scott's plane. They got larger the further into the jungle he went and the young man knew it had been lucky some had landed so close to the beach.
But he was also aware while it might have been lucky for him, it meant that the plane must have exploded on crashing to spread out this far. And if that was the case, did that mean his optimism had been for nothing? Big brother or not, even Scott couldn't survive an explosion. Gordon forced himself not to think like that. Scott was a survivor, just like he was. After all, he had to have learnt it from somewhere. He refused to accept he could be throwing away everything just to find a corpse. Gordon obstinately clung to the thought that Scott was fine. Nothing else was an option.
Gordon let a low whistle slide past his teeth when he finally made it to the main part of the plane. A few larger pieces had survived, but they were blackened and charred. He swallowed hard, but forced his feet to continue walking. He had to get closer. His heart was screaming at him to turn around and run, but he had to know once and for all whether Scott had been in it when it had exploded.
The wreckage was still smoking and the heat made Gordon wince. Pulling his sleeve across his nose and mouth to drown out some of the acrid smoke filling his airways, he gingerly stepped over some of the debris. He had to skirt around nearly the whole thing before he could get close enough to see. As he neared, however, Gordon realised a lot of the cockpit still seemed to be in one piece. The wings might have been destroyed but this was no ordinary plane. The Air Force had designed it to give the pilot a chance, and the cockpit was made of sterner material than the rest of the plane. As he clambered over a jutting-out piece of metal, Gordon stopped suddenly. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry as he examined the cockpit. There was no body. Not even the charred remains of something that could resemble a body. It meant only one thing.
Scott hadn't been in the plane when it had exploded.
There was no sign of his brother in the cockpit or the surrounding area. There was an opening in the cockpit. It was big enough for someone to have got free, of that Gordon was sure. His gaze dropped to the ground, tracking intently as he managed to identify footprints. Scott had got out and away, coming to a stop a few feet from the wreckage. Gordon could tell he stopped there for a moment and he tried not to wince himself when he saw the smear of blood on a nearby tree. Scott had been hurt, but then tracks led away from the tree, deeper into the forest. His brother had walked away from the explosion. Not only was he alive, he was uninjured enough to move.
Gordon had been determined Scott was alive just because he couldn't face the alternative. But now it seemed it wasn't just him being optimistic. Scott really was alive, stuck on this island somewhere. Hating the fact that he was now using his brother's blood as his markers, Gordon continued tracking through the jungle. If Scott was losing this much blood, then surely he couldn't have made it far? He would have stopped somewhere to try and treat the wound, even if he didn't have any supplies with him. All Gordon had to do was continue to follow the marks and he would come across his big brother.
But somehow, he knew that it wouldn't be that easy. Scott had been gone for almost twenty-four hours now (and already Gordon was cursing at wasting a day brooding over what had happened). Gordon knew their training hadn't been that different. Scott would have attempted to signal someone if he could, even if he had to use the wreckage in order to do so. But there were no tracks leading back, only going deeper into the forest.
After following them for a while, Gordon frowned. Scott had stopped to deal with the wound and Gordon flinched when he saw the small piece of bloodied metal on the floor. He knew without having to ask how much that must have hurt! Grateful he had brought medical supplies with him, Gordon crouched to the ground to work out what had happened next. The tracks seemed to stop here.
At least, Scott's did.
Unless Gordon was mistaken, someone had approached his brother from the opposite direction to the wreckage. There were barely any prints; the man's steps had clearly been far lighter than Scott's tread in his boots. But branches were pushed back where Scott had turned to look and there was a second set of prints, however faint.
But Gordon couldn't work out what happened next. Scott hadn't walked away but he clearly wasn't still here either. An unpleasant thought entered Gordon's mind and he sprang to his feet, racing to where the branches were forced back. His hand rested on his gun as he bent to examine them. Then he looked down and swallowed. The faint prints vanished under a smooth track and Gordon knew what it meant. Scott hadn't walked away because he had been pulled. The path had been made by Scott's dragging heels, the broken branches snapping back under the assault. They added up to only one thing. Someone had taken his brother by force.
As soon as the thought registered, Gordon's hand shifted until he gripped the gun properly. Someone did live on this island and Gordon could only assume that same someone had taken Scott. Gordon knew how stubborn Scott was. He wouldn't have passed out, he would have gritted his teeth and kept walking, determined to show strength in front of a stranger. The idea that the mystery person had knocked his brother out made Gordon shudder. The prints didn't indicate Scott had even attempted to put up a fight.
Now he had located the drag marks, it was easy to follow them. This man - whoever it was - hadn't been expecting anyone to follow Scott out here. Gordon knew he had managed to slip under the radar. With no smoking wreckage signalling his arrival, no one knew he was here. He had completed his training and knew he was good in a fight. He could take this stranger. He refused to think that Scott was just as capable and was now missing.
He didn't have to follow the tracks very far before a low building came into view. It wasn't the only one - there was a sprawl of them hidden in the layout of the land. This particular part rested in a valley between two hills. Gordon had no idea it was there until he was almost on top of it. He paused as he stared down at it, wondering what on earth he had stumbled across. This was certainly no innocent individual who wanted a break from society. When he thought about the weapon, he shuddered. Whoever this was knew what he was doing and Gordon had no idea how many men were here. He could be ambushed by an untold number at any time and there was nothing he could do about it. He had to find Scott. But it was going to be much harder than he thought considering he had no idea who he was up against.
He followed the marks to one of the buildings on the outskirts of this strange settlement. The door was closed and there was a heavy bolt across the top. Gordon's fingers ghosted along it but he didn't pull. He didn't want to alert anyone to his presence before he knew where Scott was. If that man was in there with Scott, Gordon knew his brother could be killed as soon as the man heard the bolt.
He backed away, beginning to search around the edge of the building. He was looking for anything that gave a sign as to whether Scott was still in there. The place was huge and Gordon knew he didn't have time to search it all. The person who had attacked Scott was around somewhere and for all Gordon knew, so was the mystery weapon. He hoped not. If it could target both the skies and the seas, it would need a higher vantage point than the valley but Gordon wasn't leaving anything to chance.
"Where are you, Scotty?" Gordon muttered, having circled the building, finding no window to reveal what was going on inside. Eventually, he rested his back against it, grateful for the shade it offered him and ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. He had made it to the island and confirmed that Scott had survived the plane crash.
And yet he didn't seem to be any closer to finding his brother than when he had first heard the news back on the ship.
TBTBTB
Scott didn't realise he had lost consciousness until he was opening his eyes again. Just as he knew he had been sitting up the first time he had come round, he knew instantly that this time he was sprawled across the floor. His head pounded mercilessly and he tried to think what the last thing he could remember was. Thinking was painful and when nothing came to mind, he gave up and looked around instead.
He was in a completely different room from last time. It's wasn't large, but he also knew that he couldn't get to the walls. Not because of the size, but because he couldn't move more than a few feet in any direction. Manacles were locked around his wrists, each attached to a ring in the floor by a length of chain. Scott knew he would be able to stand should his legs choose to co-operate, but he wouldn't be able to take more than a step or so in either direction before being pulled up short. He wrapped the end of one chain around his foot and straightened out his leg as hard as he could. It was no surprise when he jerked rather than the chain breaking.
Deciding if he wasn't going to be breaking free, he wanted to at least stand, Scott slowly rose. A wave of dizziness made him stumble, automatically trying to put his hand out to steady himself. He lurched when only air met his hand but managed to stay upright. Once he was up, he stood still. His body protested the movement, yet Scott couldn't recall why he hurt so much. His teeth gritted as standing took its toll and he lowered himself first to a crouch, then until he was sitting. Eventually, he curled up, shivering slightly. The room was cool and he had nothing to warm himself with.
Trying to ignore the churning in his stomach, Scott let his mind drift while absently picking at the cuffs around his wrists. He didn't think they would give, but he had to try something. The room looked the same as the one Kevin had been held in and Scott would have bet anything that his image now occupied the second half of that monitor. Twisting his head, he glanced around for the cameras that he was certain were present, but couldn't see anything. All he could make out was the blank canvas of the wall. Where the ring was welded into the floor was the only thing that broke the smooth surface in the whole room and Scott sighed, kicking out at it.
For a while, he just lay there. For a reason that was beyond him, he didn't seem to have any strength. Gradually, his mind began piecing together how he had ended up here.
The Hood had returned after he had been dealing with Kevin, although what he was doing to the man, Scott had no idea. It was haunting and unnerving to hear Kevin's screams and not have a clue what the Hood was doing. There were no other sounds, no indication that the Hood was beating him or anything like that. Kevin was simply screaming. Scott had fought wildly against the straps holding him down. At one point, he had almost managed to work a wrist free. Then the Hood had come back.
Within seconds, the straps had been reinforced and Scott was slammed back against the chair harder than ever. But yet again, the Hood hadn't touched him. The last thing Scott could remember clearly after that was the Hood coming to sit in his chair in front of him and turning to look at him. Then his eyes had gone yellow and Scott couldn't remember anything after that. He had a feeling he might have been screaming as loudly as Kevin at one point, but the memory was murky. The next thing he had known for sure was when he had woken up in here a few moments ago.
With the memory returning to him, Scott found it was easier to deal with the pain his body seemed to be in. While he wasn't sure what the Hood had done, knowing at least when it had happened calmed his thoughts. As his mind settled, Scott focused on what he had been taught in training and breathed through the pain, forcing his body to stay relaxed as he slowly worked the tension and pain from it. It would have been a lot easier if his leg wasn't throbbing and pulsing at him. Scott had managed to secure a strip of fabric around it after ripping it from the bottom of his shirt, but blood was already staining it. He didn't know what else to do though. Until he got out of here, he just had to hope he didn't pass out from lack of blood.
Once he was sure that he would be able to stand without falling over, he carefully did so. He braced himself as best as he could and went back to tugging on the chains. Realistically, he knew it wasn't going to get him anywhere. After a few pulls, he knew he had more chance of breaking his wrist. That certainly wasn't going to make escaping any easier, so Scott focused on the links themselves instead. He was adamant that as long as he didn't give up, he would find a way out.
There was a burning thirst in the back of his throat and his stomach was growling at him for reasons other than pain by the time Scott felt something. To start with, he thought he had imagined it but a second tug revealed there was a slight give in two of the links, one on either arm. Scott curled up again, using his body to shield him from wherever the cameras were as he began to put pressure on the weak links. Despite his thrill at finding a potential way out, his hands were bloodied and shaking by the time he managed to get the cuffs out of the chains and he knew hours had passed. The manacles were still around his wrists, but he was no longer bound to the floor.
Scott slowly stood up, making sure his movements were controlled to avoid giving himself a head rush. He cried out as his leg took his weight, but breathed through the pain and forced himself to focus. Once he was stable, he slowly moved across to the door, not making a sound. His fingers brushed against the handle and he was not surprised to find it locked. Stepping back, Scott gritted his teeth and kicked out hard. His weight was on his bad leg and Scott thought it would collapse under him. Luckily, a second kick broke the lock and he took a moment to steady himself as he pushed the door open. The cool evening air allowed him to clear his head and he could suddenly think again. Taking a deep breath, he breathed out slowly and centred himself. He could do this.
He had to do this.
Instinct told him something was wrong about how easy the door had been to open. But he shrugged it off, certain the Hood wouldn't expect him to be able to get out of the chains. Why guard a door that the prisoner wasn't even supposed to get to? But as soon as he had taken a step away from the building, Scott knew that he couldn't leave. He had to get to Kevin. He was only out here because he had been determined to find out what had happened to the man. It didn't matter what the Hood had done to him, Scott was going to make sure that he brought his friend home.
Glancing around, Scott realised he didn't know where to look for his friend. There were a few sprawling buildings, each as likely as the next. His gaze fell on the one next to where he had just emerged from. Deciding it was a good place to start looking, Scott checked that he wasn't being watched. There was an uncomfortable feeling trickling down his spine, but the pilot put it down to the situation as a whole. He approached the building.
Looking back on that moment, Scott could have kicked himself for being so stupid. He had specifically been trained not to ignore his instincts. It was those instincts that had earned him his promotion to captain for one thing. But all Scott was thinking about was getting away from the madman with the yellow eyes and getting Kevin back to his wife. With one last look around, he stretched out his hand. The lock on his door had been easy to break, Scott was sure Kevin's would be the same.
He never found out.
As soon as his hand touched the handle, Scott was thrown backwards off his feet, his body jerking as an electrical current ran through him. It didn't last long, but by the time it passed, he could barely even sit up, let alone stand. He could feel his whole body shaking and every nerve felt as if it was on fire as he panted, desperately trying to draw a breath.
Just as he finally managed to stop his chest heaving, a pair of feet entered his vision, coming to stop either side of his head. Scott managed to force his head back to look up and saw the Hood standing over him, a smirk on his face as he looked down at the fallen pilot.
"I really thought you would have found the links quicker. Such a disappointment."
"You-" Scott didn't know what he was going to say. But his body continued to shake and this time, it was with anger.
"I thought you would have made it out of the chains in an hour. It took you two. It seems your reputation has proceeded you, Scott Tracy."
Scott glared. Kevin had clearly told the Hood more than just his name. He tried to push himself into an upright position, but his arms refused to take his weight. After crashing back down, he lay still. He didn't want to give the Hood the satisfaction of seeing him fail again. It was easier to scowl.
"What have you done to him?" he spat. He was surprised how hoarse his voice was. Was it lack of fluid or had he indeed been screaming? He worried about Kevin more than himself, though. The man had screamed as soon as Scott had first seen him on the screen. There was no telling what he would be like now after another round with the Hood.
"Preparing him," the Hood said. He began to crouch down. Scott made an effort to shift himself away, his teeth gritted against the pain. But his body refused to listen to him. When the Hood placed his palm in the centre of his forehead, Scott adamantly tried to pull away. But the Hood pressed harder and his eyes flashed.
Scott fought against the darkness with everything he could. But it was suffocating, blanketing over his mind, and he couldn't throw it off, no matter what he tried. Grunting with the effort, he tried to move one last time before the tension drained from his body and the whole world went black.