Part Nine

There was a vice clamped around Jeff Tracy's head and it was tightening by the moment. He could feel each excruciating turn of the screw applying more pressure to his temples until it seemed his head would burst. He managed a low groan, twisting his body in an attempt to escape the trap and frowning in surprise when his head moved freely against a soft pillow.

"Jeff? Jeff, can you hear me?"

The woman's voice was a high note above his body's symphony of pain. The urgency in it got through though. Jeff grunted and blinked his eyes open. He closed them with another low groan, agony shooting straight through his optic nerve and into his brain.

"Jeff, I need you to respond to me before I risk stronger analgesics."

The idea of painkillers sounded good right now. It was almost enough to tempt Jeff Tracy to open his eyes again. He wondered why someone was putting him through all of this, searching his memory for any hint of what he might have done to deserve it. He found something far worse than he could have imagined.

"My boys!" Jeff tried to push himself out of the bed, unbalanced as he realised his right arm was strapped in place across his chest. He squinted furiously, trying to force his eyes to focus on the white-clad doctor beside his bed. "Where are my sons?"

"Calm down, Jeff," the doctor soothed, her voice low. She raised a glass of water to his lips, encouraging him to sip as she spoke. "I need you to answer just a couple of questions for me, okay? What's your name?"

Jeff stared at the features now swimming into view through his blurred vision. He took enough water to moisten his sandpaper throat, and then pushed the glass away. "You know that. You just called me Jeff," he pointed out, dropping back onto his mattress and raising his free hand to his pounding head.

She gave him a hard look. "I could call you Henry," she offered, some of the gentleness vanishing from her voice in the face of his uncooperative attitude.

"Look, forget me. What happened to my boys?"

The doctor sighed. "Jeff, I've looked at your medical records so I know perfectly well that you know the procedure for a concussion check. I need to be sure you're all there before we talk about anything else."

Jeff glared at her. "Fine, my name's Jeff Tracy. I was born in Kansas. I'm married to Lucille, work in construction, and was shipwrecked last night by a storm that should damn well never have happened!"

The doctor nodded thoughtfully, evidently not offended by his angry tone. "And you've got one whopper of a headache, I'm guessing?" She picked up a hypodermic syringe and injected colourless liquid through a port in the IV he hadn't got around to noticing. "This should kick in within a minute or two. Just lie still, all right?" She stepped away from the bed and out of his immediate line of sight. He raised his head through a few degrees, following her to the door with his eyes.

"Fine. Great." Jeff bit off the words, short-tempered from the pain and struggling to stay on top of the stomach-churning fear. "Where are my sons?"

The doctor gave him a calm look, before turning back to whoever she was speaking to in the corridor. Jeff couldn't make out the words. He clenched his left fist in frustration. His right hand appeared to be in a plaster shell from knuckles to elbow and even the attempt to move his fingers triggered a pang of agony that burst through the rapidly descending mist of pain relief. He took a moment to breathe through the pain, looking up at the doctor with mute appeal when he could focus again.

"Try not to move your wrist, Mr Tracy. We've regenerated the bone, but it's still fragile and you dislocated it when you broke it, so there's a lot of tissue damage. You'll need the cast for a week or so. You've probably worked out by now that you also have a fairly nasty concussion, but you're past the worst of it. Just let me or one of the nurses know when you need more pain relief for the headaches."

"Doctor…?"

"Evans. Tasmin Evans."

Jeff swallowed hard, trying to work up some moisture in his mouth and throat to ease the croak in his voice. "Doctor Evans, I appreciate your help, but, so help me, if you don't tell me…"

"I've sent someone to bring Virgil down here. He's been awake for an hour or so already this morning. He's doing well, all things considered."

Jeff let out a long, exhausted sigh of relief. His memories of the shipwreck were hazy and incomplete at best, but he'd never forget the horrified expression on his young son's face when the loose boom swept him into the turbulent ocean. Everything after that dissolved into noise, chaos and churning water in his memory.

"You found him. When he went into the water, I thought…" Jeff's voice trailed off weakly and Dr Evans patted his left hand sympathetically.

"You've been worrying us more since they brought you in last night."

Jeff nodded tiredly. "They found us more quickly than I expected then. I was afraid – "

His voice cut off, his heart leaping into his throat as an orderly pushed his son into the room. Virgil was slumping in his seat, pale beneath peeling sunburn and deeply weary. The momentary terror that tightened Jeff's chest at the image of his eleven-year-old boy in a wheelchair was eased when Virgil caught sight of him and jumped up, almost toppling both chair and orderly in his haste. He flung himself at his father's bed. Jeff found himself sitting up without thought for the pain and effort it took, reaching out to help Dr Evans lift the child onto his father's mattress. Virgil threw his arms around Jeff's side, burying his face against it and shaking.

Jeff took a moment just to hold him, pressing his face into his second son's soft, wavy hair and planting a kiss on the top of his head. "Virgil," he breathed softly. "I thought I'd lost you."

"He was suffering from exposure when you were brought in," Evans volunteered. The doctor had a small, sad smile on her face as she watched the reunion, but her eyes remained deadly serious. "He's still exhausted, and on some fairly strong painkillers for his bruised ribs, but otherwise fine."

Jeff winced, remembering the force with which the boom had struck his son's chest. Virgil was lucky to get away without at least one fractured rib. Hell, they were all lucky simply to survive the storm. But that thought brought with it another, more alarming one. Something very important was missing from this picture. Virgil was still clinging silently to his father, his body trembling with emotion and his face buried in Jeff's shirt, although Jeff was almost sure his boy wasn't actually crying. It was a worrying reaction in his usually calm son. It would take a lot to upset Virgil this badly. The shipwreck in itself, and his father's concussion, would come close, but those situations were under control and even seeing Jeff awake didn't seem to be reassuring his son. Dr Evans' "all things considered" rang through his mind. Stroking Virgil's hair with his good hand, Jeff looked up at the door, willing himself to see his other boys walking through it.

He turned pleading eyes on the doctor, feeling sick to his stomach. "Scott? And Gordon? How bad…?"

She sighed, the slight air of sadness she'd carried about her revealing itself as sympathy. "There are people out looking for them now, Jeff. The police and coastguard are doing everything they can to find the lifeboat."

Jeff's eyes widened, going to the digital clock on his bedside table, and trying to make sense of the glowing red figures. "They've been adrift for fourteen hours?" he asked, horrified and clinging to calm with his fingertips. He felt Virgil flinch against him, and dropped his arm around the boy's waist to pull him in a little tighter.

Evans sighed deeply, shaking her head. "Thirty-eight," she corrected in a soft voice. "The storm wasn't last night. It was the night before."

Jeff stared at her, trying to think coherently. His body felt as if it had been pounded with a sledgehammer. His limbs ached with exhaustion, his arm was filled with fire where Virgil had knocked against it, and his headache was returning rapidly. Compared to the fierce, tearing pain in his chest, it all faded into insignificance. He heard Virgil sniffle a little and rocked his son gently, shifting his weight so he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. Evans caught him, forcing him back as easily as she might a child.

"I've got to find them!"

"The search boats left hours ago, Jeff. If there's anything to find…." She shook her head again. "There's nothing you can do. And Virgil needs you here."

His second eldest was helping to support his weight now, his pale face finally raised to look anxiously up at his father.

"You're sick, Dad," Virgil told him softly. "You need to stay in bed."

Reluctantly, Jeff allowed himself to be lowered back to his sheets, driven equally by the doctor's gentle pressure on his shoulder and the panicky glint in his son's eyes. Virgil stayed sitting, perched on the side of Jeff's bed and staring down at him with a far too weary expression for a child so young. Jeff reached out with his good hand, and Virgil took it, clinging to the reassurance. Dr Evans fussed around them, straightening the bed sheets, alternately scolding Jeff for trying to get out of bed and assuring him that she'd keep him informed.

"Lucy..." Jeff said tiredly. "Has anyone told my wife? You'll need photos of the boys..."

"She'll be on the first aircraft in," Evans told him briskly. "As soon as it's safe."

Jeff shook his head, feeling the churning acid in his stomach roil as he realised the implications. "The induction pulse," he said flatly.

"Is making life harder, yes," the doctor agreed.

"I talked to Mom," Virgil said. The boy had a dazed, lost tone to his voice. "On the phone. We had to shout. I couldn't really hear what she was saying. Al… She put Alan on and he wanted to speak to Gordy."

Jeff squeezed the hand Virgil was holding, offering his son a faint attempt at a reassuring smile. Dr Evans sighed.

"Inspector Travis of our police department has been keeping Mrs Tracy updated. And we have pictures." She reached into her pocket, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. Jeff Tracy's missing sons gazed out from the creased, photocopied page. He drew in a quick, pained breath and glanced up at Virgil's face. The boy was looking away, staring at the wall in the effort of avoiding his father's eyes.

"That's very good, Virgil," Jeff told him softly. The boy flinched, shaking his head.

"I was tired and in a rush. Inspector Travis needed to know what Scott and Gordon look like. He… he thinks they're already dead, Dad. But they're not, are they? Gordy's probably frightened, but Scott's looking after him and stopping him from being scared, and they're just waiting for us to find them."

The desperate plea in Virgil's voice hurt to hear. Virgil's eyes were locked on his now, begging his father to agree.

"I'm not going to believe they're gone until… unless I see them for myself. Your brothers are smart, resourceful, brave…" Jeff's voice trailed off. From Virgil's perspective, Scott was his fearless elder brother, but Jeff was pretty sure Gordon wasn't the only one of his missing sons who must be terrified. He wanted nothing more than to hold his eldest boy and his second youngest in his arms and tell them everything was going to be fine. He couldn't even do that for the one son within his grasp.

He tugged his hand gently out of Virgil's tight grip, and used it instead to pull the boy down next to him on the bed. Virgil resisted for a moment, but then snuggled against his father's side. Jeff was aware of the doctor moving a call button into his reach before leaving the room quietly. Ignoring her, Jeff Tracy held his son in a one-armed embrace

"Scott will look after Gordy," he agreed quietly, putting all his faith in the one thing he was sure of. "Wherever they are."

Scott Tracy was just about ready to throttle his little brother.

The chastened, frightened child who'd thought himself abandoned lasted through their meal and perhaps five minutes into their walk through the jungle. After that, the tired, whiny and impulsive six-year-old was back with a vengeance. Relieved as Scott was to see his brother's spirits recover, there were limits to what he could take.

He leaned against the nearest tree, one hand on its rough bark supporting most of his weight, and looked desperately around him for the fourth time in the last few hours.

"Gordon!"

There were an anxious few moments, Scott's blood pressure rising with each heartbeat. By the time Gordon's mop of red hair appeared around a trunk a few metres away he'd abandoned the idea of hurting his brother and had to suppress the impulse to hug him instead.

Innocent amber eyes batted at him. "What, Scotty?"

Scott crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "I've told you not to wander off, Gordon. I've explained why it's dangerous. Twice." He squatted in front of his brother, letting his pack slide off his shoulders to the ground. He could tell when his brother was playing up, he could even kind of see why. It was just that Gordon had picked an astonishingly bad time for it. "Gordy, if I could just snap my fingers and get you home, I would. Making my life harder isn't going to help."

The younger boy folded his arms in a mirror of Scott's. "I was just…"

"Just exploring, just curious. Yes, I know." Scott shook his head and stood up, angry with the excuses. "It's not safe, Gordon! If I don't know where you are I can't look after you. Do you actually want to fall into a hole, or get lost, or get eaten by snakes?"

Gordon shook his head. He tried the angelic smile that Scott knew all too well, the greenish light from the canopy above giving his face an elfin cast. "You'd find me, Scotty. You keep me safe. You're the best big brother in the whole world."

"Tell Virgil that."

Scott wanted to claw the words back the moment they left his mouth. Thoughts of the brother he'd lost had been haunting him constantly, but he'd meant to keep them inside where they couldn't hurt anyone but him. Their younger brother stared at him, suddenly sombre and with all the defiance draining from him.

"I'm sorry, Scott," he said miserably. "I don't mean to be naughty. I'm just… just really tired."

Scott sighed. "I know, Gordon," he said quietly. "So am I."

Gordon was old enough to have a fair grasp of how much trouble they were in, and young enough to forget when he was distracted. The last thing Scott had meant to do was remind him about what had happened. He squatted back down again, unrolling his tarpaulin pack to pull out their water bottle and handing it to his brother, trying not to look enviously at it.

Scott's throat was starting to ache, and his entire body was craving water, but Gordon needed it more. The younger boy took a long draught, and raised the bottle again before hesitating. Turning, he offered it to Scott instead. Scott accepted the bottle and tipped it up, letting barely enough past his closed lips to moisten the inside of his mouth. He'd drunk his fill at the stream on the beach before they'd left and he'd do the same next time he found a reasonably clear source of water. In the mean time, it made sense to limit their supplies.

He reckoned that they were lucky if they were doing a mile an hour, cutting through the jungle to reach the island's west coast, lining the volcanic peak up against the sun to keep their bearing as they did so. At first, when they'd stood on the beach and Gordon had asked where they were going, Scott had been stuck for an answer. Then he'd glanced up at the sun, rising full and fierce over the beach, and realised he did have a vague idea.

He could remember leaning over the chart their first night out, cooperating with Virgil to figure out their bearings. His closest brother had studied the map for a few minutes, a slight frown on his face, before their father asked what was wrong.

"Why are all the towns on the south-west?"

Virgil's question had seemed like a silly one to his elder brother. There were only three islands with settlements of any size in the entire archipelago. Then he'd looked more closely and realised it wasn't just Dominga and the other main islands that followed Virgil's rule. More than half of the other islets with houses and docks marked on them had the same south-west orientation. Dad had pointed out the prevailing winds and talked about storm surges from the ocean. That made sense to Scott and he'd tuned out the conversation as it turned technical – Virgil asking why people were worried about storms when Uncle Jim controlled the weather, their dad laughing at that oversimplification and explaining just how new the whole World Weather Control System really was. Scott had been more worried about getting an answer to Dad's coordinate challenge. Now though, he was both thankful for, and relying on, Virgil's observation.

From their north-east facing beach, there had been no hint of civilisation, and no prospect of rescue. Scott was pinning everything on the hope that the south-west coast of this island, whichever it was, would reveal something different.

He tucked the bottle into his pack before Gordon could ask for it back, standing and indicating briskly that Gordon should follow him.

"Stick close, Gordy. Or am I going to have to improvise a harness for you?"

Gordon threw him a look of total disgust. Their mother still pulled out a child safety harness to keep Alan nearby if they were going somewhere crowded. Gordon had managed to avoid the indignity for the last eighteen months or so, mostly by dint of an oft repeated, cross-my-heart promise to stay close, and the presence of three elder brothers with a death-grip on his hands. It was a while since he'd even been threatened with the dreaded restraints, but his behaviour today came close to warranting it.

Scott sighed as his little brother pushed past him, content to let Gordon walk ahead as long as he could see where the younger boy was. The path opened out into a small clearing ahead of them, the low-lying ferns and other shrubbery thinning. They'd been following what seemed to be an animal track, although Scott wondered a little nervously what lived on the island that made paths this kind of size. Now though, a gap in the foliage opened out to leave actual brown earth visible. Opposite them, they could see a wider path leaving the clearing a little to the right of straight-ahead. Gordon moved forward more quickly, encouraged by the brief escape from green-filtered twilight into full daylight. Scott followed, grateful for the easier going. At least he was until he saw the wire stretched at ankle height between the trees ahead.

"Gordon, stop!"

Gordon spun on the spot, his expression irritated. "What?" he demanded. "I'm not doing anything..."

Scott swooped on him, dropping the pack and picking his little brother up bodily to lift him back away from the trip wire. Gordon yelped and squirmed, and Scott dropped him quickly.

"Don't move," he warned, falling to his knees to examine the wire. He ran his finger along the fine metal thread, relieved and surprised that he'd seen it all. If it hadn't been for the sunlight glinting from it, Gordon would have walked straight into… whatever it was.

He frowned, torn between relief at the first evidence of human occupation he'd seen on the entire island and dismay at its nature. Carefully, he traced the wire with his eyes, following it through an eyelet screwed into the tree-trunk on the left and then up into the dense canopy overhead. He blanched, launching himself backwards and scrambling across the clearing to his little brother.

Startled and alarmed himself, Gordon backed quickly away.

The little boy had gone perhaps three steps across the clearing when the ground gave way beneath his feet. For a split second, the image of Gordon's shocked expression burnt itself across Scott's eyes, then he was launching himself through the air, body and instinct moving far faster than rational thought could, determined not to see another little brother fall beyond his grasp. He landed on his chest, sliding along the ground, blinded by the leaves and soil streaming down into the hole ahead of him. His head and shoulders hung down into it when he came to a rest, his arms outstretched. And hands in his, held tightly in a grip he'd never surrender, Gordon dangled three feet above the sharp metal spikes lining the pit.

The younger boy's eyes shone with fear. He was shaking, the trembling transferred through their linked hands and into Scott's body. His feet scrambled at the side of the pit, the movement doing nothing but wrenching Scott's arms and shaking more dirt into the trap below him.

"Gordon! Gordy! Stay still! I've got you, but you've got to stay still!"

Scott gasped the words breathlessly, struggling to draw air past the weight of his brother pulling down on his chest. Gordon stilled, adopting something close to the rigid terror he'd exhibited during the storm. When Scott looked down though, his brother was staring back up at him, frightened but trusting. Scott drew in a deep breath, letting the situation settle and summoning a wan smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I thought I told you not to move," he said softly.

"I'm sorry." Gordon's voice trembled. "Scott, I'm sorry! Pull me up? Please?"

"I will," Scott promised at once. "Just give me a minute." Scott's eyes were fixed over his little brother's shoulder. The spikes were dull grey steel, but there was a greenish stain around their tips that was deeply worrying. Scott's arms were aching, his back protesting the strain, but his brief attempt to bend his arms just set up a deep trembling in his biceps. Gordon's three and a half foot form was on the small side for his age, and usually his eldest brother had no problem lifting the child. From this angle though, with tired arms, a tentative palm-to-palm grip and no leverage, Scott couldn't even raise him through half an inch. He wracked his mind for a solution, speaking more to distract his little brother from his predicament than for any other reason.

"I know it's frustrating when you don't understand why someone tells you to do something, Gordon. I know it sometimes seems like we shout at you a lot, when you're just trying to have fun and make us laugh."

"I never mean to be naughty," Gordon whispered, gazing up appealingly at his elder brother.

"We understand that, Gordy. It's just that you need to think a bit more sometimes. When we tell you to do something, we're just trying to keep you safe and happy. Or keep everyone else safe, for that matter." Scott chuckled, remembering a couple of his little brother's more outrageous exploits. He tried to shuffle backwards, twitching his hips, hoping he could drag Gordon up to safety. He froze when he felt the lip of the pit begin to crumble, dirt trickling past Gordon's upturned face. Very nearly half Scott's weight was over the pit and he didn't dare move his legs for fear of disturbing the fragile balance. He swallowed hard. "Sometimes things are important, even if you don't realise it. But Gordy, we do love you. Even when we're shouting at you. You know that, don't you?"

Gordon went still, his hands twitching in Scott's. His elder brother stared down anxiously at his suddenly chalk-white face. Straining his neck, Scott tried to see past Gordon, wondering if his brother had scratched himself on one of those frightening, oil-sheened spikes, but his feet were still well clear.

"Gordy?"

The little boy frowned. "Am I going to die?" he asked calmly.

Scott couldn't help flinching. He glared down at his brother. Gordon tilted his head in a gesture that was almost a shrug.

"You used the L-word. John and I were watching the vid-screen, and Johnny said that grown-ups only use the L-word if they want to make a baby like Alan or one of them is going to die."

Scott stared at him, dumbfounded. Shaking his head disbelievingly, he made a note to have a word with his middle brother if he ever got the chance, both to find out what the boys had been watching and to warn him to mind what he said. On the one hand, given most of the melodramas on television, the precocious nine-year-old had probably made a shrewd observation. On the other, there were some ideas their younger brothers certainly weren't ready for.

"Well, John is pretty smart, but he's not always right," he told Gordon firmly. "Grown-ups love each other, and love us, in lots of different ways. Mom and Dad love all of us."

Gordon relaxed a little. "That's good." He sighed, grinning up slyly. "Besides, you're not really a grown up. Big brothers don't count."

Scott huffed out an exasperated breath. "Well, I'm glad we've got that settled."

Gordon nodded, but his voice trembled a little. "Scotty, my arms are going numb."

"Yes, Gordon. Mine are too." It was helping a little, to be honest. The first wash of pain and shock had faded, and it was getting easier to think. Scott bit his lip. "Gordy, I really want to pull you up, but I can't. If I hold really still, do you think you can climb up my arms?"

"I can't!" Gordon's eyes widened and his grip on Scott's hands tightened. "I can't, Scotty."

"You're going to have to." Scott spread his legs behind him, tilting his feet to try and find some grip with the sides of his shoes. He could feel a sharp stone pressing into his side, but he daren't move for fear of their entire support crumbling away. "Come on, Gordon, you can do this."

He didn't give his younger brother any more warning. Taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip on his Gordon's left hand until it was painful, simultaneously loosening his hold on the boy's right.

Gordon screamed, his right hand scrambling to re-establish its hold, his shoulders straining as he reached upwards. His hand fell on Scott's wrist and, instantly, Scott returned his brother's hold wrist-to-wrist. Gordon stopped kicking, his sobs tearing at Scott. Both boys breathed hard, but Scott tried to muster an encouraging smile. "That's it, Gordy. See: you're higher up already, and I've still got you. Now let's try your left hand, okay?"

Gordon's "no!" coincided with Scott loosening his grip. Gordon didn't scream this time. He sobbed quietly, straining upward with his left hand, taking a new hold on Scott's forearm and giving a louder cry of relief when he felt Scott re-establish his grasp.

"Gordy, it's okay. I'm not going to let you fall. You trust me, don't you? I need you to get your hand up over my elbow, okay? I'll keep hold of you, but I need you to move your hand now." Again, Scott relaxed his right hand, this time able to pull up a little with his left, helping Gordon's desperate reach, and able to grasp his brother very nearly at the shoulder when they made contact. Step by step, inch-by-inch, Scott helped his little brother climb up until Scott could hold him first under the shoulders, and then by the waist. The steady trickle of dust under them was getting faster and stronger as Gordon clambered over Scott's shoulders, a foot on the back of his elder brother's head giving him the push he needed. Scott could feel himself gradually slipping forwards. It seemed like an age before Scott was able to twist painfully back onto solid ground, Gordon sitting on his legs to steady them.

He lay on his back, Gordon scrambling across the ground to lay his head on his brother's chest as they both panted to catch their breath.

Scott gazed up at the blue sky, glimpsed through the opening in the canopy. Reluctantly, he dropped his eyes to the other side of the clearing, where a metal net filled with uniform, heavy concrete blocks hung poised above the trip-wire. The two boys lay in the narrow space between its impact zone and the gaping pit whose poisoned spikes reached to the sky.

Gordon had followed Scott's gaze. He huddled against his elder brother and shivered. "I guess there are people here," he said eventually.

"Yeah," Scott agreed, trying to sit up and deciding to lie still for just a moment longer. "And you know what, Gordy? I don't think they're very friendly."