New chapter! New chapter! A new chapter that took some heavy inspiration from WWZ! Whoo!
I have just finished a stupidly long shift and only realised I'd proofread the wrong chapter when I went to post it and saw that we're on chapter 4 not chapter 5, so uhhh go me I guess.
Hey, you wanna know something scary? By the time I post the next chapter I'll know my A-Level results. Somehow that is a scarier thought than the time I went hiking in the Blue Mountains and got lost and looked up to find a massive Huntsman spider directly above me... didn't think anything would top that experience but apparently getting my grades back is even more terrifying... so wish me luck haha. (Seriously though. Wish me luck. Please. I need it.)
Warnings: all the same as the last chapter with the addition of implied panic attacks
Scott woke to a room of dull light and soft snores. Alan was still asleep, flaked out across the bed with limbs sprawled hazardously in all directions and a pillow clutched to his chest like a teddy-bear. He was a deep sleeper – always had been – so it didn't take much effort for Scott to clamber out of bed, track down some gym clothes and head to the kitchen.
It was quiet at this time of the morning. Everyone else was still in bed, with the possible exception of Brains who was likely to still be holed up in his lab. Usually Scott revelled in the silence, which was as rare on Tracy Island as finding a dodo in downtown Chicago, but now he found it strangely unsettling. The villa seemed almost eerie, as though he were the last man left on Earth, and he found himself longing for a spot of company.
John, as ever, seemed to be permanently awake. Scott waited for the video call connect, tapping the rim of his coffee mug absently as he stared out at the ocean through the crack between the metal shutters and the ceiling. The sky was murky with cloud, grey light turning the waves a menacing navy.
"Wasn't a dream then?" he asked by way of greeting.
John blinked blearily at him in response. "There's no voices anymore," he murmured after a moment, voice rough. "They just scream. Over and over. On every goddam channel."
"Jesus, John. Just turn the radio off."
John shook his head, wincing, no doubt a symptom of the headache he was bound to be sporting. Despite being in what was arguably the safest place right now, it appeared that sleep had still evaded him. "Can't. There might be someone still out there. We're the only ones left to go pick 'em up."
That slight slur to his words was more than enough cause for concern.
"Come down. We'll put Five on auto. EOS can tell us if there's anyone who needs our help."
"Everything's on fire." John was looking at something off-screen with a trace of wonder. "The whole planet, y'know? Didn't think I'd ever see that."
Scott slid the coffee away to fix his attention on his brother. "John," he stated firmly, "come down. Remember what you told me about going into shock? Yeah, I think you might be too."
"The world needs me up here."
"We need you more."
EOS's voice crept into life, hushed but sure of herself. "He's right, you know. You should go down. I can handle things here."
John muttered something uncomplimentary, burying his face in his hands. "Alright," he replied after a moment's hesitation. "I'll come down. Give me half an hour and I'll take the Space Elevator. Don't do anything dumb while I'm out of radio range."
"What exactly are you expecting me to do?" Scott gestured to the empty kitchen around him. "I'm stuck on island. It's not as though I'm about to take One for a joyride: we're running on limited fuel reserves now."
That was another uncomfortable thought. Being on an island may be the safest place on the planet in the current circumstances but being cut off from the mainland could just as easily become a death sentence. The seas around here were choppy – air was the only way out. If they ran out of fuel, they were screwed. It wasn't as if they had a farm growing in the back garden – food supplies came from the mainland and they'd been running low before the whole world had gone to hell.
John didn't dwell on it. Scott wasn't entirely sure his brother had even registered it as a concern. The hologram projector flicked off, sending the countertop into semi-darkness until the LEDS that ran the underside of the cupboards switched on.
"Hey." Kayo announced her arrival without sneaking up on him for once. Scott shot her a grateful look and pointed to the still-hot coffee pot, leaning back in his chair as she hopped up onto the counter, nursing her mug to her chest. "Sleep well?"
"On and off."
"Alan's door is open." She took a sip of her coffee, eyebrows raised. "He okay?"
"Yeah."
She tilted her head back to lean against the cupboards. "Virgil's in Gordon's room."
"And you?"
She offered a tired grin. "Is it bad to say I've experienced worse?"
"Worse than the end of the world?"
She lifted her mug. "Touché."
People began filtering out of their rooms on and off throughout the next hour. Scott, banned from the kitchen as a culinary disaster to rival Grandma, took another shower, dumping the entire bottle of shampoo on his hair in an attempt to get rid of the stench of smoke that he imaged he could still smell snatches of, even so many hours after. He wasn't the only one. Virgil was wearing that haunted look that Scott recognised from so many times of seeing it in the mirror. He had no idea what his family had seen in the past twenty-four hours, trying to rescue people that were beyond saving, but if he'd had it bad in New York he could only imagine how awful it must have been flying directly into the thick of it.
They were all dealing with it in different ways. It seemed that reality was beginning to set in – that this wasn't a nightmare or particularly realistic video game. This was fact – humanity was on the verge of extinction and, as far as they knew, they could very well be the last people left on Earth. Personally, Scott didn't believe this for a second – the GDF were slippery bastards, but the World Council were even worse – they were bound to be squirreled away in private bunkers somewhere, leaving the rest of the world to rot.
No one heard the Space Elevator dock. John presumably had disabled the alerts, as by the time he appeared in the Den where they had all collected, he was already showered and dressed in his downtime clothes – old Harvard hoodie and worn jeans – the sort of clothes that brought comfort just by their familiarity. He wilted over the arm of a chair, curled into the corner of the patchwork sofa, socked feet tucked up under him, and, astonishingly enough, seemed to welcome physical contact when Penelope melted into his side, her hair loose and tangled, a true sign of how bad things were.
On the other end of the spectrum, Gordon, who was usually all over people like a deranged octopus, was jumpy and quiet, flinching away from touch, the complete opposite of last night's appearance. Sleep seemed to have brought him to his senses, a knock from reality banging on the door of consciousness, and he sat on a beanbag, back flush to the wall, hoodie strings tucked into the corner of his mouth. Not even Virgil was allowed close, with his offering of some fruit because dammit, Gords, you need to eat something.
Yeah, Scott was worried. He was permanently worried, but this was something catastrophic, outside of his control, and he had no idea where to even think about beginning to fix things. He let Virgil chastise him into eating a bowl of cereal – because looking after others was Virgil's way of dealing with things, giving him back a semblance of control – and took a seat on the sofa next to Penelope, her feet tucking under his thigh to keep warm as the aircon was turned up to full blast.
Kayo appeared in the entrance with Brains at her heels, the last to arrive. Grandma pulled out a chair for him, Kayo sinking onto the carpet like melting butter. An awkward silence fell. As ever, eyes fell to Scott. Not for the first time in his life, he found himself wishing he weren't the eldest. Hey, shouldn't Grandma be in charge? Just because he was the head of International Rescue. Was this even an International Rescue matter anymore? Surely it was just a case of survival.
"Alright." He leant forwards, clapping his hands to his thighs which earnt a slight giggle from Penelope, as this was an English mannerism that he'd picked up from her subconsciously a good couple of years ago. "So. Yesterday I woke up to find the world had gone to Hell, and frankly I'm still confused as to what happened. Anyone care to fill me in so that we're all on the same page?"
Kayo raised her hand. "Zombies invaded," she drawled sarcastically.
"Sorry, can we go back to the part where you said you woke up and everything was already… y'know, gone?" Apparently, Gordon hadn't lost his spark entirely. "This thing hit New York around four-AM, and you didn't notice? Like, at all?"
"Here's what we know." John ignored his younger brother in favour of flicking his wrist at the centre of the room, a series of holograms projecting from his watch to hover there. "A highly infectious disease sprung up over the past five days. The first recorded case… well, the first case that's publicly known about... was seen on the Mexican American border, and then the other case, the video that went viral, was up here, all the way in Phoenix. Suddenly it seemed to have infected people everywhere, instantly, which is unheard of, and essentially impossible, unless it was already incubating in the body and activated globally all at once, like someone pulled a trigger."
The choice of words didn't miss Scott. "You think it's manmade?"
"I don't think it's natural," John replied coolly, "but I'm not about to point fingers. There is a small chance that it's a mutated version of rabies that suddenly woke up due to a change in atmosphere, or food, or… well, there's a whole variety of factors that we'd need to rule out." He stood up to guide them through the holograms. "The term zombie is misleading. These things aren't dead. They still show brain activity, however, like in animals, it has been greatly reduced. They are no longer self-aware; they are no longer what we categorise as human. Their actions are controlled by one motivation alone – to feed."
"On us. On humans." Alan's voice was very small. He had one knee drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around it like a safety net. He bit the ragged edge of his thumbnail. "Cannibalism, right?"
John lowered his hand with a sigh. "Yes," he admitted. "They feed on human flesh. Their lifespan doesn't appear to be any longer than two weeks at the maximum, given the rate of decomposition, although presumably this will be reduced by a lack of food source."
"Unless they start to feed on one another," Virgil pointed out.
"That… is a possibility, yes. Frankly, we don't have enough data to draw any solid conclusions yet. I'm running off simulations and the observations from Five and your IR suits when you went out yesterday."
Parker cleared his throat. "Exactly how dangerous are these things?"
"Highly." John swung around to face his holograms again. "Their only instinct is to feed, which means they don't have survival instincts like animals do. This makes them unpredictable. Think about it like this – if a dog is faced with fire, it will turn away. However, if an infected is faced with fire, it will plough straight through provided that a viable food source is on the other side."
"A human," Alan muttered.
Penelope winced. "Please stop saying that."
"Sorry, I'm still caught up on the part where Scott slept through all of this." Gordon sounded vaguely incredulous, but there was a teasing glint in his eye that had been missing all morning. Scott was more than prepared to be ridiculed if it meant his brother seemed less like he'd given up already. Somehow that vacant stare was scarier than the actual apocalypse.
"How many calls were coming in?" Virgil's question was hushed but held enough power to render the room silent. Penelope drew a blanket from the back of the sofa and tucked it around her shoulders. The gentle buzz of the aircon seemed deafening.
Virgil sat forwards, hands braced against his knees. There was the look of a haunted man on his face. "Calls," he repeated quietly. "How many calls were coming in when you left Five?"
Gordon voiced the true question. "Are there any survivors out there?"
John caught Scott's gaze and hesitated. This was a glaring red flag in itself, even if Scott hadn't already heard his brother's panic over the radio for the past twenty-four hours, because John never hesitated. People's lives depended on his ability to make snap-second decisions. There was no room for doubt on rescues. But this? This wasn't a rescue. This was a clean-up. This was trying to find a way out, a new path, a survival plan, because they were in way over their heads, and none of them were used to flying in blind.
Talking of which.
"Is there anywhere left?" Scott asked, mainly looking to Kayo as she'd been the last to fly home late yesterday afternoon. "Anywhere that was prepared for this? The military had to have been given intel on this weeks ago – this kinda thing doesn't just appear out of nowhere."
"Well, what if it does?" Kayo sounded helpless. It wasn't a tone anyone had heard from her before. Scott felt distinctly unsettled by it. Kayo shrugged, rising to her feet, and pacing in the short space between the hologram projector and the door. "John has eyes and ears on every part of the planet at all times. EOS is constantly monitoring almost all radio frequencies. I'm literally the head of security for a reason. Penelope has international connections. Yet none of us heard anything."
"Eddie Walters knew," Scott muttered.
John perked up at the familiar name. "Eddie Walters as in Edward Walters Jr, from the board?" He drummed his fingers against his knees, considering. "He's got friends in the GDF, hasn't he?"
"So have we," Kayo pointed out.
"We're not directly funding their space budget though, are we?" John stepped up to the hologram projector, considering. His eyes were glowing again as his contacts displayed a wealth of information that remained unknown to the rest of the room. "As for the question of whether anywhere survived…"
He enlarged the map. The carpet turned blue in the fierce glow. A familiar coastline stood illuminated, alongside several other cut-outs from the world map.
"Here, in Russia. Israel. Singapore. There's been no reports come out of North Korea, but that doesn't necessarily mean they haven't had an outbreak. New Zealand went dark about eighteen hours ago, but I'm still registering massive energy signals, which suggests either power plants have been overrun and damaged, or someone's still down there trying to fight back and keep this thing contained on the South Island."
"New Zealand's practically on our doorstep," Gordon murmured. "If we wanted to double-check if anywhere's still standing, then we may as well try there first." He slouched back in his beanbag, still worrying the drawstring of his hoodie. "We could pick up supplies along the way."
John made a small sound of disagreement. "I don't think New Zealand's your best bet." He shrunk into his hoodie a little, evidently reluctant to voice his opinion, but faced with no other option. "Honestly, Israel's probably the most likely to still be standing."
Kayo dropped back into a chair with a hiss. "Of course." She lifted her head from her hands. "Israel shut their borders six weeks ago. I presumed it was over trading disputes and immigration… that's what all GDF intel suggested, anyway." She chuckled darkly. "Never trust the guys with the guns. I should have paid closer attention."
"How the 'ell did Israel know to close their borders that long ago?" Parker had that dark cloud of suspicion in his eyes that normally wound up with someone bloodied and trussed up in the trunk of a car. Now was not the time to be assigning blame, or to be mistrusting entire countries. If the world was going to make it through this, then they needed to come together. Unfortunately, Scott was painfully aware that John hadn't even hinted at any signs of the World Council. It seemed impossible that the entirety of the world's leaders had vanished into anonymity, but with no leads he didn't see any hope of tracking them down.
Alan curled in on himself a little more. From the worried look Virgil shot him, Scott wasn't the only one who had noticed. They needed clear goals – something to keep their minds occupied.
"We need a list of everything required to live on-island for six months."
"Six months' worth of supplies for this many people?" Gordon wasn't the only one who sounded incredulous, but he was the only person to voice it. "What, are you taking Two or something?"
Virgil winced. It was a small, carefully hidden gesture, but Scott caught it all the same.
"No," he replied cautiously, keeping an eye out for any further clues. With the exception of Alan, everyone seemed reluctant to tell him anything. It seemed more like he'd missed out on a year of information rather than a mere twenty-four hours.
"How else are you planning to transport enough supplies and fuel for six months of isolation?" Gordon sounded genuinely curious, but the question still grated.
Scott tried to bite back the snap to his tone. "I'll figure something out. We've got more than enough equipment here to find a solution."
Brains, who usually would leap at the chance to work a problem, didn't say a word. He sat stone-still, staring at his hands as though he weren't truly present in the room. He didn't appear to have reacted to any of the conversation.
"John, you still haven't answered the question." Scott had been hoping Virgil had forgotten about this line of enquiry, but clearly not. "Are we still receiving calls?"
John had been reaching his limit slowly, but in that instant he appeared to snap. He sent the hologram projector flying off the table, plastic casing shattering against the wall, metal innards spilling across the carpet. Penelope squeaked. Alan flinched. Virgil swallowed and couldn't look anyone in the eye.
"No," John ground out, keeping his voice forcibly level. "We are not receiving calls. Not anymore. Would you like to know why? Because for the past sixteen hours, with the exception of Scott and Kayo, the only thing I've heard over the radio is screaming, and crying, and people begging when they've already begun to turn, and then all of that died away too, and all that's left is this goddam silence and the occasional howl when one of those things comes in range of anything that's still transmitting. So if you feel like going up to Five and listening on the off-chance that someone calls in an SOS, then feel free Virgil, but I'm done. Alright? I'm just…" He braced himself against the doorframe for a moment, breathing heavily. "I'm done." His voice cracked.
Penelope slipped from the sofa to lay a hand on his arm, but he shrugged her off and disappeared into the hallway, letting the door slam shut behind him.
The silence was painful. It grated. In the absence of voices, Scott could hear the sirens and screams and distant explosions ringing in his ears again. He closed his eyes as the carpet in front of him blurred into an ash-smothered road, bloodied tarmac where the remains of the hologram projector should have been. He dug his nails into his jeans. The sensation felt distant.
"I'll go after John," Grandma said after a moment. The steady tread of feet turned to a dull thud as she moved from the carpeted room to the floorboards in the hallway.
The sofa squeaked as Penelope shifted. Scott tried not to flinch as she reached for his wrist, turning his hand over to entwine their fingers. He opened his eyes to catch her small nod. He looked down to their joined hands – his nails were bleeding where he'd torn open fragile cuts against harsh denim.
Virgil surged to his feet and stormed out. There was a part of Scott that was desperate to go after him, to make sure he was okay, but he couldn't bring himself to move from the sofa. Still pressed against the wall, Gordon's expression suggested that he felt the same way. In the end, it was Brains who stood up, movements slow and robotic, gathered the remains of the projector into his arms, and set out after Virgil. This was probably a good thing – Scott doubted there was anyone else Virgil would be willing to open up to right now.
Parker cleared his throat. "So then, Mister Tracy." He swallowed. His voice was gruff from lack of sleep. "What are we going ta do?"
It had been a very long time since Parker had addressed him as such. Scott tried not to focus on that, on the connotations that it carried – the implication that Parker was looking to him as a superior – as a commander. Being the commander of International Rescue was one thing, but this? This was military grade, possibly beyond that. Scott hadn't been a military commander in years. The role fit like a poorly made coat. If he were completely honest with himself, he didn't want anything to do with this. He wanted to grab his family and get the heck outta dodge. Christ. He'd better avoid looking in the mirror for a few days – he undoubtedly wouldn't like what he'd find.
Kayo met his gaze across the room. Her feet were drawn up onto the chair, arms wrapped around her middle in a protective embrace. She was scared. Fear and Kayo didn't go together in the same sentence, not ever. This was… There weren't the words. Every time Scott thought he was coming to terms with the situation, something new would hit him.
"I want a list of everything we need. Gordon, Parker, you're in charge of handling that. Include fuel requirements, factoring in possible callouts – on the off-chance that we get an SOS, I want to be able to answer it. Penny, if John's up for it then I want you two to go through all the data we have and try to get a hold of the GDF. Kayo, security. We don't know if these things can swim. I want us locked down. Block off the beaches, I don't care, just don't give them the slightest chance to take us by surprise. If you want explosives to blow them sky-high if they trigger a sensor, let me know. I can get you the supplies."
"Since when do we have explosives?" Gordon asked, faintly awed.
"Dude." Kayo's eyes were gleaming. "You've seen Brains's lab, right? We could probably make a bomb to level Washington if we wanted."
"Okay, that's…" Gordon leant forwards a little. He looked less like a cornered animal. "I don't know if that's cool or concerning."
"It's both," Penelope said. Scott realised that she was still holding his hand and almost jumped out of his seat.
"So, um…" He walked backwards towards the door. Parker raised a brow, slightly amused. "I'm gonna go. And check on John. Yes. Um. Good meeting. Right."
Alan caught him halfway up the stairs to the roundhouse. It was the only place where the windows weren't shuttered as its location made it virtually impossible to access from the outside unless you had gained the ability to scale cliffs or were attacking from above. If Scott knew his brother like he thought he did, then this was where John had scurried off to. Alan had either had the same idea or had just followed him. As Alan hadn't said anything since falling into step beside him, Scott was left to assume that both options were equally likely.
John was on the windowsill, back pressed to the one of concrete pillars, knees drawn up high enough to rest his arms on top. There was a blanket fallen across his lap which was proof that Grandma had been here and had been sent away again. Scott paused in the doorway, unsure of whether to knock. John was staring out to sea, but clearly wasn't actually watching any waves. Whatever he was seeing, it wasn't anything pleasant.
Alan slipped past Scott, steps light and barely audible. The whir of the aircon was louder. A potted fern rustled in the breeze from the vent. In the distance, the sea was crashing against the cliffs, a steady thunder. Alan didn't say anything, just hopped up onto the windowsill. After a moment, John passed him a corner of the blanket. Alan offered a half-smile and tugged it close.
"Alan's not speaking again. It started halfway through the meeting."
Scott narrowly caught himself from swinging around and decking the person who had deemed it wise to sneak up on him. The familiar voice registered in his brain and stopped his fist before he consciously recognised it. He stepped out into the corridor so that neither of his brothers could overhear and lowered his voice to a hiss.
"Don't do that."
Grandma observed him with a knowing light in her eyes. "Scott," she said gently, then fell silent again, searching for the words. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "How are you doing?"
He lifted his hands and inspected the scrapes across his knuckles. "I'm alive. I'd say I'm doing better than approximately ninety-five-percent of the population." Grandma studied him. He ducked his head. "Can we talk about something else? Like, literally anything?" His chest felt tight when he tried to take a deep breath. He pushed past her to lean against the wall. "Alan's nonverbal again, yeah, I noticed." He swallowed and tipped his head back to study the ceiling, anything to avoid meeting Grandma's gaze. "It's a trauma response. He should never have gone out yesterday. Who signed off on that?"
Grandma narrowed her eyes. "Are you really looking for someone to blame?" Her voice was chastising.
No, he wasn't looking for someone to blame, because the reality was that Three hadn't been launched yesterday, but One had, and Alan was One's backup pilot. The only reason Alan had been sent out was because Scott hadn't been here, because of a goddam board meeting. As if stocks mattered now. He clawed a hand through his hair and breathed, one, two, three. He could still hear snarling. The ringing in his ears sounded oddly like sirens. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw swirling spots.
"Hey. Look at me, kiddo." Grandma prised his hands away from his face. "You need to take a break."
"I just took a break. The entire night, in fact."
"Scott."
"What?"
Grandma shook her head. Normally she wouldn't tolerate him snapping at her. Then again, normally he wouldn't be trying to fend off a breakdown during the end of the world, so she was prepared to cut him some slack. Scott hoped she knew how much he appreciated that; how much he also appreciated the fact she didn't treat him softly, like a wounded animal who needed to be coaxed to accept love and support, because if she had done so, he'd probably have shattered right there and then. The only way he was getting through this was by pretending he was fine until he convinced his own mind that he actually was. It took time and it wasn't healthy, but he had too many people relying on him to book himself for therapy session – having said that, his therapist was probably dead anyway, so it wasn't like he had that choice to begin with.
Grandma cast a look back towards the door to the roundhouse observatory. Soft murmurings – John, not Alan – were just audible. Grandma straightened, held her head high, and summoned all the formidable courage that had carried her through all the struggles life had thrown at her. There was a reason Scott had idolised her growing up.
"You need to change those bandages," she said finally, stepping away. "And for my sake, no, don't sigh, just listen for once – I know you're going to fly out to Israel. Take someone with you." She gave a wry smile. "I know you'll refuse to take me. I also know that you won't take one of your brothers. Take Kayo or Parker."
"Penelope needs Parker. The family needs Kayo."
"The family also needs you, but you're still going."
Scott winced. It was a fair enough point, but it was still a low blow. "I'll talk to Parker," he muttered.
Grandma beamed at him. Apparently winning an argument was still just as satisfying even when you were in the middle of the apocalypse.
"Excellent," she chirped, patted his cheek, and set off back along the corridor.
Scott remained pressed against the wall, feeling the faint nicks in the paint from past nerf wars and general brotherly mishaps over a decade of life on the island. He closed his eyes and exhaled until his lungs ached.
His watch buzzed. He accepted it without checking the caller's identity.
"Scotty," Gordon said, voice slightly strained like when a rescue had gone sideways and none of them were willing to admit defeat. "Can you come down to the kitchen?"
"Give me a minute and I'll be right with you. What's up?"
Gordon hesitated. "Nothing much. We've just… EOS sent us the latest scan of the ocean. We may have a situation."
Fuck.
"I'm on my way."
Gordon blinked slowly, like a sleepy owl, vulnerable in a manner that seemed strange and out of place. His shoulders were hunched. He was wearing one of Dad's old shirts and Scott wondered whether his brother would complain about a hug, because goddam. He ended the call and made to push himself away from the wall but stopped short. Something primal and instinctive recognised eyes on him. He turned in time to catch John's gaze. There was a question in the air, but he wasn't sure how to address it, or even what it was.
John shuffled back around to face the sea. Alan was pressed as close to his side as humanly possible. In the dull light from the storm clouds, they were both trembling.
EOS projected her scans of the surrounding ocean onto the main hologram display. Gordon was perched on the arm of the couch, cross-legged, gnawing on his hoodie drawstrings again. His knuckles were raw as though he'd spent too long with a punching bag. The dark shadows under his eyes rivalled a raccoon. Dad's shirt swamped him, making him seem younger than he was, which didn't help Scott's overprotective Big Brother instincts that were already in overdrive.
Gordon didn't bother with a proper greeting. He pointed to the red splodges littering the coastline along the mainland. "They can swim," he croaked.
Scott forced himself to keep breathing. He couldn't afford to fall to pieces. There was too much at stake for that. "EOS?"
EOS sounded uncertain. Her hologram form paled to a concerned lilac. "The creatures have entered the sea and appear to be moving into deeper waters."
Gordon let the drawstring fall from his mouth. Instead, he was picking at his bruised knuckles. Scott reached across and caught his little brother's hand, prising it away from the other. To his surprise, Gordon didn't let go, just held on fiercely, as though Scott were his only anchor to reality.
"Are they swimming or are they being carried by the current?" Scott asked.
"They're not displaying any swimming abilities," EOS admitted. "And the currents won't carry any of them to Tracy Island. I just thought I would alert you to the possibility."
Scott rubbed at his aching shoulder with his free hand. There were too many thoughts buzzing around his skull, and he couldn't seem to pin any single one down. "Okay," he said slowly. "Alert Kayo and keep an eye on the situation. If the currents change, let me know immediately."
"FAB," EOS replied quietly. She clicked off the transmission and the lounge fell silent.
"Gordon?" Scott prompted after a beat.
Gordon stared at his knees. His jeans were frayed. "We have enough supplies to last us another week. Fuel reserves depend on which 'birds we launch. One and Shadow can make about ten trips and Two could manage six if we don't fully load the Pods. Three… one, maybe two at a push, but Alan would have to lay off the ion engines. Four's good for another twenty runs between here and the mainland."
"Gordon," Scott repeated, somewhat helplessly, because this clinical, military tone from his brother was unnatural, almost unnerving. It was as if Gordon had buried all emotion and locked it away where it couldn't dictate his actions, because feeling anything was too much right now. The world was ending, and Gordon didn't want to mourn it. Scott understood that. It didn't mean he accepted it. Going down that road never ended well, and he refused to lose his brother to his own mind after fighting so hard to get back to him from zombified New York.
"Gords," he repeated, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Hey. What's going on in there?" He reached up to tap his brother's temple and lurched back when Gordon flinched.
"Shit, sorry." Gordon's voice cracked. "It's not you. I didn't mean to… fuck. Fuck. What the fuck, Scott? How is this real? What are we… what's our endgame here? What are we fighting for? You heard John – the radios are silent. If the world's gone, shouldn't we just make a break for it? Try again? This shit hasn't hit Mars, has it?" He buried his head in his hands, clawing at his scalp. His words were fractured and torn with repressed emotions. "I can't do this, Scotty, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't…"
"Hey. Look at me." Gordon showed no signs of having heard him. He slid down from the arm of the sofa to curl into the cushions, shoulders heaving with panicked breaths. "Gords. C'mon. Hey." Scott injected a note of his Field Commander tones into his voice. "Look at me." He gripped his brother's shoulders and squeezed until it had to be painful and finally, mercifully, Gordon raised his chin. "There you are. You're okay. You're going to be okay."
"Am I?" Gordon choked out.
Scott loosened his hold on Gordon's shoulders but didn't lift his hands away. "Yes," he assured. "Yes, you're going to be okay. You're going to be more than okay."
"I'm not right now."
"You don't have to be."
Gordon inhaled sharply. His breathing was still too strained and wheezing for Scott's liking, but it was a damn sight better than hyperventilating on the couch. Gordon swiped at bloodshot eyes and twisted a little so that they were facing.
"You've got me, huh?"
Scott matched his brother's shaky smile. "I've got you," he agreed.
Gordon studied him a moment longer before slumping forwards, closing the space between them. His forehead knocked against Scott's bad shoulder and Scott bit back a hiss, but hiding injuries was an unfortunate talent of his and little brother didn't seem to notice anything wrong. He brought a hand up to cup Gordon's neck and let Gordon make the rest of the move, mindful of earlier's flinching. Sure enough, Gordon sank against him, and Scott felt fingers tangle in the back of his shirt, tight and clinging, searching for reassurance.
"How do we fix this?" Gordon whispered. The words were muffled in Scott's shoulder, but it didn't take a genius to understand what had been asked.
"We figure out a survival strategy, take care of our own first. Then we'll start from the beginning, hunt down patient zero, track the GDF and learn what they know, come up with some sort of cure. There's gotta be a possible vaccine. Besides, we have Brains on our side. That puts us a step in the right direction from the get-go."
There was a flicker of movement at the top of the stairs. Scott hadn't noticed Virgil come in, but he must have done so in time to witness Gordon's breakdown because he was carrying a glass of water, a banana, and two paracetamol, which he set down on the table in front of them. Gordon didn't acknowledge him, but drained the glass, took the pills, and set about peeling the banana, while Virgil sat back on the opposite couch with a glimmer of relief in his gaze, which was just the sort of silent communication Scott had come to expect from those two. He caught Virgil's eye and tilted his head in question, as in, we good?
Virgil cleared the images from the hologram projector and watched Gordon picking at the banana, breaking little pieces off and nibbling at them like a field mouse. It was better than nothing – Gordon was like John in that regard, losing his appetite when he was upset.
Outside, the wind was picking up. The barometer on the mantelpiece had dropped sharply. A storm was blowing in. Scott could already hear the palm fronds thrashing, smacking against the drawn shutters. He made a mental note to reinforce the storm surge defences. It would help protect the hangars from any unwanted guests that may wash up too.
Gordon finished the banana and picked at the spotted skin, peeling it apart in thin strips. Virgil got up from his seat and took it from him. Scott could hear his socks patting against the kitchen tiles and then the whirr of the kettle as he set it to boil. A moment later he was back, with Mom's old patchwork blanket in his hands, which he draped around Gordon's shoulders before sitting down on Scott's other side. He waited, watching Scott expectantly. In other words, yeah, we're good.
How the hell did you start a conversation such as this?
Virgil took pity on him, or perhaps the silence was too grating, or maybe it was just painful to see Gordon silent and shaking and tethered to reality only by Mom's blanket and Scott's hand.
"How's your arm?" Virgil asked.
Scott had almost forgotten about it. He held it out and resisted the urge to pick at the end of the bandage where the tape holding it down had come loose. Virgil reached out and traced the edge, touch so gentle that it tickled.
"Have you taken anything?"
Scott shook his head. "Painkillers make my head foggy. You know I need to be sharp right now."
Virgil didn't argue for once, which was just another tally on the Virgil's acting off list. The kettle clicked, signalling that it had boiled, but he didn't get up. He stared at the bandage on Scott's arm and didn't say a word. His gaze was distant.
"Virgil," Scott said quietly.
Virgil jolted. "What?" He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Sorry. I was just… thinking."
Scott didn't need to ask what about. The room was unusually dark without sunlight streaming through the windows. He leant back against the cushions. A moment later he felt Gordon's head fall against his shoulder.
"What's next?" Virgil asked.
Scott closed his eyes and listened for a moment. Shadow's engines were just about audible above the rising winds. Grandma was pottering around in the store cupboard, speaking in steady, reassuring tones to someone, possibly Penelope. There was thunder in the distance. Gordon was warm against his side. Virgil shuffled a little closer until their knees brushed. They remained unspeaking until footsteps crept across the carpet and then a smaller body wriggled into the space between Scott and Virgil.
"Hey Alan," Gordon murmured. There was a pause, then he continued, "oh, okay. Can I talk or…? Because I've gotta tell ya, my sign language is rusty as hell."
Scott opened his eyes. It had been a long time since Alan had resorted to sign language, but he wasn't surprised to see his little brother falling back to the nonverbal form of communication. He tousled Alan's hair and let Alan curl into his side, face damp and shoulders hunched in a way that made Scott's heart ache. Virgil reached behind Scott to grab a corner of the blanket and pulled it around all their shoulders.
"Where's John?" Gordon asked.
Alan shrugged. There was a crash from the store cupboard as Grandma dropped something and he flinched so violently that Scott had to grab him before he could jolt off the couch. Virgil moved closer, draping an arm along the back of the couch so that Alan was bracketed between them.
Gordon drew a knee up to his chest. "John should be here," he whispered.
Virgil reached for hologram projector. "John, come in." There was no reply. "John, I know you can hear me. Come down to the lounge."
John finally answered, audio only. "Why? Ask EOS for the information."
"We don't want information," Gordon spoke before Virgil could. "We want our brother."
"…I'll be down in a minute."
The wind sounded like screeches. Scott flattened himself against the couch cushions and tried to focus on his family. It was impossible to forget that just a few miles away, danger was drifting across the sea. The world was on fire. There was no one left to rescue save for themselves and he didn't even know how to accomplish that. The thoughts kept coming – he'd never done well with sitting around. Once he'd made a start on fixing this, he'd cope better, but he needed to talk with Parker and Kayo first, and that was before he could attempt to explain to Alan that he was leaving, again.
John nearly tripped over his own feet.
Gordon made a damp sound that was almost a laugh but not quite. "Good to see some things never change."
"Gravity hates me," John muttered.
"Clumsy," Gordon sing-songed, but his voice was flat and lacked the usual teasing humour.
John hesitated, taking in the way his younger brothers were clustered around Scott. "Family meeting, huh?"
"No," Scott replied, a tad more sharply than he'd intended. John studied him for a moment, before sinking onto the sofa next to Gordon. It was telling that he didn't protest when Gordon draped his legs over his older brother's lap, throwing a corner of the blanket around John's shoulders.
"Just sitting then," John said evenly. It wasn't a criticism, but it wasn't merely an observation either. He'd overheard Scott's conversation with Grandma and Scott knew it. But this wasn't the time to mention the idea of leaving, of searching for clues, or even contemplating a cure at all.
"Just sitting," Scott agreed.
John held his gaze a moment more before he relented with a nod. The wind howled. Gordon shivered.
"Can you hear them?" he whispered. "I keep thinking I can hear them."
"You can't hear them, Gords," Virgil murmured. "It's just the wind."
Gordon shivered. One of the shutters rattled and he flinched. John reached for him, putting an arm around his shoulders, and didn't protest for the first time in years when Gordon pressed close to him, resting his head against John's bicep as he struggled to keep his breathing even.
"We're safe here," Scott said, because he felt like it was something they needed to hear.
Gordon shuddered. His head was tucked under John's chin, but he was still partly curled against Scott's side and Scott could feel his brother's heart racing as though he'd just run a marathon. There was a brief movement as Alan shifted and Scott took a moment to figure out what it was that his brother was signing.
"We're safe now, but for how long?"
Scott tugged his youngest brother closer without a word. He didn't have an answer that was reassuring.
And that's a wrap on the longest chapter yet because I have issues with word limits. Yay!
Feel free to drop a review!
Kat x
