Do you ever get the good grades and go to university because it's what everybody expects of you, only you've had your eyes on the sky your entire life and secretly you know what your dreams are and they don't involve a degree so you drop out after only 15 hours to attend flight school instead? No? Just me?
As you can tell, I've had quite a week. It seems appropriate that this chapter is gonna be... quite something too. I'm not happy with it. I will probably never be happy with it. But I can't proof-read and change things any more times and there are some major plot points scattered around in here so things that may seem completely random are definitely relevant later, I swear.
Warning: explicit description of a panic attack. Keep yourself safe and feel free to message me if you want someone to talk to.
It gets angsty. I'm not joking. This is a rough ride. But please stick with me through the next chapters. I promise I'll fix everything eventually... somehow...
Look, Scott didn't have Kayo's sixth sense for trouble or John's supposed alien tendencies or even a hint of Gordon's squid sense, but he had a sneaking feeling when something wasn't right and for some reason this entire shopping complex had activated alarm bells in his head. He took the lead, one hand curled around the grip of his gun, the other at his side, ready to shove Gordon behind him if necessary where his brother was by his shoulder, John bringing up the rear of their little trio.
The parking lot was empty save for the burnt-out husks of what had once been two Toyotas and an RV. Discarded shells littered the floor. Smears of old blood smothered the doors where the barricades had been dragged away. Everything seemed still. There wasn't even a hint of a breeze. The only movement was the faint tendril of smoke poking its head above the horizon and a flicker of dark paint as Thunderbird Shadow patrolled the clouds.
There was no sign of danger. That distinctive rotting stench of the infected seemed less intense here. If anything, the smell of scorched rubber from the burnt cars was stronger. And yet… there was something. Scott couldn't put his finger on what, but whatever it was that had triggered his instincts, it was enough to have the hair on the back of his neck prickling. He hated how comforting the weight of a gun in his hand was becoming.
Gordon halted on the front steps of the abandoned supermarket. Scott resisted the urge to yank his brother away from the doors. From the faintly amused look John sent him, this internal struggle didn't go unnoticed.
"This looks creepy as hell," Gordon commented, smacking the flashlight attached to his suit and illuminating the dark depths beyond the trampled barricades. The floor was awash with dried blood. The remains of a dead bird were strewn across the tiles. A mauled wing lay decomposing in the centre like an offering.
John grimaced. "And you wonder why I prefer Space."
"Welcome to Earth," Gordon deadpanned. "We have the walking dead and animal corpses in the cereal aisles."
"Once again," Alan piped up, "I feel the need to remind you that your radios are still on."
Something clattered. Scott shoved Gordon behind him, John stepping up so that the three of them were back-to-back, guns at the ready, scouring the dark aisles for any sign of life.
"What the fuck was that?" Gordon hissed.
Kayo was online instantly. "What was what? Guys? Answer me."
"Shut up and let us listen," John snapped back. His contacts were glowing. For a brief moment, he didn't seem entirely human. His radio was lit up but as Scott couldn't hear anyone talking he presumed it was a private link with EOS, helping as best she could as their temporary eye in the sky.
Ten seconds passed. Then thirty. Then a minute.
Scott lowered his gun. There was a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision as Gordon did the same. John was a tad more reluctant, but according to their equipment the store was entirely void of any life forms other than the three of them.
"This is going well," Scott muttered, earning a muffled laugh from Gordon.
John looked as though he were seriously considering fratricide. This only made Gordon crack up more. Scott was hard-pressed not to laugh himself, but he knew from experience that antagonising John was as good as signing your own death warrant and he'd spent too much time and energy surviving numerous zombies to hand his life over to his brother's devious plans.
Splitting up went against every instinct he had, but they needed to do a final sweep of the store. Scott divided his focus between staying alert, searching any possible places where a zombie could be lurking, and listening to his brothers' footsteps, crunching against broken glass. John was quieter, moving more swiftly, whereas Gordon seemed to be taking his time about things, as thorough as he was when cleaning one of his many aquariums. Not an inch of space went unchecked. By the time they met up at the end of aisles between a staff entrance and a shattered display cabinet, Scott was about ready to fire at anything that dared to move, even something as innocent as a moving sunbeam.
Gordon looked pale. He was grinding his teeth again, a habit that he hadn't fallen into since his competitive swimming years. John was examining the old display cabinet, fascinated by something green and grimy smeared along the base, so Scott took the opportunity to pull Gordon aside.
"What's your squid sense saying?"
Gordon huffed a laugh. It rang hollow. "Scotty, you believe in my squid sense about as much as Kayo believes in unicorns. Don't humour me."
"Three weeks ago, I didn't believe in zombies."
Gordon exhaled through gritted teeth. "Fair play." He kicked at a ravaged cereal packet. "I dunno, man. Something just feels…"
"Off?"
Gordon's gaze sharpened. "Yeah. Exactly. Are you picking up on something too then?"
Scott hesitated. This in itself was a terrible decision because Gordon was either incredibly perceptive or fascinatingly oblivious and today he just so happened to be leaning towards the former. He moved around so that he was blocking John from view and Scott had no choice but to look at him.
Gordon crossed his arms. There was a military rigidness to his shoulders and a fearful dart of his eyes to the side every few seconds that suggested he was about as keen to have his back to the rest of the supermarket as Scott was.
"We're equals in the field."
There was no bite to the words, but Scott caught the hidden criticism.
"Alright," he agreed quietly, taking care to check that their radios weren't broadcasting this time, because the last thing he needed was Alan overhearing. "You're right. I have a weird feeling that something's wrong. I'm not sure exactly what, but there's just… something. But there's no evidence to prove that and unless Kayo or EOS change their reports, I'm just going to have to trust them when they say that we're safe for the time-being."
Gordon sighed. "Yeah." He reached up to claw a hand through his hair and realised last minute that he was wearing a helmet. He caught Scott's amused stare with a warning glower. "Not a word, Scooter, I swear to God…"
Scott lifted his hands in surrender. "I would never laugh at you."
"I see that smirk."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Fight me, nerd."
Scott considered that statement for a moment. "Did you just call me a nerd?"
"Hell yeah I did." Gordon elbowed him, grinning. "You have a subscription to flight magazines. You know basically every detail of the Star Wars universe off by heart. You were a straight-A student. In what way are you not a nerd, Scotty-boy?"
Scott opened his mouth to retort – which was pointless because Gordon was like a dog with a bone and there was no way Scott had any hope of ever winning this argument – only for John to cut in.
"I asked EOS to run an analysis on this." John activated his flashlight. The fingertips of his gloves were covered in a tacky green slime.
Gordon pulled a face. "Yeesh, Johnny. That's some cold you've got there. You should have just asked for a tissue, 'cos that's hella grim, bro."
John gave a long-suffering sigh. "As I was saying, before those of us without brains decided to interrupt…"
"Hey!"
"…It's an organic substance. One that was eradicated years ago, with the only remaining sample supposedly locked up in a lab far away from society. It's highly toxic and can affect the frontal and temporal lobes."
Suddenly, Scott was very aware that he was one of the only members of the family without an invested interest in biology beyond the basic understanding he needed for International Rescue. Because while Gordon lit up and started babbling in Latin terminology that John understood instantly, Scott stood there feeling increasingly like a spare part. It wasn't a fun experience.
"Could I get a translation?"
His question came across more sarcastic than he'd intended but it had the desired effect. Gordon looked rather sheepish. John, as ever, didn't seem concerned by the possibility of hurt feelings. Then again, John was normally the smartest person in the room, so having to stop and explain himself in layman's terms wasn't something new to him.
"This," John said, with a short nod towards the green gloop on his glove, "is basically a parasite. There were only ever five confirmed cases of people coming into contact with it because it only naturally occurs in the depths of the Amazonian rainforest. But with the help of drones and improving technology, all known samples were eradicated, save for one which was then transported and locked away in one of the Centres for Disease Control and Prevention."
"Here's where it gets interesting," Gordon interjected. "Of the five confirmed cases, four resulted in death within the hour."
Scott subconsciously took a step back from the display cabinet where John had found the substance.
"And the fifth?" he asked, dreading the answer.
John didn't hesitate. "The fifth is a tricky case. Officially, they died of blood poisoning. Unofficially…"
"Unofficially," Gordon finished for him, "it was the only known case of madness caused by rabies in humans. AKA the first ever zombie. Not that they called it a zombie back then, because this was decades ago, but…"
Scott was silently questioning John's sanity, because if this was true then… "I thought rabies was only carried by animals, but you think this… this parasite could have caused the infection?"
"Possibly," John shrugged, with a little tilt of his head. "But that leaves so many unanswered questions, such as how the sample got out of the lab, how it was spread globally, why it never spread before, is it contagious…"
"Yeah, speaking of contagious…" Scott whacked his immediate younger brother around the back of the helmet. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Get it off your glove! Are you completely insane? Jesus Christ, John, you're gonna give me a heart attack. Get it off, now."
"It can't get penetrate the fabric. This is Brains' design."
"I don't give a flying fuck, John! If you don't get that shit off your glove, I'm personally gonna amputate your arm."
John delicately wiped his glove clean against the wall. "There." He arched a brow. "Satisfied?"
"Why are you like this?"
"I like to keep you on your toes. Also, I knew it was safe to handle when wearing my suit. EOS double-checked."
"That's not the point."
"You know," John said casually, with a hint of venom, "it would be really nice if you would quit doubting me for once."
Scott fought the urge to punch something. "This isn't about a lack of faith in your abilities. I know you're capable. I trust your judgement."
"Then what is your issue?"
Gordon let out a low whistle. "I'm uh... I'm gonna…" He backed away slowly. "Yeah…"
Scott clenched a hand into a fist behind his back. "I don't have an issue. Not with you, at least. I just don't like seeing you take unnecessary risks."
He knew it was the wrong thing to say the second it came out of his mouth. John leapt on the words like a rabid animal, speaking in that quick-paced, icy voice that only made itself known when he was genuinely fuming. Scott hadn't been on the wrong end of it for a while.
"You're a goddam hypocrite."
"I never said I don't take unnecessary risks…"
John tossed his hands up. "Oh, thank God. Scott Tracy finally gains some self-awareness."
"Are we really doing this here?"
"If you're going to insist on questioning my judgement in the middle of the field, then yes."
"I wasn't questioning your judgement."
"That's exactly what you were doing!"
"I wasn't doubting you, John, I was doubting my own ability to keep you safe."
"That's not your job."
"That's exactly my job."
"I never asked you to keep me bloody safe."
The radio crackled. "Scott, John, Gordon, come in. You have approaching…"
John smacked a hand against the radio. "Not now."
"Seriously, you need to…" Kayo tried again.
John switched the comms off.
Scott stared at him. He didn't have enough hands to count the number of times John had chewed him out for turning his radio off midway through a rescue.
"Now who's the hypocrite?" he jibed.
John made a curious sound that was midway between an icy laugh and a growl. "Every time I think we're finally making progress, you turn around and prove me wrong again."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
For the first time, John faltered. "Don't worry about it," he muttered at last. "Just let me do my job. We need information – I'm getting that data. Stay out of my way."
"You know I can't do that. Not when you're putting yourself at risk."
John whirled around. "You made me sit at home while you flew to Jerusalem. I had to watch as the city fell with you there and I couldn't do anything, for the second time. And then we finally got you back, and I thought you were safe, but then you collapsed in the hangars, and you nearly died. So, fuck off. You've made me watch as you put your life on the line too many times. Now I get to return the favour."
Scott studied the blood on his boots. "It's a pretty lousy favour, Johnny," he said quietly.
"Just… stand down. I know what I'm doing."
"I can't watch from the side-lines."
"You always have to be at the centre of the action."
"That's not the reason."
"Then what is?"
"Because looking out for my family is the only thing I know!"
John was quiet. Scott took this as a sign to continue.
"It was easier before. Manage Tracy Industries. Lead International Rescue. That's… all I had to do was try my best to live up to Dad. But this… there's no guidebook for this. I've got no clue how Dad would go about this. And now… I don't know… You've got to let me look out for you, because without that I've got nothing." He let the wall take his weight for a moment. "I get how it sounds. I know, okay? But I do trust you, I just don't trust myself."
"That much is abundantly clear."
That sense of wrong was back. Scott pushed himself away from the wall and shoved past John, ignoring his brother's protests. John picked up on the shift in mood and fell silent, moving to stand beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder. The argument was shelved for now and they were back to their original team, before International Rescue, before everything, back to Scott and John versus the world.
"Talk to me," John whispered.
Scott was unable to keep the fear out of his voice and when he turned to look at John he found that same panic mirrored in his brother's eyes. "Where's Gordon?"
"I…"
"Where is he?"
John's hand shot out and wrapped around Scott's bicep before either of them could take a step forward. Scott didn't question his brother's judgement, just froze on the spot and slowly reached for his gun. John had his head tilted, eyes glowing as EOS revealed a wealth of holographic information to him, listening intently to something Scott still hadn't picked up on.
"What? What's EOS saying?"
John turned wide, horrified eyes on him. "Scott," he breathed, in the guiltiest, most self-loathing tone Scott had ever heard from him. "I turned off the radio."
This time John couldn't hold him back. He didn't even try, just let his hand fall limply to his side as Scott surged past him, skidding on broken glass and blood and yet more green gunk and rounded the aisle to the sounds of distant snarls and the roar of Thunderbird Shadow's engines.
There were gunshots.
The sharp snap of electrical discharge rushed across the sea of infected stumbling over the tattered barriers. Kayo drew Thunderbird Shadow up sharp before she could crash into the supermarket, recharging for another shot. Beyond, Thunderbird Two's VTOLs whined. The stench of cooked flesh twisted with the smell of rot. Scott dialled up the sensitivity on his rebreather to cut out the fumes and took a sharp left, doubling back on himself as it became immediately obvious that leaving via the same way they'd entered wasn't an option.
John was on his heels, keeping a good pace, but he was used to space rescues and zero-gee and not sprinting for his life from a hoard of the infected. Scott sensed him stumble before John himself had even realised that he'd tripped, and reached back, hauling his brother forwards and towards the relative safety of the back of the supermarket.
"Where the hell is Gordon?" John shouted over his shoulder, throwing caution to the wind. They couldn't have been much louder if they'd tried, not with two Thunderbirds overhead – trying for a stealthy escape wasn't on the cards.
Scott picked off the leading infected with a single shot and attempted to ignore the faint ache in his newly healed ribs as the rebound ricocheted through his body. The reinforced suit helped to distribute the energy, but it still packed a punch.
They were less than two metres from the staff exit.
The aisle beside them came crashing down.
Scott made the executive decision to rugby tackle his incredibly capable younger brother to the ground and proceeded to pin him there.
John twisted and snarled like a feral cat. Unfortunately for him, while space had given him an extra inch of height, Scott had muscle mass and military training on his side.
"Human shield is not on your resume, dammit!"
"And zombie chow isn't on yours," Scott shot back, attempting to haul them further under the brief shelter the collapsed shelves provided.
John scrabbled to free himself. A shredded hand plunged through the rotting wood to his left and nearly tore his suit open from shoulder to wrist. He yanked his arm back, eyes wide. There was a very human terror on his face. Scott was struck by the realisation that this was the first time his brother had come face-to-face with one of the zombies in the flesh. Holograms weren't nearly as horrific as the real thing.
John's breathing was ragged. Scott smashed their helmets together. It was the only way he could get John's attention.
"We are so screwed." John sounded faintly hysterical. "I can't believe I'm gonna die in a supermarket. This was not my planned demise."
"You had a plan?"
"I had expectations. They involved a lot of Space. They didn't involve you."
"Charming!"
The wails of the zombies were so loud that Scott's ears were ringing. It didn't escape his notice that with every flinch, John was slowly drawing closer to him. Sawdust cascaded down. Crimson dripped into the miniscule space between them.
Scott gulped.
"Okay," he choked out. "This doesn't look too good…"
"No shit!"
"Can you reach your gun?"
"No. You?"
"Doesn't matter, 'cos I'm out of ammo."
John closed his eyes and proceeded to let loose a curse so foul that even Kayo would have been shocked. Scott felt a hand wrap around his ankle and lashed out. Something crunched. Even through his suit, he could feel the heat of blood drenching his lower leg. He wasn't sure if the infected had punctured the fabric or if he'd smashed in the skull of whatever had been trying to drag him out feet-first.
"This is unacceptable," John was muttering.
"Not exactly the phrasing I'd use," Scott managed to gasp out. "Listen, I'm going to create a distraction. You're gonna run like hell out that staff door and get your scrawny ass on the roof."
"I am seriously questioning how well you know me. Do you think there's even the slightest chance I'd leave you behind?"
"…it was worth a try."
"Just… I need a minute. I need… I'm gonna… I can figure this out. I can fix it. I can… I…"
"John."
"Just a minute, okay?"
"John."
"Shut up, Scott."
Scott knocked their helmets together again. "Johnny. Look at me." He forced a smile. It almost certainly wasn't reassuring, but it was better than nothing. "It's okay."
"No."
"You're going to be okay."
"No, no, don't, don't you dare…"
"You're going to fix this. You said so yourself."
"Scott, stop talking. Just… stop. I don't want to hear this. I'm not going to let it happen. Whatever you're planning, I won't let you."
Scott was torn between laughing and full-on sobbing. "And just how do you plan on stopping me?"
John went to reply, presumably something familiar such as well I've always been smarter than you, when something akin to relieved resignation settled across his face. And really, truthfully, Scott should have realised in that moment what his brother was planning, because he knew that expression, knew it from his own reflection, but John was the clever one, the one with all the plans, the one who didn't believe in martyrdom because that simply wasn't an acceptable solution and therefore there had to be a better answer… And yet.
Scott caught John before he could lunge entirely out of their hastily crumbling hiding spot. He was gripping John's biceps hard enough to leave bruises and from the wince on John's face he was already doing just that, but he didn't care. He planted a hand on his brother's chest and shoved. John writhed, lashing out, but then Scott's attention was caught by nails and raw bone and everything caked in glass and grime clawing at his back and heaving, struggling, yanking him out from under the shelves.
Instinct took over. So did panic. There was nothing to grip onto and the shelves were collapsing around him. He couldn't land a punch or a kick to free himself because every time he tore away from one infected three more would take its place. He couldn't hear past the ringing and the thunder in his ears, and he was well on his way to a fully-fledged panic attack because he didn't want to die like this, especially not with John watching.
Somewhere, gunshots were still ringing out.
Someone was screaming. It was a raw, primal sound. Chilling. Pure desperation. Human.
John.
"Scott!"
There was an infected right there. Teeth and drool and spools of rotting flash peeling from its bones, clawing and biting and smashing shattered fists against his helmet. A neat bullet sailed through its skull. A spray of crimson exploded. Two more lunged forwards. Scott twisted, resorting to pure, instinctive panic rather than martial arts, but there were too many and he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he was dying.
Someone collided with his chest. The weight pinning down his right arm vanished. Scott smashed his elbow into the nearest infected, vision still blurred by the blood smeared over his visor, but then the person above him looped arms around his waist and yanked him free of the fray.
The infected swarmed back around. Scott couldn't catch his breath. There was a godawful wheezing coming from his lungs and it felt like he was trying to breathe through a tube, but he was smothered in blood and it was so, so cold, and he couldn't stop shaking, but he had to get up, had to fight, because they were surrounded and John, John, John was in danger, and, and, he couldn't, there was no way, there was… he couldn't breathe and he was dying and…
A hand found his own and squeezed.
Scott struggled through the fog to figure out how to make those muscles work and finally managed to squeeze back.
John sounded strangled. "Together. Together, or not at all."
"No," Scott resorted to begging because pride was irrelevant. "No. Please no. Please, John. Don't. Don't do this. Don't do this to me. You've gotta go. I want you to go."
I want you to live.
I want you to be happy.
I want to be good enough that you don't have to make this choice, but it's too late for that.
John exhaled slowly. When he took out the closest infected, his hands were shaking.
"Not happening."
"Please. Please."
"You weren't the only person who made a promise."
John let the empty gun clatter to the floor and turned his back on the infected as they swarmed forwards. He yanked his helmet off and wiped the blood away from Scott's visor so gently that Scott wanted to cry all over again.
"You want to know why I joined IR? After all those months of hesitating? Not for Dad. Not for the world. But for my brothers… all of them, but mostly… You know I'm a lone wolf. You know I don't work well with people. But the only person I've ever followed, the only person I've ever been a true team with is you, and I refuse to let you throw your life away. You're worth too much to die like this. And so…" John rose to his feet with an unsteady smile and gestured to himself. "Distraction."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"John! John!"
Scott finally floated back to his senses in Thunderbird Two's cockpit. Not on a chair, but on the floor. His back was pressed to the wall and the first thing he noticed was the blood, everywhere. His brain was foggy. Cognitive thought escaped him. His helmet was gone. The top half of his suit hung in shreds. His gloves were drenched in crimson. The stench of blood was enough to make him heave.
"H-hey, hey, no, it's okay, you're okay."
Scott closed his eyes and silently cursed the universe. Of all the people to see him like this, of course it had to be Alan. And yet… he slowly opened his eyes again and was immediately greeted by the sight of blood literally dripping from his fingertips onto the floor. He could hear it splash and doubled over dry heaving again.
Alan held his hands up, palms forward facing. "C-ca-" He swallowed, a trace of frustration crossing his face, and tried again. "Can I touch you?"
Scott found his voice had run off somewhere. It hurt to try to speak and all that came out was a feeble croak. Alan visibly winced.
"Maybe… just nod? Or give me a thumbs up?"
There was too much blood on his hands, so he nodded.
Alan exhaled shakily. "Okay. That's… that… um… better. It's better. Than before. If you need me to back off, just… uh… wave a hand. Or something. I'll… yeah."
He inched a little closer. Scott instinctively recoiled and hated himself for it. Alan didn't take offence. From the look on his face, Scott suspected that his youngest brother had gone through this process with him quite a few times already. So why… why didn't he remember anything?
"Still alright?" Alan asked gently, hands hovering just shy of touching Scott's knees. At the answering nod, he slowly lowered his hands until they made contact. Scott sucked in a breath. His chest ached, but not nearly as bad as his throat.
Alan lifted a hand to Scott's shoulder and looked up questioningly. "Still with me?"
That confirmed Scott's theory that this wasn't the first time he'd woken up. Hopefully he'd stay conscious long enough to remember exactly what had happened, and why they appeared to be flying on autopilot with no one else in the cockpit. He also had questions about why he was smothered in blood and why his back felt as though it were on fire.
"Okay." Alan took a breath. "Okay. You wouldn't let anyone touch you before. So. Yeah. I don't wanna freak you out or anything. But… the med scan is needed elsewhere and your suit is wrecked too badly for me to check your vitals that way, so we're doing this the old-fashioned way. I can't really figure out if you're concussed via the ole light in the eyes trick because… um… well."
Fantastic. Scott couldn't remember what had happened, but it was now excruciatingly obvious that he'd had a panic attack in front of Alan, who was the last person he'd ever wanted to witness that.
Alan, who also happened to be a mind-reader, because: "Stop beating yourself up over stuff you can't control. It's not something to be ashamed of. Besides, I couldn't exactly judge you without being very hypocritical… not that I would ever judge anyone for that, but… you… you get my point."
There were some connotations in there that Scott did not like the sound of, starting with the suggestion that his kid brother was personally acquainted with panic attacks. He filed that away for future examination. This took more concentration than it should have done and he half-zoned out again only to jolt so violently that his back smashed against the wall when Alan moved a hand closer to his face.
Alan scooted back immediately. "Shit, s-sorry, I… I didn't… sorry. Sorry, Scotty. Sorry." He inhaled deeply. "Oh, shoot. Ice chips. I'll be right back."
Scott drew his knees close to his chest and shivered. His vision was blurry. He peeled his gloves off and gingerly dragged a hand through his hair. It was sticky with blood, but he couldn't tell if it was his own or not.
Alan slid back down to sit cross-legged in front of him, gingerly sliding a cup of ice chips within reach. Scott worked his way through them, only half-present again as the fog in his brain threatened to takeover once more. He looked up, cup empty. Alan was watching him with open concern.
"I'm just gonna sit here. Is that cool?" Alan pointed to the empty chairs. "We're on autopilot. Or maybe EOS has remote control. Either way, we're heading home."
Scott tipped his head back and breathed deeply. His throat was still burning but at least his voice had made a feeble recovery. "What happened?"
Alan picked at a bit of lint on the floor. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"Nothing clearly since entering the supermarket. It's all… foggy. Mixed up. I can't… Where is everyone? Who needs the med-scanner?"
Alan picked at his thumbnail. "Virgil's in the med-bay. I wasn't allowed down there. Actually… I don't know much. But you and Johnny were talking or whatever, so Gordon came out and said it was all clear, so he and I took the pods and loaded up with some of the stuff nearer the entrance and we were putting it all away in the Module but then Kayo reported that there was a swarm of infected on their way so Gordon sent me up to the cockpit and Virgil put me in charge of keeping Two hovering out of the reach of any zombies…."
He paused to take a quick breath.
"But then… Kayo and Gordon were kicking some zombie butts… I don't know what happened, but … I've never heard Gords sound that scared. He just said he needed Virgil's help. Then Virgil kinda… carried you. In here. And told me to stay with you. He said I'm not allowed in the med-bay and normally that wouldn't stop me, but… I got the feeling you need me right now. So. Here I am."
Scott ran a quick tally in his head. "Where's John?"
Alan had been doing an unnervingly good job of holding himself together, but he couldn't disguise the dread in his voice. It was undeniable and shaky and betrayed the fear that neither of them wanted to address because speaking it aloud made it real and that was simply unthinkable. He blinked back tears and finally ground out, "No one will tell me."
That… that could mean a number of possibilities. Scott didn't like any of them. The concussion steadily beating a drum in his head was making it difficult to think, especially when combined with the general fogginess of those thoughts, but he needed to know.
"Call them."
Alan shook his head vehemently. "Virgil said not to disturb them. I don't want to fuck up whatever's going on down there. What if… I mean, they wouldn't… if it was bad, like really bad, they'd have told us by now, wouldn't they?"
Scott decided not to mention the fact that there had to be something seriously wrong for Virgil to leave him here with only Alan to monitor him, especially with a concussion of this severity. He was about five seconds away from losing his goddammed mind, but at the end of it all, no matter what, there was still the instinct to protect, and Alan looked terrified right now, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
There was a brief silence. Alan shifted a little closer but left that space between them that Scott longed to close, but the mere idea of anything touching him right now gave him the urge to claw his skin off. There was a faint ringing in his ears, a flicker of memory that he couldn't pin down, just a feeling, a sense of urgent panic.
Historically speaking, his instincts weren't often wrong, and right now his instincts were practically screaming for him to find John.
"Call them anyway."
"But Scott-"
"Call them."
Alan reluctantly reached for the radio. "Virgil, come in."
There was a short click, proving that there was someone listening, but there was no reply. Alan hesitated before continuing anyway.
"Um… Scott's awake. Properly this time."
It wasn't Virgil who answered, but Gordon, and he sounded wrecked. "Is he okay?"
Alan examined Scott for a moment. "Still concussed but he doesn't seem too bad. He doesn't remember anything new."
"Can he talk?"
"Yeah," Alan confirmed.
"Let me speak with him?"
"Sure."
"…Alone?" There was a pause interjected by a damp cough, and then, roughly, "Please, Allie."
Alan sensed that this wasn't the time to be arguing. He slipped off his wrist console and laid it in front of Scott before quietly retreating out of earshot. His face was hidden amongst the shadows at the back of the cockpit, but his trembling shoulders betrayed him.
Scott reached for the console. "Gordon?"
Gordon faltered. "Scott." His voice cracked. "I…"
And Scott knew right there and then, before he'd even asked the question, but he forced the words out anyway in the faint hope that maybe just this once the universe had given them a second chance. "How's John?"
Silence.
"Gordon?"
A choked sob.
"Gordon."
"I'm s-sorry."
No. No, no, no, no, no.
"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I couldn't… there wasn't… I…"
There was a brief scuffle.
"Scott," Virgil choked out. "You've gotta come down here. I know you're concussed, but we… please. Please."
"Is it true?" The world was crumbling. He couldn't scream or think and there was supposed to be that familiar voice in his ear telling him to take a breath, that they'd figure this out, but that voice was gone, and he couldn't do this, he couldn't, he couldn't… "Virgil, is it true?"
But Virgil was gone again and all that remained was Gordon's voice, raw and fractured with tears, and chanting over and over like a prayer, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."
"John," Scott whispered, because John always answered, no matter what, no matter the time or place or how badly they'd fought beforehand. "John, answer me. Come in. John." And the seconds were ticking by slower than his heartrate but there was still no voice on the other end of the radio and Scott couldn't breathe. "Johnny, please."
The reply never came.
I will now go and hide in a bunker and await the horrified messages that will doubtlessly be sent my way.
I'm almost scared to ask, but...
...review?
Kat x
