Not saying that I've missed leaving y'all on cliffhangers or anything, but...
A constant rule of the universe was that the second anything positive happened, everything else immediately fell to pieces. This was proven true yet again when GDF security took control of the entirety of Sector Echo from the top floor of the medical wing down to the research levels and even further beyond that where rumours lurked in shadows available for those with Clearance Amber or higher. Hazmat suits, tasers, decontamination gases – the full works filed into the corridors.
Staff and patients from other wards were evacuated into an empty overflow level. Wards Paediatric and General were locked down. Blockades were set up in stairwells and elevators were shut off. For a painfully long ten minutes, all power was cut, leaving them in semi-darkness with only the response agents' flashlights and the glow-in-the-dark stars someone had put on the ceiling in the kids' rooms for light. Patients and staff alike were still shaken. Some people, who had experienced life in the apocalypse outside the bunker, were reverting back to survival mode, running on adrenaline and autopilot, five seconds away from a nervous breakdown at any given moment but keeping it together because they didn't have another option.
The General ward was chaotic. Several corridors had been roped off. Airtight doors were yet to be unlocked. The hallway containing the final two rooms of the paediatric ward – originally holding kids who were under observation – had essentially been destroyed. The fire released by GDF countermeasures had been so hot that it had melted the ceiling and several plastic panels had dripped into strange stalactites. The walls were thick with soot. Smoke stains smeared clothes and skin. Anyone trapped within would have been killed – with the exception, of course, of those harbouring a potentially murderous parasite.
GDF agents prevented anyone from getting close. Evacuations pushed people away, redirected into waiting rooms until they could be scanned for exposure to the parasite and cleared to return to the upper levels. Scott got a quick glance at the scene before being ushered back. There were small chunks of charcoaled bone where the flames hadn't quite broken down the infected person to ash. Their identity was yet to be revealed. Scott suspected their name would never find the light of day. The GDF were going to cover this up as best they could. If that meant a few more disappearances, then so be it.
Back in the waiting room, it was a madhouse. Staff were run off their feet with frightened kids, struggling to treat patients who'd suffered burns, keeping observations on those who had already been admitted for pre-existing conditions, and preventing any further panic from spreading.
And it wasn't just the children who were scared. Some of the staff or guardians who had accompanied kids down here, visiting loved ones or filling out details on consent forms, weren't helping the situation. Rumours were running wild. Half the people seemed to believe there was an actual infected loose somewhere in the bunker, spreading the parasite between sectors. Another story claimed the parasite had become airborne and that everyone was already either infected or, if immune, a carrier. Fear was contagious and it was spreading like a virus.
"You were there, you saw what happened." A wild-eyed woman practically lunged at Gordon, clutching his arm as if he were a life-raft in the ocean. "The zombie – did they get it? Did they kill it? Is it still here?"
"Uh…" Gordon tried to take a step back, obviously uncomfortable. "No, ma'am, I didn't see anything other than a real big fire." He summoned a reassuring smile. "But don't you worry – a fire on that scale would have killed off anything nasty."
"Are you sure?"
"One hundred percent certain," John confirmed, saving Gordon from further awkwardness. He put a hand on the woman's shoulder and guided her over to the medical staff who were treating people for shock. "Why don't you come with me? I'm sure we can find someone with official answers. How about this nice lady over here? Jen, wasn't it? Good to see you again. I've got a friend here who could do with a little chat… and perhaps one of those blankets too."
Gordon shuffled closer to Scott's side. "This is insane."
"I know."
A series of PAs sounded over the loudspeakers, drowned out by the mix of voices already present in the room. Distantly, the hiss of decontamination sprays were hosing the corridors. Several hazmat-suited agents stood on guard by the exit, preventing anyone from leaving – which only served to promote further panic.
Gordon nudged him. "Hey… are you okay?"
"Yup. Fine." Scott patted his brother's shoulder. "Right, ready to lend a hand?"
"What, with this?"
"If you don't know how to handle a panicked crowd and treat a few burns after this many years of International Rescue, then I'm deeply concerned."
Gordon gave a sheepish smile. "Point taken."
Frightened kids were arguably easier than panicked adults because they still had that instinct drummed into their subconscious to listen to the nearest grown-up, especially one with a sense of authority. Scott helped out Virgil with the medical side of things while Gordon took over crowd control, coaxing kids into a sense of calm and distracting them with stories and jokes and pictures of Thunderbird Four. John didn't materialise until partway through, muttering about GDF agents making matters worse. He'd gotten hold of a megaphone from somewhere and suddenly the calm crowd which had previously been panicked made a lot of sense.
"Is it easier talking people down in person?" Virgil asked, genuinely intrigued. He was redressing a shallow cut along a young boy's arm - recently stitched following a mishap in a gym lesson.
John shrugged. "Not much of a difference. But they all stare at you." He set the megaphone down at his feet and leant against the wall with a sigh. "I definitely prefer Five."
"Five?" the kid, Benny, piped up, eyes wide and wonderous. "Like… like Thunderbird Five?"
"Oh boy," Gordon chimed in, stepping away from his crowd of charges in order to grab a spare flashlight from the table. "Now you've got him talking. Hey, here's a tip – ask him about all the aliens he's seen."
"Gordon," John sighed.
"Aliens?" Benny whispered.
"Uh huh." Gordon winked. "He even invited one over for dinner. Big green thing. Had eyes on stalks, like this." He waggled a hand above his head. "Imagine a giant snail."
"Wow." Benny turned eyes as big as saucers on John. "I wanna hear about the aliens."
"You're dead to me," John hissed to his bother. Gordon dropped into a low bow and backed away with a final snigger, returning to the cluster of children with his newly acquired flashlight, shortly to be used in an improvised shadow puppet show.
Benny blinked. "Aliens?" he asked again, slightly pleading, trying not to wince as Virgil gently cleaned the wound with an antiseptic wipe.
Scott raised a hand, just to be annoying. "I also want to hear about the aliens, Johnny."
John grumbled. "Gordon was wrong… the alien I invited on board didn't look like a snail. Actually, it was bright purple, and it glowed in the dark…."
An hour later, John had found a chair and was now surrounded by a circle of raptured children, telling story after story like a librarian after school hours. The purple alien had gone on multiple adventures, some of which included Thunderbird Three, and was now in the process of saving the New Martian Colony from a different alien race, who rode around in triangular spaceships, were secretly evil mind-readers, and wanted to steal Mars for themselves. Or something along those lines, anyway. Scott had stopped listening. Gordon, who was sitting criss-cross at the back of the group, was torn between openly laughing and genuinely being caught up in the story.
"Purple aliens," Virgil commented, fondly bemused, appearing at Scott's side. He was covered in soot and dashes of stray blood and burn cream. He tipped his head back against the wall with a weary sigh. "God, it's been a day. Any word on the GDF letting us leave?"
"Nothing." Scott gestured to the circle. "But John's in the middle of describing a once-in-a-lifetime alien space battle, if you fancy a laugh?"
Virgil stared at their storyteller brother for a moment as if trying to work out a puzzle. "I'm not going to question that. I'm too tired."
"Seems like a good plan."
"Is Gordon actively listening or trying to put him off?"
"Started out as trying to distract him, now genuinely caught up in the story. I think he's going to demand another purple alien tale before bed."
Virgil had a visible struggle not to laugh. "Stop it."
"I'm serious." Scott tried to stay deadpan. "The Miraculous Tales of John and the Purple Alien."
"Kids would love that."
"Forget kids: Gordon and Alan would love that."
There was no sign of any possible escape any time soon. A quick discussion with one of the agents at the door revealed that they were under observation and that the entire area was still in lockdown.
"How long's that going to last?" Scott demanded, fully aware that he was being a bit unfair as the poor guy underneath the biohazard mask was just another cog in the machine and had no real knowledge let alone power. "Another hour? Two? More?"
"There are kids down here," Virgil added. Even covered in the mess of the day's chaos, he still managed to project that sense of calm authority which had once landed him control of almost any rescue zone he walked into. If anything, the weary determination probably aided his cause. "We have worried parents upstairs who want their children back. Look, there are people here who need proper medical facilities. If you won't let us leave, at least give us access to treatment rooms."
The agent faltered. "Let me see what I can do."
To give credit where it was due, the guy did sound genuinely apologetic. He scurried off to a superior officer, head bowed low with nerves, hands fretting as he tried to propose Virgil's suggestion. Scott observed the body language, suspicion prickling under his skin.
"Why is he so nervous?"
Virgil glanced over. "There was an infected running around the place not even four hours ago. I'm still nervous." He paused, setting his console of patient stats back on the desk to give Scott his full attention. "You seem…"
"Less like a zombie?"
Virgil sent him a flat look.
"Not the best timing?"
Virgil didn't dignify that with an answer. "Thank you," he said quietly, without looking up from the console, names bleeding into a mess of indistinguishable text as he scrolled. "For helping."
Scott propped himself against the wall. "That's kind of my job, Virg."
"Not anymore," Virgil pointed out.
He wasn't wrong, but they all still felt that sense of duty whenever people were in danger, so perhaps Kayo had been right that time when she'd claimed that it was the Tracy family that made International Rescue, not the actual Thunderbirds. Either way, the idea of stepping aside and letting the pain and panic unravel without trying to help hadn't crossed Scott's mind for a second. He liked to think that was a decent human element – compassion, perhaps, but the knowing look Virgil sent him suggested otherwise.
"What are you searching for?" he asked, to change the subject, peering over Virgil's shoulder at the long list of patient details – goodbye confidentiality apparently.
Virgil slowed his scrolling as the list neared more recent timestamps. "These are all the kids who have passed through here in the past twenty-four hours. Some are check-ups, others are pre-existing appointments, but the ones I'm interested in are the general complaints: feverish, chills, nausea and so on."
"Any matches?"
"These are kids, Scott, they're basically walking petri dishes. There are too many matches to count. But the only ones that matter are those that fall within an hour of that infected breaking loose in the ward. And there's just one match - Alice Bowes."
"She was the infected."
"Seems like it, especially given she's the only person unaccounted for." Virgil switched off the console. "Do you want to hear something strange?"
"What?"
"Her symptoms exactly matched John's. It's as if she was partially immune – like her body was trying to fight the parasite but wasn't quite strong enough. But that's not the point. Christ, why am I even trying to look at this from a scientific standpoint? This was a child." He propped his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands, voice muffled. "She was seven, Scott. Seven. And she suffered through the turn, scared and in pain and then they- You saw what they did to her. And yes, I know the argument, that they turn into monsters and they can't think but- She was just a kid."
The world was drenched with so many tragedies that they had grown overwhelming. Scott had grown almost numb to them and he hated that thought with a passion. He put a hand on Virgil's shoulder and didn't mention the way his brother was trembling.
"What I'd like to know," he muttered, "is how the hell she got infected. No one gets through those scans unless they have advanced tech. We barely managed it even with the contacts."
Virgil lifted his head to look at him. "What are you saying?"
"She got infected inside this bunker."
He kept the rest of the words hidden inside the locked cage of his own mind, instinctively seeking Gordon out amid the clustered children as the thought continued unspoken. If Alice Bowes had been infected within the bunker, that left two options: either there was a creature running loose somewhere, somehow going unnoticed despite more observation than Orwell's 1984, or the research labs had reached an entirely new level of unethical testing.
Hour Six saw the final failure of any hints of goodwill and positive thinking. The only bonus was that their presence had been registered with the GDF system, so no one was about to frickin' court martial Scott for not turning up for today's training. Gordon was in the same boat, although given he'd been preoccupied with keeping the kids calm and relatively happy, Scott doubted the thought of scouting duties had even crossed his brother's mind.
A few of the treatment rooms had been reopened, so Virgil and the remaining medical staff set up shop. Those with bad burns had finally been provided with proper pain relief and treatments beyond basic first aid. Some had taken up residence in hospital beds, although there were very few available. Gordon stripped the cushioned pads from chairs – ignoring any and all protests from the watching agents – and created a nest on the floor so the children could get some sleep. At least in dreams, they couldn't cause any trouble in the waking world.
Scott was caught between two main thoughts. The first was, of course, dedicated to that poor little girl and her fate and the evil at work which had led her there. The second was the fact that it had been six hours and he had no idea whether the rest of Sector Echo had been alerted to the containment breach. More to the point, he didn't know what was happening with Alan. Alan would be finished with classes by now which presented two possibilities: he knew what had happened and was freaking out, or he didn't know what had happened and was freaking out, wondering where the hell everyone was. Scott wasn't a fan of either of these scenarios. In fact, he was about five seconds away from asking for a radio/taking it by force if necessary and trying to get hold of his youngest brother.
"This has been a fun day out," John announced, kicking a stray cushion into place to sit beside Scott on the floor, backs to the wall to provide the perfect view of the GDF agents and the doors. "Trauma, disaster and a near-death experience – it's like old times."
Scott didn't lift his gaze from the guards but raised a certain finger and hoped John had seen the gesture. There was a strangled sound between a laugh and an offended cough. He stole a glance sideways to glimpse his brother's expression. John grinned at him.
"What?"
Scott returned his attention to the guards. "Nothing. I'm just surprised you're joking about it."
John was quiet for a moment. A flash of something impossibly sad and pained crossed his face as he considered the day's events. A child was dead. It didn't bear thinking about, but if everyone shielded away from the ugly truth then she would become just another statistic, lost in the war against the parasite. Yes, there was that overwhelming relief at John's fiery discovery, but it was tainted with tragedy. Scott didn't know how to feel about any of it, so he focussed on the one familiar emotion – fretting about Alan.
"I need a lighter," John said hesitantly, not quite a question but getting there. His voice was rough from so many hours of talking. Telling stories was tiring, especially when it was constant improv. He took a sip from a bottle of water the agents had provided in a crate. "Any chance you could get me one?"
"Why me?"
"If anyone's going to have access to lighters down here, it'll be the military. I can't ask Gordon. Well, I could, but I don't want to. I don't like owing him favours."
Scott couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Fair enough."
He stretched his legs across the space, wincing at that near constant ache around his knee. Too many impacts with cold concrete in the past few months had taken their toll. He was beginning to wonder if he'd mildly dislocated or sprained something. Not that he could voice any complaints, not when the GDF were so quick to discard anyone who wasn't in perfect health.
"Maybe Alan could make me one," John mused. "He's good at that sorta thing. It would probably be easier than you sneaking one from a military pal."
"You think I'm making friends down here?"
John shrugged. "You've got Mitchell."
"Mitchell's…" Actually, Scott didn't know how to describe Mitchell. Not quite a friend, but certainly more than a mere acquaintance. An ally, he decided at last. "Don't go getting Al into trouble, alright?"
John shot him an offended look. "He's my brother too."
"Yeah, I know. I didn't mean…" Scott took a moment. "You know what I meant. God, I'm just- I'm tired and I don't like not knowing what's happening with Alan, and-"
"And you don't like being trapped?"
"…that too."
A chorus of laughter bounced off the walls as Gordon – having declared himself to be a wicked sea monster – vanished beneath a cluster of so-called pirates. The children – delighted with this defeat – seemed in high spirits, unlike the adults in the room, who were fast resigning themselves to a full twenty-four-hour quarantine.
"So," Scott began slowly. He gave up on observing the guards and turned to face John. "Fire helps?"
John was silent for a moment. It was difficult to tell whether he was lost in thought or perhaps memories or whether he was simply observing those agents for any eavesdroppers.
"Fire helps," he confirmed eventually, quiet, sort of pensive. "It… it helps. Virgil ran another scan – another three actually, because he's frickin' paranoid – and they all show the same results. Fire weakens the parasite, which in turn gives my immune system the chance to recover a little. It's a massive oversimplification, but you get the point."
Of course Scott got the point. The point was that they had a chance, that John had a chance. It was hope – a tiny flame glowing bravely amid the dark – and although it wasn't a certain cure, just another form of medication really, the sense of relief was overwhelming. Latching onto that feeling and keeping it close was oh-so-tempting – the first brightness he'd experienced in weeks – but there was a little voice at the back of his mind whispering warnings, because hope was fantastic and it worked as a brilliant motivator, but there was also the question of what happened if it got taken away again. He banished the thought for the time-being. Stay in the moment.
Gordon was now regaling the children with the story of a blue whale he'd once come across whilst EVA outside Thunderbird Four. The little girl John had rescued was sat in a bundle of blankets, eyes wide, enraptured by the story, tiny traces of soot on her temple where the nurses hadn't quite cleared it all away with damp cloths. Her smile was the brightest thing in the room.
"You rescued her," Scott commented softly. "Without a second thought, too. After everything you said about IR being a relic now, we've all still got that instinct."
"Well…" John paused in wringing the neck of a new water bottle, glancing at him. "Maybe I was wrong."
"Did you just admit…?"
"Shut up, I'm never saying it again." He studied the water bottle without seeing it. "Grandma would love to know that she was right."
"Right about what?"
"That conversation, on Five? Were you not…? Maybe you were asleep. Grandma went on this little rant, trying to motivate me. Something about 'you can take the Tracy boys away from International Rescue, but you can't take International Rescue outta the Tracy boys.' I don't know. I was very sleep-deprived at the time."
"You're always sleep-deprived."
"Hypocrisy doesn't suit you."
"What are you talking about? Hypocrisy's a great shade on me."
John offered him the water bottle with a hidden smile. For a while, they sat in silence. There was no change in the situation and a severe lack of updates to match. Scott tried to avoid looking at the time. Alan was either going to be as good as gold or tear the entire bunker apart to reach them and frankly, Scott would place a bet on the latter. If any sirens sounded, he'd know who to blame.
"Heat draws it to the surface, then the flame burns it away. Doesn't harm the skin in the process either, which is always a bonus." John examined the floor with far more intensity than it warranted; anything to avoid meeting Scott's searching look. "I don't like fire."
Scott was very aware of this fact. In John's defence, fear of fire had been drummed into him ever since he'd first learnt about spaceflight. If you asked anyone at NASA, they'd agree – fire in space? Absolute hell. In fact, if you had a fire on board your ship or within your base, you were pretty much fucked. Fire on an aircraft was bad enough, but at least an emergency landing was feasible, but up there, with no atmosphere… Fire was a death sentence. So. John not liking fire wasn't a new revelation.
Scott handed him back the water. "Necessary evils, I guess."
John sighed. "Something like that."
"You still saved the kid. Despite knowing the risks."
John side-eyed him. "I did my job."
Scott grinned. "Exactly. That's my point."
"Shut up, Scott. You're giving me a headache."
"You're the one who came and sat next to me."
"Hmm," John replied, which loosely translated as you're right but I'm stubborn as hell so I'm not gonna admit it. He shuffled a fraction closer to prop his head on Scott's shoulder, not even bothering to ask permission. "Can I ask about earlier?"
"No."
"Okay."
Scott half-expected further questioning, but John let the matter drop. He wound an arm around his brother's shoulders and let the silence settle.
"I'll find you a lighter as soon as we get outta here."
John yawned. "Yuh-huh. So that'll be… what, ten years from now?" He repressed a sigh. "This is ridiculous."
"Do you reckon Alan's okay?"
"Have you heard any alarms go off?"
"Not recently."
"Then he's fine."
The end of the makeshift quarantine was declared after nearly eighteen hours. Everyone was exhausted, particularly the medical staff. Virgil looked about ready to fall asleep standing upright. People filed into the elevators in small groups, organised by the GDF agents who finally shed their hazmat suits and protective equipment. Children were reunited with parents. The cafeteria was packed to bursting as allocated slots were forgotten given most people had missed their times while trapped downstairs.
It was unanimous decision to skip the cafeteria. For starters, John wasn't eager to be in a crowded room and Virgil was too tired for hunger to be a pressing concern, and then there was the matter of finding Alan, who was decidedly not where he was supposed to be. Their quarters were empty. There were a pair of heavy-soled boots and Gordon's GDF suit missing from the closet. No note could be found, no matter how many times Scott turned the place upside down and tore apart every tiny shadow which could have concealed a clue.
"Don't panic," John announced, which Scott promptly chose to ignore, because oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god. It wasn't like any of the times Alan had vanished before. There had been no fight leading to a strop and a disappearance into the depths of Tracy Island's vegetated flanks, or perhaps down towards the cove and the caves. This was the GDF bunker, in which Jenkins had eyes and ears everywhere – a man who had already made threats towards Alan's safety and-
"How the hell do you expect me not to panic?" Scott yanked sheets away from Alan's bed, hoping to discover a note tucked under the mattress or anything, but it was empty. Unsurprising, given he had already checked here five times. "We've been gone eighteen hours, John, anything could have happened."
"Alan's not a little kid," John reminded him, levelly, as if Scott couldn't read the hidden anxiety from his body language alone. "He can look out for himself."
"This isn't International Rescue. It's not like a mission without comms. Jenkins is worse than the goddam Hood and you know that."
Gordon sank onto the couch. "He took my suit," he murmured in a strange, almost robotic voice. He looked up sharply. "And he's got the contacts."
Scott was about to reach an entirely new level of freaking the fuck out. "So?"
"So, my suit… the combat suit, bear in mind… With the mask on, using the contacts to screw with sensors… He can take my identity and all the clearance that comes with it."
"How is this helping?" Virgil muttered, leant heavily against the wall, awake thanks to pure stubbornness and concern and very little else.
Gordon gritted his teeth. "Because…. Rumours spread faster than wildfire. People already know there was an infected loose in the medical wing. Al's not stupid – he'll make the connection – no way would any of those things get in from outside, so the infection originated here. The only place that's possible is in the research labs, which I have access to. He couldn't get to us, but he could get to some answers."
Even exhausted, Virgil caught the mismatching pieces. "Why do you have access to research labs?"
"Uh…."
On any other day, interrogating Gordon would have been vaguely amusing. Scott didn't have time for it at current. He grabbed Gordon's arm and tugged his brother after him, ignoring any protests and attempts to pause to tie laces. There was a brief scuffle behind them as John tried to persuade Virgil to remain behind and sleep before he ended up facedown on the floor, but Virgil was already beginning to sport that familiar adrenaline rush and wasn't about to be talked down. John made an exasperated sound and gave up, breaking into a jog to catch up with them.
Scott made for the elevator, trying to recall the route he'd taken previously on his initial exploration of the bunker which had led him to the research labs. Gordon caught his wrist and indicated another tiny corridor to their left with a silent tilt of his head. Scott followed him into the narrow space. Floor-level lighting illuminated in their wake. Gordon took a right turn, pushing on a seemingly normal wall panel until it gave way, revealing a concealed staircase swept in darkness.
"Elevator would've been quicker," Scott muttered.
Gordon gave him a light shove towards the stairs. "Yeah, but it also would have raised a bunch of questions from higher-ups. None of you have clearance, remember? Busting into the research sector is already gonna be difficult. We don't want to attract attention until we absolutely can't avoid it. So. Staircase."
John pulled the door shut behind them. For a moment, the darkness seemed soul-consuming, sticky, liquid, like drowning in treacle. There was a brief rustle then a flashlight illuminated the space. Virgil held it over the railing, observing the spiralling depths.
"Tell me there are no more infected anywhere in this bunker." He turned the flashlight on Gordon, who winced, flinching away from the bright glare. "I don't know what happens in those labs, but if they experimented on a kid, I don't like the idea of what else they might have hidden away down there."
Gordon lowered the flashlight with two fingers to the bulb. "I can't guarantee anything."
Scott tried to catch his gaze. Gordon stole the flashlight from Virgil and plunged into the darkness before Scott could get a read on him. In the semi-gloom left in his wake, John's expression suggested suspicion mixed with concern. Secrets that had long been kept in the shadows were finally coming out to play in the light. It was the potential repercussions that had Scott wanting to pull another lone-wolf act and find Alan by himself before Virgil or John could get caught in the crossfire, just like Gordon already had been.
The stairs continued forever. Step after step after step and yet none seemed to cover any real distance. It was difficult to tell in the dark. Time seemed elusive too. Scott put one foot in front of the other and kept his eyes on the fine beam of light as Gordon navigated the path ahead.
Anxiety was tight in his chest like a ball of yarn. He was sporting enough adrenaline to feel slightly light-headed and nauseous. A strange chemical smell clung to the stairwell, funnelled up through the centre like a chimney, and it got stronger as they descended.
"Bleach?" Virgil guessed. "Something else, too."
"Smoke," John commented quietly.
Gordon hunched his shoulders. "Decay," he corrected, whisper soft. "Bleach and smoke and… decay. Rot." He fell into step beside Scott, reluctant to take the lead any longer. "Tomorrow," he murmured, not quietly enough for Virgil and John to miss the words but still hushed, as if confessing a sin. "They told me to report tomorrow."
Somehow, Scott suspected that report was not for scouting duties. In the flashlight, Gordon looked pale, sickly, as if plagued by guilt.
"Did you know?"
Gordon frowned. "About what?"
"That they were experimenting on kids."
"What the fuck?" Gordon stared at him, wide eyes swimming with hurt. "No, Jesus, of course not. Is that what you think of me?"
"If you didn't know, you can't blame yourself."
Gordon fell silent. Unnaturally so. He wasn't even tapping either. Scott tried to reach for him but missed. Virgil slipped past and took up the flashlight. John's steps faltered for a fraction of a second. Distantly, an alarm wailed.
The stairwell opened into a lowly-lit corridor which ended at a double-set of steel doors, a little like an airlock. Gordon's pass glinted green in the affirmative light of an electronic lock and they were granted access into a small room lined with hundreds upon thousands of files. After so long spent in the dark, the light was a shock. Scott stepped into the bright lamplight just in time for the doors to hiss shut behind him. If he hadn't known they were there, he would have disregarded them as just another wall panel. Hidden exits, he mused, with a hint of hysterical amusement – how very old-school spy-esque.
John trailed a hand along the shelves.
"Research papers," he whispered. "World Health." He zeroed in on a collection of files stuffed haphazardly into a box at the end of a shelf. Faint marks in the dust proved that it had been handled recently. He yanked the first set of papers into the light, leafing through the printed text on the hunt for clues. "Huh."
"Huh?" Virgil claimed the papers for himself, ignoring John's protest. "What does huh mean?"
"Huh means let's hurry the fuck up already," Scott snapped, unable to keep the bite out of his words, but come on, they didn't have time for a goddam library tour, not when Alan was who-knew-where doing who-knew-what, doubtlessly getting himself into more trouble by the second. "Bring it if it's that important, I don't care, but let's go."
Virgil's expression fell at the reminder. He stuffed the papers into his back pocket and gave John a shove towards the door. "Gordon, you're our pathfinder."
"Yessir," Gordon muttered, easing the door open a slither to scout the hallway beyond. There were no immediate signs of life, but he turned back to them with a frown. "This isn't going to work. Hold on."
He crossed to the nearest desk and rifled through the drawers until he discovered a set of vacuum-packed lab uniforms.
"Put those on. And if you move the tiny flashlights so they face like that… Yeah, reflecting off the mirror on the pocket… Okay, that should bounce back off the cameras and confuse the security scans for a while."
John cleared his throat pointedly and held out an arm to reveal sleeves that were several inches too short.
Gordon flapped a hand at him. "Not much I can do about that, Johnny. Ain't my fault you're a freaking sasquatch."
"Short ass," John shot back, but strode into the corridor without further complaint.
Gordon darted after him with a hissed curse. "You can't just run off. John. John. Get back here or I swear…"
Virgil caught Scott's eye and tilted his head in silent question, not needing to wait for a verbal response to know the answer. Scott kicked the door shut behind them and broke into a jog to catch up with John and Gordon. Personally, he wanted to sprint the length of the entire research facility and break down every door until he found Alan, but security would be on them before they could even reach a second corridor. Also, the place was a damn maze. Without Gordon's knowledge of the layout, they'd have been lost in minutes. Everything was an identical clinical white which did absolutely nothing to ease Scott's anxiety because it felt as if they weren't getting anywhere.
Virgil was on Gordon's side, trying to play their cards cautiously. For once, John was leaning towards Scott's impulsivities. Peering through windows and trying to sneak doors open was taking far too long. Paranoia was beginning to creep up on them all. Virgil jumped at his own shadow. Gordon was second-guessing himself. John kept freezing, swearing blind that he'd heard something. Scott was running on multiple adrenaline rushes all stacked on top of one another like a Jenga tower and the slightest wrong move threatened to bring his fragile façade tumbling down. He needed to find Alan, like yesterday.
"Where the hell is he?" John finally snapped, smacking a hand into a keypad so violently that the entire thing flickered, glitching under such harsh treatment, unlocking for a split second as the code struggled to comprehend what had happened. That instant was all Scott needed to slip inside without stopping to think about it. It wasn't the smartest move, which was immediately made apparent by the sight in front of him.
Gordon closed the door behind them before the alarm could activate. "Welcome to Research Lab Three," he announced tiredly. "I'd give you the guided tour but it's pretty self-explanatory."
"You've been here before?" John whirled on him.
Gordon stared at him for a long moment. "Oh, cut the crap. I know you know."
"What exactly does he know?" Virgil cut in. "And why do I seem to be the only person in the dark?"
"Remember my genetic coding theory?" Gordon gestured to the surrounding lab equipment and the dully lit airlock at the back of the room which held the marks of electrical discharge and scorched pieces of something which looked sickeningly like human remains. "Yeah. I was right. This is one of the testing rooms. And I'm supposed to be their prime guinea pig. Human trials start tomorrow so I don't know what the hell's going on, but that kid was never supposed to be a part of it."
"Footsteps," John interjected.
Gordon glared at him. "What, like the last hundred times?"
"No, really. I'm not hearing things. There's genuinely someone coming. If you don't trust me, trust your own ears. Listen."
Gordon faltered. In the sudden silence, the steady drum of heels overpowered the whirr of machinery. Virgil reached for the lights and plunged them into the dim glow of laboratory equipment. The thump of boots sounded like a heartbeat. Scott backed up until his lower spine smacked into the sharp edge of a metal table. The series of test tubes wobbled dangerously. John steadied them with one hand, remaining stonily still as if a slightest move could reveal their location.
Steps slowed. Even muted by the heavy door, the click of the electronic lock was instantly identifiable. Scott caught Gordon's wide-eyed gaze and gestured to the only source of cover in the entire room – the cage within the airlock. Gordon audibly gulped but caught Virgil's elbow and ducked down into a crouch, sneaking between tables to the back of the room where the door to the airlock stood partially open as there was no current occupant to seal inside. Virgil eased it open a fraction further and visibly cringed at the screech of hinges.
Outside, voices stalled. Scott couldn't make out the words, but it was fairly obvious what was about to happen. A strange noise from a supposedly empty lab when there had already been a breach once that day? Yeah, if he and John didn't get to cover now, the game was up. He dropped to his knees and scooted underneath the table, rolling back onto his heels on the other side where John was waiting for him.
"There's no time," John hissed, coiling a hand in the back of Scott's lab coat to keep him from darting for the airlock.
Across the room, Virgil hesitated a second longer before catching Scott's meaningful nod, closing the door and creeping into the cage, curled into the corner on the floor to keep out of view. From here, behind the lab bench, Scott could just about glimpse their figures – framed by the blinking red light at the top of the cage which proved it was unlocked and not secure. Gordon was biting his knuckles. Virgil drew his knees to his chest and tried to keep breathing evenly.
Scott turned back to John. The door seal was unpeeling as access was granted to the approaching agents. John spat a foreign curse and flattened himself to the floor. Scott shuffled backwards behind a chair which housed a spare lab coat – long so that it covered the legs and just about concealed him from view. His ears were roaring. He thumbed his pulse and felt his own heartrate jump as the door finally opened all the way.
"You heard it too, right?" The first agent rounded the sinks to examine the row of desks where electronic displays usually monitored the condition of the subject within the airlock. "There was definitely someone in here."
"Something," the second remarked. "Jeezus. Not another one, surely. This has been one fuck-up after another."
"Well, it wouldn't have been if Jenkins had just stuck with the bloody programme." Steel-capped boots tip-tapped against the floor. There was a faint rustle as John practically slithered underneath a table, out of view as the agent stepped around the corner. "What's his deal, anyway? We had a great thing going with Tracy. Mad sonuvabitch actually volunteered, can you believe that? But then Jenkins comes swooping in at the last minute and overrides it."
Scott glimpsed John's puzzled frown.
"What the hell?" John signed at him, slowly, so as not to attract attention with any sudden movements within the agent's peripheral vision.
Scott tried to shrug without rustling the lab coat.
"Any idea why?"
"Beats me." The agent sighed. "Look, off the record… you want my real opinion?"
"Hit me, man."
"Jenkins has got a cushy number right now. He's got more power than the rest of us combined. He's even got influence over other sectors. If the vaccine works, it's great, but if it works on a Tracy... People are unhappy anyway. I feel like… if it works on International Rescue, not just any ole nobody, then that gives people hope. That shit's dangerous for guys with guns. Jenkins doesn't want to lose his fancy lifestyle. This apocalypse actually meant he got a promotion for fuck's sake."
"But why test on a kid, man? I mean… that's… it's fucked, you know?"
"I know. Not our call, Benny. Kid was an orphan. Plenty of those are disposable. Drain on resources, not contributing, no one around to miss 'em… Not like we're gonna run out of kids any time soon, so losing one or two or even ten is just a drop in the ocean in Jenkins' books."
"Well that drop in the ocean made a pretty fucking big wave when the kid got loose. What does that even mean, anyway? They gave her the treatment, but it didn't make her immune, it just made her infected… so, what? The entire programme's a bust, right? It doesn't work."
"Eh…" Agent One came to a halt on the other side of the chair. Scott was so close that he could see his own reflection in those polished boots. "Not exactly my opinion, but hey, I'm no scientist."
Agent Two leant against the table John was crouched beneath. "What's your thoughts then?"
Agent One took a step away from Scott, closer towards the airlock. "Like I said, I'm no scientist, but… it's testing the process, right? Coding DNA. So each one has be designed for a specific person. The kid they used it on yesterday… it wasn't designed for her. She wasn't supposed to be the test subject. I don't think it worked because it was based off Gordon Tracy's genes."
"They must have realised that. Why'd it get the greenlight?"
"Jenkins applied pressure. Rumour is that Dean raised those exact concerns, but he got told to go ahead or get out. Guess he figured he'd rather live with the weight of that kid's death on his conscience. Survival instincts are hella strong, you know?"
Agent Two whistled sadly. "Fucked up." He rolled his shoulder, drumming against the tabletop and John repressed a flinch. "Still. Means the treatment might work, right? If they test it on the right guy, of course."
Agent One chuckled. "I don't see Jenkins backing down any time soon."
There was a pause. Scott tilted his weight onto his left hand so that he could peer around the chair to glimpse the two agents, leaning against the wall of the airlock, reluctant to return to their duties when given the chance of an unofficial break. Back underneath the table, John had that faintly glazed look in his eyes which he always got when running complicated equations in his head. Scott turned back to the airlock. Virgil and Gordon were swamped in too many shadows for him to spy their expressions, but he could read the tension from their body language alone. If either of the agents turned around, they were stood at the perfect angle to see directly into the cage.
"But Jenkins has already backed down," Agent Two was saying, voice twisted with confusion. "Cos of this afternoon's tests."
"Yeah, tests on another kid."
"No…" Agent Two sounded genuinely baffled. "It's not another kid. And I can tell you that confidently, because I've just been past Lab Two-A and they sure as hell have one Gordon Cooper Tracy sat in there."
"Just observing, maybe? He's been a big part of this whole thing, what with getting the original samples from the WHO van over at the other branch and what not."
"No, definitely not just observing. Hooked up to all their bio-monitors and everything."
Which made absolutely zero sense because Scott had eyes on Gordon right now and his little brother most decidedly wasn't in a chair surrounded by any machinery in any lab. Which meant…. Alan… and it wouldn't work because the treatment was designed for Gordon, so… and…
John reached the same realisation approximately ten seconds before Scott did and jolted upright, eyes wide, narrowly keeping himself from smacking his head into the underside of the table and thus alerting everyone to his location. He gestured frantically to the cage, where Scott recognised the specific coiled position Gordon had taken up as one which suggested he was about to be sick. Because they knew. They all knew.
"If we don't get to him before they start treatment, he's gonna get infected," John was signing so quickly that Scott nearly missed half the words. "I can get you out of here. Find him."
"How the hell are you gonna get me outta here?"
John shot him that supervillain smile. Scott drew a sharp breath and reminded himself to trust his brother, which really wasn't all that difficult because John had frequently come up with life-saving strategies against impossible odds in the past, on many a rescue, so it was simply a matter of letting him do his job.
They were in a lab. There were plenty of reactive materials within reach. The easiest plan would have been to create an explosion. However, that would also have triggered the alarms and brought every guard running, so John opted for a more traditional strategy – smashing one guard over the head with a metal tray that had been sat on the tabletop, using the element of surprise to get the drop on him. The agent crumpled to the floor with a muted groan. The second was too shocked to react but put up more of a fight when faced with a punch.
Scott didn't hang around to see who won. Gordon could provide backup, after-all, and Virgil had the muscle to restrain the agent without any further violence. The crucial part was reaching Alan and they were working against the clock. Scott threw himself bodily out of the door, smacked into the opposite wall and used the momentum to rush into a sprint.
The clock was ticking.
His heart was in his throat. Anxiety was a mess of thorns in his chest. All the doors looked the same and he couldn't see a 2-A sign anywhere. He smashed his knee against a corner and pushed through the pain.
"C'mon, Alan, where the fuck are you?"
Tick tock.
Tick.
Tock.
