"Hi."
Alan sounded sorta nervous. Not exactly, not really, mostly just treading on the coattails of anxious awkwardness without fully reaching it, but he definitely seemed uneasy. He was hovering in the doorway, propped against the jamb, twisting his hands so that his shadow looked fluttery.
It was the first time he'd approached Scott since two days ago, which, coincidentally, was the last time Scott had slept. The panic attack had knocked him into exhaustion too deep for the hivemind to find him but since then he had avoided sleeping which also saved everyone else from being woken up when frickin' dream-walking as a rotter left him screaming. It wasn't ideal.
But hey. Whatever. Scott was fine. He wasn't having a depressive episode or whatever the fuck else Virgil and John whispered about when they thought he couldn't hear them. He was just really goddamn tired and he was angry at himself too because if it turned out that he did have to die so that everyone else could live then why was he lying in bed wasting what fragile time he had left?
He cleared his throat. "Hey."
Apparently just a single word of acknowledgement was all Alan needed for he scrambled onto the bed without further hesitation. There was no teasing comment about how Scott had been wearing the same clothes for the last seventy-two hours and definitely needed a shower and should probably get out of bed at some point because he was worrying everyone and he knew it but-
"Do you want silence or can I talk?"
"Why would I want silence?"
Alan drew his feet up to sit criss-cross, drumming his hands against his knees. He tilted his head, eyes owlishly wide with genuine confusion.
"Um, 'cos you told Mari to go away? And you told John to get lost too?"
Get lost was kind paraphrasing, Scott considered, recalling his flash of fury when John had spoken in that soft, concerned voice and how Marisa's attempts at comfort had felt like adding water to an oil fire and oh wow, yeah, okay, he was officially a piece of shit. He wanted to hold onto all of this, so why was he pushing everyone away again? How did that make sense?
"Scott?"
He blinked. "Sorry, what?"
"Yo, Allie." Gordon's voice was unexpected. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder where he stood in the doorway. "Virgil wants you for something."
"Can it wait?"
"Not really. Get outta here."
There was a beat of silent communication. Alan reluctantly crawled off the bed and headed downstairs, pausing briefly to catch Gordon's eye. Gordon gave him a meaningful look then stepped aside to let him pass. Footsteps pattered over the floorboards, then the squid flopped onto the bed.
"Gonna tell me to fuck off?"
"No."
"So that one's saved 'specially for John, huh?"
Scott made the executive decision to pretend he hadn't heard. He rolled over to bury his face in the pillow, focusing on the darkness in front of his eyes rather than the darkness in his head. Guilt formed a cold pit in his stomach; it was by no means the first time he'd lashed out at John and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but he still regretted it.
The mattress dipped as Gordon scrambled closer. The crisp scent of the sea had embedded itself in the fibres of his clothes and he had the wind-swept look of someone who had recently been for a run on the beach and kinda wished they'd stayed inside away from the rain instead. He'd switched out his damp shirt for a dry one but the tips of his hair were still wet. Not that he seemed to care about that little detail as he propped his chin on his folded forearms and stared intently.
Even with his face buried in the pillow, Scott could sense that gaze weighing on him. He lifted his head to glimpse his brother, startled by the sheer depth of the worry in Gordon's eyes. For once, Gordon didn't break the silence, just let it settle all around them like dust, listening to the world breathe; the gentle stir of the wind through leaves which were steadily turning copper; murmurs of waves against the shore; a high-pitched song from the swaying wind chimes; rain against windows.
"Finn called," Gordon said at last. He twisted a corner of the blanket around his thumb, tension creeping into the set of his jaw as he considered how best to phrase his thoughts. "Again. He, uh, he thinks you're mad at him about something but won't say what. I dunno if that means anything to you. But the guy's called like three times in the past two days, so I'd talk to him if I were you."
Scott turned his face back against the pillow; inhaled deeply until he could practically taste the salt air that had buffeted the fabric dry when it had been washed and hung out in the sun five days earlier; pressed his fingertips against it so he could feel the creases push back against his hands.
"Okay, well. We've been discussing the Romero mission. The Genius Squad have agreed that they need access to better research facilities, so either we tell the GDF about Brandon or we go back home. As in home, home. They could use Brains' lab while a few of us head out to the Romero and see if we can figure out what the hell is going on with that signal Finn and EOS picked up."
For some unknown reason, Finn had kept up the ruse. He'd reported his findings on the Romero to the rest of them without ever once letting slip that it was Scott who had put him onto that lead in the first place. He knew Scott was keeping something from him – from all of them – that could potentially bring the fragile Safe Zone Coalition crashing down yet kept it secret anyway.
Scott couldn't figure out why. It would have been so easy for Finn to rat him out to John or Virgil or even to Kayo. But he hadn't. He'd respected Scott's wishes. Scott couldn't decide whether that was because Finn was just a decent person or if it was a reflection on his own past friendships.
He'd learnt the hard way that trust was a precious commodity all too easily squandered by people who didn't care about him at all. There was a reason why his social life had consisted mostly of family or people so close that they might as well be considered blood too, and it wasn't just due to a lack of free time. But the apocalypse had forged closer connections than he'd ever considered possible and now he faced the possibility that Finn was keeping his secret out of genuine loyalty.
"Scott." Gordon's voice dipped with some unknown emotion. More rain clattered against the windows. "We've been discussing timeframes."
"Without me?"
"Okay, no. Don't do that. No one purposefully left you out of the loop. John tried to talk to you and you told him to fuck off, remember? And he isn't pissed at you so don't start thinking like that. I'm just saying, you know, this is a bad week for you and we get that and no one is holding it against you but shit still has to get done, so we've been handling it."
There was a semblance of Grandma's tough love ringing through Gordon's words and Scott was struck with a bizarre urge to laugh. He had the distinct feeling that he'd just been chastised which was downright hilarious coming from Gordon of all people.
"What's the timeframe?"
"Next coupl'a weeks? Maybe a little longer. We'll probably wait until the first week of October to be honest. Otherwise you'll have to use more fuel flying from the island back to the Sanctuary."
"Right… the Sanctuary…"
Gordon elbowed him lightly.
"This is why people sleep, Scooter, so they can actually remember things. You agreed to give that Memorial Day speech to the Safe Zone Coalition, didn't you? Like, hey, welcome to Year Three of the Zombie Apocalypse, congrats on surviving so far, now live long and prosper or whatever the hell."
Shit.
He'd completely forgotten about that. Somehow the Z-Day anniversary had snuck up on him. Then again, the turn of the seasons had done the same; it seemed to have transformed into fall overnight. There was a new bite in the air that drilled deep into his bones and he found himself reaching for hoodies more frequently. Rain showers were growing more common and more intense.
The thoughts whirled behind his eyes in a throbbing band of tension. He couldn't afford to just lie there but equally he couldn't find the energy to get up. And then there was the gnawing anxiety which ate away at him constantly so that he felt sort of hollow and incomplete. Death had walked as his shadow for years, yet it was only now that he feared its presence.
"Scotty," Gordon murmured, sounding incredibly young all of a sudden. A droplet of saltwater had dripped from his hair to roll down his face like a tear. There was such magnitude of sadness in his eyes that Scott wanted to hold him and promise him that it would be okay even if might not be.
"What's wrong?"
"Huh?"
"You're upset. What's happened?" Scott propped himself up on an elbow to examine Gordon's expression. The blur of emotions bleeding into his own dissipated slightly as the hivemind link weakened when his focus concentrated on his brother. "Talk to me, Gords."
Gordon ducked his head with a damp laugh.
"That's more like it." He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes with a hitched sigh. "Scott, you've been acting weird for weeks. Ever since we found Brandon. It's like… I don't know. You just seem all over the place. Like your emotions aren't your own if that makes sense? But this? You flying into smotherhen mode just because I seem off? It's better. It's normal. Annoying, but normal."
Scott lost his ability to breathe. There were so many terrifying implications buried within those words. He recalled how John had slowly slipped under the hivemind's control and shivered. At least this time around it didn't seem to be the parasite calling the shots, but rather just the influence of the emotions of so many people trapped within the darkness. He was their candle and they flocked to him like moths, so many of them that the light threatened to be extinguished.
"Hey." Gordon reached out, tapping his knuckles against the fabric above Scott's heart. "Don't drift away from me again."
"I'm not." Scott swallowed. Anxiety coiled around his lungs. "I- I don't know. Sorry."
Gordon's gaze softened. "I don't know what's going on with you, but when you're ready to talk about it, I'm a surprisingly good listener. But right now, I don't want an explanation. I just want you to get some sleep, okay?"
"I don't need-"
"Yeah, Scotty. You do. Trust me."
Any further protests were promptly cut off as Gordon flopped over Scott's chest like some sort of overgrown housecat. He was notably careful to avoid jabbing any elbows into ribs or pressing on any bruises which Scott seemed to pick up so easily these days. He tucked his head into the crook of Scott's neck and tightened his octopus grip, arms wrapped into a fierce hug full of unambiguous love that was undimmed by the fact that Scott was obviously keeping secrets despite having criticised Gordon for doing the same thing months earlier when it came to the vaccine.
"I can't sleep," Scott ground out, an unwilling confession because he owed Gordon that much. The words scratched in his throat. He curled his fingers in the back of Gordon's shirt.
Gordon drummed reassuring patterns against his side. "Can't or won't?"
There was no accusation in his voice but they both knew there was only one real answer.
"I don't want to wake up half the damn house again," Scott admitted in a heavy whisper.
"You won't. I'll wake you up before you reach that point. I'm going to stay right here to keep an eye on you. Gonna be a regular smotherhen. I learned from the best, y'know?"
A desperate, humiliating sound rose from deep in his chest – small and frantic like a wounded animal – but he managed to keep it hidden behind clenched teeth. He looped an arm around Gordon's back and held him close, burying his face in the mop of damp hair beneath his chin as he tried to ignore the burn behind his eyes.
He didn't want to lose this; and he was oh-so-scared on an instinctual level of everything good being ripped away again. Sacrifice had been his constant for so many years, but it had never seemed as real as it did now. Maybe it was an inescapable fate that had been written long ago; the father died saving the world and so too must the son. Everything must be balanced, Kyrano had said: life must be matched by death; maybe they could only bring back the infected if someone died in return.
"Scott," Gordon murmured, snaking an arm around Scott's waist. "Sleep, bro. I've got you."
He awoke in someone else's arms, groggy with the stuffy headed sensation of having slept far too deeply for far too long, but he already felt better. The room was in darkness made deeper by rain and it had a sort of velvety heat that reminded him of being feverish, a state of delusion in which the mind somehow still recognised when it was safe. His head rested above a heartbeat and there was a hand threaded through his hair, an arm wrapped around his back to keep him close.
Marisa must have recognised the change in his breathing but didn't call him out on being awake. She remained curled around him, skimming her fingertips across his scalp as she lowered her hand to the nape of his neck, a silent signal that it was okay for him to stay. They lay in silence for several minutes, listening to rain patter against the glass; the distant thunder of waves; a murmur of voices from downstairs where the others were playing some sort of board game in the kitchen.
Scott couldn't pinpoint his exact feelings. There was a blurred line where they melted into the mess of everything that the infected were experiencing. Exhaustion remained in his bones; he could taste the stale tiredness. He listened to Mari's heartbeat, traced a circle with his thumb against her side, drew comfort from her steady breathing. She tilted her chin to press a kiss to his forehead.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the curve of her neck.
Her hand stilled where she'd been tracing patterns across his upper back.
"You don't need to be. It's okay. You were hurting and you needed space. I get that."
"I'm still sorry."
"Would it make you feel better if I said I forgive you?"
He closed his eyes tightly against the threat of being seen.
"I don't know." Yes? Maybe? Do I deserve that? I should feel like I deserve it, but I don't know what I feel right now. "I… don't know."
"Then I forgive you."
His breath caught in his throat. He tightened his hold, fingers pressing against the small of Mari's back to pull her close, then let go as it dawned on him that holding on too tightly was exactly what had driven away so many people in the past.
He knew she would stay – he believed she cared about him; had seen that truth in her eyes – but it was difficult to hand someone the power to destroy him and trust them not to use it when all he had known from past romantic relationships was inevitable betrayal. The only thing worse than letting people discover the wreckage within him was learning what damage they could inflict in turn.
Marisa withdrew just long enough to shuffle down the bed so they were equal. She traced his jaw with her fingertips, almost reverently as though she couldn't believe that he was hers.
"Do you feel any better?"
He sucked in a sharp breath before the pressure behind his eyes could grow too great.
"I'm less tired. I can think now. So, physically? Sure." He studied her face in the pale light thrown under the door from the corridor. "But I'm… I'm just sad, Mari. I'm so fucking sad right now."
"I know." Marisa's eyes glistened but her voice remained soft and steady. "I know you are, baby. But you're more than your sadness. Let us in. You're allowed to accept help."
He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. "I'm not so good at that."
"Neither am I. But we can try and that's worth something."
Rain increased from a curious patter to a stronger pace as though the water were tapdancing across the roof. Scott wondered whether it might drown his thoughts if he listened to it for long enough. His instincts told him to keep his secrets tucked away in his chest where they couldn't hurt anyone else but their potential impacts were bigger than him and so it didn't matter what he wanted. But also? He was tired of being alone. He wanted to share the weight.
"I'm going to tell you something," he said quietly. "But I need your promise that you won't tell anyone else. I'll talk to them eventually but I'm not ready yet."
"Okay." Marisa's thumb ghosted across his cheek. "It'll be our secret. Now tell me what's going on."
He experienced the sensation of standing at the top of a very tall drop, teetering on the edge of falling, the ground unstable and liable to crumble at any second, daring gravity and hearing the thunder of his own heart in his ears, alive, alive, alive, putting his fate in the hands of the universe.
But there was nowhere to fall. There was only his own frantic fear and the sound of the rain and Marisa's hands on his face and his side, tracing the rise and fall of his ribs, treating him gently as if he were something precious worth treasuring. And so, despite his instincts, he told her everything.
Once upon a time, years ago, after the first time he'd reached 10 on the scale, he'd taken a walk. Not far, just around a few blocks or so. But it had seemed monumental at the time and perhaps in retrospect it had been. The entire mess had occurred after spring break and he couldn't recall how long it had lasted – although he could still vividly remember the exact layout of ceiling panels in that cold, godforsaken room – but by the time he ventured into the sun for that walk it was early July.
The world had been a calamity of noise; unbridled chaos; chatter and car horns and distant sirens; hot air blasting from vents as the subway rumbled below the streets; vividly green leaves warmed by the sun; effortlessly blue sky; bagel stands and kids running around with sticky ice cream cones. The little details had seemed so incredibly important – so wonderous – and he could still remember the knot of hope that had unravelled in his chest so that he could finally breathe again.
So, he wanted to live. Not just for the big moments. For the little ones. The innumerable tiny instances that stacked up to form something beautiful.
He wanted to take Finch for walks; pick up a guitar; have a glass of fresh orange juice for the first time since Z-Day; walk on the beach on Tracy Island again; go surfing; let his brothers drag him into puppy piles; see his friends smile; smell the fresh scent of soil after a rainstorm; laugh until he couldn't breathe; feel that moment of weightlessness immediately after take-off; to be okay.
"Shit, Scott," Marisa breathed. "That's… We'll figure it out, okay? We've figured out everything else so far, why would this be any different?"
"I'm scared, Mari." He choked on a brittle laugh, tasted salt, only then registered that his face was wet as he gulped down a ragged inhale. "And it's stupid because we all die. Nothing lasts forever. But I want more time. I nearly threw it all away before and now I want to hold onto it."
"Oh, honey. It's not stupid. I promise it's not stupid." She curled closer and kissed the tears from his face. "Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed, remember?"
He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Which book is that from?"
"The Iliad."
"Huh. Virg was obsessed with that at one time."
Marisa frowned, undeterred by his attempt at deflection.
"Scott. We'll be okay. You'll be okay."
"What if I'm not?"
"That's not an option. Your family doesn't believe in no-win scenarios, remember?" She caught his gaze and held it, defiant in the face of an uncaring universe. "We will figure this out, you hear me? I'm not letting you go, Tracy."
"Mari-"
"No. Don't try to argue. No one in this house is going to let you die. We all love you too much."
And maybe in another universe he'd have sprung upon that final sentence and questioned whether there was a confession tied up in it – those three little words that neither of them had said yet because this thing between them was still fragile and they both feared breaking it – but in this one he simply pulled her close and let her distract him from the dark.
Leaving the beach house turned out to be a quiet, uneventful affair. The ruckus really began when they sat down in the mostly empty kitchen – every sign of home packed up in Three's cargo bay in an uncanny imitation of how they had boxed up their treasures to leave for TB5 so long ago – and discussed who would investigate the Romero.
Tempers flared. Acidic words were thrown around. Emotional blackmail was not off the table either. There were many arguments made; some logical, others verging on the edge of lunacy, forged purely from a desire to look out for one another. Kayo and Gordon talked their way onto the mission, which of course prompted Penny's demands to tag along too which sent Parker into overprotective mode and triggered Kyrano's concern for Kayo. It was a messy conversation.
In the end, it was four of them who crowded into One's cockpit. Scott had walked away from the discussion to start pre-flight checks, having realised very quickly that he wasn't going to make any difference and so leaving it to Grandma and Virgil to act as umpires. He wasn't surprised that Gordon and Kayo had gotten their own way and wasn't overly shocked to see John either.
"So," he said casually, glancing over his shoulder at Kayo as he skimmed through a final array of green holograms. "Who's gonna fly Shadow home if you're coming with me?"
Kayo inspected the edge of her knife.
"Alan," she replied after a moment, sliding the blade into a holster at her hip. "I'd let Pen pilot only I can't guarantee she won't fly after us. She's, uh… She's not happy with me. Or with Gordon for that matter. But hey, she'll forgive us. Eventually. Hopefully."
"It's Penelope," John pointed out. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "She'll hold this against you for the rest of your lives. Believe me, she still holds a grudge from our college days."
"Really?" Gordon's head popped up from behind one of the passenger seats. "What happened?"
John shrugged. "Ask Penny."
"She'd never tell me."
"Then you'll never know."
Gordon kicked his bag further beneath the seat and crossed around to flop into it. He lounged backwards, twisting to throw John an exasperated look.
"You're such a little bitch, space-case."
"Ah yes, because insults are great strategy for encouraging someone to let you in on a secret."
"I'm gonna leave you on the ship. You're too annoying. Let the GDF handle you."
John hid his grin behind a sea of holograms. "Scott wouldn't let you. He prefers me to you."
"Woah, hold on, back the hell up. That's such bullshit! Scotty, you don't prefer him, right?"
Scott exchanged a long-suffering look with Kayo.
"I'm currently considering leaving both of you on the Romero, so…" He felt tiny tremors run through the controls as the Thunderbird came to life. "EOS, you there?"
"Obviously." EOS's avatar glowed to assure him that the sarcasm was meant as a joke; it was difficult to tell sometimes. "I've plotted a flight plan for highest fuel efficiency. So far I've had no luck with contacting the Romero. The ship isn't powered down, so they're deliberately ignoring me."
John's amusement gave way to calculated reasoning. His contacts flared as he activated the HUD, examining the data that EOS projected for him while Scott eased them into the air. The others would leave later; it was telling of just how determined Gordon was to go on the mission that he had agreed to let Virgil take care of securing Four to Three for the flight back to Tracy Island.
"It's practically smothered in comm devices," John reported, a hint of tension creeping into his shoulders as he scanned the ship schematics. "FM broadcast antennas, NAVSAT receivers, WSC comm suits, the most recent high-speed SATCOM system covering multiple bands…"
Gordon's previously humorous tone melted into seriousness. "Meaning?"
John glanced up. "Meaning they're definitely hearing us. They're choosing not to reply."
Kayo exhaled through gritted teeth. "Keep your guard up. We don't know what we're flying into, but chances are it won't be a party."
"Aw, man, really?" Gordon gestured to the ebony material of his z-rated flight suit. "But I got all dressed up for the rotters."
The Romero was one of the largest ships in the entirety of the GDF's fleet. It loomed out of the sea, a grey blot against the blue, visible from a significant distance like a bloated whale carcass floating on the waves. There was a sense of ominous threat about it and Scott tightened his hands around the controls subconsciously as he tried the radio again just in case anyone felt like answering this time.
There was no reply.
"I don't like this," Kayo admitted in a tightly wound voice. She braced a hand against Scott's seat as she leant forwards to get a closer look at the ship. "Something seems off."
"It's the apocalypse," he pointed out. "Maybe they were overrun. If no one powered down the systems, they would just keep going. Theoretically, this class of carrier could stay at sea for…"
"Eighteen years without refuelling," Gordon supplied. "Johnny? Can your super spooky alien senses tell us anything?"
"Contacts."
"Alien senses."
John heaved a sigh but didn't bother retaliating for a second time.
"There are healthy people in the conn tower. There are a lot of signatures in the lower decks too but I can't get a clear scan, so they might be infected. That's all the information I can gather at this distance."
"That's not much to go on," Kayo muttered. "It could be an ambush. They might want Thunderbird One so they can finally escape this godforsaken ship."
Scott cut horizontal power and shifted to VTOLs. "I guess we'll find out."
The flight deck was unrecognisable. A thick, glutenous coating of old blood, spilled gore and debris atomised to ash concealed the paintwork that had once marked its surface. Navy aircraft had been reduced to rubble; sleek hulls crumpled like foil wrappers; contorted creations of melted metal strewn across the deck like upturned beetles. Scorch marks brutalised the base of the conn tower.
Scott had never been based on an aircraft carrier nor had he spent time on one since leaving the military. Despite this, he was struck by a wave of déjà vu so strong that it made him giddy. He pressed a hand against One's hull and took comfort in the cooling metal beneath his glove.
"Okay," Gordon mused, swinging down to land with a light squelch on the bloodied tarmac. "This is weirdly quiet. I don't like it. It's giving me horror movie vibes."
Kayo took a step away from One. The deck appeared mostly deserted with the exception of a small cluster of infected at the far end. The creatures were plucking at the skeletal remains of their ex-crewmates and showed no signs of being distracted by the Thunderbird's arrival. Kayo rolled her shoulders, unease stamped across her face as she turned back to Scott and Gordon.
"John should stay with Thunderbird One." She cut off his protest. "You're close enough to access the ship's systems with your contacts and I think one of us should keep an eye on our ride home."
The rotters were beginning to pay attention. Their heads jerked up like disturbed lions guarding their kill. A few more staggered out of the crevices of twisted metal. Scott was hit by a horrifying thought that he might run into the infected that he had… what, exactly? Possessed? Temporarily inhabited?
John retracted the seat back into One's cockpit. "I'll keep an eye on you from here. If you spy any signs of trouble, get back here immediately."
Scott flexed his hand around the holster at his hip. "FAB, John."
There must have been something in his voice – some tiny inflection of dread – because John paused, catching Scott's shoulder before he could step away. Artificial blue faded as he searched Scott's expression.
"You okay?" he asked at last.
"I'm fine." Scott mustered a teasing smile. "Look after One for me, yeah? Not a scratch."
John let him go. "Just… be safe."
"When aren't I?"
Gordon clapped a hand to Scott's bicep. "Relax, John. I'll keep an eye on him."
"Which means I'll babysit both of them," Kayo corrected. She craned her neck to glimpse the top of the conn tower, silhouetted against the vivid sky. "C'mon. Let's see if anyone will answer the door."
A fierce gust of wind swept up some of the ashes from the deck. They formed a thick, dark cloud like an omen which floated away into the gathering grey bank along the horizon. The sea was already growing gloomier and the air tasted saltier. Waves lashed at the hull. There was a storm on its way.
Scott tried to fool himself into believing that the new chill was the reason why he shrank into his suit, still slightly oversized despite the adjustments that had been made to it. It now housed more weapons and defences than he could remember off the top of his head, thanks to a collaborative effort courtesy of Brains, Tycho, Virgil and even Isaiah and Fuse, calling from Sylvia's bunker. The ebony fabric still left him unsettled at times but so much horror had happened since that day in New Zealand that he found it less jarring. He was mostly just grateful for the new armoured plating.
The foreign feelings pushing at the back of his mind were stronger in the open air. He paused, turning to examine the flight deck. It seemed as familiar to him as Tracy Island; the sort of place that he could navigate blindfolded. Memories from the on-board infected bled into his own; he could pinpoint the shattered datum lights, the slot seal from one of the catapults – torn free to writhe in the wind like an eel or slippery section of entrail – and the closest hatch which led to one of the vertical trunks that punctured through the ship to offer emergency access between decks.
He filed the knowledge away for future reference.
A lake of crimson spread from the base of the conn tower. The blood was fresh enough to have retained its potent red colour and had leaked into the ash, forming a congealed, tacky substance made frothy by sea salt and spilled gasoline. Splashes trailed up the sides of the tower and there was a crater in the ash which implied the victim had fallen from a great height. A few grisly scraps of human flesh and bone remained but most of it had been consumed by greedy mouths and fingers.
Gordon snatched up his knife instinctively. The sharp snap of metal sliced through the tension that had pressured each of them into silence. Kayo eyed the rotters milling around the base of the tower.
Scott put out a hand to keep her from advancing and stepped forward to take the lead. A new wave of emotion pulsed at the base of his skull; he could only describe it as yearning. He glanced over at the creatures, startled by the twisted desperation behind their eyes. They wanted to be given mercy.
The access hatch creaked open. A scruffy-haired man with grey eyes and the demeanour of a distrusting shelter dog poked his head out. He said nothing but beckoned them inside.
Scott hung back at first, mental alarm bells screaming at him. But they'd come here for answers and they wouldn't find any standing around on the flight deck, so he exchanged a glance with Kayo, bumped his shoulder against Gordon's, then stepped into the conn tower.
The hatch clanged behind them. Scott jolted, automatically shifting to his left to shield Gordon from view as their anonymous guide whirled around at the sudden movement. Kayo's hand hovered above her holster. In the jarring silence of the tower, their breathing seemed very loud and strained.
No one moved as the ship rocked, reliant on merciful waves without engines – how long had those been shut down for, Scott wondered, and why? Why not aim for shore? Then, with a funny, jerky little motion of his hand over his shoulder, the man led the way up a tall, metal ladder.
Kayo watched him go with narrowed eyes.
"I'm telling you now," Gordon whispered, crowding into Scott's space. "This guy is definitely some sorta serial killer. Or maybe they've formed a cult. This place is weird and creepy. And that's coming from me. If I'm saying I'm uncomfortable on a ship, that should tell you something."
Scott ignored those comments. There was an itching certainty at the back of his mind that he had stumbled into something far darker than he'd initially realised. The bleakness of the tower was oppressive and he longed to turn on his heels and bolt like a bat outta hell back to Thunderbird One.
Their guide paused halfway up the ladder. His eyes looked black in the low light. He took one hand off the rungs to crook a finger at them.
"Definitely a cultist," Gordon muttered, pressing his arm against Scott's. The taut unease in his tone implied that he wasn't entirely joking. "Kayo? Back me up here."
Kayo said nothing.
Scott took a sharp breath. The air tasted of stale body odour, aviation fuel and copper. He wedged his boot onto the first rung of the ladder and twisted to face his siblings.
"You should go back."
Gordon stared at him incredulously.
"Did you hit your head or something? No way are we letting you go in alone. Have you ever seen a horror movie in your life?"
Given his horror movie collection had been a bone of contention for many years, Scott would say that was a resounding yes. He knew that backup would be a smart plan, but he wished he'd brought Parker and Kyrano instead. Kayo and Gordon could more than handle themselves but the big brother in him was screaming at the thought of purposefully leading them into danger.
Kayo placed a hand on his back. There was a brief moment in which she seemed to hesitate, drawing comfort from the contact, but then she gave him a brisk shove.
The next few minutes passed in silence as they climbed various ladders past multiple floors all the way up to the flying bridge. Another hatch shuddered open. Light streamed in from the windows. It took several moments for Scott's vision to adjust. He shot Kayo a warning look and she fell back into place at Gordon's side behind him. All around them, people were staring.
"Uh," Scott said eloquently, blindsided by the continued silence. "Hi. I'm Commander Scott Tracy of International Rescue. These are my colleagues, Kayo and Gordon. We're here on behalf of the Safe Zone Coalition of the US, UK and Canada. May I speak with whoever's in charge?"
Not a single person spoke. There had to be at least fifteen people crowded into the room, clustered around them with awed gazes and glazed expressions full of uncanny adoration. It was as if they had been drugged. They seemed more brainless than the rotters. An incomprehensible whisper rustled through their midst. Several fell to their knees. Behind Scott, Gordon let out a breathy curse.
"My children!"
A relatively tall, scrawny man with thinning tawny hair and unsettlingly pale eyes stepped out of the crowd. He wore a set of poorly stitched black shirts that had been fashioned into a makeshift robe and a hefty silver cross dangled from his neck. His mouth stretched to reveal a gummy smile as he flung out his arms and let tears glisten on his face, tipping back his head to shout to the heavens.
"Do you see? Angels have arrived. They have witnessed our sacrifices! They have observed us atone for our sins! And now…" His voice dipped into a thready whisper. "They are here to deliver our salvation."
"What the-?" Gordon began to say before Kayo slapped a hand over his mouth, sensing that the situation could very easily spiral out of control. Suddenly his jokes about a cult weren't funny.
Scott held himself perfectly still. A low buzzing in his ears warned him that he needed to breathe. The preacher – or whatever the hell he called himself – took a lurching step closer. One hand rose, laced with scarred burns. It clasped Scott's face, fingers curling around his jaw in a possessive grip that matched the barbaric amusement behind those icy eyes.
"Our angel," Preacher hissed. "We have been waiting for you. We have bled for you. We have given our bodies to the demons so that they may know light. As we are yours, you are ours."
For brief instant, Scott was back in the Minnesota bunker. The fingertips digging into his cheek were formed of prosthetic plastic; the air stank of blood and brandy; there was ice in his veins and deeply human terror holding him captive. He jolted backwards, heart hammering, panic rising up his throat as if he might be sick. Kayo's hands were on his biceps, her voice murmuring in his ear.
"Back off," Gordon snarled, venom dripping from his words, eyes blazing with protective fury as he planted himself in front of his siblings. His hands were steady as he pointed his gun at Preacher's head, so close that the barrel practically kissed the wizened skin of the man's brow. "Don't fucking touch him. Don't even look at him. Go near either of them and I'll blow your frickin' brains out."
"Scott." The metal tips of Kayo's gloves were digging into his arm. He registered the pain at the same time as cognitive thought came rushing back to him. "I need you to snap out of this."
"I'm fine." He straightened up, clenching his fists to hide his shaking hands. "I'm fine."
Unsettled whispers flooded through the onlookers. Some were openly weeping. Others were on their knees, begging for mercy. Scott wanted to be sick. The air seemed thin and he wanted to leave only he suspected it wouldn't be so easy. These people had all been experienced military personnel before the apocalypse and those instincts would still be engrained in their muscles. Even with Kayo's martial arts prowess and Gordon's skill with a gun, they'd be hard-pressed to win a fight.
"Our angels are displeased," Preacher cried. His voice broke into an unholy wail. He gripped his cross, shaking his head with a low moan. "Do not forsake us. Let us prove ourselves."
A new ripple passed through the crowd. Scott grabbed Gordon's shoulder and yanked him back. Kayo unsheathed a blade. They pressed their backs together, waiting for a chance to escape. Indistinct pleas rustled around them, a sea of indistinguishable murmurs like static. Occasional sobs rose above the din. A short, stocky woman clutched at Preacher's robes with a desolate cry.
Gordon's fury wavered, overtaken by shock. "What the hell is wrong with them?"
"People needed ways to cope with reality. Some chose to hide, others chose to fight and the rest turned to… this." Kayo smacked away a wandering hand. "They're not the first cult I've come across."
"Sir?" Scott tried, incredibly conscious of the duo who had moved to block the ladders. "Listen, we're not here to cause trouble. We're just looking for someone who might have sent a signal."
His words washed over Preacher with minimal impact beyond a twitched eyebrow. Things were rapidly spiralling out of control. He stole a glance over his shoulder but the ladders were still out of range and the only other way out of the conn tower was through the broken window. He didn't need to check to know that wasn't a survivable fall.
"Look, we'll just leave, alright? How about that? You let us go and we won't say any more about it."
Little details were dawning on him; stained tissues beneath desks; a blade coated in blood; names etched into the wall, many struck off; the gleam of desperation in watchful eyes; the sort of primal hunger that he would have expected from the infected.
The low hum of voices reached a crescendo.
"Sir, if you would just listen to me-"
"Quit playing nice," Kayo hissed into his ear. Every inch of her posture radiated deadly intent. There were many tricks hidden up her sleeves and she was prepared to use all of them. "These people are insane. Reasoning with them isn't going to work."
Gordon exchanged his gun for a knife. For an instant, Scott was thrown back through time into the memory of the GDF facility where Gordon had rescued them from the bandits. The black of his z-rated IR suit lacked the metal lines of his GDF gear but he didn't seem any less deadly as he flipped the blade between his hands and grinned at Preacher, an icy challenge full of teeth and threat.
"Come on then. Try me. I dare you. Let's go, buddy. Show me what you've got."
Kayo whirled on the nearest cultist. He stumbled back with a choked cry. Blood gushed from his broken nose. The chanting cut out abruptly at the tip-tap of drips against the floor. Scott silently unsheathed a blade of his own, twisting his wrist to keep the weapon concealed.
Preacher took an unsteady step into the centre of the room.
"We have displeased our angels. We must prove our dedication. Who would like to volunteer for such an honour?"
Confusion swirled with dread in a sickening rush. Scott opened his mouth to speak – unsure of what to say but certain that he had to say something – but Kayo grabbed his wrist in warning. A young man in his mid-twenties stepped out of the crowd as if sleepwalking. He stripped off his shirt and placed it on one of the disused control panels, then bent to unlace his boots which he left there too.
Preacher gripped the man's shoulders. His gnarled fingers squeezed bruises into skin. Despite his supposed willingness, the man was shaking. He held Preacher's gaze for a long minute, then stepped up to the broken window. Glass shards crunched under his bare feet as he clambered over control panels to reach the ledge. Blood trickled down the displays. The crowd watched with bated breath. None of them made any move to stop him. Some of them were beginning to cheer.
Scott caught onto the scheme just a handful of seconds too late. He lunged for the man's arm, but his fingertips skimmed through thin air. He heard Kayo's horrified curse, saw Gordon make a mad flail to catch the man too.
Neither of them made it in time.
He grabbed Gordon and yanked him back before he could cut himself on broken glass. A godawful wet thump echoed from the deck. The infected howled to one another, rushing for the new meal.
"What the f-fuck?" Gordon choked out, flinching against Scott's chest as gristle crunched and entrails squelched while rotters tore the body into chunks. He was breathing so raggedly that he was at risk of making himself sick. "Why would he-? Oh my god. He- Oh god."
Kayo's eyes were wide and haunted. There was a childlike terror in her gaze as she stared at the open window. The whistle of the wind through the space sounded like a sob.
Preacher flung his arms skyward. "The demons have been sated! We have shown them the light!"
"The light?" Gordon's voice rose to a hoarse scream. "We just watched a man kill himself and you're talking about…? This is fucked. You're all fucked. This bastard is brainwashing you! Wake up!"
Scott couldn't tear his eyes away from the window. He'd been so close to catching the man that he could still feel the warmth of his skin, could picture the rise of his ribs as he took that final breath, could see the flash of fear on his face as he had tilted forward and let gravity pull him down.
And now his body was in pieces on the tarmac, torn limb from limb, organs spilt across the deck, muscles and sinew stretched like elastic bands, skull rattling around like a forgotten soccer ball and shit, Scott wanted to be sick. He could taste bile at the back of his mouth. He was holding Gordon too tightly but his brother hadn't complained, just kept shrinking closer with every new shout of exultation from the cultists. Their faces were upturned with feral pleasure. Preacher was singing.
Scott couldn't move. His ears were ringing again. He couldn't stop replaying the moment. Oh Christ, had John witnessed that? Did John even know who had fallen? Did he think it was one of them?
A new voice spoke. The woman had the cold eyes of a shark, lacking the glaze worn by other cultists. She cast a calculating look over the three of them.
"Perhaps our guests would like a drink. Allow me to take them."
Preacher's eerie singing momentarily paused. "Yes, Trish. An excellent idea. Take them."
Trish shot Scott a warning look before he could speak. She shouldered aside the cultists by the ladder and led the way down. She pressed a finger to her lips, signalling that those on the bridge could still hear them. They crossed a narrow catwalk and entered a stairwell that led into the bowels of the ship. Only once the hatch had locked behind them did she finally turn to face them.
"Before you ask to leave, I wouldn't recommend it. Have you ever seen sharks go into a feeding frenzy? So do the ghouls. Wait until they've finished, then go."
Scott fumbled to find his voice. All that came out was a croaky echo, "Ghouls?"
Trish arched a brow. "What do you call 'em?"
"Rotters," Kayo muttered.
"Zombies," Gordon added.
Scott palmed the nape of his neck as new emotions surged closer. "The infected."
It was harder to ignore the pressure of the hivemind down here. He recognised the corridor – not just because they all looked the same but because of the rust patterns and bloody footprints – and it was disorientating to be familiar with a place he'd never visited before.
Trish turned away with a dismissive chuckle. "Come with me. You want to know about the signal, don't you? I was the one who sent it. I'd have sent a lot more too had Preacher not taken control."
She spat a curse that didn't translate via Scott's earpiece. He recognised absently that he hadn't heard even a squeak from EOS since they'd landed. The realisation was jarring.
He glanced up to catch Gordon's knowing look, still shaky and pale from the horrors they had witnessed, braced against the wall as he rode out another wave of nausea. Kayo didn't look much better but had concealed her feelings with a thin veil of icy distrust. She glimpsed Scott's secretive hand signal as he signed, Are our radios dead?
Kayo didn't visibly react but hung back to fall into step behind them. She fidgeted with her wrist console, casually tapping a finger to her ear as she tried to activate her radio.
Trish shot a curious look over her shoulder and Scott swept forward to block her view, swiftly distracting her with a new question, something about supplies or rationing techniques or whatever-the-hell came to mind in that instant. It didn't matter: Gordon stole back control of the conversation.
"What is wrong with you? We just watched a guy kill himself and you're acting as if nothing happened? Like oh yeah, that's a thing, it's whatever, no big deal. You're just completely apathetic! It's insane! I've known robots have stronger emotional responses! What the hell?"
In Trish's defence, Scott hadn't shown much reaction either. He could feel shock nipping at his heels, reminding him that it would set in as soon as his adrenaline rush crashed, so he couldn't afford to think about any of it until they were back on Tracy Island or at least far away from the godforsaken ship. He squashed every dark thought in a mental box and left it locked to process later.
Honestly, he was more concerned about Kayo and Gordon. All of them had seen enough violence to know how to compartmentalize until they were out of the danger zone and could safely fall to pieces without fear of potentially fatal repercussions, but they weren't immune to brutal sights. Gordon had witnessed darker horrors wrought by bandits which he refused to talk about and Kayo had been known to leave the room when scavengers were mentioned. Given the way Gordon was still trembling, this was another incident to be added to the list of banned topics.
Trish wrenched open the next hatch, forcing Gordon to take a step back.
"Get out of my face. That's your only warning, understand?" A tiny vein pulsed at her temple. She paused to smooth her expression back into neutrality. "I don't owe you an explanation, but for the record? I am deeply disturbed by everything which has occurred on this ship since Z-Day."
On a surface level, there was no reason to doubt her. But there was something about her manner which made Scott's skin crawl. It was more than his distrust of authority figures. He tried to study her body language but that had always been Gordon's area of expertise more than his and it was impossible to compare notes when Trish refused to let them out of her sight. She never moved more than five steps ahead of them and her situational awareness was off the charts.
"How'd Preacher end up in charge?" Scott asked, aiming for a curious tone. Gordon shot him a sideways glance. A subtle little head tilt implied that he'd caught onto Scott's suspicions.
Trish didn't miss the look but let it go unmentioned.
"He was Ship Chaplain. When the infection got out of containment, a lot of people turned to religion to cope. And those who didn't already believe in something soon changed their minds when they saw Preacher walk through a horde. From that moment on, his word was law. Hell, it was scripture."
"So, he's immune?"
"Oh, he's immune alright. We all are. Do you know why he tricked them into sacrificing themselves? Because we're running out of supplies and he knows it. There are too many survivors on board."
Kayo's steps echoed along the corridor as she jogged to catch them up.
Scott lowered his voice although he suspected Trish could still hear. "Anything?"
"Not exactly. There's a lot of interference."
"But you got through?"
"John's okay. But he was trying to tell me something and I couldn't figure out what."
Scott didn't reply. Kayo's stare seemed to see straight through him. He rolled his shoulders, restricted by the armoured plates. Several questions kept spinning through his head and he swore the answers were staring him in the face. Hivemind pressure nudged at him again, like a persistent itch that he couldn't reach. Why had the infected drawn him here? It had to be for a reason.
"Weird phrasing," Gordon noted under his breath. "The infection got out of containment."
Kayo's chin jerked up, eyes widening with realisation. "The Romero was transporting one of the parasite samples."
Trish levelled her with an approving smile.
"Close but not quite. We weren't just transporting the sample. We had clearance to run tests too."
"Tests?" Scott's voice sounded clipped even to his own ears. "What kind of tests?"
"The experimental kind." Trish's smile dropped another degree into the realm of frostbite. "Records say it's possible to unlock some kind of telepathic control."
Scott came to an abrupt halt. "What exactly did the GDF plan to use it for?"
He already knew. Goddammit, he already knew. The world wasn't as simple as good guys versus bad guys. There were a helluva lot of shades of grey and the GDF operated in the darker end of the spectrum. At the end of the day, they were a military organisation. Scott knew the excuses. He knew the propaganda and the taglines. He'd even believed in them for a time. But this? This was insanity.
Don't say it, he mentally pleaded with Trish because a naïve part of his heart still wanted to keep his faith in the GDF while his head had accepted a long time ago that the corruption ran deep.
"Just think about how many lives we could save if we could control and neutralise our enemies. We could stop wars before they even begin. Situations like Bereznik would never have to happen again."
The resulting silence was so severe that it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the ship. Or perhaps that was just Scott. He rubbed his knuckles over the fabric above his heart. Someone was speaking: Trish, still spouting bullshit excuses for the GDF's attempt at mass population control. Gordon's hand wrapped around his bicep, warm even through the uniform, and Kayo glared.
The pair radiated rage and Scott loved them for it, but he didn't need their protection. He knew now why the hivemind had brought him here and he had an awful, sickening feeling about the identities of the other signatures that John had discovered. He'd questioned the lack of rotters on the flight deck earlier but now it made sense. The crew had been deliberately exposed and those who had turned were incarcerated on the lower decks. The GDF – the original GDF - weren't planning on saving the world; they wanted to reinvent it.
"You're wrong." Fury bled through his voice. "No one should have that power."
The same eerie groan from his dreams rattled through the walls. He dismissed it. Gordon shouted something but it went unheard. Kayo was trying to prise open one of the access hatches to a trunk that would take them all the way up to the flight deck. Trish's voice pitched with the same wild dedication to her cause that Preacher had shown to his. Scott hated her for it, an overwhelming, blinding rage that mixed with the anger of so many others in the hivemind, growing stronger.
Another crash thundered through the hull. Radio static snarled in his ear as John attempted a call. Gordon was tugging at his arm, trying to pull him away – and when had he begun to advance? To install a look of terror on Trish's face? – still shouting some warning or plea or protest.
Scott couldn't hear anything above the rush of emotions screaming in his head. It was only the sudden movement at the end of the corridor that drew his attention: that and the click of Kayo switching the safety off her gun. Gordon's knife flashed in the light. Trish gave a panicked yelp at the sight of so many infected, drawn to her location, tracking her down through Scott's eyes, summoned by shared fury. She had condemned them and now she would pay.
Except-
No.
She was still human. Despicable, certainly, but a person who undoubtedly had family and friends somewhere in the ashes of the world. He couldn't let the infected kill her. If not for her sake, then to spare the human souls trapped within those creatures. He couldn't let them suffer through the horror of tearing a body apart with their teeth and nails.
He flung up a hand.
The horde staggered to a stop.
Trish's sweaty face grew lax as realisation washed over her.
"It's you," she breathed. "You're the one. You've unlocked complete control of the hivemind."
"Scott," Kayo's shout broke the air. "We've got to go."
Trish fumbled to catch his arm, gasping out coordinates. "Please. Go to them. Tracy. Listen to me!"
Scott cast her a final glance. "I don't take orders from you."
"Just listen-"
"No. I'm done listening. You had a responsibility to protect the people who put you in power and you abused their trust. I'm not going to make the same mistake." He gestured to the infected, still lurking a few metres away. "What's the saying? We reap what we sow. Good luck with them."
He didn't look back. When he collapsed into One's pilot seat, he sent them skyward so quickly that the force of the Gs made his ribs ache. Voices clamoured for his attention. He stuck One on autopilot, buried his head in his hands, and let himself fall apart.
"Scott."
Climb by five hundred feet. That weather system looked nasty, maybe bank right, change course by forty-five degrees. Keep an eye on the fuel gauge but increase thrust because hello headwinds.
"Scott."
Don't think. Just focus on flying. Admittedly, that was a challenge when everybody was talking at once and were persistently calling his name despite his obvious determination to ignore them, but hey. That just meant it was a good thing that he didn't actually need to focus. He could have flown One in his sleep, but forcing himself to concentrate meant a distraction from unwanted thoughts.
It's you. You've unlocked complete control of the hivemind.
…watch the pitch, climb to a higher altitude, those clouds look to be hiding some crazy thermals so try to get above them, never below, below is where accidents happen-
"So, what? We're just not going to talk about it?"
"Which part?"
"We should head home, reassess, come up with a game plan."
"We're not already heading home? Yo, Scott, what the fuck?"
"Gordon, does that heading look remotely like we're going home?"
"I anticipate that you will hit severe turbulence unless you change course-"
"Not now, EOS."
"I'm only trying to help."
"Can we go back to the part where the hivemind still exists?"
"Did you know?"
"Did I know? What, you think I'd have kept that shit a secret?"
"Well, you've been asking weird questions about it for the past month, Gordon."
"Really? You're coming after me? Scott's the one who's apparently been linked to the damn thing since, like, forever, but no one's pointing fingers at him."
"This isn't the time."
"This is exactly the time. And where the hell are we even going?"
"GDF base."
"Now? That's a terrible idea."
"I know. We're not prepared and-"
"For fuck's sake, Scott, would you stop? You don't get to ignore us. You're the one who's been keeping secrets. And not just small, petty secrets but the potentially world-ending kind."
Slow down. No need to fly so fast. Drop down to Mach Two.
A hand landed on his shoulder. Logic told him there were no threats around, but he wasn't entirely aware of anything, detached in an unsettling, ghostly manner as if he had one foot in his body and the other floating in the ether, and so instinctual reflexes kicked into play before he could stop them.
The crack of knuckles against bone silenced the cockpit instantly. The low hum of One's engines and occasional warning alert from the weather radar seemed deafening. There was a very high-pitched ringing too which Scott only registered once it began to fade. Reality yanked him back into his body with a rude crash. He dimly recognised that his hands were trembling. Still, no one said a word.
Gordon dropped back into his seat. When he lowered his hand from his nose, a smear of blood glistened on his fingertips. He probed the injury with a faint wince, too used to pain for it to be anything more than an irritation, but that knowledge didn't stop Scott from feeling sick with guilt.
"Shit."
It was the first thing he'd said since taking off from the Romero, letting his conscious drift out on a thin tether so that he didn't have to face reality. Now, his voice wavered, a humiliating tremor indicative of tightly wound emotions. He sucked in a sharp breath which didn't fully fill his lungs.
"Are you-? Shit, Gordon. Sorry." He dug his fingers into the padding of his seat to anchor himself and repeated the breathless apology as if it meant anything. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise-"
"It's cool."
"You're bleeding."
"And you've got frickin' zombies talking in your head."
Scott couldn't tear his gaze away from the blood on Gordon's face. His nose wasn't badly bleeding – it certainly wasn't broken by any means so some part of Scott's subconscious must have recognised his brother and pulled the punch – but that wasn't the point. He shouldn't have been bleeding at all.
"I'm sorry," he repeated helplessly.
Some part of him found it ironic that he'd probably apologised more in the two years since Z-Day than he had done in the entirety of his life beforehand. It wasn't just an apology for hitting his brother and Gordon sensed as much.
"I know." Gordon wiped the blood against his knee and it vanished against black fabric. "It's okay. Not all of it. But this? This is okay. I shouldn't have grabbed you. That was stupid, so I'm sorry too."
Kayo slipped from her seat into the rear of the cockpit to retrieve a packet of tissues from one of the lockers. She dropped it into Gordon's lap, then grabbed his chin, tilting his head to examine his nose despite his protests.
"Not broken."
"Yeah, no kidding." Gordon shoved her hands away. "So, um…" He tore one of the tissues into tiny, anxious scraps. They fell like ash over the floor. "Are you okay?"
There was another pause.
"Scott?" Kayo prompted in a softer tone usually only reserved for Alan. It spoke measures that she was now using it for him and he hated it because she should have been angry.
The pitch of Thunderbird One's engines increased as they struck rougher skies around the edges of the thunderstorm. There was always more turbulence above mountain ranges, but this system seemed stronger than most. A great flash lit up the cockpit, momentarily painting them all as ghosts. The blood on Gordon's upper lip was vividly crimson and Scott wanted to run.
"Enough of this." John caught Kayo's arm, a silent request for her to return to her seat. "Land."
Scott couldn't look at him. "That's not-"
"Land somewhere. We need to talk."
"We need to finish this. There are lives on the line. People are dying. If the GDF know something-"
"People die every day!" John took a steadying breath and continued, forcibly calmly, "Set One down. We're not going to find anything useful if we head to the GDF like this."
There was another terse silence.
Scott cast a glance over the weather scans. "Not here. EOS, find us some clear sky."
"FAB."
Even EOS sounded unnerved. It was remarkable how many arguments you could have in complete silence. The words flying across the cockpit struck deep yet were never thrown at all. Gordon tore apart another tissue. Kayo folded into her seat, staring rigidly at the blank console in her lap. John's eyes were vividly blue again, sorting through the data he'd stolen from the Romero.
They landed on a large plateau. Crosswinds still buffeted them from both sides, but the sky was clear and the world seemed impossibly vast. Without the steady hum of engines, the silence took on a vengeful quality. Each whistle of wind seemed haunting. As they entered a second minute of silence, Scott smacked the activation panel for the hatch and headed outside. He wasn't sure if he hoped to be left alone or was secretly praying that someone would follow him. Impossibly, he wanted both.
Z-rated suits might have worked well against bites, but they didn't retain much heat. It was bitterly cold at such a high altitude, made worse by wind chill. He partly wished he'd stayed inside One, but he refused to go back now. That would just be embarrassing. Besides, it was easier to think outside.
The hivemind presence had retreated since the Romero. He'd seen what they'd wanted him to see and now they trusted him to act accordingly. Their emotions had detangled from his own and had faded to background pressure like a bruise that was only noticeable when pressed.
The idea that he had control over it was laughable. If anything, it had control over him and that was what he had feared admitting to his family. But now the increasing necessity of that decision had been stolen from him; Kayo, Gordon and John all knew and soon so would everybody else.
Goddamn, it was cold. He wrapped his arms around himself and scuffed his boot against a rock, sending a flurry of pebbles over the ledge to scatter in the void below. Windswept stars watched over the desolate landscape. Darkness cloaked the land beyond the arc of One's floodlights, but it was only more of the same barren, featureless plains. Moonscapes were more visually interesting.
When new steps crunched on the gritty soil, he didn't acknowledge them. He'd stepped up to the boundary between One's lights and the darkness. It was such a thin line. He craned his neck to glimpse the stars. There was something incredibly alien about this place. If EOS had informed him that they were on another planet – perhaps some meteor – then he wouldn't have been too surprised. Well, he would have been but only because Thunderbird One wasn't space-rated.
"Is Gordon okay?"
John plunged his hands into his pockets with a shiver. "He's fine. You know he is."
"I hit him."
"We're not here to talk about Gordon."
Scott toed the line between the light and the dark. There was no moon. When he held out a hand, his black glove was indistinguishable from the night. An odd certainty washed over him that if he were to step over the line, he'd never be found again. L'appel du vide. It was intoxicating.
"I didn't want you to find out like this."
John shook his head with a brittle chuckle.
"No, you didn't want me to find out at all. There's a difference, Scott. You lied to me. You lied to all of us."
"I didn't lie to you. I just… didn't volunteer the information."
"Congratulations, you discovered how to lie by omission."
Maybe he'd used up all his anger on the Romero or perhaps the hurt in John's voice stung too badly to react with spite, but either way Scott just couldn't muster the energy to snap back. He watched a lonely satellite trail across the sky, sending signals to places which no longer existed, and was struck by an overwhelming sense of loss. He wanted to go home but it wouldn't be the same. Home existed in a time that was lost to him. He could never go back there. None of them could.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked eventually.
His breath fogged in the air like a ghost. The world was so full of grief these days that it had permeated the atoms and they exhaled it with every breath. How many people had suffered throughout history because of the actions of a few? The GDF, the Hood, doubtless others had attempted to use the parasite too, and for what? Money? Power? Other meaningless trophies?
John hesitated, taken aback by the exhaustion in Scott's voice. There was a stricken fear behind his eyes which Scott hadn't noticed until now and it dawned on him that John had witnessed that soldier fall to his death without knowing who it was. He'd been forced to watch the infected feast on the body, had spent several minutes out of radio contact alone with his worst fears as company.
"Why didn't you tell any of us?"
"Is that your real question?"
"…Why didn't you tell me?"
Why hadn't Scott told him? For so, so many reasons which all seemed inconsequential in the aftermath. The baseline was that he'd been trying to protect John but he knew that wouldn't go down well.
He crouched to pick up a pebble, then stood back up, rolling it between his palms, identifying the tiny craters and canyons within its surface. It was mostly to occupy his hands while he delved into unhappy memories. The anxious tremors hadn't faded and he really didn't want John to notice.
"Do you remember," he said slowly, turning the pebble over and over, "The first night we spent at Mari's place? The apartments?"
John frowned. "Yes, but I don't see how it's relevant."
"Do you remember what you said to me?"
"Not exactly."
Scott pressed his thumb against the tiny divot on the pebble. The wind drove an icy chill under the neck of his suit. He could sense John looking at him but refused to glance over.
"You weren't sure if you wanted to survive this."
John inhaled sharply. "That's not…"
"It doesn't matter if there was any real truth in it. The point is that the hivemind was one of the lowest times of your life and I didn't want to drag you back into it. You thought you were free. You've been so much happier, Johnny, do you really think I'd do anything to jeopardize that?"
There was a brief silence. Scott stole a glance at his brother. John was – surprise, surprise – looking at the stars again but there was open fondness on his face mixed with sad exasperation.
"You were trying to protect me. Again."
"I guess so."
"I'm not a kid anymore, Scott."
"Neither am I."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's supposed to mean that it's not about that. It's… limits. What, you think I don't know about the rescue you gave to Kayo and Gordon in Bereznik? You look out for me too. I just- I wanted to fix this without having to tell you. But it's not that simple, so now we're here and you're pissed at me."
John finally dragged his gaze away from the stars.
"I'm not mad at you." There was genuine confusion in his voice as if it hadn't even occurred to him to be angry. "I'm just… For future reference, if you're dealing with something, talk to me. I don't care what's going on in my life, I'll make time for you. That's always been a given. I thought you knew that, but I forgot the part where being a self-sacrificial idiot is one of your basic personality traits."
"Thanks," Scott deadpanned.
"Seriously, when are you going to learn that you don't have to handle everything alone?"
"I didn't. I told Mari. Eventually, anyway."
John trailed off. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Huh."
"See? I wasn't a complete idiot. I just didn't want to tell you or Virgil because..."
He skimmed the pebble into the dark. Listened to the clatters fade. Clawed a hand through his hair.
"I put you both through a lot in Minnesota. And I know – I know – it wasn't my fault. But it still- It still happened. And yeah, it was fucking awful for me, but you both had to watch. You especially, John. I can't remember everything I said to you but I know it was bad. So, if I could save you from worrying about me for even just a while, then obviously I had to make that choice."
"But I don't want you to do that."
"I know."
"Clearly you don't. Or at least you don't seem to understand it. I would rather you put me through hell ten times over than have to speak at your funeral. You don't have to wait for things to get bad before talking to me. We could have figured this out together. Instead, we went to the Romero without being fully prepared and you had to watch a man kill himself."
"Are you concerned about the hivemind or… that?"
"I'm concerned about both but while we're on the topic, is that going to be a problem?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'm good, Jay. It's not- The hivemind is the problem. Not anything else."
John studied him for a long minute but seemed to believe him.
"So. Control of the hivemind?"
"No clue. I can hear them. I can see their memories in dreams. But control? Not so much."
"Finn didn't stumble upon a file about the Romero, did he?"
"No. I've been dreaming about it for the past month."
"You can control them to an extent though."
"Sort of."
"Well, Brandon hasn't bitten anyone, so I'd say it's a certainty. Maybe you can unlock full control. We don't have access to all the information, so it's difficult to draw a conclusion from an incomplete dataset. Presumably the GDF know more if this was their programme initially. I wonder if-"
"Okay, okay, Johnny? How about we save this for the flight? It's freezing out here."
John blinked as if only just recalling they were stood on an exposed plateau in the middle of a mountain range. Ice was beginning to reform where One's VTOLs had melted it. The chill had bled through their suits and Scott had reached the level of cold where he couldn't remember what it felt like to be warm. He'd lost the feeling in his fingertips. There was frost on his boots.
"Are you ready to confront the GDF?" John asked as they turned to head back to One. Scott had wandered further than he'd realised and was currently cursing this fact. "We could wait. It would be easier if we brought Penelope along too. Lee might even have some contacts there."
"I doubt it. He cut ties with pretty much everyone after Dad's accident."
"He's still respected."
"And I'm not?"
"I didn't say that."
"Relax, I'm messing with you."
"Oh, hilarious."
"Lighten up, it'll be fine." Scott dropped the joking tone. "The Romero was horrific. I don't want to think about it. If we go to the GDF, get the information, keep pushing on, then I can focus on moving forwards. That's safer than heading home and dwelling on everything we've seen."
"I know," John sighed. He paused outside the hatch, considering something. "If it gets too much…"
"I'll tell you." Scott lifted his hands. "I swear."
John still looked doubtful but seemed to accept it. There was an overwhelming fondness in his eyes which he hastily concealed by pulling Scott into an unexpected hug, fierce enough to fight off the icy wind. There was a reassurance in their closeness that finally eased the anxious tremors in Scott's hands as he lifted his arms to hug John back. He could feel his brother's fingers press against his uniform, unable to gain purchase on the fabric but holding on as tightly as possible. For a moment, he let himself rest his head on John's shoulder, closed his eyes and tried not to think of anything.
"In all seriousness, we should wait," John mumbled, still refusing to let go. It was a secret glimpse into the heart-lurching terror he'd felt upon seeing an unknown figure fall to their death from the conn tower. "It's the middle of the night for them right now. Give it a couple of hours until dawn."
"Dawn is only two hours away?"
"Time zones, remember?"
"I'm still running on Pacific Standard."
"Oh, I know. It gets confusing. There's a reason why I used to work on UTC."
"Yeah, 'cos it annoyed the hell outta all of us."
"…That may have been an added bonus."
"I frickin' knew it! 'It's standard practice in space', yeah right. You were deliberately being a little shit for all those years."
Scott looped an arm around John's shoulders, unwilling to let go just yet.
"I don't want to go home," he confessed. "Not until we've got some answers."
"That's fair." John reached for the access panel. "So, let's stay here for a while."
Scott couldn't help but laugh. "Camping trip in Thunderbird One, huh?"
"If that's how your mind works, then sure." John's voice softened. "It'll be okay."
"The GDF?"
"I'm not talking about the GDF."
Scott curled his hand into a fist. The metal ridge of his gloves pushed against his knuckles, a persistent reminder that this suit was designed for violence. Studying the sky, he suddenly longed to see the sun again. The stars had always made him feel small and he already felt lost enough.
"I know," he replied, forcing himself to meet John's searching look. "But what if we can't fix this?"
"What if we can?"
"Since when are you an optimist?"
"Since when are you a pessimist?" John shot back. He patted One's hull, glancing up at the stars. "Mom didn't raise us to believe in no-win scenarios. We'll find a way."
