#collapsed building

“Daryl!”

You knew your screams would likely give away your location but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Daryl had just fallen through a roof, half of the structure tumbling in behind him. The dark made it difficult to tell, but the place looked to be in danger of total collapse even before you had set foot on it.

“Daryl!”

The stairs bent and crumbled under your weight, throwing you off balance. The rail swayed as you tried to right yourself only for the process to repeat as you continued your descent. When they finally gave, you fell at least two floors before crashing onto a pile of debris, barely cognizant enough to curl up and protect your head from the wood and metal that rained down after you.

“Ow.” You groaned and rolled onto your back, your arm falling limply against the floor, your fingertips submerging into something cold. Rolling your head, you blinked slowly, your vision blurry and gray at the edges. The floor was missing, dark with water that appeared to go down several feet. “Daryl.” You croaked, wincing as you rolled over. On your stomach, you peered into the black depths, unable to see.

It took some effort to get onto your hands and knees but you managed, crawling toward your flashlight. Shining it down, you squinted. A mop of brown hair flowed back and forth a few feet down, hands up beside it. You were already diving in before he began to flail, walkers appearing beside and below. Your knife drawn, you made slow stabs with just enough force to pierce the softened skulls.

You grabbed Daryl’s arms and pulled even as he began to swim on his own. The walkers’ blood was in the water and the two of you needed to get out quickly or risk infection. Breaching the surface with desperate gasps, you both scrambled to the edge. You were out first, barely dragging your feet onto the concrete before you helped hoist Daryl from the water.

“Fuck.” You panted, falling onto your back beside him.

“Yeah.”

“You okay?” You turned your head slightly to be able to see him. He mimicked the action.

“Yeah. You?”

Your hand raised in a so-so motion before it fell between the two of you and grabbed his gloved one. As much as you wanted to lie there, catch your breath, there was no time.

“We need to move.” Daryl grunted, struggling to his feet before pulling you up. Limping slightly, he took your flashlight and began looking for a way out. Try as he might to hide it, you could read him like a book. He was worried.

“We’ll find Laurent.” A small smile was waiting for him when he turned to you, his expression softening. He offered his hand, closing his fingers around yours.

“I know.”

Virgil keyed in the course change on his wrist controller, and activated the mini-Mole. With a high pitched squeal, the small ROV again started drilling into the concrete and rebar of the collapsed building. It captured all the detritus, mixed it with a quick setting binding agent, and extruded it against the ‘walls’ of its tunnel, ensuring that the resulting space wasn’t going to collapse immediately behind it.

Virgil eyed his wrist controller as he crawled after the machine. Time was still of the essence in this type of rescue. They hadn’t been able to ascertain exactly why the commercial complex had collapsed, and that made Virgil very unhappy.

In front of him, the mini-Mole chirruped, slowed its pace and drill, and pulled forward to show a hole in the ‘wall’ facing a void. Virgil activated his passive line to John, then crawled up to the entryway and cautiously poked his head through. “International Rescue. Is anybody here?”

Stupid question, he knew there were two human life-signs in this space, but the enquiry served multiple purposes. Firstly, it identified him, and stopped anyone from trying to brain him with a rock – it had happened. Trapped people panicked, and if they had fears about running out of oxygen, another person in ‘their’ space, breathing ‘their’ air was a threat that had to be ‘dealt’ with.

Secondly, it told him if the lifesigns were conscious. No conscious victim could resist responding to the magic words...

“International Rescue!”

And there it was. One of the two lifesigns was currently bouncing towards him, a little girl about seven years of age, rushing across the space, her pigtails streaming behind her, pink ribbons fluttering. Virgil watched carefully as he crawled into the space. She was moving freely, despite concrete dust liberally coating her body, and bloody red grazes on the sides of legs and palms of her hand. Her dress, once a pink frilly layered affair was now torn and lank.

She must have felt like a princess when she left her home this morning.

The little girl grabbed his hand and started trying to drag him back with her to the far corner. “You have to come, Mummy’s stuck! She can’t get out!”

“Judy! Calm.” The voice was laced with pain but firm and calming. Two conscious resucees. That was good.

Judy stopped her insistent dragging, but didn’t let go of Virgil’s hand. “Please, Mister International Rescue. My Mummy is stuck. Can you help her get out?”

Virgil smiled, it was a practised smile, confident and calm. “That’s why I’m here. Now, where is your mummy, and what is her name?”

A deep breath. “My Mummy’s name is Jennifer Robson. My name is Judy Robson. Mummy is over in that corner,” she pointed. “And her legs are caught under the roof. Mine were, too,” she added, “but I’m little so I managed to wiggle my way out. Mummy can’t.”

“Thank you, Judy. You’ve been very brave, and very helpful. Can you keep helping me by staying here, while I go and see what’s got your mummy stuck?”

A determined nod, but her fear was betrayed by small teeth gnawing at her lower lip and bright water gathering in her eyes.

Virgil smiled again, and lowered himself down beside her mother. “Mrs Robson?” he asked, it never hurt to check names with parents. Judy had spoken clearly, but a misunderstood name at a rescue site could have consequences later.

The woman smiled up at him from where she lay on her left side. “That’s right, please call me Jenny. It’ll save time.” A glance at her daughter. “It’s a bit more complicated than just being stuck. I think something’s gone through my left leg.” A frown. “My right leg is lying in front of the left, and I can move it freely, but…”

Virgil nodded. “Okay. I understand.” He pulled a device from the satchel he had been dragging under his chest, clipped to his harness. “This is a snake,” he showed Mrs Robson. “I’m going to slide it behind you, and it’ll let me see what’s holding you in place. Then I can come up with a plan to get you out.”

“That would be appreciated,” Jenny smiled.

Virgil eased his way behind her, and activated the snake, sending it slipping down next to her back, and relaying what it ‘saw’ to a little 2D screen on the control box.

He frowned at what he saw. A piece of rebar – entirely too thin for what it was presumably doing, he noted absently – had been freed from it encasing concrete, and had stabbed through Jenny’s left calf. He sent the snake bobbing down, to examine beneath.

They were in luck, the rebar had only just broken the skin, and hadn’t pinned her to the slab below. One cut, a slight jacking of the slab above her, and Jenny could be pulled out.

He informed Jenny as much, and then paused. Judy was sitting cross legged where he had left her, her apparent calm betrayed by the clean furrows tear tracks had carved down the concrete dust coating her face. He couldn’t send the little girl up the tunnel on her own, there were too many side branches that had been carved to reach other victims of the collapse. He couldn’t take her himself, and leave Jenny alone. And they really couldn’t afford the time to have one of his brothers come down and collect Judy, but she was still only young, and he didn’t really want her to see the state her mother was in.

Jenny saw where he was looking, and smiled. “If you’re worried about upsetting her with blood, you shouldn’t. Your biggest problem will be keeping her out of the way to wrap up a wound. Little girls come in two flavours, precious princesses who kick up and fuss at the mere mention of the word ‘blood’, or perfect little ghouls, who delight in it, and must be shown any wound the instant they learn of it.” She raised her voice so her daughter could hear. “Judy wants to be a doctor when she grows up, she is very interested in first aid and how to treat injuries. Judy the Ghoul, we call her.”

Judy perked up. “Oh, does Mummy need first aid? Can I help? I know how to apply bandages! Please, can I help? I’ll be super helpful!”

Virgil glanced at her mother, who was all but laughing at his confusion. “Judy, tell Mister International Rescue how you treat someone with a stab wound.”

“First, never ever ever take the object out of the wound. Take a bandage, and make doughnut, like this,” she held up both hands to make an ‘O’ shape, “slide it over the foreign object, and then wrap other bandages around it to keep in place.”

Virgil nodded approvingly. “Very good. That’s absolutely correct. First I’m going to have to get your mom out, and then we can do the first aid together, okay?”

A determined nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay, then, let’s get cracking.” He turned to his satchel, and pulled out a jack, setting it up, again behind Jenny, and then pulling out a version of Mini-MAX. This one programmed for exactly this kind of scenario, and kitted out with a miniature version of his shoulder mounted laser.

Virgil always had trepidations about ‘his’ Mini-MAX. It had taken Brains a lot of trial and error to tone down MAX’s natural enthusiasm. That coupled with a high powered laser had had … interesting results. International Rescue’s high energy equipment testing protocols and test chamber had both needed serious overhauling.

As was his habit, Virgil held his breath as Mini-MAX attached the heat absorbing shield, and activated his laser. But the little robot did his job perfectly, flying back out to his ‘travel’ case, leaving Jenny with a half-inch of rebar sticking out of her leg.

Virgil again held his breath as the jack slowly, so slowly, eased upwards just enough for him to slide Jenny out without jostling the rebar, and, once she was clear, slowly easing the slab back down to its original position.

As Virgil turned his attention to his charge’s injury, he found the little girl, kneeling beside her mother, her face mere inches from the ground, as she examined the injury with a bright-eyed intensity that made him just a little bit uneasy.

Gently pulling the girl, back he helped her sterilise her hands, and they both made a ‘doughnut’ out of bandages, and while Judy held them in place, Virgil started the binding bandage. He then turned to give Jenny painkillers, while keeping an eye on Judy as she completed the binding.

Quickly assembling the hover stretcher from its folded up state in his satchel, Virgil explained his evacuation plan to his patient and ‘assistant’. Jenny was soon installed on the stretcher, and strapped firmly in place, while Judy was more loosely strapped to her right side, so she could ‘monitor’ her mother on their trip to the surface.

Bringing the mini-Mole around to face back up its tunnel, Virgil tethered the hover stretcher to its back, and sent the Mole, the stretcher and its occupants trundling back towards freedom. Quickly packing up his remaining equipment, Virgil started crawling after the Mole, quietly confirming with John the condition of his rescuees and confirming that there was appropriate resources waiting for them top side, and that there was no-one else to pull from the wreckage of the building.

The trip back up passed quicker than had the one down, with Judy chatting happily to her mother, and then relaying regular ‘updates’ back to Virgil. The dying rays of sunlight bathing the scenery in reds and golds seemed unnaturally bright to Virgil as he crawled out of the hole, accepting Gordon and Scott’s help to stand upright again, and pull off his helmet. His back cracking as he straightened, but he bit back the groan as he twisted. That was just a bit too ‘old man’.

Ambulance crews, already briefed by John as to Jenny’s condition, and treatment already provided, had shifted her from the IR stretcher to their own gurney, and Judy was standing, watching intently as they took her vital signs, and unworriedly alternating between talking over, and talking to the little girl.

A woman, dressed in the ambulance’s uniform, drew Jenny away, and briefly examined the grazes on her legs and hands, and Virgil was briefly concerned that he had missed something in his haste to free the mother. But as the woman realised Virgil was watching, she offered a smile, and a thumbs up; and Virgil relaxed.

Beside him, Gordon nudged his arm, pressed an object into Virgil’s hand. It was one of the buttons Virgil had had made up, a test run of item he wanted to propose to Scott for distribution to kids at Danger Zone. A small button with a pin back. In the centre was the IR logo, an around it, in – naturally – Thunderbird Two Green was the words “I Was Brave For International Rescue”.

Virgil frowned at Gordon. These weren’t supposed to be here, but Gordon just nodded to Judy. “She’s earned it. Scott’s busy, go on, Virg.”

Virgil walked over, and knelt down beside Judy. “I wanted to thank you, Judy. You were very brave and very helpful back there.” He held up the button to her. “You’ve earned this. Can I pin it to your dress?”

Judy’s eyes went wide as she saw the button, and she nodded. Virgil reached forward, and very carefully pinned it to the dress, probably a bit high, it was near her collarbone. But Judy stared down at it a moment, before launching herself at Virgil and nearly strangling him with a hug. “Thank you, Mister International Rescue. Thank you for helping me and my Mummy.”

Virgil cautiously returned the hug, “Thank you, Judy.” A shout from the nearby ambulance had Judy’s caretaker gently pulling her away from Virgil and leading her away. Judy bounded as she went, pigtails streaming behind her. Back to her mother.

Twenty Years Later

Virgil lay back, watching the flickering pattern of light tiles rush past over his head. Whatever drugs they had given him on the way to the hospital were working a treat, what had been a fiery burning pain was now a dull throb, annoying but he could live with it.

A new body joined the lineup alongside his gurney, and Virgil turned his attention to the newcomer. A woman, about thirty, her long dark hair was caught in a plait, a pink ribbon incongruously woven into the braid, and formed the tie, candy pink scrubs that stuck out like a beacon amid the soft blues and teals.

A photo ID card at the end of the lanyard bounced about as she ran, and Virgil couldn’t make out then name, but recognised from the colour stripe along the right edge that the woman was an Emergency Department Trauma Surgeon. Attached to the lanyard, near her collarbone, was a pin, and Virgil strained to see it. He frowned, and reached up a hand to tug on the lanyard so he could get a closer look at the pin.

A IR blue clad arm reached about and caught his hand. “Hey, Virg, no grabbing. Hands to yourself, even when drugged, bro.”

There was a laugh, and the woman pulled off the lanyard one handed, and held the pin for his inspection. It was an old button, faded from exposure to light, but Virgil instantly recognised it. Scott had quickly forbidden them when he had found out, but the IR logo in the centre, and the words, “I Was Brave For International Rescue” ran around the edge in Thunderbird Two Green was unmistakable.

A name came to him, an image of a cement dust covered little girl in torn pink dress and pigtails, peering in fascination at the rebar piercing her mother’s leg. “Judy the Ghoul,” he said, voice slurring.

Above him, Judy – Doctor Judy – laughed. “That’s me. I’m honoured you remembered me.”

Virgil lay back and closed his eyes. “Never forgot. Little girls are ghouls. Important lesson t’ learn.” He opened his eyes. “My little girls are even worse. Had’ta keep infirmary locked. Was tryin’ to play ‘doctor’.”

She laughed again, turning her attention to his lower body. Virgil really didn’t want to know what she was seeing. Feeling what had happened was bad enough. A thought. “Did y’ Mum keep th’ leg?”

“No,” was the absent reply. “Sepsis infection at the hospital meant she lost her leg, at the knee. She has a prosthesis; reckons it’s the best thing that ever happened to her. Says it reduced her footache by fifty percent.”

She turned back to Virgil. “But I’m afraid we’ll not be reducing your footache, Mr Tracy. But if you can be very brave and helpful, we’ll have you back rescuing little girls from collapsed buildings in no time.”

Virgil smiled, as half of the people surrounding him, including his brother, fell away, and he was propelled through double doors into the gleaming sterility of a surgical theater. “I look forward to it.”

Notes:

I have five nieces, aged between ten and two. Any bandages or bandaids must be immediately removed for them to inspect the damage. Ghouls. The lot of them. Unless it’s their blood!

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the TOS or CGI Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

Whatever the problem was, it revolved around Scott. Gordon was sure of it.

Well, Gordon had had enough. But he was also not stupid, he knew to pick his time and place for such a confrontation.

The opportunity came not too many days later. And Gordon sat at his brother’s bedside and contemplated what had happened.

Scott had spent four days with back-to-back meetings in New York, trying to hash out…something. Gordon was ashamed to say he didn’t have a clue what it was about, and he resolved to take more interest in their Father’s business. It was about time he took his own share of responsibilities…

He was getting off track…

Four days of meetings was rough on anyone, but add 72-hour earthquake rescue and even he was feeling frazzled around the edges, let alone what Scott must have been feeling like. Not that a stranger could tell that Scott was running on empty.

Gordon could, though. And judging from the language John was using, and the body language Virgil was giving off that he was obviously completely unaware of, he was not the only one.

But Scott…Scott was Scott. He didn’t understand the meaning of such words as “rest”, “slow down” or “FOR F*’s SAKE SCOTT, WAIT!”

That last phrase was roared by both John and Virgil simultaneously as Scott, as usual, leapt before they’d even finished speaking and was promptly swallowed by a collapsing building.

That was two days ago. It had taken four hours to dig him out, the rest of the day and the night in the hospital to stabilise his injuries and as soon as he’d regained consciousness Virgil had flow them all home, where Scott was unanimously confined to the infirmary.

And still Gordon had not said anything.

He’d lurked…hiding around corners as his two older brothers chatted in hushed tones. Of course EOS had spotted him and told on him immediately. And they had stopped talking, Virgil had made some excuse about needing to check on Scott and John had said he had Alan…and once more Gordon was shut out.

He’d wandered around the villa, thinking on what little he’d heard. Those two words, though, had been indelibly burned into his brain.

“Death wish.”

Or were the two words…

“Like Dad.”

Both. Both of them. For the second set explained so much about the first set.

Gordon’s memories of the years between Mom’s death and Scott’s leaving for Yale were patchy at first, were completely missing their Father for the first couple of years.

Years. Almost two complete years, between Scott’s fifteenth and seventeenth birthdays, Jeff had been absent. They’d seen him from time to time, often going weeks without an actual physical presence, only holo-vids.

A memory hit Gordon so hard he doubled over, gasping.

He remembered lurking around a corner much like this one, listening to Scott defending their Father’s behaviour to an increasingly angry John. It was just after one of the prototypes of what would become the TV-21 had exploded and almost killed their Dad. And then Scott noticing him but not saying anything, staring at Gordon while pulling a now-crying John into a hug.

‘Dad can’t help it. He has a death wish, John. He just loved Mom so much that he wants to join her.’ ‘But – but I loved her that much! We all do!’ ‘We do, John, but Dad’s had much more time with Mom. And their relationship is…is different than that of parent-sibling.’ ‘I – I don’t want to lose Dad too, Scott!’ ‘We won’t. I promise.’

He may have been talking to John, but Scott’s eyes never left Gordon’s, and he found himself nodding. Even then Gordon trusted Scott would solve it.

Solve it Scott did, although probably not in the way he’d intended – a sudden illness that had resulted in hospitalisation as their stupidly self-sacrificing big brother tried to work through a chest infection that was actually pneumonia.

Gordon shook himself and the memory free.

It was happening again.

Their Father’s…heroic…death had triggered something in Scott. Something that, now that memory had resurfaced, Gordon could see in his actions, even if they were for slightly different reasons.

This time, though, there wasn’t someone to pull Scott out of the death-dive like Scott was there for their Dad.

Gordon sniffed.

John wasn’t able to do anything. Virgil couldn’t either.

Time for Gordon Cooper Tracy to step up to the plate.

When Scott woke up it was to pain in his chest and a little brother curled into his side. Not the one he thought it would be. Alan hadn’t left his side since he’d been flown home, but this time only Gordon was here. Fast asleep with his head on the only spot on himself that didn’t hurt, his hip.

Gently Scott carded a hand through Gordon’s perpetually messy hair – why was it like that? He had no idea – and was just about to drift off again when Gordon snorted and turned and fell off the bed since Scott had no way of moving without doing some more damage to himself.

‘Ow.’ ‘Are you alright, Gords?’ ‘Much as I’d like to say yes, I’d be lying…but I am so pleased that you didn’t tear anything trying to stop me.’ ‘You give me too much credit.’

Scott had whispered the last words, but Gordon still heard them. He chose to ignore them as he climbed to his feet.

‘Scott. We need to talk.’ ‘What is it, Fishie?’

Gordon smiled, a sad little smile. He’d grown up with that nickname, but it wasn’t one used very often now he was older. Maybe Scott had some inkling that this was a more serious discussion from his face because as he turned to Scott his brother had that little frowny worry on his face, that pinch between his eyebrows. He wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but he daren’t, not yet.

He needed Scott to listen first.

‘Scotty. I love you.’ ‘I love you too, Gords. You know that.’ ‘I do. Do you love yourself?’ ‘Wha-what are you talking about?’ ‘Do you love yourself as much as I love you?’

Scott stared at Gordon as if he’d grown another head. And didn’t that make Gordon even sadder. He leaned over and cuffed Scott gently around the head.

‘You are an idiot.’ ‘Gords…’ ‘AN IDIOT.’ ‘Gordon…’ ‘If you don’t stop this death wish you have…’ ‘Death wish? What are you talking about?’ ‘I’ve seen it, Scott. It’s in your eyes and in your actions. I – I’ve seen it before so I know what it is.’

Gordon paused, suddenly unsure of voicing what was in his head, but as Scott moved to hold him he stepped back, out of the way and mind made up.

‘You’re acting just like Dad did after Mom…after Mom died. The only difference is that you’re here. But you’re not always here. Sometimes you’re miles away. Sometimes I think you’d rather be with Mom and Dad than here with us…’ ‘Fishie?’ ‘Tell me I’m wrong, Scott! Tell me! Tell me you want to be here with us! Tell me…’

And Scott had somehow gotten out of bed and pulled Gordon into a hug and Gordon was crying and his fist was clutching Scott’s tee so tightly.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I – I never meant to…S***…I…’

And Gordon laughed and, because he was still an annoying little brother, wiped his now snotty nose on Scott’s top. Scott, being the big brother he was, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he pulled Gordon closer.

‘As elegant as ever, big brother.’ ‘I promise. I promise, Fishie. I promise I don’t have a death wish. Even if it seems like it sometimes. I’ll try harder, I promise. ‘Don’t, don’t. You wouldn’t be you without that streak of recklessness…just, listen to us a little more.’ ‘I second that.’

They both turned to see John, Virgil and Alan entering. Virgil said nothing as he helped Scott back into bed while John, in a rare move, slung his arm around Gordon as he already had the other around Alan, and they watched the Medscanner make sure that Scott hadn’t done more damage. It flared up yellow only where it should be.

‘You’re all good, Scott.’

Scott looked at his brothers and realised that Gordon was right.