ISOLATION by PENNYSPY RATED FRM

This story was written in response to and the winner of the Tracy Island Writers Forum's 2007 Halloween Horror Challenge.

The Parasol Corporation welcomes you to the picturesque town of Isolation, situated high in the Appalachian Mountains. Why not try our lovely local diner, say your prayers at the historical Church, and enjoy one final look at the incredible views before darkness falls? We pride ourselves on our friendly residents, animated nightlife, and a beating heart that never dies. We hope you never leave!

The Appalachian Mountains ran underneath the chartered helijet's shadow like a well-gnawed rack of ribs. The thought of food made Scott's stomach rumble for about the hundredth time since they'd set off. Five hours ago. He put his eyes back on the sky above, concentrating on piloting the helijet through the narrow pass. The winds up here were deeply inhospitable, but Scott was relieved they'd taken a helijet. There was only one road up to this godforsaken place, and it sure as hell didn't look any fun to drive.

"So what did you think of Herbert West?" Scott asked. "The last time you saw him?"

Brains glanced up from his reading. Even in this awesome, isolated landscape, in an ancient helijet, International Rescue's top Professor was intent on research. Scott caught a glimpse of what looked like a flayed anatomy class corpse in the reflection of Brains' glasses.

"He was at a course I attended in, uh, Massachusetts, Scott. He had many i, interesting ideas, although he always seemed a little intense. I had thought he was, er, out studying in Switzerland until I got the call from Diane."

"Oh yeah, your mystery woman," Scott teased good-naturedly, although Brains seemed to go pinker.

"She was a g, good friend, Scott. Uh, look," Brains pointed ahead, "Th, that must be it."

Scott mentally groaned. They were heading, as Diane's coordinates had instructed, towards an isolationist's dream town. They were already hundreds of feet up a sheer mountainside. Nothing existed above or below it but rock, ice, and a one-pony town - imaginatively, this was actually called Isolation. He suspected that its pony had sensibly moved to greener pastures. Scott caught sight of a white building with a pointed roof that looked like it could be a church. There were one or two people moving around as he came overhead, heading for a neon sign. Probably a bar. It was too bad that he'd probably be out of here too soon to enjoy a drink after their long flight.

"A regular party town, Brains." Scott's only reply was a grunt. "I guess that must be West's laboratory?" He had also spotted the small dark cube set into the rock even further up the mountain.

Brains said, "I, er, think you're right, Scott."

"This is Scott calling Tracy Island." Scott activated the transmitter they'd brought with them. "Do you read me, over?"

"Just about," his father's voice crackled over the line. "Are you there?"

"We're about to land. The signal around here is pretty erratic. I'll call back when we're due to leave."

"When do you think that'll be, Scott?" Jeff asked.

"Uh, th, that depends on what Doctor West has to, er, show me," Brains said.

"Will it take all night?" Scott asked.

"I r, really don't know," Brains said, "But, er, we will get a message to you, Jeff, once we know more."

"At least we beat the storm," Scott said, "I guess you should expect a call from tomorrow morning, our time. About eleven-thirty."

"Okay. Glad you got there safely. Have a good trip, boys."

"Thanks, Dad," Scott said. The radio signal was at a pretty low ebb even as he brought the helijet over the tiny township. "There's our landing place. Hold on tight, Brains."

Scott brought the helijet as gently as he could down to the courtyard area with a large, wobbly 'H' painted in the centre. A blonde woman in a thick white coat came running towards them. Scott climbed down from the helijet, picking up Brains' suitcase as he did. It felt full of mechanical things - the rattle of an experimental laptop came from inside.

"Brains? Is that you?" the blonde woman laughed, coming forward and hugging Brains on the windswept landing field.

"H, how have you been?" Brains sounded delighted.

"Pretty good, Brains. Busy. But I guess you have been, too." She looked over at Scott. "We're getting overwhelmed with visitors today."

Scott grinned. "You must be Diane," he said.

"Sorry, no prizes for that one," she smiled, putting out a hand, "Diane Vorhees."

"I'm Scott," he said. "Nice to meet you." Her hair was short and efficient, cropped over equally efficient cheekbones, with an English accent to match. She looked just a little older than Brains.

"You must be one of Jeff Tracy's sons," she said as Scott shook her hand. "Are you joining us at the laboratory?"

"I don't think so," Scott said. "I was staying for a bite to eat and then heading back to Colorado. I'm due a vacation."

He noticed that Diane's hands were scratched, and she had fresh plasters near her throat. He frowned at that. "Are you okay?"

Diane looked perplexed, and he gestured to her throat. She waved it off, "We had a broken test tube - or six. We had some unexpected results. We've learned not to trust the computer readouts." She smiled.

"Yeah, it's no substitute for your own judgement," Scott agreed.

"Well, we're hoping Brains can help us with it." She gave him a suddenly cold smile and Scott's unexpected sense of unease increased. "What we're doing is going to heal the world, Scott."

"Heal the world..." Scott knew enough about Parasol to be surprised. "That's a real change in direction for them, isn't it?

Diane said sharply, "Why shouldn't they?"

Scott raised his hands. "Hey, it's just something I've noticed."

Her eyes relaxed slightly, and the welcoming smile had warmed again. "I'm sorry, Scott. We're used to suspicions. Parasol are amilitary supplier, it's true. And Doctor West is a medical genius, but has been considered slightly unorthodox."

"He's been studying tissue regeneration, Scott," Brains said. "He was very excited to show me."

"He's been making some enormous leaps forward," Diane said, "Which is why we're keen for you to take a look, Brains."

"I can't wait!" Brains said cheerfully. "So wh, what are you going to do, Scott?"

"Steak," Scott said. His stomach was definitely taking over his head. It had been a really, really long flight - and Brains looked like a kid with a new puppy. Scott added, "From wherever, I don't mind."

"We don't have a lot of good food at the laboratory," Diane apologised. "Usually West and I order from Rita's Diner over there," she gestured, "I've already eaten, but we can stay here if you want?"

"I would like to, er, go up right now," Brains said. "I'm really n, not hungry."

"I'll stay here, then," Scott said. He glanced over at the sad collection of buildings just beyond the court where he'd landed. The icy wind buffeted him and the helijet rotor blades whirred again by themselves. Neon glowed in the alleyway beyond. "I'll wait for you at the diner."

"O, okay." Brains nodded.

Diane smiled. "That's settled, then. We'll send Brains back down later. But I warn you, it's interesting stuff."

"Thanks anyway," Scott said.

"You gonna finish all that?"

Scott glanced up. A small, weasely looking guy was peering over his side of the booth, looking hungrily at Scott's remaining steak and fries. He looked rotted, with bad teeth and breath that was almost foul enough to make Scott lose his appetite.

"I definitely am, buddy," Scott said.

The weasely man sniffed. He looked reproachful.

"Damn it, Erly, leave our new customer alone!" a woman's voice yelled across the old, but homely diner where Scott had taken refuge.

'Erly' gave Scott's steak another look and deliberately rolled back over the other side of the booth. Scott gave his side of the chair a long look, waiting for the guy to return. When he felt he was safe he started eating again.

"I'm sorry about that, honey." The woman who had yelled was suddenly beside him. The combination of bacon and some oversweet perfume wafted up his nostrils, also overpowering the smell of his dinner. Scott looked up from his steak.

"It's okay, really." He tried to get one more piece of surprisingly good meat to his lips, but the woman clearly hadn't finished.

"No, that's Erly, he'll pester you night and day. He's been here a while and most of us here are used to him, but, he gets to thinking no one eats quick enough and then you gotta be quite firm with him." There was a pause and she didn't move. Scott kept the fork halfway to his mouth, ever-hopeful, and looked up at her again.

She was a well-preserved forty-something in a pink waitress uniform - although there was no name tag. Her dark hair wrapped away in a neat bun, bright blue eyes mostly focussed on him. Scott felt a prickle of recognition at the matronly, calculating look. The one he'd labelled from his teenage years as �women who want to fix me up with their daughters...or them...'.

"This is a really good steak," he said, trying to be polite and point out the food at the same time.

"Best in the State, not that anyone would know it..." She tilted her head. "How come you're up here all alone, honey?"

"I'm waiting for a friend." Scott bit into the juicy steak and chewed vigorously. She didn't get the hint.

"You the folks that arrived in the helijet?"

Scott swallowed. It went down harder than he'd have liked. "Yes, ma'am." He turned his head.

It dawned on him that it wasn't just her. Half the diner was watching him - about seven people sitting nearby and at the bar. A older bearded man was watching him over the top of his paper, and a man with no hair at all kept glancing back, his eyes darting between Scott and the front of the other guy's paper. The rest of the customers were intent on the football game on a huge screen in the corner.

"You guys get a signal here?" Scott said, surprised.

"We sure do, honey. That nice Mr West came along and boosted our TV signal when he started his business up the mountain. He's awful good to us; him and that nice Diane. Are you and your friend plannin' on staying here long?"

Scott took a breath. "Not really."

"I only want to know in case I have to order more in. They go through a lot of my stock, those guys..."

"Look..." Scott paused. "Are you Rita?"

"This is Rita's Diner, finest dining in the Appalachians." She smiled. "We have the best steaks in the state..."

"Look, Rita." Scott flashed his best smile, his hands with a mind of their own desperately cutting the meat. "Could I get another coke?"

"Angela, get the visitor another coke!" Rita shouted it across the room, earning grumpy jibes from the crowd watching the game.

A tall, thin-faced girl with very dark hair peered over the counter. She looked about seventeen. "Mom, I was gonna go..."

"Go get him a coke." Rita flashed Scott another grin. "She's a great kid, honey, what did you say your name was...?"

Scott filled his mouth with a big piece of steak, and chewed, half-smiling whilst searching hard for some elegant way out. It wasn't like there was anywhere else to look or go as Rita smiled down.

"Here you go." The girl, Angela, put the coke next to Scott's half-finished other one and gave a quick nod before hurrying back behind the counter like a scared mouse. Scott chewed and shut his eyes. Come on, Brains, hurry up and let me get out of here...

As he opened them again, the entire diner was plunged into darkness.

Scott was already on his feet when the weird green glow filled the windows, and cast everything in its sickly light. The light waxed and waned, flickering off the counters, turning the stale-looking donuts a shade of slime. The football fans were grumbling at the screen, but no one acted too surprised by it all.

Scott looked around in confusion. "What's going on?"

Rita was at the counter, rummaging for something. "It's the professor, honey." She drew out two candles and then a box of matches. "Happens once in a while. He must be showing your friend something up there."

Scott crossed quickly to the window and tried to see where it was coming from. It looked like there were six or - no; he counted seven beams of greenish light flooding the narrow pass and the whole of the small township.

"What are they?" he said.

"They're transmitters." Erly was back at Scott's side, his face pressed into the window. "Transmitters to heaven!" he sniggered.

"Right," Scott said. He glanced around as the warmer glow of candles spread out, turning the green light into ineffectual shadows. "How long does this power outage usually last?"

"Oh, not more than an hour," Rita smiled at Scott, "Can I get you a slice of pie while you wait?"

"Thanks, but I hadn't finished the..." Scott stared. Erly gave him a surly look and finished gulping the rest of what looked like a steak. Another glance back proved that it had been his, and now his plate only contained a pile of rapidly freezing fries.

"Erly!" Rita scolded. "I'm awful sorry, we can cook up another on the gas stove..."

Scott was mildly amazed to find he wasn't that hungry anymore. It was either the green light, or the way that Erly was slurping and slobbering over the meat. "No, I'm okay, Rita. Coffee would be great."

"I'll get you some pie, too..." She bustled off. Scott sat heavily back into the plasticky seat of his booth and fidgeted. He sincerely hoped that Brains wouldn't take much longer. He wanted back, to the nearest Dennys if necessary. The wind howled through the diner's doors, making him glad he'd worn a thick sweater and jeans for the trip.

His eyes stung at the candle smoke - Rita had brought him a short, stubby one for his table. The football fans were grumbling and arguing over who had probably won.

Angela came over with his slice of pie, looking nervous. "Here you go, sir."

"Thanks, Angela." He sent her a 150 watt grin, trying to put her at ease. She gave a watery smile and scurried away like a scared rabbit. He heard Rita saying something crossly to her in the kitchen.

He was eating out of pure boredom when the lights abruptly came back on. The jukebox, TV and coffee machine all started roaring and hissing at the same time. Rita and Angela darted around the floor turning things up, down or retuning them entirely. Scott glanced down at his crunchy pie. So they were meant to be blueberries. He owed himself five bucks.

He headed for the bathroom a few minutes later. It had been a really long flight. The men's room was pretty much as he'd expected. The tiles were yellow, and walls were covered in peeling green paint, although overall the room's texture was clean. There was graffiti of course, although very, very neatly daubed by the urinals in red and black marker. Otherwise it was like any men's room he'd ever visited, even down to the very worst odours being poorly masked by the stale, ineffective deodorizer yellowing on the tiny window. Perhaps that was also giving the stink an acidic undertone that he couldn't entirely place. As Scott stood at the front of the urinal, his eyes caught a movement somewhere to his left. He turned to look and his eyebrows shot up.

It was a helluva big cockroach, scuttling along the floor. It was about the largest bug he'd ever seen, even after living in a tropical paradise. "Gordon would love you, buddy..." Scott whistled. It was approximately the size of TinTin's hand, and it seemed to see him, change direction and scuttle straight for his shoe. Without a moment's thought, Scott squished it under his heel, making sure he ground down hard. It made the typical crack-crack-squish noise, and a good amount of bug-guck oozed out under his foot. Scott had a queasy second, remembering that crunchy blueberry pie he'd devoured while the lights were off.

When he finished a few minutes later, he turned to leave and glanced down, intending to pick up the large puddle of bug-mess or scrape it to one side. He looked by his right boot, then his left. Just tile remained where he'd stomped the thing; only a grimy smear marked with boot tread, and - he caught the flicker of gooey movement to his left. The cockroach was making a getaway. Its remaining three and a half legs were carrying it slowly but surely towards a crack behind the wall, next to the toilet stall. Scott crouched for a second to take a better look at it. The thing was mangled, but moving, and effectively gave him the bird as it staggered off. Scott wrinkled his nose. Wow. "You bastards probably couldsurvive a nuclear blast..." he muttered.

The wobbling, smashed up bug made a gooey getaway into the dark crevice. Scott stood up.

"Mr Tracy?" Scott almost jumped.

The man in the doorway was completely bald, without any eyebrows. Scott recognised him from the bar.

"Yes," Scott answered. He stood up, turning on a tap at the sink. Some reddish-brown water spurted out. He withdrew his hands and switched it off.

"Call for you at the bar," the bald man peered at Scott, "What you looking at?"

"Nothing. Dead bug." Scott gave up on cleaning his hands, and walked quickly out and past him. "Interesting wildlife you have here," he added.

"So you're Scott Tracy? This guy's been holding for a while, says his name is Brian?" Rita handed him the antiquated audio-phone she kept behind the bar.

"Thanks, Rita," Jeez, this place is old. Scott picked it up. "Hello?" He hadn't seen one like this since he was thirteen.

"Scott?" Brains' voice, sounding crackling and a lot further away than just up the mountain. Scott had to strain to hear him.

"Brains? You okay? What are you whispering fo...?"

"I, I'm whispering because...West is c, crazy..."

"Crazy?"

"L, listen you've, er, you gotta get out of there. Take the helijet and call b, base. You n, need to evacuate..."

"Brains, I'm not gonna just leave you up there, what's going..."

"No, everyone! Get everyone out of the town! West's t, totally insane, Scott. He's gonna..."

There was an angry yell audible over the phone and Scott shouted, "Brains! Brains, say something!"

The line went dead.

Scott tried redialling with Star-69, hitting the buttons on the phone stem. The line was completely dead, without even a dial tone. "Dammit!"

Scott put the phone down slowly - as he opened his mouth he realised that the occupants of the diner were already looking at him. Except for the football fans, who still were arguing about the flickering screen. He said, "Brains says..."

"Brains?" Rita raised a puzzled eyebrow at him.

"The guy visiting Doctor West. He says there's been some trouble, and, we need to evacuate the town."

"You're crazy..." The hairless guy snorted.

"What's the matter, son?" one of the older guys at the bar said gruffly from behind an impressive grey moustache.

"Apparently, it's West that's crazy," Scott said, and stood tall in the brightly lit diner. "I know Brains, and he wouldn't mess around about a thing like this. You guys need to get out of here."

The diner's lights flickered again, and there was a great flash of white light. Scott mentally groaned when the diner's windows began shuddering with the weight of the thundery rain. This wasn't going to help.

"Finish your dinner, son," the older man said. There was a rumble of agreement from those paying attention. "No one's getting evacuated this evening." He leaned back and belched, smiling. Scott saw the Sheriff's badge glinting on the guy's shirt pocket.

Feeling doubt of his own sinking in, he looked urgently around for some kind of support.

"I think that this storm may have screwed up your phone call, son." The Sheriff gave him a bewhiskered look of patronizing patience. "This place ain't got the most reliable lines in the world. And probably one of us'll have to get up there and fix 'em later when this squall has gentled down. But for now, we're letting the good Doctor Herbert West get on with his research, and we're all gonna sit tight where it's warm and dry." Tucker took a swig of his coffee. "Ain't that right, everyone?"

"Sheriff Tucker is right, Scott, it does sound kinda ridiculous. What did your friend say was happening up there, honey?" Rita came back across with a pot of coffee and poured it for the Sheriff.

"I don't know for sure," Scott confessed. "Can we get a call to International Rescue from here? They might have a ship that could evacuate us real quick..."

Sheriff Tucker put up a hand, "Now hold on there, son, you can't go calling International Rescue out over sweet-nothing. All we have to go on is your friend, and putting our trust in you not being someone out to cause trouble."

"You can trust my friend, Sheriff. And I'm not here for any trouble. Something bad's going on up there. Brains was telling me to get everyone out of town just before his call was cut off. I think somebody stopped him..."

"Or it was the lightning. Not awful good fer any kind of conversation around here." The Sheriff looked slightly amused, and so did the rest of them. Scott was very reluctantly considering that he could, possibly, have been wrong. Nobody here looked remotely worried.

Scott said, "I know...this is sudden. But my friend said there's a real danger. He's smart, trust me, he'd know. If he's right, then you guys should start packing."

That earned a small cheer and a couple of cat-calls in the diner, and a puzzled, sympathetic look from Rita. Angela ducked behind her, carrying a big stack of pancakes to someone at the tables. Otherwise, there was a marked lack of enthusiasm from the rest of Rita's customers. Someone sniffed.

"West and Diane have been good to this town, Scott. We don't want to start any trouble," Rita said gently.

"And we ain't moving, neither, Mr Tracy," said a shorter man in a blue plaid jacket.

Sheriff Tucker grinned from behind his beard. "Is that clear enough for you, young fella? We're fine. Now, why not stay and have another slice of..."

"Is there any other way of talking to the lab?" Scott asked. "Please; if my friend's in trouble, or the folks up there are in any danger, I need to find out."

"We can try my radio." The Sheriff got up. "Listen, son, I think this is nothin' to worry about, I truly do. But you've got yer heart set on findin' out, so least I can do is try callin' �em again, for you. Save you pestering these good folks all evening." He grinned and earned some good-natured responses from the others.

"Thanks a lot, sir," Scott said. "I'll come with you."

"No need, son, you stay put." The Sheriff pulled on a coat, and said, "I'll be back real soon. Keep that coffee warm, Rita sweetheart."

He ducked out into the rain. Scott watched him go. The thunder shuddered above, battering the flimsy walls and making the pinkish neon flicker outside. He pulled up a stool by the window and watched for the Sheriff to return.

Rita placed a hot coffee next to him. "You really think your friend's in some trouble, Scott?"

"I don't know," Scott admitted. "Thanks, Rita. What do I owe you?"

"Ah, it's on the house. Ain't often we get visitors up here, ass-end of nowhere and we all know it. Still, there's good people around here."

"I can tell," Scott said. "That's why I need to know everything's okay up at the lab."

"Oh, it usually is," Rita told him. "Listen, Scott, they brought us back to life down here. This little town was about ready to ditch itself into the bottom of the pass before West took up there. He took over the sanatorium and made it downright respectable."

"The sanatorium?"

"That's it. Lots of people worked there, back in the day. Then they all left seventeen years ago, and it turned out that fifteen hikers a month wasn't enough to keep us going." Rita smiled. "I was about to close down my diner when West and those Parasol people showed up; they keep me runnin' with orders for decent food and hot coffee."

"I see." Scott drank the coffee. "This is real good, Rita, thanks."

"You're welcome, Scott." Rita smiled and Scott nodded and peered out the window again. He made a mental note to leave a big tip when he could finally get out of here. But they seemed like nice people.

The Sheriff seemed to take forever to return. When he came back in he was drenched through, his coat steaming in the diner's warmth. Scott hopped off the stool, leaving his third cup of coffee half-finished. "Did they answer?"

"No, son, they sure didn't." The Sheriff lifted up his hat and water poured off it onto the entrance mat. "They sure are quiet up there this evening. Must be this goddamn inconsiderate weather. Pardon me, Rita..." He made a half-bow with his hat.

" 'bout �damn' time you apologised fer your language, Fred," Rita mock-scolded, and put a towel over the puddle by his feet.

"So I'm sorry, young fella. Guess we're still out of touch with your buddy."

"Yeah, I guess so." Scott took a breath. "Thanks for trying, sir, but now I have to go up to that lab. If they need help, I'll do what I can."

"You can't go upthere in this kinda weather!" Rita exclaimed.

"I have to," Scott said. "If it's all like you say, then I'll stay for another slice of pie and dry out. If it isn't...." He took his coat from the stand by the door and looked at the hellish weather outside. "How do I get to the cable car?"

There was silence. Scott looked around. "I have to get up there; please. Where is it?"

"You follow the main street," Erly chattered. "Main street and main road and the barber shop then up, up, up the mountain!" He plucked one of the pancakes from Angela's plate. The skinny girl gasped and swatted at him.

"Thanks, Erly," Scott said. He shot a look at the clientele, "Is he right?"

"Yes," Rita said.

"Thanks," Scott sent her a grateful smile too. "If there's any trouble I'll get some help here."

He started to shrug into his long winter coat, and Sheriff Tucker said, "Ah, heck, I'll take you over there myself. It's barely a five minute drive, but you won't be dead of pneumonia by the time you get back here."

"Oh," Scott said gratefully, "I'm, er, I'm much obliged, Sheriff."

"It's Fred," Fred Tucker grinned. "Sooner you get there, the sooner you'll see there's nothin' at all to be gettin' concerned about."

"And the sooner you can get another beer, ain't that right, Fred?" The diner erupted into laughter.

"I hope you're right, I really do," Scott said. The Sheriff grinned and put his sopping wet hat over his head.

"Bye, honey," Rita said, "Come back real soon!"

Scott called his thanks and stepped out into the storm-wracked street. The green lights had gone entirely. He peered up at the lab, huddling another two miles up towards the peak. The lightning was vicious. There were a couple small lights flickering at the lab, but no other signs of life. Scott wondered just what Brains had meant. The wind blasted the streets, freezing his scalp through his wet dark hair. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and saw the Sheriff's beat-up patrol car.

"You can take shotgun, young fella." Fred got in and Scott slid in the passenger side. They drove steadily against the driving rain. Scott felt a trickle go down his neck. The storm wasn't letting up, and the fierce winds shook the car.

"Mind if I try the radio again?" Scott asked.

"Be my guest," Fred handed him the mic.

"Thanks," Scott tried it, "This is Scott Tracy calling the Parasol lab. Come in Doctor West. Answer, please. Is anyone receiving me? Over."

He might as well have used a couple of yoghurt pots and a piece of string. There was nothing except static. The storm had completely cancelled out any connection they might have had with the lab.

"No luck?" Fred asked.

"No." Scott put the mic back and said, "I heard this happens a lot. Is that right?"

"Oh, from time to time. What with West's business up there, and this area's always had shitty weather." Fred grinned at him. "You came here at about the worst part of the year, son."

"I figured so." Scott smiled ruefully. "Rita told me, West sortta saved this place."

"Oh, he did. You happen to notice they didn't like to listen to you in there?"

Scott was surprised Fred was mentioning it. "I...had picked that up."

"Well, none of us want to crap in our own back yard, son. West, Diane, Foree...all of them are hard working folks just like the ones down here, all trying to do what's best for these people. Even if they don't give areal crap about us, they still kept us runnin', and they don't make any trouble." He glanced across at Scott. "You aren't gonna make any trouble when you go up there, are you, son?"

Scott gave a small laugh and shook his head. "I'm not planning on it, sir. Fred. I'm just worried about my friend and the fact he said to evacuate. Maybe I misheard him..." He frowned up at the flickering sky.

"If you didn'tmishear him, son, then be careful as hell. And come right back again, you hear?"

"Don't worry. I will," Scott said. "I just have to know for sure. To be honest, I hope they'll just be pissed that I didn't bring up any of Rita's steak."

The Sheriff laughed, and so did Scott.

They drove past a set of high, rusty gates that were lit by lightning. Scott caught the words �August Ceme---� but the rest were obliterated by plants and age.

"What's back there?" he asked.

"That's the mine's cemetery. Popular with goddamn pothead hikers back in the day. It's sort of a feature of this place, but hell, no one's been buried in there for well-on thirty years."

"Not even the inmates?" Scott said.

"Oh, who told you about that? Rita?"

Scott nodded, "She mentioned it."

"Well, they replaced the mine. Goddamn shame, too. But they got closed down too. That place up there," Fred inclined his head at the mountain, "They ran into some difficulties. A couple tricky lawsuits, you know how it gets."

"Sure," Scott said. He said, "But why were they...?"

He broke off when Fred abruptly stopped the car. The headlights picked out the white and red sides of a square vehicle nestled at the bottom of the cliff. Scott noticed the red Parasol logo painted on its side. The double train line went diagonally up the mountain towards the lab.

"Well, that's the way up. You know how to drive one of these? I sure as hell don't..." Fred harrumphed.

The system was less of a cable car than a railway - Scott searched his head for the name - funicular - a double-weighted trolley system, running on tracks attached to the incline. He'd seen them before - particularly during his year of European touring. It was designed to carry freight and passengers up and down the steepest mountainsides. About a hundred years ago. This one was modernised, at least. It seemed like it had recently been remodelled, and consisted of two covered carriages - for balance one of them was currently still at the top of the mountain.

"Yeah," Scott said, "I think I'll be fine." He opened the door. "Thanks for the lift, Fred."

"Don't mention it, son. I'll be back down here in an hour to pick you up. I'll wait for fifteen minutes, then I'm heading back to Rita's. Maybe you'll have the radio working by then. Best o' luck."

"Thanks." Scott shut the car door and moved over to the funicular's nearest carriage. The rain continued to smack down on him. Scott climbed into it and gratefully shut the door. This little community seemed to be doing just fine; it reminded him a little of his home town in Kansas - which felt like a lifetime ago. This was emphasised when he found the keys were left in the control box.

He climbed up and into the driver's compartment, dripping water from his brief exposure. He was incredibly glad to be under cover. He looked over the controls, and spotted an intercom.

"This is Scott Tracy calling for Doctor West. Calling Doctor West, over?" He was only a little surprised to hear static again. Great. "Brains? This is Scott, are you guys okay up there?" The hiss sounded like a raspberry to his efforts. He tried once more. "Scott Tracy calling Parasol Lab. Do you read? Does anyone read me? Over?"

Dead silence. Scott decided he'd wasted enough time, and quickly reviewed the controls.Stop, go, release brake...He cheered as the little carriage began to shudder and lift. The clunking, sliding sound of the track vibrated underneath his feet. It wasn't as modern as it looked, then. He held on, hoping it wasn't as rickety as it felt.

As the cable car slid up the watery mountain, Scott looked along the steep railway tracks, and watched the other car going back down. As it passed him, he suddenly pressed up against the glass. It had looked, in the haze of driving rain, like there was someone inside. He peered at it, and then there was a bolt of lightning that seared the sky and lit up the silhouette inside the other car. There were definitely two figures standing inside. He couldn't make out their faces. Damn it, was Brains already on his way back? The figures both looked too tall to be his friend, but in the thick rain it was impossible to be sure. Scott picked up the radio again and said, "Hello? Can you read me?"

Nobody in the other cab replied. Then it was gone, and he lost visual contact entirely. He didn't like to think he'd imagined it all. He elected to ask the lab people once he was inside.

The lightning was followed by thunder so loud he almost covered his ears, blasting like gunshots right by his head. While he was still squinting out the window, another bolt of lightning illuminated the town - he saw the helijet below to the far right, the flickering multi-haloed lights of Rita's diner in the centre of town, and the white pyramid of the church near the cliff to the far left. Down the middle he could make out West's patrol car headlights as it bumped along the ill-kept tarmac. Then he felt the car jerk and clunk as he finally reached the top.

Scott stepped out into the rain. His coat was just about keeping it from soaking him to the bone. The ground underneath his boots crunched in a grainy mush. He squished over this, saw the flickering yellowish light at the side of the big black building, and hurried towards it. The ground was firmer here, made of cracked, ancient concrete. Scott put a hand on the metal door. He felt around in the flashes of white light for the intercom.

"Hello? Doctor West?" Thunder brutally drowned his words. He shouted now, "Doctor West, do you hear me? Brains? Diane?"

There was still no answer. Scott peered through the rain at the door. He pushed at it. Nothing. He tried the intercom again. Nada. "Brains? Anyone?" He had another try with his telecomm, but the watch's screen remained stubbornly snowy.

Scott cut around the edge of the big, square building. Half of him was still praying that this was all a joke, but Brains wasn't known for kidding about much - not when science was involved. Scott wondered if this was an exception. Unlikely. Which left one, possibly very serious, situation which he was blundering into, unarmed.

The lab's left side shielded a rundown garden, with remnants of neglected plants spread out across the uneven surface. Scott peered up at the building. It was dawning that this really was a converted hospital. It had stained glass in a small window at the top of its two storeys. A small, filthy glass conservatory clung to the side of the wall. He headed for it, splashing across inches of water.

Scott rattled the conservatory door. He was surprised when it gave and he almost tumbled forwards into the glass panel. He caught himself, and walked slowly in. Everything was rotting, and felt soaked through both underfoot and wall to glass wall. He went towards a smaller door which he hoped might lead into the building itself.

West was a pretty shitty gardener. Scott persuaded some sheltering spiders aside and forced the smaller door. Like the rest of this building so far, it crumbled and creaked open.

The innards it exposed were black and uninviting. Scott smelt a musty odour, a weird tang in the air. Acidic, like the men's' urinals back at Rita's. He wiped the rain off his face. "Hello?" he called into the dark.

No one was at home. Scott walked slowly into the building, out of the driving rain. The dark swallowed him up.

It took a few moments for his eyes to acclimatise. He realised that it wasn't quite full darkness in here, and a lightning flash gave him the chance to spot the mouldy light switch at the far end. He flicked it on. The light was a sickly yellow, and he still strained to see while he looked around.

This was your basic hold-all-your-crap room. Scott made out a mess of weeds growing in the centre of an old wooden lab bench, tangled and dying. There were shears and garden implements scattered in the corners, and a large number of spiders and their brood had taken up residence in and around the parts of the room that weren't full of dust and broken test tubes.

Scott winced as another volley of thunder threatened to burst his eardrums. Small wonder nobody could call in or out. Then he noticed the door at the end of the room, furthest away from the entrance. He went over to it. It had been used quite recently, he felt sure, just not very often. Dirt encrusted around the doorframe had recently been burst loose, and a swirl of shoeprints that weren't his were visible on the ground.

Scott tried the door handle. It stuck at first, but a couple more determined tries helped him to push it all the way down, and then the door slid open into the junk room, freeing some more webs and a ton of dust that stuck to Scott's soaking wet coat. He blinked hard to clear his eyes. The lightning flashed again outside.

The door led into a small hallway. "Hello?" Scott called into the half-light, and found a light switch, covered in a thick plastic that felt sticky under his fingers. He pressed it on, and the narrow hallway brightened under a flickering strobe light. Just once he figured it would be a pleasant surprise for those bulbs to not flicker. They just never worked any other way.

"Hello?" Scott called out again. He brushed off the worst of the dust from his coat,Nice. He looked at his fingers. Had they caught on something in that junk room? They were smeared with dark, sticky liquid. Scott looked back at the light. The area around it, now it was brighter, had brown smears all over the side and a thick, congealed puddle of something. He sniffed. Blood.

Scott tensed. The faint hum projected by the flickering light seemed very loud now that he was deliberately straining to hear something. Someone could have been injured and probably needed help, if it wasn't already too late. He wiped his fingers on the whiter areas of the wall as well as he could, rasping his skin against the painted breezeblock.

"Brains?" He called out again, "Brains? Doctor West? Diane? Are you okay?" he shouted, heard his voice carry around the short corridor, and moved fast but cautiously, keeping an eager eye out for... Whoever's left.

Scott kept going, turning the corner, his feet sounding loud on the concrete floor.

Oh, no...

"Brains?" He had seen a small, dark haired figure slumped by one of those reinforced interior doors, lying face down. Not moving, just stretched out, right arm reaching toward the door. Scott ran and stooped beside the figure, putting a hand to the neck. He winced. There was no heartbeat. He grimly touched the hair, intending to take a look at the face.

It was a young man, and he'd died with his eyes open. Several deep, gouged wounds and a puddle of thickened blood, soaked into the young man's clothes, provided a probable cause. Scott searched the body's clothes for identification. He came up with an ID tag attached to the top of his coat. Apparently, this had once been Doctor Daniel Cain. Scott gently closed the dead doctor's eyes and stood up. His concern for Brains was very strong now, and so were his fears about what had happened here.

There was a black security camera in the ceiling corner above the door. Judging by the red light, it seemed to be working. Scott shouted, "Hey!" and waved a few times to see if that would provoke anyone to reply. The camera's eye impassively reflected his waving, observing but being no use at all. Scott turned his attention back to getting into the place.

He took a look through the sealed door. He couldn't see anything through it but another white painted corridor; nothing here but flickering lights and a dead body. On full alert, Scott got up and grimly made his way back to the crap-filled room. He rapidly prised the large, rusty gardening shears free from their mould and carried them with him, back into the lab.

"Brains?" He tapped the telecomm screen. "Brains, are you there?" He thought - just for a moment - that the static fizzed into a voice, but it was swallowed again by the hiss before he could make any sense out of it.

The door behind the deceased doctor was sealed by a key card. After a couple goes at pushing it to make sure, Scott used his free hand with the dead man's pass and swiped it through the reader. It beeped, and a green light flashed above him. He pushed the door and this time it opened easily. He propped it open with a nearby fire extinguisher.

The air was clearer and drier in here. Scott didn't like the white walls. They made this place feel like more of a hospital than it already was.

"Hello?" he called out, senses alert to the slightest noise. "Brains?"

Most of the fluorescent lights in this area were working just fine. Outside, the storm sounded muffled but still strong overhead. Scott saw a trail of blood leading around another corridor and into a room. He cautiously shoved this door open.

It was someone's rough and ready living quarters. A narrow, cell-like room containing a low-riding cot, a metal wardrobe, some clothes hung up on a chair, and a poster of a cat hanging off a branch with Oh, Shit written in large letters underneath. Scott grinned tightly and peered around - the blood trail ended here. Under the bed.

Scott grimaced and moved forwards. With a grunt, he pushed the cot to one side with his left boot. His heart sank.

Another dead scientist. This one was a scruffy looking man, with straggly dreadlocks that were dark with his blood. Scott wrinkled his nose. "Poor bastard," he frowned.

He'd been on enough rescues, and seen enough awful things during some of them, to know when a body looked...wrong. The injuries along the man's torso and neck were messy, but then Scott's eyes rested on what bothered him the most. The guy's arm. The guy's arm, stretched out and bled to pale bone, was...

Gnawed.

"Oh, shit," Scott heard himself mutter out loud. He took a step back, intending to look around, fast, for a radio and then thinking of Brains and where he could be. He tried the watch radio. "Brains, please, answer!" He got no response, and held the shears at his side while he scoured the room. There was nothing useful in here; not even a cell phone.

Scott turned back to the door. It had swung open with a low creak behind him. There was someone in a once-white coat standing there, staring at him dumbly. Someone familiar. Someone covered in blood.

Scott said, "Are you...?"

The figure shuffled forwards and Scott was briefly paralysed by disbelief. His mouth dry, he said, "Doctor Cain?"

Doctor Cain's eyes, which Scott himself had closed, were staring at Scott through a milky film, and he gave a rasping moan. Scott couldn't tear his own gaze from the sucking wounds along the man's chest and stomach, exposing the scarlet and black of the man's insides on the outside. Doctor Cain advanced, and Scott held out the shears, backing away over the other body in the room, the one that had been hiding under the bed.

"Doctor Cain, I...I'm here to help..." Scott was on autopilot, his mind reeling violently at the impossible sight, "I, I don't want to hurt...I want to help you, Doctor Cain. Doctor...?" he stepped over the body and up onto the bed so the top of his hair brushed the low ceiling. Doctor Cain limped purposefully towards him. His arms began to reach out, stretching towards Scott. Scott got on the other side of the bed and Cain made an ineffectual swipe at him. Scott kept the shears pointing out. "What happened to you? Can you hear me?" Scott demanded. "What happened, what's wrong with you...?" You look dead. Youwere dead!

Conceding he might, somehow, have been wrong, Scott moved slowly towards Cain. "I'm not going to hurt you, doctor; I'll get you some help. Come on, let's get you, er, patched up..."

As Scott got closer, Cain suddenly lunged forwards. Scott was taken off guard by the man's speed; one minute Cain had been shuffling, now he was grabbing Scott by the front of his sweater, his stench up close. Scott yelled as he felt teeth on his throat. In a violent shove he booted the doctor free, and made a grab for the shears he'd dropped in the struggle. Cain kept moving, reaching out, and Scott kept being forced back, trying hard to avoid another of those sudden grabs. Scott elected to aim for the door instead. Distance...he needed to get some distance...

Doctor Cain made another low rattling noise in his throat and moved fast, getting between Scott and the open door. Scott dodged back, didn't step on the corpse, and was about to step right over it again when a gnawed arm lifted up and the nibbled bones of a hand grabbed his ankle and clawed with superhuman strength.

Scott twisted back onto the bed and let out an enraged yell. His ankle was in agony, the dead man's fingers digging in mercilessly. Scott kicked hard at his second attacker's head - the dreadlocked corpse was twisting as Scott kicked it harder, righting itself, gripping onto Scott's with single-minded determination. It was using its other arm to pull itself further up, balancing on the bed with its good arm. Its mouth worked silently, opening as if to bite into Scott's leg, and Scott kicked it all the harder, knocking out its teeth. It kept coming.

Doctor Cain was leaning over Scott's head, bending with that same chewing motion, opening his mouth and bringing it down on Scott's knuckles as Scott threw an awkward upside-down punch. Cain's teeth grazed Scott's wrist, and Scott gave the dreadlocked thing's head a final flurry of kicks which finally got it completely off his leg and falling back onto the hard floor.

Scott pulled up onto his feet, ducked under Doctor Cain's swiping arm, and catapulted out of the door, yanking it closed behind him. He held it there, shut tight, staring down at the blood coming from his mauled ankle, feeling numb and barely conscious of bite marks on his arm. His breath blasted from his bloodied throat, his whole body shook with adrenaline. "What the fuck was that...?"

The scratching came through the door, just by his ear. Scott held it closed, panting, gathering his senses together. There was a faint moan from inside and increased scratching. Scott stood there, holding the door handle tight against whatever was on the other side. Think, dammit...

He had to get back to the town. Warn them. And get everyone out, just as Brains had said. He lifted his free hand to call on his radio, "Brains? Can you hear me? Brains?" He toyed again with the frequencies, and got that ghost transmission again that could be his friend. "Can you hear me?" The sound vanished.

He heard a noise down at the end of the corridor. A scuffle. Closing the radio transmission, Scott glanced back the way he'd come, then towards the noise. The things in the room behind him were scratching in earnest. Scott was just letting go of the door handle and preparing to make a run for the way he'd come in, when a new sound made him stop. The scuffle at the end of the corridor became a hopeless-sounding sob, followed by a low, rattling moan.

"Hello?" Scott called out. He tensed, waiting for a response. A few seconds later he heard the sob again and a disbelieving sniffle.

"He-help! Help!" It was a woman's voice. She sounded exhausted and terrified. "Help me please, oh God...!"

Scott recognised the voice. "Diane?" He charged forwards.

The door behind him immediately opened wide. Scott ran along the corridor, reached the corner, and nearly tripped right over the blonde woman, who was crawling desperately away from a limping man with a busted leg. She was badly wounded, too, spreading a long smear of blood from one of her ankles, a larger smear spreading from the other shin. Evidently she had been crawling from at least the door at the far end - about ten metres back. Her attacker was about four metres away, staggering towards her. Scott lifted her up, supporting her firm weight with his left arm and pulling her arm over his shoulder. "What's happening?" he asked.

"Look out!" Scott jerked clear just as the guy behind her lunged, faster than he had looked; the man fell on the floor in front of Scott and gave a moan before climbing back up again. Diane said, "Kill him!"

Scott looked around. The man was bleeding heavily from the loose leg, his mouth gaped wide and bloodily, he was almost on his feet. Scott dropped Diane as gently as he could, and ran at the guy. He connected hard with his shoulder, shoved with his chest, propelling the limping body hard into the other two that were bearing down towards them. Then he ran back to Diane.

"We have to get somewhere safe," he said, lifting her up again. His right leg was throbbing now, and the end of his pants leg was soaked in blood. He wondered how long he could ignore it for. "Fast...!"

She was a dead weight, clinging to him. "They are...they..." Diane gulped for breath. She pointed forwards, started making sense. "We have to get past them. Get out. Get out of here..."

"Where's Brains?" Scott looked at her.

Diane gulped, "With West. We have to leave..."

"Is he okay?" Scott demanded.

"Yes!" Diane shoved him. "They're getting closer!"

"Can you run?"

She shook her head. "No...my leg, he cut, my leg...we have to get out of here!"

Scott backed up again from the three jerking, shambling figures edging towards them, breathing fast, helping Diane balance as he did, "We will. Got to get past them..." The passage was looking narrower all the time. "Is this the only way out?"

"Yes," she gasped, "West locked it all down..." She stared at the creatures, wide-eyed, "Scott, you have to kill them! Have to..."

"Kill them?" Scott asked incredulously.

"They're already dead, but, West, he..." she grabbed his arm, "Scott, you have to destroy the brain. They stop coming if you..." She shuddered.

"Destroy the brain?" He stared in disbelief. "You're fucking kidding."

"They. Won't. Stop," she said. "Not unless you kill them again!"

Scott lifted Diane up over his shoulder and carried her as fast as he could to the far end of the corridor. He put her down against the door; she sat there looking up at him. "What are you doing?"

Scott tried the key card on the door she'd crawled from, but nothing happened. "That won't work on there," Diane said, staring at the things moving towards them, "He locked us down. West, that bastard, he fooled me and the others. Said he'd learned a way to...to revive them. He lied, he lied about everything!"

Scott was only half-listening, stripping off his thick coat. "I have to get past them, Diane. Listen. I'm going to get the shears and come back for you. Then we might stand a chance." A fire axe would have been great...

"No!" She clung to him, "Don't go...!"

He shrugged her off. "Trust me, I'll move fast. I'll come straight back." He turned around. They were shuffling nearer, filling the corridor with their oozing forms. He swallowed hard and held up the coat. He waited a second more to judge the distance, and then sprinted forwards. Even with his battered ankle he barrelled into the shuffling men with no little force, shoving his coat's soft width between him and them. He felt their fingers digging through the thick material, and their moans were muffled. He drove them back as hard as he could, and twisted around, fast, and then made it through the door where he'd first encountered them.

He heard Diane screaming from outside; whether in fear or triumph he wasn't sure. The room was still spattered with blood, including his smeared all over the bed. Searching with his eyes, Scott saw the shears lying where he'd dropped them, and dove to pick them up. Once he had them, he turned and dashed outside again.

The tall man was almost on Diane, and the other two were also heading for her now. Scott brought the blunt end of the shears around and clubbed them both in a sweeping motion. Dreadlocks and Cain tottered, making confused noises. They were just off balance enough - Scott gripped their arms and swung one, then the other in a downwards shove. There was enough space to get through, and Scott charged at the tall one who was still trying to reach Diane - it was almost on top of her and she was screaming hard.

Scott yanked it back by the scruff of the neck. As he pulled it, it spun around and its strong fingers latched onto his sweater. Scott struggled to pull back - the thing was right in his face, and he gagged at the hot, stinking odour. Scott brought up the shears - it leaned in closer and the blades went straight through its body. Scott couldn't believe it - the shears were embedded up to the handles and the thing was still moving. Its fingers clawed at Scott's throat, and Scott gave a yell and pushed with all his strength - it fell backwards into the wall behind it. Then it lunged, fast, hands outstretched, blood splashing over the floor as it moved. Scott barely dodged it, and it was up close again, trapping him in the corner - it grabbed Scott's arm, opening its mouth wide.

He flung his arm up to stop it reaching his throat and it bit deep into his sweater, piercing flesh. Scott pulled the shears out of its stomach and heard Diane scream, "The brain kill the fucking brain...!" The thing bit Scott's arm again and its bloodied fingers touched Scott's ear - its stench overpowering, its teeth now closer and closer to his neck. He couldn't get free. It was going to bite him again. Bite his neck. Stink was everywhere blood and stench and death and now he was going to be eaten. Yelling incoherently, Scott threw all his strength into one powerful upthrust of the shears.

The tall man's head opened. Scott felt violently ill as the shears pierced right through the top of the head and the man stopped moving entirely. It fell away, the shears sliding out through its head as it dropped. Scott staggered; he felt a ringing in his ears, blanking his surroundings. Thought narrowed down to: What have I just done...?

"Scott!" he heard Diane's scream.

The other two dead men lunged simultaneously, knocking Scott over. He fought hard to escape their grip, trying to shove their heads back with his hand, grappling with their determined, clawing fingers. Their combined weight was tough to shift, no matter how hard Scott tried to force them away; they had a good grip on him now and wouldn't let go. He shoved the shears through the dreadlocked one's chest, but it didn't make the slightest bit of difference. As the gore flooded from the man's wound, Scott felt Cain one on his throat, biting him through his thick sweater, his cold fingers digging Scott's neck for a better grip. Scott bellowed with fury and terror.

There was a moment of total darkness. When his eyes focussed again, Scott realised he must have passed out. His throat was throbbing - the dead man's fingers had nearly choked all life out of him. But then he was amazed to be awake at all. He groaned.

A man was standing above him. He had a narrow face, high cheekbones, very pale skin and very dark hair. He peered down at Scott through a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, looking very annoyed by the whole situation. He held up a smoking gun, pointing it at Scott. "I've just saved your life, Mr Tracy. Don't jeopardise it by making things more difficult. Get up."

Scott sat up, pushing his aching body to its feet, and stared down at the two dead-dead-bodies with messy holes in their heads. This man was a pretty good shot.

"Who the hell are you?" Scott's throat ached and his voice came from the gasp left in his lungs from before he'd nearly been throttled.

The man peered at him through the thick lenses, and said, "I'm Herbert West." He backed quickly away and pointed the gun at him. "Please move, Mr Tracy. You're expected and there isn't a lot of time." He stood rigidly, peering hard at Scott, his mouth set in an angry line.

Scott stared at the doctor for a moment, "What the fuck is going on here?" Scott demanded.

West just glared and pointed the gun. Scott looked at Diane. She was passed out by the door where he'd left her. He was relieved to see her chest rise and fall with her breath. "I'm bringing her with us," he said.

"If you really must. Fine, just hurry," West ordered. Scott fixed him with a look and moved to help her, limping as he did. He felt like he'd gone twelve rounds with a rodeo steer.

Scott lifted Diane over his shoulder. He forced himself awake, staying conscious and alert, adrenaline turning the world into bright contrasts. The red blood, West's black hair and the black gun metal, and the narrow white walls.

West said, "Get through there. Walk to the end of the corridor. Turn left."

Scott blinked, fought off the shock induced dizziness, and strode the way West had instructed. Diane groaned in his ear, nothing coherent. Scott glanced back at West, "Where's Brains?"

"Just keep walking," West said.

Scott kept moving. This corridor was wider, longer, and more blood-splattered. He passed three more bodies before he turned to the left and they came to a large sealed lab door. "Use that key card you obtained from Doctor Cain," West said.

Guess someone was watching after all. Scott obeyed and the door opened with a beep and a 'whoosh' of sealed air. He stepped inside.

Immediately his eyes fell on a familiar face. Enormous relief flowed over him. "Brains!"

The little scientist was handcuffed to a set of pipes beside some extremely weird looking lab equipment. He was in front of a laptop balanced on the same work bench. He looked like he'd taken a couple whacks to the head, but he grinned at Scott, looking pretty relieved himself. "Scott! Y, you're all right!"

His gaze shifted to Diane. "Is she okay?"

"For now, I guess. She's lost some blood..." Scott stared back at West as he moved into the room. "Where can I put her?"

"Use the handcuffs and put her next to Brains," West ordered.

Scott gently tipped her from his shoulder and lowered her to lie beside Brains. "She needs medical attention, West. And I need to wrap up those injuries. Or she'll bleed to death."

"And th, then I still won't, uh, help you!" Brains snapped.

West sighed, "Very well." He pulled out a green, blood-smeared first aid kit and tossed it over to Scott. "Hurry up, Tracy." He turned his attention to Brains and said, "I'll pass you the key, and you are going to lock Mr Tracy to that radiator. Then you are going to help me."

"I s, said I would," Brains said. He looked anxiously at Scott, "Are you a, all right?"

"I'll survive." Scott glanced back at West, already unwrapping some sorry-looking bandages from the kit. "What the name of almighty hell is going on, here?"

"It's, er, complicated, Scott." Brains also looked up at West. "Herbert n, needs me to help him with his work."

"This storm won't last forever, Brains," West said stiffly. He narrowed his eyes at Scott. "I will need you to work quickly. Keep facing forwards, Mr Tracy."

He came forwards with the key, holding the gun next to it. Scott tensed, badly wanting to turn and see how close the bastard already was.

Diane made a moan and her eyes fluttered as Scott pulled off her shoes and socks. He winced at what he found.

"Her tendon's been cut..." he said, horrified. "Who did this? How did this happen?" He'd suspected something like this when he'd seen her crawling away, but seeing the sadistic cuts was more than he could stand. She also had a large gash along her right leg which was bleeding out. He cut and ripped along her pants leg, exposing the deep cut, and he started to wrap it tightly.

"Th, that was West," Brains said. "He put her in there with one of those...things...to get me to h, help." Brains sounded slightly ashamed, "I, er, guess it worked."

"You pushed me to that, Brains, and you know it." West sounded disgusted. "I didn't want to hurt her but I need you for this stage of my work." His voice sounded very close. Perhaps, Scott thought furiously, he could get the drop on him, if he moved fast enough...

Scott tensed to turn around but West made a clicking noise in his throat and said, "I wouldn't try it, Tracy, time is short..."

Scott bent his head again, his blood boiling. Soon he had Diane's wounds tightly dressed and bound. She was very pale, her features covered in a sheen of unhealthy sweat. Scott said again, "We need to get her out of here. She needs hospital treatment."

"When Brains has begun, it won't be long before she can go free. And you too, Mr Tracy. Is she all right for now?" West's voice was getting crisper and more agitated.

Scott glared at the wall instead of West. "She'll live," he ground out.

"Good, good. All right, Brains, please use those cuffs on Mr Tracy and these..." West tossed another pair of them past Scott, "on Diane, and then we will begin before Doctor Foree loses his usefulness."

Brains exchanged a worried-as-all-hell look with Scott, and Scott said, "Who's Doctor Foree?"

"He was the last living soul in here," Brains said. He stood up. "He's on the table."

"Handcuffs." Doctor West nudged up with the gun.

Brains looked at Scott, and Scott nodded, turning his back to the radiator. He lifted up his wrists, and Brains clamped him to the pipe. "What're you doing, West?" Scott demanded again, "What's this all for?"

West kept the gun pointed at him. "We're conquering death, Mr Tracy. I thought that would have been obvious by now."

"Conquering death?" Scott frowned at the figure he now saw, lying under a sheet behind West. "Is that what you call those...those things wandering around out there?"

"My methods have had unwanted results, certainly. But now I believe I am homing in on a complete cure for death."

"Try not killing them in the first place," Scott said. His loathing surprised him. "I take it those poor bastards are out there because of you?"

West looked contemptuously at Scott. "You're too limited to understand what this means. Most people are..." He made that clicking noise in his throat again. "They will be dealt with. There is very little time right now."

Scott tugged on the handcuffs as Brains finished attaching them. They were pretty solid.

"Now her," West said, gesturing with the gun barrel.

"What are you going to do with us?" Scott asked.

"Nothing, I sincerely hope. I have far more important things to worry about..." West turned away to work on the man lying on the operating table.

"How is he doing this?" Scott asked Brains. "Those things I ran into were dead, Brains...!"

"I have saturated the land around here," West lifted his head from the body. He spoke deliberately, as if explaining to a student, "Drenched it with reenergising chemicals. They revive the recently deceased. I have come to the conclusion that this, and a bolt of electricity, is required to reanimate them more successfully."

"That green light?" Scott said slowly.

"Exactly," West said. "Very good, Mr Tracy, very good indeed."

Scott glanced at Brains. "So why do you need him?"

"Because Herbert hasn't figured it all out. He, er, he needed to know why his reanimation technique was bringing them back so, er, bloodthirsty. He's not too, er, good on the amounts needed to do it." Brains finished slowly handcuffing Diane and moved over to the corpse beside West. West kept the gun trained on him. "It requires a, er, new strategy."

"Which you will now explain to me, and perform on our subject here," West said eagerly.

"Brains, what're you doing?" Scott said, horrified.

"West and I made a deal," Brains said, "If he s, spares your lives, I show him how this works. However, um, unethical this whole setup is." He peeled back the shroud. Underneath it, the man - Doctor Foree - looked dead too. Scott tugged again on the old radiator. It felt rusty under his scratched fingers, but there was no give in the metal.

Brains started to fill up a syringe with a vividly glowing fluid. It didn't look real, this liquid neon light in the mundane glass. He held it up and squinted at the measurement in the overhead light. Then he injected it into the dead man's neck.

"What the hell is that?" Scott demanded.

"Th, this is the serum," Brains said, "It should stop the insanity that comes after r, reanimation..."

"Brains..." Scott said, "This is nuts. Don't give him what he wants!"

"Brains is doing the sensible thing, Mr Tracy. Also, I'm sure even he is curious if his theories are borne out by this experiment." West was sweating now, he moved forwards to a large metal switch positioned near the door. "Is he ready for the charge?"

"I would, uh, think so..." Brains said.

"Don't be an idiot. You saw those creatures out there!" Scott shouted. "West, you're crazy, and we all know it. You're just making more freaks!"

On Scott's last word, West pulled down the switch. Brains pressed against the wall, staring at the light show. Green electricity spewed from a collection of wires above the corpse, raining down on it and sparkling all around it. Scott felt the electricity make his scalp prickle. Its heat filled the room, and West watched fanatically, scribbling notes in a pad. The green light danced in the thick glass of his spectacles.

Once the lightshow was over, there was a burned, energised smell in the air. There was also that same weird tang that he recognised from in town. Like blood and battery acid, Scott finally placed it. His eyes adjusted back to the normal light, flicking away the afterimage of green fire. He stared at the still-dead Doctor Foree. Then he exchanged a look with Brains.

"Hey, that lucky bastard stayed dead!" he heckled, deliberately catching West's attention.

"Give it time," West muttered, glaring now at Brains, "You said the effects would be immediate...what happened?"

"Well, it is kind of, er, hard to quantify..." Brains said, nervously, "I, er, actually thought that would do it..."

"You'd better be..."

"You're pathetic, West," Scott shouted again, "Expecting Brains to work for a two-bit shyster like you. What did you think he'd do? Give you immortality on a plate? He could come up with this shit on his lunch hour." It was actually a relief to let out some of his frustration now, and he really hoped that Brains was getting the idea.

"Your friend is beginning to annoy me," West said.

Brains shrugged, nodding at Scott. Scott pushed on.

"You've been raising the dead, killing your colleagues and mutilating women, Doctor," Scott said furiously, now deliberately not looking at Brains, "Let me out of here and let me warn the town. You're endangering everyone. This isn't going to work and you know it!"

West made an exasperated noise. He came forwards rapidly and shoved the nearest ball of rags towards Scott's mouth. Scott twisted away until West shoved the gun into his neck. As he stuffed the rags into Scott's mouth, West said stiffly, "You're simply intolerable. I am doing important research, you imbecile...!"

There was a solid thunk and then glass smashed. West gave a choked sound and rolled onto his side. He groaned. Brains got beside West and started looking for the key in his pocket - the scientist wasn't wholly unconscious. He made a confused angry noise and tried to swipe at Brains. Scott took the opportunity to kick West hard in the crotch. The man doubled over, whimpering. Brains triumphantly got the key and moved back to Scott.

"Good work," Scott said through the slimy gag. He spat it out. "Good job, Brains. That went a little better than I thought it would..."

Brains started to unlock him. "We, er, have to leave."

"Definitely," Scott said. Brains finished freeing him and Scott stretched gratefully. He said, "How's Diane?"

Brains gently undid her manacles and rapidly checked her over. She woke, then, and with her eyes heavy with pain she said, "Brains?"

"I, it's okay, Diane, we're l, leaving..."

"Good," she said weakly. "Where's West?"

"D, down there," Brains said.

"We need to tie him..." Scott made to get up. As he did he gave a yelp - for a second he thought his ankle was broken. It felt incredibly painful. His position where he'd been tied had made it numb, and now moving again sent blood rushing back into the bruised nerves. He found he could move it, just, and got painfully to his feet, leaning one arm against the wall.

"Can you walk?" Brains said.

"I think so," Scott said. It hurt less now, but he was cautious about putting weight on it. He picked up the handcuffs, and acted fast as West started to come round. The scientist groaned and glared up at Scott through side-on glasses. The pilot moved quickly forwards and handcuffed West to the radiators, shoving the man's hands behind his back and snapping him tightly against the pipe. West didn't say anything, but his mouth clenched into another tight line of fury.

Scott picked up the gun and checked it - just two bullets were left inside. He raised an eyebrow at West, who made a grimaced smile in response. Without taking his eyes off the scientist, Scott asked, "Diane, is there a working transmitter anywhere in this place?"

"Yeah." She was standing up and resting heavily on Brains. "There's a videophone in the back office. West uses it to call direct to Parasol. It has a radio line, too. That'd be a good start."

"Do you w, want some medication, Diane?" Brains looked anxiously at her.

"No, no I don't want to be put out of it, yet," Diane said. She was very pale and her hands were shaking.

"I can help..." Brains said.

"Like you helped Paul?" She snapped at him, and Brains drew back visibly, looking hurt.

"Are you sure you'll be okay without meds, Diane?" Scott said. She glared at him, too.

Scott said as calmly as he could, "Sorry to push you about this, but I'd like to know if you can handle it. If you can, then fine, but it can't hurt to take the edge off."

She glared again, but her face quickly softened, and she lowered her head and shook it, determinedly. "No. No, Scott. Brains, I'm sorry...I don't want to lose any senses, not yet. Could you put me over there?" She gestured to a wheeled office chair and Brains helped her get over to it. She lifted her head, and let Brains help her again. "Are you going to make that call or what, Scott?"

"Where's the phone?" Scott turned his head a little to see Diane.

"Through there," She pointed to an office just beyond the large glass interior window. Scott headed for it, handing the gun to Brains.

"Keep an eye on him," Scott murmured, nodding at West. West was hanging slackly from his handcuffs, groaning in pain.

Brains took the gun with an unusually fierce expression. Scott paused and leaned closer to Brains' ear. He said, "I'm calling the Sheriff, then Dad. We'll be out of here soon and he's getting thrown into jail. All right?"

Brains tightened his lips and look down, "O, okay, Scott."

Scott put a hand on his shoulder and nodded, "Good man," he went into the little back office, which was lit by a flickering strobe light. Gee, that makes a change...

The videophone they had in here was pretty new. Not a cheap model, either: one of those radio hybrids used on military ships - and on their own base. It was the newest thing he'd seen in the whole damn place. There were several numbers scrawled on curling sticky notes around the screen's edge, coffee rings on the small console at the front. He made out a dark red splatter of something across one wall and a set of bloody surgical shears under the desk.

Scott didn't stare around any longer. He sat down at the screen and dialled urgently, kicking over some books as he waited for a reply. The rest of the office was full of paperwork and books about electrons and biology that baffled him completely. Then he dug out a battered notebook scribbled with local phone numbers and different radio settings.

He found the Sheriff's frequency first and tried it for a few minutes. There was a map book, too, marked with lots of red stickers. Scott scanned it, judging the layout of the area while he waited for a reply.

"Come on, come on..." Scott waited impatiently. There was a faint hiss and some garbled voice that gave him hope for a second, but although he tried hard to get a response, there was no one answering.

Scott hoped it was just the transmitter, down due to the storm. He wondered if the storm was still going. He switched to the videophone and tried to call the diner, which was also written in a notebook - the code was surrounded with lists of food orders. Steak was underlined. Scott smiled tightly. The number failed to connect.

Now he returned it to the radio setting, and tried a different frequency, "Scott Tracy calling International Rescue. Do you read me, over?"

The static was suddenly very loud, and then he made out John's voice, "Scott?"

"Yeah," Scott tweaked it a little and got a half-decent reception, "John! Listen up, we're in trouble."

"I'll get Dad on the line. How much trouble are you in, Scott?"

"Well..." Scott paused, trying to think how to explain this, "Is Dad on?"

"He is now. Go ahead, Scott."

"Thanks."

"What's the situation?" Jeff said. "Are either of you hurt?"

Scott took a breath, "Brains and I are in one piece, but we need to evacuate the town. Turns out that Doctor West has been doing a lot of things he shouldn't while he was up here..."

Scott went on to give a brief overview of what had happened. John sounded incredulous about the part where he was attacked in the little room, and the bloodier events in the hallway, but short-handing it to �human experimentation' had been enough for his father to send Virgil, Gordon and an evacuation pod after just five minutes.

"They'll be with you in ninety minutes, Scott," Jeff told him. "Where's the best place for them to land?"

Scott scanned over the map book again. He said, "There's a place large enough for Thunderbird Two to land about a mile and a half down the mountain. It's not perfect, but it should be fine for setting the pod down and getting it back again. They call it the 'mine delivery field' and they use it, so I guess it's pretty solid. We'll need to evacuate about three hundred people."

"They'll fit," Jeff said, "Think you can persuade them to go?"

"After what I've seen up here, it shouldn't be an issue," Scott said.

"All right, so we'll see you in..."

Scott heard a scream and Brains yelling something through the door. He said, "I'll be right back!" and dived for the door, opening it and expecting another of those creatures to be lumbering towards him.

He came face to back with Brains, who was holding the gun at the figure on the table, and Diane was sitting up in her chair, still looking ill enough to be in bed, and shouting something else.

"What's going on...?" Scott stared now. There was a nervous pause, and he heard harsh, unnatural breathing in the room. "What's that noise?"

Brains said, "Foree's come back..."

"He's not one of them!" Diane shouted again, "Don't shoot!"

Scott moved past Brains, seeing that Foree, the formerly dead scientist, was moving and moaning, pushing weakly against the table restraints. Scott said, "He came back just like the others..."

"No!" Diane pushed forwards, "His eyes!" she pushed herself forwards on the chair, getting up to the operating table, "Peter?"

"Peter?" Scott glanced at Brains, then back at Foree. "Hey, careful Diane..."

"Look!" She pointed at the man's eyes, forcing herself up out of the chair. She slipped on her ruined ankle and Scott moved forwards to catch her. She gripped his sleeve and said, "Look at him, Scott. He's...he's alive...!"

Scott stared down. The dead man was moving, but his eyes weren't milky white, although they were unfocussed, like a sleepwalker. Foree groaned, his mouth moving. Diane said, "Brains, check his blood." She turned her head back. "Brains!"

Brains put the gun down and hurried over. Foree was shuddering now, and as Brains bent over him with a syringe Foree gave a scream, and his body shook. Scott tried to hold him down, to stop him rubbing his hands raw on the restraints.

"Easy..." Scott glanced back, "Is he dead or not?" That sounded insane...

"He looks rather full of vigour to me..." West remarked from the floor.

Scott ignored him. Brains rapidly pulled a sample of blood from Foree's bare arm and took it over to the nearest microscope. He placed a speck of the blood on a slide, and tucked it under the lens - then he plugged it into the laptop on the workbench.

Foree writhed and moaned. Diane reached over, leaning on the table, she squeezed the man's hand tightly. "Peter?" She looked desperately at him. "Peter!"

Scott felt the dead man's body go incredibly tense - every limb stretched out rigidly until Scott was sure he'd pull himself apart, restraints or not. Diane yelped and pulled her hand away. Foree screamed again, and then he went completely limp.

Scott checked his pulse - which was strong - and then Foree started to breath in deep lungfuls, rasping the breath and coughing. Scott took a moment to think about it, then undid the restraints around his wrists and lifted the man up.

Foree gripped Scott's arms and leaned his head behind him. He made a loud belch and a second later Scott heard - and smelt - vomit spatter the floor by his heels. Foree was coughing and hacking, but he was, most definitely, alive - again.

Foree finished throwing up and Scott helped him slide back onto the cold table. Diane was watching, wide-eyed, as Foree clung onto Scott's sweater sleeves and shuddered. He was cold. Scott glanced around. "Do you have a blanket?"

"Over there," Diane said. Scott pulled up the sheet she handed him, which had covered Foree before that night's experiments. He wrapped it around the shivering man's shoulders, checking him over as he would anyone at a disaster site. Which this really was.

"Hey, Peter, right?" Scott spoke to the man, "Can you hear me?"

Peter Foree looked up blearily, shuddering but his eyes now homing in on Scott's voice, "Where...?" he frowned, as though thinking. Poor bastard...

"I'm here, Peter," Diane said. He glanced in her direction. "It's okay, honey, I'm here." She reached back up from her seat and squeezed his hand, looking lovingly at Foree.

Scott glanced back at Brains, whose nose was buried in the microscope. He glanced down again. "And this is Scott," Diane was saying, "He's helped us to stop West, and I promise that we'll be leaving soon."

"West," Foree's brow furrowed, he took a few shuddering breaths, then looked up again. "Where...?" He looked around blearily, woozy. "Where am...Diane?" he whimpered.

"Easy, fella. Let's get you out of here." Scott gently let Foree go and undid the restraints on his ankles.

West made a tutting noise. Scott said, "What?"

West looked smug. "Oh, nothing..."

"What's nothing?" Scott asked grimly. He finished undoing the straps and Foree's legs wriggled free.

"You've seen the �things' I've created. Shouldn't you exercise a little more caution, Mr Tracy?"

"None of the other s, subjects....came back like this," Diane said, holding onto Foree's arm. "Brains' formula must have worked, West."

Scott helped Foree off the table and set him in the nearest chair, wrapping him in the sheet. "Did it work then, Brains?"

Brains nodded, "I'll say it did. He's alive, that's for sure..."

West sighed. "All I'm suggesting..."

"I'm not real interested in your suggestions right now, West. I want to get you to a Sheriff in the nearest piece of civilisation...and these people to a hospital. International Rescue are coming to airlift us out of here. We just have to get down the mountain."

"And I'm sure that'll be very easy with me as your prisoner, and two wounded people to lug alongside..."

Scott mentally conceded he had a point. He said, "I'll call International Rescue again. Keep an eye on him, Brains."

Scott walked out of the office again after five minutes. "Okay, International Rescue are sending another craft to come and pick you guys up from the lab itself."

"Good," Brains nodded.

"I still can't get through to the Sheriff, or anyone else in town," Scott said, "I'm going to go down there and let them know personally. You happy to guard West while I'm gone?"

"S, sure, Scott." Brains nodded.

"How's Foree doing?" Scott noticed that Foree and Diane were talking - Foree was drinking from a plastic cup and holding Diane's hand.

"He seems to be f, fine..." Brains screwed his face up into a frown. "The signs are good that he'll recover. I think my serum actually w, worked. I'll be, er, keeping an eye on him."

"Good." Scott nodded, smiling a little. At least one good thing had come out of this. Nothing short of a miracle, actually. He just felt bad for Brains - Foree and Diane looked real close. He leaned close to Brains, saying quietly, "I'll call through when I can get hold of someone. Keep an eye out for Alan."

Brains nodded again and returned to his laptop. Scott put the gun beside him, and then walked over to West. He stood looking down at him. West looked up at Scott contemptuously.

"How can I help you, Mr Tracy?" West said.

Scott bodily lifted West up off the ground. He stretched the cuffs as far as they would go, and shoved West's skinny frame back into the wall then banged the scientist's head against the bumpy breezeblock. Cutting off West's protests, Scott pressed his head so close to West's he felt the scientist's frantic protesting breath on his face. "Listen to this, you sick bastard. I hear you've tried anything with these guys and you'll have me to answer to."

He dropped West with a clatter of handcuffs and the man cursed as his ass hit the hard lab floor. Scott stood over him. "Understood?"

West looked tiredly up at Scott. "What could I possibly do, Mr Tracy? You've made it quite clear that you aren't about to let me �get away' with what you believe I've done." West rubbed the back of his head, at an awkward angle, "Is that all?"

"Yes, for now. And don't forget it." Scott made to walk on and felt his ankle twinge under his weight. He shifted it, turning to the door.

"I hope that doesn't slow you down," West said quietly, "I doubt you'd be much use in your type of business with just one leg..."

"What?" Scott stopped again.

"I doubt you'll be able to save anyone if you don't get that looked at. That's all."

Scott frowned for a moment longer, and then he said, "Go to hell, West."

It was sending inches of rain down outside, battering the windows even though the worst of the storm seemed to have finally passed over. Scott intended to retrieve his winter coat before he made his way to the lab's main entrance. He found his way round to the corridor, and pulled up short. The bodies were just around the corner - their stench reached him before he even got there.

Trying to hold his breath, Scott stepped around the corner and looked for his coat. It was still under the two dead men that West had re-killed. Scott stepped back around the corner. He took another deep breath, putting a hand to his bruised throat. His ankle twinged as he began to hurry back to the other way out, and he didn't look behind him as he went.

The lab's front doors opened easily this time, and Scott didn't linger in the driving rain. He pushed his way around the cracked concrete and the mud, pulling his boots out of the stickier patches of mud. He was drenched through his sweater by the time he reached the funicular, and he gratefully pulled the door closed once he made it inside the little tram.

He set it heading down the mountain and flicked on the radio. Static streamed out, and the ghost transmission again. Scott hoped that his drenched, bloodied appearance would convince the townsfolk that things had gone badly wrong up here. At the very least he wanted to persuade Rita and her daughter to get out of harm's way. Who knew what damage West's chemicals were causing, even now?

Scott leaned against the carriage wall, too rattled to even sit down at the controls. He glanced impatiently at his watch - incredibly only about three hours had passed since he'd left the diner. This made him wonder where Fred Tucker was. He had promised to come back within the hour. Scott hazarded a guess that the Sheriff would have soon given up waiting, and had gone back to Rita's to sink beers.

Or maybe he waited...Scott saw the headlights of Fred's battered squad car as the funicular ground to a halt at the end of the short, steep incline. It jarred Scott's ankle so hard he winced from his foot to his shoulders. He angrily pushed the pain down, using it to propel him out of the carriage and back out into the thick rain. He climbed out, limped down to the solid tarmac. The rain had plastered his hair tight against his head and blinded his vision - he wiped it off impatiently, striding up to the light brown police car. "Fred?" he knocked on the window at the figure leaning over inside, "Sheriff?" He knocked harder, "Come on, answer, willya?" Sleeping off that third or fourth beer, Fred?

The person didn't move. Scott tried the door, worried now. "Fred?" The door opened after a wrench.

Sheriff Fred Tucker's torso slipped out of his car. His head hit Scott's arm and Fred's throat leaked what was left of his blood into the wet street, and spurted it over Scott's shoes. Rain blurred blood into the earth.

Scott yelled angrily at no one in particular, "Fuck! No!" Scott caught Fred's head, trying to prop the older man up, "Shit, no, Fred, fucking-dammit..."

Fred's keys fell out of his pocket - Scott registered the clang and the splash as they went under the car before fingers touched the exposed part of his neck. He jerked backwards, letting go of Fred he jabbed them hard with his elbow, connecting with something solid, sending whoever was behind him spinning onto their ass.

Scott twisted round. The person he'd hit was a guy in janitor overalls, drenched in blood, moaning through a thick dark beard. Scott saw them start to get up in that lolloping, limp-limbed way he recognised now. He swore again, harder, and searched around for Fred's keys. The janitor was getting up, righting himself - itself, milky white eyes fixed on Scott who was just picking up the keys in slippery wet hands and shoving the dead Sheriff out of the way.

Scott got Fred all the way out of the car. He glanced back at the thing that was struggling to its feet, then started looking for Fred's gun. At some point, the sheriff must have lost it - it was probably out there, in the rain, on the black tarmac. Scott swore hard again, climbing into the car. He slammed the car door. The dead janitor scraped at the driver's window with his fingers, moaning. Scott had an extended minute to notice just what was so fucking wrong with this guy - a large wound to the throat, the white unseeing eyes, and its hungry teeth pressing into the thin pane of glass.

Scott dug down into his pocket and got the keys out. He had to get to the diner. Had to tell them - get them out. On a second thought he checked the glove compartment in the passenger side. He gave a small grin - Backup gun. He checked the rounds. Your basic 9mm, but far better than nothing. He was just putting it on the bloodied seat beside him when a thud made him glance up.

Fred Tucker's dead milky eyes stared at his from the bonnet. Scott stared back, his heart thudding. "Sorry, Fred..."

Another loud crack came from beside him. Scott plugged the keys in the ignition as the janitor hit the driver's window with a rock - hard enough to crack the glass down the centre. It held. Scott hit the accelerator. The car rattled forwards. Scott sped away.

As he went he watched both sides of the road, hardly daring to blink. He barely remembered to put the wipers on full, and then he was using the full beam of the headlights to check every liquid shadow. He'd barely passed by the cemetery gates when he screeched to a halt and put it in reverse, watching in astonished horror.

One by one, pale things from within the cemetery gates were making their way out, pressing through ancient iron railings, staggering forwards on rotted legs. There were already fifteen of them on this bit of road. Scott stared at them for a good two minutes, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Then one pale thing got near enough to really see, and Scott ran it over, accelerating away. It disintegrated under the wheels. Scott took a deep, shuddering breath. He dreaded what he'd find at the diner.

The diner's lights were still on inside. Scott drew alongside, trying to see in through the neon-smeared window. He picked up Fred's gun, and absently wiped the blood from the seat onto his sweater.

It didn't look all that alive in there, but he was determined to find someone left. Anyone at all. Even Erly would do, and he'd give the crazy bastard all the free steaks he wanted. Scott glanced up and down the dark, wide street from inside the car. Nothing moved, but it wouldn't take all that long for that to change. Those things didn't seem to stop. He checked his watch - just thirty minutes until Virgil landed.

Scott pushed out of the car, forcing himself to ignore the pain in his ankle. The dead thing's fingers had really done a number on him - he mentally cursed West. Holding the gun ready, he moved into the diner, pushing open the door and shouting, "Hello? Rita?"

He heard a strange scuffling, then a definite nibbling and rapid slurping noise, coming from just behind the counter. Scott moved to it, and noticed all the scattered ketchup and mustard bottles on the floor beside it. He looked over the counter.

Then he smelt it.

One of the football fans was down there, scooping innards from the stomach of one of his friends. The throat had also been ripped open. Scott gave a choked noise - he would have thrown up except right at that moment the man turned to look at him. Scott held up the gun and shot him clean through the head.

The dead man fell back, unmoving. Scott stared a few minutes longer, then squeezed his eyes closed and turned away. "Damn you, West..."

This place was dead. He thought hard, his eyes still shut against what he'd just done. The best thing he could think of to do was drive up and down the street, calling for survivors until Virgil arrived. He turned to go back to the car, intending to loud hail like his life depended on it.

There was a scream. He shouted, "Hello?"

The scream repeated itself, followed by thuds and yells from inside one of the restrooms at the far end of the diner. Scott ran towards it - it had been a woman's scream - he gambled and picked the ladies' door.

He kicked it open. Three men were pawing at the two stalls in the ladies restroom - their stench overpowered the distinct whiff of a typical feminine bathroom. Scott said, "Who's there?"

"Scott?" It was Rita's voice from the left-hand stall, "Scott - get those things, get them..."

The �things' were already turning their attention to Scott. He held the door open with his injured foot, waiting for them to get close. He didn't want to risk firing in this tiny space. He saw a mop just by one of the tables and as the things came towards him he let the door go and snatched it up. He shoved the gun into his belt, safety on, and raised the mop. He kicked the door open and in a single, hard thrust he'd knocked the nearest creature sideways. It slid onto its front, making a protesting moan from the floor.

The next one lunged over it and Scott used the mop to hit it hard, sending it downwards. The last one tripped over the other two - Scott recognised it as the bald man who'd first told him about Brains' phone call. It crawled towards Scott over the other two, and its clawing hand reached Scott's bloodied shoe. Scott jabbed the mop down so forcefully that the long handle snapped in half.

He lowered the gun and fired into the pile. The twitching things eventually stopped moving.

He put the gun back in his belt, staring at them. He said, "Rita? Just you in there?"

"Are those things dead?"

Scott took a deep breath. "Y, yeah. Yeah, they're gone. There'll be others, though. You should move. I have...I have a car out front." Everything was looking much too bright again. He could taste the half-digested steak trying to slide back up his throat.

Rita opened the toilet stall door. She brought Angela with her. Angela's arm was a mess, bleeding through what looked like a hastily prepared dressing made from the hem of Rita's pink uniform.

Scott said, "Come here, I've got her." He helped a shivering Angela over the pile of bodies. She slumped against the table, knocking more cutlery onto the floor. Scott checked her quickly, putting a hand to her face. She stared up, uncomprehending.

"We'll get you somewhere safe," he promised. Then he turned. "Rita? You ready?"

Rita grunted as he helped her over the bodies. She looked up with smudged eyes. "Y, you killed them? You have a g, gun?"

"Yeah," Scott swallowed, "Come on, we're getting out of here. We're getting evacuated." He looked up and down the empty diner, "Where is everyone, Rita?"

"Th, they ran away...Two of those things...they worked at the lab, they came in...then Erly too, started...biting...everyone r, ran..." Rita said, "We sh, should have listened..."

"You couldn't have known..." Scott started to say.

Angela screamed. She was staring at the window. Scott stared too.

There were six of the pale things from the cemetery clawing at the wide expanse of glass, and it was only a matter of time before one of them found the way in.

"What are they?" Rita said. "They can't be..." She made a scared sound.

Scott said, "We have to go." He touched Angela's shoulder, and then gripped her arm. She was freezing, probably deep in shock. "I'll take care of those things. You make a run for Fred's car, it's parked out front."

"Where's Fred...?" Rita said. She hugged her daughter to her, and looked at Scott. Scott shook his head. She made an angry whimper and looked back at the glass door. "Those bastards."

Scott said, "I'm going to open the door and try to distract them. Get Angela into the squad car. I'll drive us to meet International Rescue."

"International Rescue?" Rita sounded hopeful. "They're coming here?"

"They're coming for any survivors, Rita. Do you know where they might be?"

She looked dazed. Rita said, "The church. They probably went to the church..."

"Okay," Scott nodded, "We'll tell International Rescue. Now, get ready..."

Rita and Angela followed Scott closely. He got to the door, holding what was left of the mop in one hand and the gun in the other. Outside was still murky, and he was glad he'd left the car headlights on.

He passed Rita the car keys. "Both of you, get ready to run like hell. Get to the back seat of the squad car. I'll be right behind you."

"Okay," Rita's hands were trembling - Scott pushed her fingers closed over the keys, "I'll be right behind you," he promised.

Rita nodded, and gripped the keys so hard her broken nails dugs into her palm. Scott pulled the door open slowly. He moved towards the first creature, glancing up and down the street. "Go!"

He fired at the nearest one - the body fell backwards, but there were two more moving straight at him. Rita and Angela rushed through the rain - he caught them darting behind from the corner of his eye - then he shot the other two creatures. He backed up; was relieved to hear the car door slam.

He twisted, and his ankle tried to give out under him. He doubled over to get his balance, reaching for it, Not now.... When he glanced up the creatures had already gained some ground, and the two women in the cop car were yelling at him. He fought off one more that had closed on him, and it fell back. Scott's ears rang with the sound of the gunshot as he put it down. He looked up, gritted his teeth and staggered into the front of the car.

"Are you okay?" Rita asked anxiously.

Scott slammed the car door shut and locked it. "I'm great, Rita. Where are the keys?"

He heard the jangle and then a thump - then she passed them to him through the wire mesh. Scott started the car. "We're nearly out of here, everyone. Nearly..."

Overhead he heard something that filled him with hope. The deep purr of gigantic engines came through over the rain battering the squad car roof, propelling the most unlikely flying craft in the world across the pitch black sky.

"Virgil," Scott said the name out loud and almost smiled. He turned his head back, "We're going to be okay, folks. Just hold..." He ground to a halt.

The road out of town passed by the church, and Scott's heart sank again as he saw what was happening. There was screaming and yelling coming from all directions - then the car's headlights exposed what looked like over thirty of West's creations, stumbling and clawing at the white church doors. One or two had rocks and were determinedly using them on the lower windows at its side. Scott hit reverse, pulling some distance between them and this new crowd of slow-moving monsters.

"What are you doing?" Rita hissed behind him.

Scott's eyes darted around the small road. There has to be something...His grim smile returned when he saw approximately what he was looking for. The big Ford delivery truck had a Parasol logo covering its large sides. He was sure he could fit any survivors inside - if he could get to them while they were still alive.

"How many do you think got away?" he asked Rita urgently.

"What?" she sounded baffled.

"How many people do you think are in there...not the guys outside. The survivors," Scott sharpened his tone, "Think, how many people live in this town?"

"I, I don't know...maybe a three hundred....three hundred-fifty..."

Scott looked again at the truck. He could see all the creatures hammering at the fragile wooden doors, banging on the flimsy construction - he guessed that by now, half the town's inhabitants were trying to kill the other half. He made a hard decision. By the time International Rescue got back here, he and his brothers would only be loading body bags - and be facing twice as many of the undead than were out there already.

His voice was still sounding strangely level to his own ears. "Rita, International Rescue have just arrived - that was their ship flying overhead. They'll be waiting for us down at the old mine delivery field. Do you know it?"

"What the heck am I supposed to...?"

"Listen to me, Rita," Scott forced himself to turn away from the scene in front of him - to focus on the frightened woman and her daughter. "Rita, I have to do something to help those people. Can you drive to meet International Rescue? Tell me."

"Y, you think you can help them, Scott?" Rita looked terrified, but without the blank panic that all-too often sent people into catatonia. She was handling it well, he thought.

Scott said, "I'm going to try. All you have to do is get down that hill. And International Rescue will save you - they never give up, remember?"

"I know," Rita gave a small smile, "I know, I, I'll go...what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to use that truck," Scott said. "I'm going to get out anyone alive in there and take them to International Rescue. We're all going to make it. Now, are you ready?"

Rita looked at him once more, her eyes bright behind tears and badly smudged eye makeup. She nodded. "I'm ready."

"Good, you're doing great, Rita." Scott reversed the car a little more - he checked out the area. "On three, we swap. Ready?"

Rita nodded.

"Okay, one..." He unlocked it. "Two..." He opened the car door, saw Rita do the same with hers. "Three!"

They dived out of the car at the same time. Rita slammed the back door, Scott ran forwards, heading diagonally across the road, punishing his ankle until he hit the side of the truck. The cop car was speeding away behind him. Scott tried the cab door, and when that failed he used the gun handle to smash the window. He scrambled up, and once he was inside he spent an agonising four minutes trying to hotwire it. One of the things was nearly at the truck. Finally something sparked, and he started the engine.

He drove hard, straight into the closest creature, and then another. Scott sped up to the church, sending more of the things spinning away on either side. Blood splashed up the windshield, and the wipers dashed it away with the now red rain. The rain hadn't let up, the wheels squealed under him. He pulled it to a tight halt with the driver's side right by the door.

"Anyone alive in there?" he shouted. He reached through the window he'd broken and hit the door with his fist. "Please answer, is anyone alive?"

He heard yells and screams, and then a group of voices trying to tell him, "We're alive...a hundred of us..."

"International Rescue are coming to collect us near the base of the mountain. I have a truck that'll hold you all - can you get to into it?" He heard the creatures he'd missed moaning and moving through the rain. He kept glancing back at the passenger window.

"Reverse to the door!" a woman's voice yelled, "We'll get in there!"

"Okay!" Scott yelled back. "I'm opening the back door of the truck!"

He pulled the truck out, searching in the rain for the creatures - they merged with the dark rain, camouflaged by murky water. He ran over a couple of them, and although he was numb all the way through, he felt the truck grumble under him. He pulled the truck into reverse, pushed it back against the bright white doors of the church until they creaked. He peered out through the broken window, trying to keep an eye on all sides at once.

Then the church doors burst open. Light flooded the street - and to Scott's horror it illuminated yet more dead men and women heading straight towards the people trying to escape. He didn't have enough bullets to even make the slightest difference. If he'd had a second to think, he would have regretted his rescue attempt - but only for a moment. Scott shouted, "Move as fast as you can!"

After about five minutes of agonising waiting, something hopped up onto the passenger side and hit the window. Scott almost shot it. Then it spoke. "Everyone's inside the back and I've shut the door on them. Can I ride up here?"

She was a bedraggled-looking woman in her fifties, with thick dark hair and big green eyes. He wasn't surprised to note that she was covered in blood. She said, "Are you going to let me in or what?"

"Get in," Scott glanced around on all sides, "Move it."

She pulled herself in beside Scott and slammed the passenger door shut. Scott put his foot down. They splashed past the remaining walking corpses, leaving them to enter the church, and wander the streets alone.

"International Rescue," she said tightly. "You said they were here."

"They are," Scott said, "I called them."

"You did?" she said, "How did anyone call them in this fucking weather?"

"I went up there and saw what West did," Scott said, "I called International Rescue from his radio - and I'm going to get you to them."

The woman leaned forwards, her eyes too bright, staring into the black rain. "Shit, I don't think even they can stop this." She looked across at Scott. "West, huh?"

"Yeah." Scott just nodded, looking ahead, finding that it was much easier to concentrate hard and push all the pain and hate and fucking-useless feelings down until he was at least well and truly safe. The woman kept looking out, too, her breath showed up in the moist air.

"Fucking West..." she muttered.

"What's your name?" Scott asked.

"Sheila," she said. "You know where you're going?"

"The mine delivery field..." Scott was actually just looking for Thunderbird Two's pod, but it was dark and wet and he felt the world spinning as his ankle protested the pressure on the accelerator.

He drove fast. He tried to do it as carefully as he could down the steep mountain road - here and there the headlights would pick out pale shapes that had once been human, turned into who-knew-what by the chemicals in this rotten town. He kept going.

He lifted his head at the sweet sound of Thunderbird Two overhead.

Sheila said, "We're nearly at the field."

"We are?" He couldn't see shit.

"Here!" Sheila hit his shoulder.

Scott squealed the truck to a halt, skidding across ancient dirt. He could see the pod in the field - he'd never appreciated how comforting that rounded shape looked against the fog and rain. It was lit up and he could see a suited figure outside, waving with a glow stick to direct him over. Scott put his foot down and drove through the makeshift wooden fence, heading straight for it.

The person waved them inside - Scott was sure it was Gordon. As they pulled in, he was relieved to see it was the evacuation pod, containing seating and a larger medical bay. He pulled up behind Fred's cop car, and turned to Sheila.

"I guess we're okay."

She didn't look so convinced. "I'll believe that when we're a thousand miles out of here." She climbed out, and Scott jumped out on his side. His ankle instantly gave way - he stumbled forwards and a pair of hands closed over his shoulders.

Scott jerked back, almost punching the person in the stomach. "Hey!" It was Gordon, "Take it easy, er, sir..."

Scott good-naturedly punched him back, on the shoulder. "Damn, Gordo..." he glanced back. "I brought people with me..."

"TinTin's getting them out, now. How many do you think there are?"

"About a hundred-fifty."

"That's everyone?" Gordon said.

"They were being attacked - holed themselves up inside a church made of cardboard. Anyway, this is all the people I could get to." Scott saw the pod hatch closing. "We have to go back and get everyone else..."

"We will," Gordon slapped him on the shoulder, nodding. "You did all you could, Scott..."

"Right." Scott cut him off, turning impatiently to the survivors climbing out of the truck. He saw how wounded some of them were, and clenched a fist. "Gordon, you have to make sure you quarantine anyone who's seriously injured. Restrain them, I don't care, but make sure they aren't a threat." He paced forwards, and Gordon ran after him.

"We all heard your message, Scott." Gordon stopped him. "We know what we're facing."

"You don't, Gordo." Scott shook his head. "If one of those people turns into..." He grimaced.

"We know," Gordon said.

"When's Virgil coming to get us out?" Scott was watching the survivors, about to get close enough to help.

"Virgil's airlifting us in fifteen minutes," Gordon told him. "He'll be back in radio range, soon. The storm's still screwing up transmissions all over this mountain."

"Anything from Brains?"

"No idea," Gordon shook his head. He stopped Scott as he was about to go forwards, saying, "And by the way, you look like hell. You need that ankle looked at..."

"Sure, as soon as we've organised these guys," Scott eyed them all. "Then I'll sit down. Okay?" He met Gordon's copper eyes, and Gordon gave an exaggerated nod of agreement.

"That's a promise," Gordon said, walking over to help Sheila with a group of children.

Scott smiled tightly and went to help. TinTin was already organising the wounded, handing out bandages and packs of ice.

Rita came running up to him. She pressed her hands over his, saying, "Thank you, Scott. You sure saved our necks out there. Are you feelin' all right?"

"I'm fine," Scott said, smiling despite himself. "How's Angela?"

"She's doing okay. I'd like to reintroduce you two after this. Is there a number I can reach you on? I want to send you somethin' to thank you, when me and her are set up again."

Scott laughed, shaking Rita's hand, suddenly almost on the verge of tears. He said, "I'll get them to you when we land, Rita. Thanks for your help, too."

Rita hugged him tightly. Her tears were sudden, and wet on his sleeve. She stood up after a couple of minutes. "I'm not gonna forget your help. See you when we land, Scott."

Scott smiled, suddenly weary. He said, "Thanks, Rita. I'll look you up."

Rita fixed him with another smile - a wan, traumatised one, and then she disappeared back into the group who were sitting down in the chairs one by one, preparing for their rescue.

"Scott!" TinTin came over too, "She seemed nice."

"She is," Scott blinked to clear his vision, drew a deep breath, "Give me some of those ice packs, I can hand them around..."

"You could do with one yourself, Scott," TinTin handed one to Scott, saying in a low voice, "Your throat looks terrible. It's good to see you." She squeezed his hand.

"I'll live, thanks," Scott swallowed awkwardly. He pressed the cool ice pack against his throat, and it immediately felt much better. "How many have serious injuries?"

"We've found seven so far," TinTin said. She glanced back at them, looking nervous. "Did they really come back from the dead?"

"Yes," Scott said.

"Like zombies?" she asked.

Scott frowned at that, feeling suddenly, irrationally furious at TinTin and whoever else was nearest. He said stiffly, "No, not remotely. Zombies are ridiculous. These are people that West fucked with. Just goddamn people. This isn't a movie."

TinTin looked hurt, and Scott was about to apologise, his head swimming, when Gordon gave a yelp and the children ran off, screaming. Gordon fell to the ground and Scott started towards him, making out a pale figure sliding out from under the truck. It had pulled Gordon down. He had landed on his back, and was yelling, struggling violently as the thing's slimy fingers dragged it up the length of his body, pawing at his suit. It was tearing at the covering over Gordon's head, very intent on reaching his brother's throat.

Scott lunged for the fire extinguisher nearest to him, and ran at the thing - he brought the metal cylinder across, knocking the creature's yellowing head sideways. It fell off Gordon like a bony spider. Scott closed in on the rasping thing as Gordon scrambled away to his right. He gave a roar and brought the heavy red extinguisher down hard on the creature's head.

It was suddenly just a mess of bones and skin. Scott threw the extinguisher down, breathing hard. He glanced back at Gordon, who was staring at it and gasping, "F, fucking hell...what...what...?"

TinTin came running over. Scott put out a hand as she drew close. "Stay back!"

"Is it dead?" she asked, apparently unable to take her big green eyes off it. "What was it?"

"It's not coming back. It's dead. Really dead." Scott looked at the hushed group of people. "Go and check on the survivors - make sure the badly injured ones are strapped away from the others."

She nodded, backing and then darting away. Gordon was still catching his breath, his eyes also huge. "How could it move, when it didn't have...have any..."

"West's new chemical." Scott pushed away from the mess and moved to help Gordon to his feet. Gordon was visibly shaking, Scott guessed more from adrenaline than fear.

Gordon said, "Holy shit..." He looked down again. "Not zombies, huh?"

"Definitely not zombies," Scott said. He lifted his head. Thunderbird Two was just coming in above them - although this pod was practically soundproof, he still recognised the soothing hum of those massive engines. "Tell Virgil we're good to go in five."

"How did you know he was calling?" Gordon raised an eyebrow and lifted his watch. "Virgil?" He made his way over to the control panel near the hatch. "You're almost good to go, Virg. Five more minutes."

Scott heard Virgil say, "FAB. And tell Scott to sit the hell down while he's being rescued."

Gordon turned to look at Scott, who shrugged. "I don't know how he knows."

After another five minutes, finally everyone was strapped in - and the pod had been thoroughly searched for any more surprises. Scott sat rigidly back in his seat as Thunderbird Two descended and picked up the rescue pod. He gripped the arm rests hard and tried not to jig his injured ankle too much as he waited for them to take off and fly away. He squeezed his eyes shut. All he could see behind his eyes were red handprints on a white wall, and the glint of that green lightning in West's black-rimmed glasses.

They'd been in the air for barely a minute when he felt a shudder and Thunderbird Two lurched. Scott opened his eyes and glanced around - everyone was looking up and he shouted, "What's going on?"

"Don't know!" Gordon yelled back from beside him.

Scott felt the shudders subside, and then Virgil's voice came over the intercom. "Everybody stay put. We're just trying to figure out what caused that. It came from outside Thunderbird Two, and we're in control now."

There was a worried babble from the people being rescued.

Scott said in a low voice, "I'm going up to the cockpit."

Gordon said, "Hold on..." He got up. "You can call your friends privately from in here, sir." He said it loudly, so that the others glanced back but didn't comment.

"Thanks, buddy." Scott unbuckled and Gordon took him into the elevator between him and Thunderbird Two's cockpit. He was glad that TinTin had bandaged his leg, but it was still a bitch to walk on. He entered the cockpit.

Virgil said, "You took longer than I thought you would."

"I had to make excuses." Scott came over to lean by Virgil's broad shoulder. "I hate being a tourist. What's the situation, Virg?"

"We just had a fucking huge explosion coming from the direction of Isolation. I can only guess, it might have had something to do with the black helijets we saw just as we got above the storm..."

"Helijets?" Scott frowned. "Shit, what about Brains and the others?"

"They took off before anything happened. They should be most of the way to the nearest town by now." Virgil turned fully to Scott. "John's looking into the explosion. How the hell are you?"

"Fine," Scott grinned suddenly, "It's good to see you, Virg."

"You too." Virgil smiled back.

"Virgil?" It was John on the radio.

"Come in, John," Virgil answered.

"Something big just blew up out there. Can't believe you guys got clear in time. There's nothing left of it - half the mountain looks like it was just blasted away!"

Scott felt his good mood vanish as soon as it came. "Shit. Those people...the people still in the town..."

"Maybe it was a gas main." Gordon sounded less convinced than the rest of them.

"Put me through to Alan," Scott said.

"Why?" Virgil raised an eyebrow, already flicking the controls. "Alan, Scott wants to talk to you."

"Why?" Alan asked.

"You still have all your limbs attached, Sparky?"

"Yeah, and my guests are in the hold, so you're lucky, you haven't given yourself away. You okay?" Alan sounded jubilant.

"I'm okay. Did West give you any trouble?"

"None. Quiet as a lamb, Scott."

"And Foree and Diane, how're they doing?" Scott was suddenly swamped by a deep sense of dread. A gut feeling - maybe a sound he picked up - he didn't know where it came from, only that it was very seldom wrong. He said, "Alan, do you...?"

Alan said, "Wait a second, Foree's in here..."

"Alan? Alan, don't..."

Scott heard an exclamation. Alan was yelling, and there was a scuffle, and something went snap and he heard Thunderbird One's flight computer protesting loudly against...against...

"Alan, hold on!" Scott spoke curtly, afraid and furious. "Alan?"

"Is he okay?" Gordon asked.

"He's ditching," John said over the other line. "Scott, someone, get the hell over to his grid ref, now!"

Virgil was already turning Thunderbird Two towards it. John was announcing the progress of some emergency vehicles from the nearest hospital, while Scott made his own plans.

Scott was strapping a med kit to his belt and shrugging into his uniform. Virgil glanced back, looking alarmed. "What're you doing?"

"You have to drop me out next to Thunderbird One. There's no time to land, Virg. You need to get those folks to a secure hospital. I'll look after whoever's left until the paramedics get there..."

"No, Scott..." Virgil started to say.

"You're a fucking mess," Gordon added. Scott kept equipping his belt and Gordon frowned and said, "You have to let us handle this..."

"West is myresponsibility, Gordon. And you need an extra pair of hands down there while we get medics to the site. Someone has to help Alan and Brains, and keep an eye out for Foree." Scott drew on his deepest reserves of strength, willing Gordon to back down.

Gordon still looked livid. "No! Scott, the state you're in, you'd pass out before you opened the parachute."

"Bullshit, Gordo. I've flown One in worse condition than this and you know it. And you'll be there, too," Scott tossed him a parachute. "I'll be okay, Gordo. Trust me."

"Scott..." Gordon was clearly still pissed off, but he glanced back at Virgil and said, "You think he can make it?"

"Is he popping caffeine pills?" Virgil asked.

Scott paused with one in his mouth, and then swallowed guiltily.

"Yep," Gordon confirmed.

"Then he won't pass out opening the �chute. And he's right. We don't know what the fuck's down there." Virgil met Scott's eyes. "You do look like crap, Scott. You sure you'll be all right?"

Scott straightened. The caffeine pills were doing the trick, hitting him with a smooth high of adrenaline, and blotting out the twinges above his foot. He nodded. "A-1, Virg. You going to let me rescue Alan or what?"

"Scott..." Virgil didn't look entirely happy, but he had relented. He nodded an affirmative, saying, "All right. We'll be there in five minutes."

"Keep trying to raise Alan." Scott clipped a parachute onto his back. "Slow her right down..."

"I know how to hover, Scott." Virgil looked at him and Scott felt himself relax, just a tiny amount, and he backed down.

"Sorry," Scott said.

"You're an idiot," Virgil said affectionately, and Scott relaxed a tiny bit more. "Be careful," Virgil added.

Scott gave him a quick salute. Then he climbed into the hatch. Virgil opened the airlock, and he and Gordon dropped out of Thunderbird Two, and down to where Thunderbird One had come to rest.

Thunderbird One had dug a deep groove into a big field about thirty miles from the nearest city. Scott landed beside it, already impressed that Alan had managed to keep her in one piece. His craft could take a lot of punishment, thanks to Brains, but it took skill to keep her together if you were crashing.

He landed, rolling forwards. He was covered in half the dirt in the field by the time he stopped, unhooking from the parachute and picked up his emergency kit, jogging up to the crash site. It had completely stopped raining, but everything underfoot was sopping wet. Maybe it had saved Thunderbird One from splintering.

Gordon was landing a lot further away - there was a misty rain blowing in across the area. It would take him a little while to reach Scott from back there.

"Hey!" Scott came forwards. "Alan? You there?" he called out.

Thunderbird One had twisted so that the hatch was half-covered. Scott scraped away the dirt, shouting, "Alan? Anyone in there?"

He heard a groan. Scott leaned carefully into the hatch, seeing his youngest brother hanging from halfway up what was now a ceiling. The cabin was bathed in red emergency lighting. He said, "Alan!"

Alan blinked. Scott was alarmed to see blood trickling from his face, and off his hanging arms. Scott dug away at more of the dirt, making a hole large enough to squeeze through. He clambered inside. "Easy, Al. Come on, I'll get you down."

Alan wasn't doing more than moaning, and Scott stared at him more closely. He checked his brother's pulse. To his relief it was steady, strong. Scott smiled.

"Alan, look at me, come on..." Alan's eyes didn't focus. Scott found the cause of the bleeding - a deep gash in his head. A deep...bite.

"Fuck..." Scott glanced around. The cabin was empty - Scott peered in the red light. He looked back again. No sign of anyone else.

"You sure can't stay up there..." Scott unhooked Alan from the straps, and Alan moaned again. Scott felt a broken rib under Alan's shirt - and then he noticed something that turned Scott's thoughts white with horror - Alan was missing two fingers from his left hand.

Scott lifted Alan down onto the new floor of the cabin, rapidly binding his brother's wounds. "We'll get you out of here."

He turned his head at a noise from the hatch leading to the hold. He heard a rattle, and then the door popped open.

"You." Scott stared.

West had not come out of the crash all that well - although he still had all his fingers. He pushed up his glasses when he saw Scott, looking intently with beady, crow-like eyes. "Mr Tracy...you are a rescuer after all..."

"What have you done to the others?" Scott demanded.

West gave him a slightly put-out look, pursing his lips. "Brains is back in there, looking very badly hurt. Diane...looks dead. And Foree is...out here, somewhere."

Scott was on him in a flash, wrenching him out of the hatch and shoving him against the cabin wall, "What did you do?"

West hardly reacted this time. In a perfectly level tone he said, "This was not my idea, Mr Tracy. I hardly desired that we'd crash out here...and I certainly didn't want to lose my most successful test subject. If you...must know, Foree's recovery was not that complete, and once we were in flight, he lost all higher brain functions. He's something much worse now. He could have killed all of us."

Scott said, "So who the hell untied you?"

"I untied myself, Mr Tracy. I'm a genius, remember." West yelped Scott tightened his grip on the man, hands around his throat, almost snarling into his face - Scott felt a powerful desire to choke the life out of this monster. This murdering scum.

"Scott?" Gordon yelled. "Are you down there?"

Scott relented, which he was suddenly glad about. "I'm in here!" he shouted. "Brains is hurt!"

He put West down. The scientist wobbled, rubbing his throat. He glared up at Scott, "You've made your point, whatever it was. Now hadn't you better go and help..."

Scott punched him.

West toppled onto the floor. He didn't move - Scott stood over him to make sure.

Gordon clambered into the hatch, drenched and covered in mud. He looked down at West. "Who's that?"

"The mad scientist." Scott shook himself out of the funk he was sliding into. "Come on. We have to get Brains and Diane out. I'll check on them, you look after Al."

Gordon swore at their little brother's injury, and quickly went to work. Scott climbed up to Brains and Diane.

Brains was deeply unconscious. Scott checked over the wounds - he seemed to have been unstrapping himself from the safety belts just as Thunderbird One crashed. It looked like he had a broken arm, and the little scientist's breath was light and shallow. Scott glanced at Diane. His heart sank.

"I'm sorry, fuck, I'm so..." Scott thumped the inside of his ship's hull. "Shit! I'm sorry, Diane." He closed her eyes miserably. It was obvious that her wounds couldn't have been caused by the crash. On that thought, Scott felt for his gun - the standard issue, International Rescue one kept strictly for emergencies. Then he put Brains carefully in the recovery position, conscious of his friend's broken arm. Finally he climbed down from the hold, sick and upset.

Gordon was lying unconscious across Alan's body, a dark mark on the back of his head. Scott saw West's legs disappearing through the outer hatch, heading to the field. Scott cursed and dived after him - as he did, he twisted on his ankle, feeling it throb under his boot.

Catching his stride, he launched up and pulled himself out of his ship using just his arms and one good leg, scrambling after West on the mud, pulling himself to his feet. "Get back here you sonova...!"

He felt a burning pain spread across his chest to his shoulders.

He noticed several things at once.

Time slowing down.

West pointing the gun that used to be Alan's.

The black heli-jet landing directly behind West.

West running jerkily towards it.

From somewhere even further away, ambulance sirens...

His vision narrowing into darkness.

Scott sank into the mud.

Everything stopped.

"Are you okay, Scott?"

Scott opened his eyes. This room was new and familiar - a small room, with a poster of a cat on the wall, and a small writing desk near the blue door. A slim blonde woman stood between him and the door. She was dressed in white, and her hair was cropped close to her very attractive face. "Scott? How do you feel?" she asked.

He heard birds outside. A shimmer of lurid green seemed to fill the air. Vivid horrors came back in a flash. He sat up. "We have to get help for..."

"Alan's fine. They're all fine." She came and sat down next to him. Scott knew who she was, but he couldn't come up with her name.

"They're all fine?" he asked.

The blonde woman nodded - she reached out and touched his face. "Yes, Scott. You saved all of them. Everyone's all right."

"They are?" He smiled. "Thank you...what happened?"

"You don't want to know..."

"I do!" He put out a hand, touched her arm. "I need to know. Where is everyone? Where am I?"

"You're safe, Scott. You went mad for a little while there but now you're okay." She smiled, showing brilliant white teeth. Everything was too bright. His weakened eyes felt tender and he looked away.

He said, "I don't remember. I don't know you, either." The woman smiled. Scott waited for her to introduce herself - during the pause he spotted a mostly-squashed cockroach, climbing steadily up the wall behind the writing desk.

"Those bastards really could survive a nuclear war..." he muttered. He blinked. "You...you're Diane. That's right, isn't it?"

"No prizes for that one," she said.

"I guess...I thought you were..." He frowned, trying to remember. "West, he said...you looked dead."

"We can survive anything." she said.

"What are you talking about?" He looked back at the cockroach, and he heard her say.

"West killed me."

"What?" Scott frowned, and glanced up as the strobe light flickered above his head. He turned his head back to her. He yelled, struggling away. The thing that resembled Diane crawled towards him, her bony fingertips clutched his ankle and twisted - Scott struggled violently, shaking her off before he -

"No!"

Scott opened his eyes, almost tumbling off the bed. He yelled - a hard, croaking sound from his bone-dry throat. He choked, righting himself. He gripped the side of the bed, looking wildly around, the rest of the room hidden by a white curtain.

His body was plugged into wires and drips that stung his veins - he looked down at a puckered scar on the front of his chest, which seemed to have healed only recently. That ached too. The auto-doc beeped a warning as he stared at it, then unhooked the drips - as he did, the curtain across his bed rippled at a gust of air from outside.

"Who's there!" Scott tried to shout - he coughed - "Who's there!" He struggled off the bed, ripping off wires - the autodoc buzzed unhappily.

He pulled back the curtain in a single yank and tottered forwards - he ran straight into his father. Jeff caught him, "Easy, son..."

"Father..." Scott coughed again. "Father Alan was hurt where are the..." he righted himself - his ankle had healed, he saw it, the finger-marks were still there. "I have to stop those things they're..."

"Get back in bed," Jeff said. He propelled Scott back towards the cot, where the autodoc was howling an alarm.

"But is Alan okay? And Brains?"

"They're...they're all right." Jeff flicked off the autodoc, and Scott half-sat on the side of the bed, not taking his eyes off his father. His senses were snapping into place.

"What happened?" Scott demanded.

"You've been in a coma for about a month. It's March first." Jeff handed him a big glass of water from the nearby sink. Scott drank the whole lot.

"A coma?" Scott repeated as he finished. He put his left hand over his shoulder, feeling the wound. "Oh."

"Yeah. Everything's...it's all okay. Try to relax."

"What happened?" Scott noticed now, even through his own fogged brain, that his father didn't look entirely well. "Dad? Tell me..."

"Stay here, Scott. I'll call the others down."

"Father...!" Scott tried to raise his voice, tried to move quickly to stop Jeff, and the room swirled into interesting patterns. He slid back.

"Easy, son," he heard his father's voice follow him down. "Take it easy..."

Did you drug the damn water... Scott registered a thought just before everything went dark again.

He woke to another white curtain pulled across the bed, but he felt immeasurably better. He got up more carefully this time, pulled the sheet aside and clambered out to the sink. He poured himself another big glass of water, drank it all, and looked around.

The med bay had been used recently. There was blood - Scott's heart stopped. He glanced around. The blood ran in a trail from the door and inwards, spreading in a smear to the next bed along. It looked like someone had been dragged in here. "Hello?" Scott moved rapidly forwards, trying the comlink in the lab. "Is anyone there?"

No one answered. Scott dug his clothes out of the small locker near the beds, dressing rapidly. He shivered and blamed it on the air-con. Once he had his shoes on, he picked up the nearest fire extinguisher, gripping it like a club. Then he made his way out of the medical bay, and up.

He entered the lounge feeling like a ghost. He hadn't run into anyone else as he'd headed up - nobody was in their rooms or answering the internal comlink. He heard loud voices once he reached the centre of the Tracy House - John was arguing loudly with Virgil, and Jeff was bellowing over it. Gordon and - he searched in vain for Alan. Everyone looked bloodied and battered, as though they'd just been through a major rescue - or a huge fight.

Scott stepped into the room, and for a long minute nobody even noticed him. Scott opened his mouth to say something, but his weakened eyes were drawn to two large screens in the middle of the lounge.

One was displaying a world map - it showed large areas of red and purple all over the bulk of the globe. Other patches were orange, and a few expanses were still green. These were mostly islands, he noticed.

Then the other screen flickered, reading "EMERGENCY BROADCAST IN OPERATION". A moment later a series of images flashed up. People running, screaming, dying...from all corners of the world. The tag line under the images also read, UNDEAD WALK IN THREE MORE COUNTRIES...

"Holy shit..." Scott said. He dropped the extinguisher. "What happened?"

"Scott?" Virgil stopped arguing and strode over to him. "Scott, are you okay?"

"What is all this?" Scott demanded. "What the hell is going on?"

Virgil looked at the others, and then back at Scott. "Parasol blew up West's lab and the town..." He grimaced. "There was a cloud of chemicals. Huge. It spread for miles. No one expected it to get...everywhere. The things that came back...there were so many of them, we're trying to help, but..." He put a hand on Scott's shoulder. He looked about a hundred years old. "It's the end of the world, Scott."

"No!" Scott yelled, shocking himself. His vision blurred, dark and bright, and pure fury exploded. "No! That isn't fair! No!"

He was barely aware of Virgil trying to calm him down, but Scott only stopped when he put his own hand through a wall.

The pain shocked him into letting his brother get close. Virgil grabbed for him, and Scott held tightly onto him, yelling into his shoulder. He was furious. There had to be a way to stop this - there had to be...

"We've tried everything. Scott, we've tried..." Virgil was saying.

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, getting control back inch by inch. He focussed, drawing back his strength, making a deep promise to himself. He would try to get answers. He'd do anything it took. He would make a difference. He'd save everybody who was left.

And then he was going to go looking for Doctor Herbert West. And West was going to pay.