Fork in the Road

By Sapphire

Disclaimer: Not mine, I just borrow the boys for a little while. I promise I'll return them mostly unharmed (except Virgil who later gets .... nah, that would be telling grin). The 'green hippo' comparison in chapter 5 is originally from Christine and used with her permission. I have finshed the story, but part of it is still with my beta reader (thanks, Mac).

Part 1 - Earthquake

The rising morning sun touched the peak of Mt. Harono, better known to the residents of the small volcanic island as Mt. Tracy. Dormant for the last hundred years, the volcano formed the centre of the island, its flanks home to the various buildings forming the home to Jeff Tracy and his five sons. And in some of its vast caves left behind by the lava flows of times long ago were hidden the hangars with the powerful machines, which formed the core of International Rescue, the secret organization which was dedicated to save lives around the world, regardless of race, creed and belief.

Everything was quiet this early in the morning. Most of the people calling the island their home were still deeply asleep. Only exception was the lone form of a dark-haired man, running along the beach wearing light sweats and a short-sleeved white t-shirt. A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin, darkening the t-shirt at his back. Even though it was early, it was already pretty warm, one of the reasons the eldest Tracy son preferred to do his rounds first thing each day.

Scott Tracy was on his second tour around the island. One more, and he would head back to the main house, take a quick shower and then start breakfast.

Suddenly all birds from a nearby tree took wing, screaming in protest at something Scott couldn't see. The dark-haired man missed a step and almost fell. For one second he thought he had been distracted by the birds and overlooked a root hidden by the sand, but then he heard something like a deep moan which seemed to come from the very depth of the Earth. He stopped, and before he knew it he felt like he was lifted up a foot, shifted to one side and then dropped down again. Only, his feet had never left the ground. In fact, it had been the ground that had done the moving.

For a moment Scott was frozen, his mind trying to cope with what has happened. But then he realized what must have been going on.

An earthquake.

A fairly mild one, really, maybe a four, tops, if he was any judge. But there might be more to come, and the next one might be worse.

Not hesitating for a second, he started to run again. Only this time, instead of a relaxed jog, it was a full out race. He had to get to the house quickly and see if anyone from his family had been injured or trapped by the quake, and to make sure that everybody was safe in case there was another one.

When Jeff Tracy had made the island his home twelve years ago, he had made sure that the construction of his new residence was up to any safety standards imaginable. Having an extinct volcano in one's back yard was a pretty good indicator that the area wasn't really the most stable on the planet, and he had made sure that the construction of the house reflected that. He also had taken steps – assisted by his friend and resident genius Brains and some of the best volcanologists money could buy -- to make sure that Mt. Harono was indeed extinct, and would never ever change its mind. Thousands of sensors lined the many passages honeycombing the island, monitoring the mountain closely. Not much, though, they could do against earthquakes.

Scott didn't really worry that the house would collapse, or anything like that. But there was always the chance that something fell over, or that somebody was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Scott had made it halfway to the house, having reached a stretch that was mainly made up of large rocks, when the next quake hit.

He had no warning when he heard a deep groan, like a very large animal in considerable pain. Then the world shifted to the left, then to the right and then back to the left again.

A small, detached part of his mind registered that this quake was stronger than the previous one, but the largest section of his brain was working hard to cope with the wide crack that had opened up directly across his path. He windmilled wildly with his arms, fighting for balance, but to no avail. His forward momentum carried him on, and he fell, hitting his head at a nearby rock.

Distantly he realized that he was sliding down somewhere, and then he hit his head against another hard surface.

After that there was nothing.

oooooo

Scott woke with the mother of all headaches. Some Japanese drummers seemed to have taken up residence in his head, with the firm intention to make his skull the biggest drum bowl on Earth.

Somebody placed a wet cloth over his eyes and forehead and he let out a content sigh at the relief it brought.

Fingers played through his hair, stroking it back in a familiar gesture. His mom had used to do that every time he had been sick as a child. Even though it had been over fifteen years, he still remembered this gesture. Back then, he had known by it that even if he wasn't up to par, he was loved and cared for, and this, at least to his young mind, had helped him to get better, even more than the medicine he had been forced to take.

The cloth was taken away and he made a small sound of protest.

"I think he's coming around," a woman's voice said.

The voice was somehow familiar, even though Scott had some problems placing it. It wasn't Tin-Tin's voice, that much he was sure of. Assistant to Brains and secretary to Scott's father, she sometimes acted also as nurse when Scott or one of his brothers was injured – an occurrence that happened often enough considering the dangerous profession they all were in.

But this voice was too deep, a gentle alto that soothed Scott's headache. And she sounded too young be grandma, not that Scott would have any problems recognizing her voice normally.

"This was a bad fall he took," another voice answered. This voice Scott had no problems to place; it belonged to his father. "You're sure he'll be all right?"

"Quite sure, darling. You worry too much."

'Darling'?!? Nobody ever called his father 'darling'. Least of all a strange woman. Who was that person?

He forced his eyes open, but closed them immediately again when the light cut through his brain like a sharp lance. He moaned, partly from the pain, and partly from frustration because he knew somehow it was very important to solve the riddle the strange woman presented.

"Scott," his father said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Wait a moment. Joyce is closing the blinds. That should help with the pain."

'Joyce'? Curious and curiouser. This had been the name of his mother. But she's been dead for thirteen years, so it couldn't be her. But that voice ...

"What happened?" he asked, moving to somewhat saver grounds.

"Do you remember the earthquake?" Jeff Tracy asked.

Earthquake? For a moment, he tried to understand what his father was saying, but then he remembered. His morning run, the earth shaking like a wild bronco in a rodeo, a crack opening in front of him.

"Yes," he said. "I was on my way back to the house ..."

"You must have fallen into an underground cave opened by the quake. After the shaking had stopped, we all went out searching for you. Gordon found you and we got you out. You've got quite a knock on your head so we had a doctor from the mainland checking you out. He said you would be okay, though, so we decided to keep you here."

Well, that explained his headache, and maybe even the cotton socks taste that filled his mouth.

This problem solved, he went back to the other one.

Who was the woman named Joyce who called his father 'Darling'?

He opened his eyes a crack, finding the room darkened. The pain was bearable, so he dared to go further, opening his eyes all the way. His father was a dark shape to his right, slightly blurry, but as he focused his form sharpened and he saw the worry plainly in his face. Slowly Scott moved his head to the left, as the woman's voice was coming from that side.

All he saw at first was a shadow against the window in her back. Then she moved to the side, and he finally could see her clearly. His mouth dropped open. This wasn't possible. This simply was not possible.

His mother was dead. She had been dead for over thirteen years, when an avalanche had buried her and two of his brothers while skiing in Aspen. They had managed to save John and Gordon, but they had been too late for her. She had been already dead when they had reached her.

As much as he had wished for every day for the last thirteen years that it were different, she was dead, and nothing he, or his brothers, or his father could do, would ever bring her back.

"Do you want some water, honey," Joyce Tracy offered her son, holding out a glass.

tbc

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