One Cold Hand
@flashfictionfridayofficial
For Flash Fiction Friday #121 Cold Body Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go Warnings: Death Word Count: 956
Cold hands, warm heart. Something Mom used to say. Right now he hoped beyond all hope that might be true. Even through his glove the small hand protruding through the mud and rubble was cold to the touch and it made him shudder to think what that could mean. Just when he thought he’d found another beyond his help, fingers curled around his gloved hand, barely enough for him to feel, but clearly a last-ditched effort, a wordless plea for help. And that was precisely why he was here, why International Rescue existed – to help those who had no other hope.
Unwilling to let go of the hand clutching his, he activated his comm, then scrabbled with his free hand to remove what rubble he could.
“I’ve got one, Thunderbird Five.” His voice was raspy with exertion and a little weariness. It had already been a long day. “Might need a little help digging them out.”
“FAB. I can send Alan over to you, they’re wrapping up at that site.”
Virgil acknowledged and closed the comm. He knew Alan had been a few hundred metres away with Scott and Gordon, helping to extract victims from a semi-submerged vehicle.
The mudslide had swept mercilessly through the village, all but washing it from the face of the map. They’d been here for hours. Survivors were becoming harder to come by but the vehicle had kept the family of five relatively insulated from harm despite the tumble it had taken from the now non-existent road and the mud that had threatened to bury it.
The child clinging to Virgil’s hand had no such protection from the debris or the cold, slick mud. So far his efforts at clearing the area around the hand had revealed very little. He tried to offer words of reassurance, but wasn’t sure if he’d be understood – he didn’t really speak the language. He had tried to let go of the hand so he could use both of his to lift and shift, or to access the exosuit, but the weak grip on his hand had twitched and clung a little more tightly – “Don’t let go. Please.”
The arrival of his youngest brother was a relief. He was directing Alan’s hands to move obstacles even as he picked his way over towards the exposed hand, wrist and arm Virgil had unearthed. With Alan’s assistance the large, partially splintered door preventing further excavation was finally removed to reveal a tiny cavity – a pocket of relatively clear space between mud, rock, brick and broken bits of what might have once been the child’s home. Virgil could now clearly see the child’s shoulder, a mop of dark, mud-streaked hair and the encouraging sight of the slight rise and fall of dirty blue fabric as the child drew shallow but steady breaths. He let go of the hand to reach his arm in and comb fingers through damp hair, moving it aside to find a grubby face.
“Hey, can you hear me?” softly uttered as his fingers brushed against a cheek that was cold beneath the glove.
God, she couldn’t be more than nine or ten years old. Dark brown eyes opened lazily and, recognising she wasn’t alone, the girl tried to move.
“Stay still,” he said, hand now resting firmly on her shoulder to try and reinforce the instruction. “We’re gonna get you out.”
As they worked to free her Virgil recognised enough Spanish to understand her whimpered, desperate cries for her parents, and complaints about the cold. Her legs were all but buried in the near-freezing muddy sludge.
Virgil relinquished his position to Alan, who’s slight frame enabled him to crawl further into the cavity and get a good hold on the girl’s now exposed and shivering torso so Virgil could work on extracting her lower body. A shift of a piece of what might have once been a table caused a small avalanche of rubble to tumble away to his right and down the newly formed slope. The shift in surface debris revealed a glimpse of fabric, a patch of skin, and Virgil’s heart leapt for a moment in hope until he caught sight of the glazed eyes and dragged his attention away again. No urgency required there.
Instead he concentrated on freeing the girl’s legs, and soon Alan was able to lift her free of the confined space and take her in his arms. The mediscanner revealed no major injuries, but her core temperature was worryingly low. She had been remarkably lucky. Virgil wrapped her up in an emergency blanket, the metallic material crinkling loudly as Alan readjusted his hold, cradling her in his arms so he could carry her back to Thunderbird Two. Virgil watched them go, his brother picking his way carefully over the unsteady terrain, before turning his attention back to the newly exposed victim.
He made his way carefully down to the woman, wondering if this was the little girl’s mother, and trying to blink away the tears he felt forming. He reached out to the cold body, fingers searching in vain for a pulse he knew he would not find. With a resigned sigh that almost became a sob, he scanned the immediate area with eyes and hands and soon revealed a second body half buried under more rubble and mud. He checked this one too. Male. Cold. Lifeless. Nothing more he could do.
It felt heartless to leave them, but body recovery could wait. A quick check in with Thunderbird Five confirmed there were no more life signs here, but there were survivors who needed assistance in another sector. He took a moment for a deep breath, squared his shoulders and hurried to where he his help was needed.
