Unreachable

The splintering, crashing sound seemed to ring in Fermat's ears forever. He kept his arms tight to his head, eyes scrunched tight, waiting for debris to hit him. Surprisingly, there was little, but that didn't register with him at the time. A hollow boom, which shook his bunk, signaled an abrupt decrease in the noise levels, allowing him to hear his own hoarse screams. Gasping for breath, he coughed, throat filling with plaster dust. He finally pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth; his hacking lessened as the room quieted further. Breathing shallowly through his improvised mask, he lay curled onto his side until his ears stopped ringing. He was alive.

How long he lay there just breathing, he didn't know, but at last he opened his eyes, squinting behind dust-coated glasses. What he could see of the room was dark; his surroundings rendered into eerie shades of shadow and gray. Something sparked white and blue a few yards away; he could not make out what it was. He took a moment to clean his glasses with a corner of his bed sheet. The resulting clarity enabled him to see little more, though he thought he knew the source of the sparking. All around him an ominous, labored creaking sounded, and above that, the wind howled. What portion of that wind which spiraled down brought bitter cold and fat, wet snowflakes; it stirred the still-airborne dust. Instinctively, he pulled his blankets up further.

The tree must have come down, he reasoned. Right through the roof! And the ceiling! He acknowledged this truth as if it were some dry, scientific fact, not letting the deeper, emotional reality take hold. I need light. My book light should suffice.

Like many boys of his intellect, Fermat had the questionable habit of reading in bed, though most of his peers would find his choice of nocturnal reading to be rather dry. To facilitate this habit without disturbing his roommate, he employed a clip-on book light. If I can just turn over and grab it... Gingerly, swallowing against the rawness of his throat, he began to roll onto his other side. As he moved, his upper arm scraped lightly against something solid that protruded from the upper bunk. Once both shoulders were firmly on his mattress, he shifted, then tried completing his motion. This time, he did more than graze whatever it was; he found it blocked his arm from moving beyond it. Hm. Okay, let's try something else.

Easing back onto the mattress, he reached above his head, right hand groping clumsily along the shelf that made up part of the bunk's headboard. His fingers found the current book, then the light. Unclipping it, he thumbed it on, shining the thin beam on the obstruction.

"Agh!" A cry of surprise and fright tore from his lips as he found himself confronted by the jagged, ice-slicked end of a thick, cracked, and truncated branch.

Alan had settled, dry-clothed and stocking-footed, into one of the sofas that were the main furnishings of the televid lounge. The place was half full; the channel was tuned to one of the local news stations. Weather, especially weather like they were now experiencing, was always of interest to the boys. Alan found it particularly fascinating. It's like the winter version of a hurricane, he thought as he slid his interlaced fingers behind his head, and put his feet up on a large, square ottoman.

The televid, which had been blathering on about the snow accumulations, and warning everyone to stay home and off the streets, now changed. The anchorman, solemn-faced with gray touching his temples, intoned, "Now we turn to national correspondent, Lisa Lowe, who is covering a developing story involving the Thunderbirds."

The announcement caught the attention of everyone in the room, especially Alan, who sat up and leaned forward, his eyes eager. He glanced aside briefly when Dom settled down beside him. Nodding a quick greeting, he turned his rapt attention back to the screen.

"We're here in North Conway, New Hampshire, in one of the worst Nor'easters this region has seen for decades." Lisa Lowe's face was framed by a faux fur parka hood that ruffled in the fierce winds, and she looked cold. An occasional snowflake ended its frosty existence on the camera lens, adding distortion to her image. "Earlier tonight, a call came from the Mount Washington Observatory, reporting that one of their volunteers has what doctors suspect is acute appendicitis. Mount Washington has earned the distinction of experiencing the world's worst weather, and this blizzard is hitting them harder than anyone else. National Guard helicopters would not be able to penetrate the horrific conditions at the summit, so the folks at the Observatory radioed the Thunderbirds." She glanced up at the sky as a roaring sound drowned out the audible whistle of the wind. "And here they are now!"

The growing audience burst into cheers and applause, just as the picture winked out. Lisa Lowe's voice, however, continued, as the screen shifted to a still shot of her. "I don't see any sign of Thunderbird One, but Thunderbird Two is settling down on a plowed and empty parking lot. The chassis is lifting from the pod. We would try to give you full coverage of this event, but unfortunately, we can't deploy our new Action Cam in this weather."

"Yeah," Alan muttered sotto voce. "Even if you could, we've got your number."

"Ah! There go the doctor and her assistants! Someone is meeting her at the pod ramp; it could be the commander himself!" She continued on, telling her listeners about the doctor, and what they hoped to do when they reached the summit.

"Wow! I wouldn't like to be in their shoes tonight," Dom said, turning to Alan. "Weather's worse there than here!"

"Uh-huh," Alan replied, absentmindedly. His concentration on the news story, however, was shattered by flashing red lights and the muted growl of a siren as they passed by the dorm windows.

"I've got the doctor and her aides buttoned up in the med bay." Gordon pulled off his helmet as he entered the flight deck. "Whew! That wind is biting, and you can barely see three feet in front of your face. If the weather up there's as bad as it is down here..."

"From the data Virgil is giving us, it's going to be a lot worse," Jeff said, his tone grim. "John, make sure that Dr. Harrington can liaise with the Observatory. Use channel C."

"F-A-B." John leaned over and swiped his hand over a panel. "This is Thunderbird Two calling Mount Washington Observatory..."

"Scott, how's our ice situation?"

Scott consulted controls on the panels before him. "So far, the de-icing is keeping up, but just barely. The rime ice on the mountain will be a real problem."

Jeff just grunted his reply. "You strapped in back there, Gordon?"

Gordon had just finished settling into his seat. "F-A-B, Commander."

Jeff turned and nodded to his co-pilot. "Let's take her up, Scott."

Thunderbird Two rose slowly, majestically into the sky. On the ground, Lisa Lowe continued her commentary. Inside the cockpit, Jeff's hands gripped the controls tightly, trying to keep the green craft stable in the buffeting winds.

"John, talk to Virgil and see if he has any ideas about where to land this baby." Jeff didn't look over to give his orders. "If memory serves me, we won't be able to use any of the parking lot; they're too far away, and too dangerous to plow. We need to get close... really close."

"I'm checking the topography maps now, Commander." Virgil's voice came through on the loudspeaker. "Besides the parking lots, there's no flat area near the observatory big enough to handle Two."

"Do you have a schematic of the building?" John asked.

"Yeah. I've been going back and forth with the people up there. We're still trying to figure out what entrance is going to be best." Virgil's stifled sigh was still audible. "The entrances aren't covered with as much rime ice as they will be later, but they still have to chisel their way out."

Scott grunted. "So, we can't land nearby, and where we can land is too far away."

There was a moment of quiet in the cockpit, then Virgil cleared his throat. "I do have a suggestion."

"Let's hear it."

"It'll be tricky, but you could hover near whatever entrance we choose, lower the pod while still hovering, then pick the pod up after you deliver the doctor."

There was silence again while the command crew digested Virgil's idea. Gordon spoke first, his tone thoughtful. "Didn't the Spr..." Scott shot him a quelling look, making Gordon pause and clear his throat. "I mean, Alan. Didn't Alan do something like that when he launched Thunderbird Four over the Thames?"

"Yes, he did." Jeff said slowly, turning the idea over in his mind. "However, he had the advantage of being over open water. The backwash from Two's VTOLs was minimal. We're not going to have that advantage."

"That's right," Scott chimed in. "We'll be working against both that and the wind."

"Well," Gordon said, folding his arms. "Whatever you're gonna do, better figure it out soon." He nodded toward the viewscreen. The gray-white sides of Mt. Washington, studded with dark trees, was looming closer. "Looks like we're here."

Getting his heartbeat and breathing under control once more, Fermat tried to relax. "O-Okay," he said aloud. "Let's think this through r-rationally. Like a Thunderbird." He moistened his dry lips with his tongue. "F-First, take s-stock."

He began to shine the light around. The branch that pointed squarely at his chest was sheathed near the base in tattered sheets, and the flat panel above him was cracked and splintered. The jagged end dripped moisture on his blankets as its icy coating melted. "M-Must have d-driven straight through the, uh, mattress," he murmured. He lifted his head and shoulders as far as the protruding branch would allow, and pointed the light in the direction of his feet. He couldn't see all the way down, but what was revealed made him breathe a strangled, "Oh God."

The far end of the upper bunk had collapsed, making his rectangular space into a triangular one. Plaster ceiling and shivered roof truss lay beneath the weight of a limb that was itself as big around as a tree. Fermat stared at it, one part of his mind numb with horror, and another automatically trying to calculate the pressures involved and figure out exactly why he wasn't a jelly smear sandwiched between the two bunks. Fighting down the urge to scream, he swallowed heavily, and remembered his training. "Like a Th-Thunderbird," he muttered as he played his light out into the room itself. The beam faded after only a yard or so, but it was enough to see his predicament.

Thick dust still lay on the air from the crushed plaster. The sparking was from the darkened and cracked light fixtures, now hanging lower than before, and reacting to the snowflakes that touched them. One wardrobe had fallen to the floor, pierced by a large branch; he couldn't see the other for the rent ceiling trusses and caved-in roofing materials. All around him were branches: thick, thin, broken, lichen and ice-covered, woven together in a thickly matted bramble. At least one hefty branch - Fermat guessed it to be as thick around as his thigh – slanted down into the floor beside his bunk, just at a point where it barred his ability to get out. Of his computer and desk, he could see nothing.

He lay back, tears springing to his eyes. How am I gonna get out of here? The only thing keeping me alive is the headboard. If that collapses... He angrily wiped the tears away. There has to be a way out. Think like a Thunderbird!

The wind moaned and whistled. The tree creaked and groaned. But, as Fermat's hearing slowly became familiar with those noises, two new, urgent sounds rose above them. One was a hissing, dripping noise, like a jet of water spraying. The other was a near-scream of terror and despair.

"Fermat! Where are you? Oh, help me! Please! Please! Somebody help me! Fermat!"

Fermat's eyes widened, and he instinctively called back, "A.J.!"

Alan reached up on his tiptoes, trying to look over the boys who had crowded around the windows. They'd pulled up the blinds, hoping to see what was going on. "Red and white," he murmured. "Emergency vehicles."

"Okay, guys. That's enough." The hall monitor, a senior by the name of Jake Forbestein, stepped into the room, his authoritative voice cutting over the general hubbub. "Please put down the blinds."

Those near the windows obeyed, and the monitor nodded his thanks. "If you don't have a roommate at the moment, come see me. We have a situation which means you'll have to take on someone temporarily."

"What's going on, Jake?" Dom asked.

Jake hesitated a moment, looking as he was thinking carefully about what he was about to say. "The school is evacuating Maplewood, and they want as many students in the other dorms as possible."

Something clicked inside Alan's head, the bits and pieces of his own knowledge coalescing into a horrifying and unimaginable whole. He jerked up, clenching his fists and demanding, "Why?" in a knife-sharp tone.

Startled, Jake glanced at Alan. "Why do you want to know?"

"My friend, Fermat, lives there."

Jake took a moment to consider his answer. Finally, he sighed. "You know that old oak tree in front of Maplewood?"

"It came down, didn't it?" Alan, still tensed, had paled, and his words were clipped. "It came down onto the dorm."

Jake nodded. "That's what I've been told." Sounds of consternation and surprise rose from the boys in the lounge. "The staff is trying to round everyone up and get a head count."

"I've got to go." Like a coiled spring, Alan moved, heading for his room. "I've got to help."

Jake followed him, protesting. He reached for Alan's shoulder, and spun him around. "You can't. The weather..."

"To hell with the weather. My friend is in there. I know it. I have to help him." Alan raised a fist. "Don't get in my way, Jake."

Holding his hands before him, palms outward, Jake backed off. "Alan, you don't know anything. And Mr. Magnuson is there; he'll just have someone haul you back here, or to his office. Let the professionals handle it."

Alan opened his mouth. "But I..." He paused. On the tip of his tongue were the words, "But I am a professional." Something, maybe a half-remembered admonition from his father, stopped him. He changed his wording. "I'm going." He turned sharply on his heel, and ran squarely into Xavion. Qaeshon flanked his brother on the left, and a frowning John Carter stood at Zave's right. Jake, seeing that Zave had stepped in, began gathering the other boys together, looking for those without roommates.

Zave's face was impassive, and his arms were folded. "Pinky," he began, then his stance shifted a little, and his shoulders dropped. "Alan. I know you want to help. Hell, we all want to. But right now, we don't have enough information, and let's face it, we'd just get into the rescue crews' way. Let them do their job."

Shaking his head sharply, Alan ground out, "He's my friend."

Kay spoke up. "We know that. But we don't even know if he's there. He might have gone to dinner, or the snack shop, or somewhere else. Like Jake said, Mr. Mags is trying to round all the Maplewood guys up and figure out who is missing. At least give him time to do that."

Carter spoke up. "I don't know what room your friend is in, but for all we know, the tree might have missed it. It might not have done much damage."

"He's right, Alan." Kay nodded. "Until we find out more, we need to stay out of the way. I mean, wouldn't the Thunderbirds gather as much information as they could when they rescued someone?"

Alan's fist tightened. He knew what Kay said was true, though in reality it seemed they never had all the intel they needed, and sometimes they didn't have the right intel that would make things easier from the start. But since he knew he couldn't tell his friend this, he found himself muttering, "I suppose you're right. I'm sure they wouldn't go in blind."

Zave relaxed a bit more. "So, you'll stay put? Wait until we have some solid word on Fermat's whereabouts?"

"And A.J.'s. Don't forget him," Kay added.

The color had returned to Alan's face, and now it flamed with chagrin. In his deep concern for Fermat, he had forgotten A.J. His friends were still looking at him, waiting for his reply. Sighing, he nodded. "I'll wait... until we find out where he is."

Kat smiled, and clapped Alan on the shoulder. "Great! They're probably both at the dining hall or something anyway." He glanced over at the televid, which was still nattering on about the weather. "Hey! I heard that the Thunderbirds were called out tonight."

"Yeah. They were. A medical emergency at some mountain in New Hampshire."

"That doesn't tell me much. Let's see if they have anything more about the rescue." With that, Kay drew Alan back to the television.

"Thanks, Zave," Jake said, joining the two who were watching as Alan and Kay settled down on a sofa. "I was afraid he'd go haring off and get in the way."

"No problem, Jake." Zave gently bumped Jake's proffered fist with his own. "We'll keep an eye on him until we get word of Fermat and A.J."

"Have you been up to see the damage?"

Both John and Zave shook their heads. "I'm not going out in this weather again. I'm still warming up from the snowball fight," Carter said with a snort.

"Wimp," Zave said with a grin. "And you throw snowballs like a girl."

Something caught Jake's attention. "I gotta go. Looks like the first refugees are here." He started to the front door.

The two teammates looked at each other. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to ask the Maplewood guys a few questions," Zave said. "We probably won't get any information from anyone else at this point."

"Good idea." Carter made a face. "As for me, I have to do a little cleaning. Looks like I'm getting a new roommate."

In Thunderbird Five, Virgil kept an eye on the weather and listened to the talk back as Thunderbird Two made its way to Mt. Washington's summit. He was feeling tense, a tension he didn't like, because he knew from experience that it wouldn't be relieved until the rescue was over. When in the midst of the action, the tension came and went, building when things got tough and easing with action. In his current position, all it did was build; there was nothing he could do to relieve it.

As Thunderbird Two made a slow reconnaissance of the observatory, Virgil was startled to hear a speaker to his left increase in volume. He listened intently for a moment, until the word "Wharton" was heard.

"Wonder when John did that," he mused.

"What was that, Thunderbird Five?" Jeff's sudden question startled him.

"Nothing important." Virgil continued to listen for a moment. "Hey, John. When did you set the speakers up here to automatically flag the word 'Wharton'?"

"A couple of weeks ago. With Alan in track, I wanted to catch any mention of his team." Virgil, who could see the inside of the cockpit, noticed John's shrug. "Why?"

"It's picking up some police and rescue scanner chatter." Listening intently, Virgil quickly jotted down a few notes on his tablet.

"Think Alan blew up another chem lab?" Gordon asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Gords, he's taking Biology this year," Scott retorted. "Can't blow up a biology lab."

Gordon grinned. "Could too, if you put your mind to it. I can think of a few ways."

Jeff ignored them both. "Anything we need to be concerned about, Virgil?"

Shaking his head, Virgil replied. "No, I don't think so. Sounds like a tree fell onto one of the buildings. They've got rescue units there, and are evacuating."

"Which building?" Gordon wanted to know.

"Not sure. Could be one of the dorms."

Jeff broke in. "It sounds to me like they have things under control down there. Alan and Fermat know not to go barging in." He paused, then added, "Still, keep me posted, Virgil. In this weather, things can go south pretty quickly."

"F-A-B, Commander."

"Now, men, let's get down to business here. Gordon, John, get the good doctor and her aides ready. This is going to be bumpy."

"F-A-B." The young men acknowledged their orders in near unison, and unfastened their restraints, heading to the medical bay.

"I need a reading on that wind, Thunderbird Five." Jeff glanced over at Scott. "Prepare the pod for drop."

Scott bent over his controls. "F-A-B."

In the pod, John and Gordon attached flexible woven belts to their passengers. They attached strong ropes to fastenings in the front and back of each belt, linking the five of them together. Dr. Harrington and her two nurses, one male and one female, stood in a tight cluster. "When the pod opens," Gordon explained. "I'll go out first and break a trail through the snow. The wind is really heavy and we'll be working against both it, and Thunderbird Two's backwash. You may find it hard to keep your feet, and that's why we're using the belts." He pointed to the male nurse. "You follow behind me, then the two ladies, and John will bring up the rear, to make sure everyone is okay."

"What happens when we reach the observatory?" Dr. Harrington asked.

"We'll unhook everyone," John said, hoisting a backpack full of medical supplies up and settling it on his shoulders. "The commander thinks it'll be easier for all of us if we stay here and not have to make the trip four times. So you'll have our assistance, too, should you need it."

"What about the Stokes basket?" The female nurse indicated the basket, which she had brought with her.

"I have one of our all-weather stretchers with us." Gordon indicated the pack on his back. "It's easier to maneuver, and will keep the patient warm and out of the wind on the return trip."

Scott's voice reverberated through the pod. "Are you ready down there?"

John indicated that they should grab a hand-hold. "F.A.B. Lower away."

The pod lowered slowly, coming to a stop about a meter over the snow pack. The door swung open, easing down and making a ramp that crunched through the hardened ice cover. Visibility was next to nothing; the wind outside blew the snow around, and the cloud cover that hovered over the summit created a thick fog all its own. "Okay! Let's go!" Gordon shouted. He jumped down into the knee-deep snow, and began moving slowly forward.

"Once they're all out and clear of the pod, withdraw it," Jeff said. He didn't look at his co-pilot; his attention was focused on his altitude and attitude readings, and his hands gripped the controls with white-knuckled strength.

"F.A.B," Scott murmured, not glancing up. His own attention was following the progress of five figures rendered in blue: infra-red images slowly making their way through the dozen yards or so of icy snow between the pod and the observatory garage.

"Okay. We're clear." John's voice, calm and determined, sounded out in the cockpit.

"F.A.B. Retracting pod."

Behind the rescue party, the pod door swung closed, the noise of its servos drowned out by the howling wind and the buffeting backwash from Thunderbird Two. The pod itself rose, becoming once again a near-seamless part of the Thunderbird's green belly.

"Pod is fully retracted," Scott intoned. He risked a glance at his father.

"Gordon, how far do you have to go?" Jeff kept his eyes on his readings.

"Almost there." Unlike John's, Gordon's voice was ragged with effort. He had chosen the point position with the idea that he was stronger and heftier than his older brother. But between the rime ice that was frosting his helmet, the winds battering him from all sides, and the effort of breaking through ice-encrusted snow, even this short trek was taxing his strength.

"I'm taking Two up now. You'll get along better without dealing with the backwash." Jeff let his grip change subtly, and with deliberate slowness, the green 'Bird rose. With her removal, the remainder of the party felt less battered, but a bitter cold swept around them in its place, as the VTOL's output had been warm.

By this time, however, the three medics were out of the wind and protected by the Observatory garage, with John joining them a few moments later. Then the garage door closed, and John's voice told them, "We're inside."

Jeff sat back, sounding relieved and upbeat as he replied, "F.A.B. Give us a call when you need a ride back."

"F.A.B.," Gordon responded. "But next time, John can be the ice breaker."

A snorted chuckle was Jeff reply as he lifted Two further into the sky, and set a course for the hospital parking lot.

"A.J.!" Fermat shouted again, craning his neck toward the wall at his head. "C-Can you hear me?"

There was a lull in the cries, then, "Fermat! Thank God! What happened!"

"It seems the big o-oak tree came d-d-down! It s-smashed through the r-roof!"

Another pause, then a pleading cry. "Can you g-get out? Can you help m-m-me? It's d-dark and I'm f-freezing!"

Fermat's concern for his roommate blossomed into a full-blown fright. He could tell that A.J.'s newly acquired stutter was the result of chattering teeth. "Do I hear the w-water running?"

"Y-Yes! The w-water's just s-spewing out of the shower pipes! And it's c-cold!"

Someone must have turned the power off or something. "Try to find the sp-spigots and turn it off."

"I'll t-t-t-t-try!"

While he listened to the activity in the bathroom, Fermat inched toward the wall, away from the branch that threatened to impale him. He eased up onto his left side, facing out, pulling his blankets with him. He managed to keep a layer of blanket and sheet between his back and the wall, and dragged the edges as far up his body as he could. It made hearing a little difficult; his left ear was buried in his pillow. Still, he was filled with relief when the obvious hissing noise abated, and A.J. called out, "I t-t-turned it off!"

"G-Good!" Fermat took a deep breath, considering carefully his next instruction. "Now, tell me: what are you w-wearing?"

"What d-d-d-d-do you think? I was in the sh-shower!"

Fermat resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, okay! I g-get it! Can you f-find any towels? The b-bath mat? Can you put your h-h-hands on a bag of dirty clothes?"

"I h-have a t-t-t-towel, but it's wet! And d-d-d-dirty clothes? Eww!"

This time Fermat didn't resist; he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You need to find something d-dry. Dry clothes will help k-keep you warm. You d-don't have the luxury of c-clean ones."

"O-Okay. I'll f-f-feel around." There was a long pause, then A.J. shouted, almost conversationally, "D-D-Did you know that it's sn-sn-snowing in here?"

"It's snowing out h-here, too," Fermat replied. And it was; in the narrow beam of Fermat's book light, the more snow seemed to be reaching his level. It had begun to blanket the piles of shattered plaster.

"Ow!" A.J.'s exclamation of pain brought Fermat's heart to his throat.

"What h-happened?"

"I j-j-jabbed my hand on s-something." Now, in addition to the chattering teeth was an underlying sob of pain. "Ow!"

Fermat gasped, "What h-happened?"

"I b-b-b-bumped my head on s-s-s-s-something!" There was a pause, then, the pain in his voice replaced by awe, A.J. added, "That's a b-b-b-big branch!"

"Did you jab your h-h-hand on that?" Fermat felt frustrated by A.J.'s commentary. If only I could see what's going on!

"I dunno! I can b-b-b-b-barely s-s-s-see in here! I'm not exactly w-w-w-walking around, you know!" A.J. stopped talking again, but his voice had a note of triumph in it as he cried, "F-F-Found my robe! And it's d-d-d-dry!"

"Put it on!" Fermat urged. "But k-keep looking for m-more clothes. The more layers you wear the b-b-better!"

"Right!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Fermat let his body relax a little. He turned off his light, and drew his covers closer. I hope someone gets to us before we both freeze to death.

He didn't know why he was so fidgety, but Brains found himself pacing the floor of Command and Control with more than his usual vigor. He had been listening in to the rescue, ready to add any bit of knowledge or wisdom he could, but so far, it seemed that the rescue crew had everything under control.

Under control. That's what Jeff said about the situation at Wharton. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check in with Fermat.

He pulled out his phone, and speed-dialed a number that he knew by heart anyway. The phone rang three times, then Fermat's recorded voice said, "I'm s-sorry I missed your c-call. Please leave a m-message, and I'll call you b-back soon."

Brains frowned, then shrugged. He glanced at the clock. Maybe he's eating or at the game room. Still, he usually has his phone on him...

"It's m-me, son. C-Call back when you can. I really want to hear your v-v-voice."

He paced some more, promising himself he would wait a little before calling again. By this time, Jeff and Scott were heading for the hospital parking lot, leaving John and Gordon with the medical team. Everything sounded like it was going smoothly, and Brains opened his phone again to call.

Again, the voice mail message sounded, but this time, Brains didn't leave a message. Instead, he hung up, and speed-dialed another number that he didn't know quite so well.

The phone rang twice before Alan responded. "Hey, Brains. What's up?"

"H-Hello, Alan. Is my son with you?"

Alan had returned to his room since the news on the rescue hadn't changed for a while. He shook his head, then remembered that he had voice only. "No, he's not Brains, and frankly, I'm worried."

This comment took Brains by surprise. "Why is th-that?"

Alan's sigh was heavy enough that Brains imagined he felt it in his ear. "Well, a big old tree has fallen on Maplewood..."

"M-M-Maplewood!" Brains went pale and dropped like a stone into Jeff's chair. "V-Virgil said there was some rescue ch-chatter about Wharton but he said n-nothing about Maplewood!"

Alan dropped into his own chair. "What did he hear?"

Brains shook his head this time. "I don't know exactly. J-Just that there was ch-chatter and they seemed to have things under c-c-control."

"Damn. I need to know." Alan sounded as frustrated as Brains felt. "But no one is telling me anything!"

"What do you kn-know so far?" Brains asked.

Alan explained what he'd heard, and how the building had been evacuated. "But there's been no news since then."

"Hm." Brains fingered his chin, then pushed his glasses back up his thin nose. "The w-weather is pretty bad there, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Everyone says we should stay inside." Alan swallowed slightly. "But we really need to know, don't we, Brains?"

Brains was taken aback by Alan's unspoken offer. He shook his head, knowing how upset Jeff would be if Alan was injured. "We d-do, but not if it's dangerous for you, A-Alan. You st-stay put and I'll c-call the school. See if they'll t-tell me anything. I'll t-talk to Virgil, too. See if he has more n-news."

Alan tried to hide his disappointment. "If that's what you want, Brains."

"It i-is." Brains's tone was firm, and he felt he'd gotten his point across.

"Call me with any news?"

"Of c-course."

Deciding to change the subject, Alan asked, "How are things in New Hampshire? I know what they're doing and where, but nothing more than that."

Brains felt relieved; he'd successfully diverted Alan's attention. "J-John and Gordon are at the job site. Your father and S-Scott are resting at the moment, and we're w-waiting for w-word from on high to finish the job."

Alan thought this through and realized what Brains was leaving unsaid. "So, everyone went?"

"Y-Yes. Your f-father thought it wise to have m-many hands along." Brains was digging up the school's phone numbers so he would have as many of them handy as possible when he finished with Alan.

"Tell him to call when they get home, please?" Alan, still in his stocking feet, stood and grabbed his boots, then went back to his chair to put them on. "Even if he has to leave a voice mail."

"I w-will." Brains now had his ducks in a row: phone numbers, pad of paper, and sharpened pencil, which he tucked behind his ear. "I'd b-better go. They'll be called any m-minute. You st-stay warm now."

Alan tucked his phone between ear and shoulder. "I will, Brains. I'll call if I get any news of Fermat."

"Th-Thanks, Alan, but I'm s-sure the school will tell me what I w-want to know."

"Right. Goodbye, Brains."

"G-Goodbye."

Brains ended the call, and started dialing, then paused. "How d-do I explain h-how I heard? Hm. I better th-think through what to tell them."

Alan tossed his phone on his desk and finished lacing up his still-damp boots. He wrapped his scarf loosely around his neck, and put on his warm jacket again. Tucking his hat and gloves, which were dry and warm from the heater, into a pocket, he slid open his door poked his head out into the hallway. It wasn't exactly deserted, but no one seemed especially interested in him. He stepped out, striding briskly away from the TV room and the front doors. I'll use the doors at the end of the hall; it'll make a longer walk, but fewer people will see me.

He pushed through the doors into the stairwell, and paused. The snow still swirled in the wind, dancing in the light above the door. The night beyond looked dark gray instead of black; the new fallen snow reflecting its color to the sullen clouds above. It also reflected the weak strobe of red and white lights from the far end of the quad.

Alan put on his hat, settling it low over his ears. He slipped on his gloves, flexing his fingers. Pulling his scarf up over his mouth and nose, he took a deep breath. "I'm coming, Fermat," he murmured, and stepped out into the blizzard.