My room was as I had left it. Peaceful. Silent. Deserted.
Michaelangelo would say it was time for some serious meditating. I needed to think clearly about Donatello and his changing attitudes toward our family. Several things he had said in the last few days seemed important to me, including his whispered comment that 'the master meditates too much.'
Perhaps.
And perhaps he spends too much time on his games. Still, I could not speak against it there was little else for him to amuse himself with. There never would be. And he could not train all the time.
Channel away the worry, Splinter. Peace.
We will take care of each other. We will find the words to keep ourselves focused and together. We will rem
family is everything, splinter
ain a team. A family. It...
everything.
...is the only important thing.
family and clan
We are a clan, like the Foot.
i need your help to preserve them both from mistakes i made years ago
The Foot made mistakes that made them what they are today. We have made our own. But I still believe that all our problems have solutions.
there is a boy
challice
seeking a clan member
seeking your son
he is the solution and the bane
It is simply a matter of finding them.
An uneventful session at best, I thought as I blew out the candles. Sometimes even I find the hour of meditation lengthy. That night I was restless, almost frustrated with boredom, and not surprised to find myself leaving the chamber a few minutes early.
I passed Donatello's room as I carried the tea dishes into the kitchen. Michaelangelo was still before the screen, blue light shadowing his face. Disappointing; I had hoped to talk with Donatello. Maybe conversation simple, friendly conversation is something he needs that we have been neglecting. Of course, he does not make it easy. He has been so distant, so condescending...
"Michaelangelo?" I call.
"Yeah huh?" He did not look up.
"Has Donatello returned? It is almost ten."
Now he turned, surprised as he taped the keyboard into silence. "No way, Master, I just sat down in here!"
"I would not lie to you, Michaelangelo. You have not been paying attention to your environment."
"Well maybe this environment's more fun." he snarled, swinging around to the computer. I could see the screen flare into life, reflected on his skin.
I stood frozen a moment, shocked. What had I been missing? What was going on with my sons to make them act like this? Only Raphael had ever treated me with such disrespect and that was half a year earlier, when the Turtles had their first taste of life above the streets.
Simple. Far too simple. One point five seconds to the end of the tunnel. Half that to a death grip around my son's neck. A second later and I had him flipped to the ground, his legs tangled up in the chair.
"NO! Pause the game!!! I'm in the middle of a battle they'll massac "
"MICHAELANGELO!"
He went limp in my grasp. "Master, I'm sorry."
I backed off, slowly.
"Where is Donatello?" I demanded.
"Haven't seen him," my son said miserably. He rolled over and stood the chair back up. It tilted drunkenly now. "Really. Master Splinter, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I... guess I was just really into the game." Michaelangelo gestured feebly at the computer. "Oh no!" His eyes widened as he caught sight of the screen. From what I could see, it was a battlefield littered with strange bodies. Some were still moving. Michaelangelo sank onto his chair and began typing again, his fingers moving faster and faster on Donatello's custom keys.
He was gone. Again.
I lowered my voice. "Michaelangelo?"
He did not respond. Something cold turned over in my stomach. I was not sure what to think. Leonardo and Raphael. I would get them in here, turn off the computer, find out where Donatello was. He could not have been back. I did not think he would put up with having his brothers on his computer for as long as Michaelangelo had been.
The first thing that struck me when I entered the living room was the low whine keening from the staticky television. The next was that the room was empty. Wherever my sons had gone, they left their equipment on. Something was wrong.
find the solution
waiting above
I had to find them. Donatello had gone above, for food. And Michaelangelo had said, earlier, that he was late returning. What if Raphael and Leonardo had gone to find him?
It had to be. They had not left a message on the refrigerator what else could I assume? The dishes will have to go unwashed, I thought, embarrassed as I remembered my earlier thoughts. Still, this was an emergency. I left them standing on the table, unrinsed, and began to run.
The streets were busy that night. Police, pedestrians problems. A human ninja could easily discover the reasons behind the activity by joining it but I must rely on observation. If one listens long enough, I have found that the bird will usually sing.
It was harder to wait in silence there than below, in my chamber. I compensated through motion, trailing the clumps of passers by, catching snatches of their conversations as the sidewalk steam vents passed between us. It was a challenge. So I had to watch for the tell tale shadows, warning me of homeless forms sleeping over the warmth. Sometimes I think the surest proof of higher powers is the fact that we have never been discovered by people of the streets.
"Nothing here, dispatch. Send back the ambulance..."
"...them, four witnesses say it was a white van!"
"...gunshots...some sort of...crash, no skids though... deliberate..."
"Brian! Where's that towel!?"
" . . . be kidding me. Trust me THAT stuff's Italian, THIS is the blood."
"She thinks the animals are okay, but she's missing a few."
"...disperse, everybody, please disperse. Nothing to..."
My pulse pounded. They'd mentioned blood. Guns. I followed the man with the loudspeaker down the sidewalk, driving the groups of onlookers before him. He had a dark shadow of stubble on his chin, looked impatient, walked nervously. He helped a young policeman set up a saw horse barrier and escort the last stragglers past it. One of its legs rested on the grate at a corner they were blocking off the whole street from the intersection. The green signpost was at just the right angle...
In the blue flashing of police lights I made out the names.
Second and Hawkins. A chill ran down my spine at least the third that night. I was only two blocks from where Pershing Ave connected with Second. Little Caesar's was on that corner.
Donatello would have passed this way, most likely on the street to make the carrying of the food easier. Raphael and Leonardo would have come by as well. I should have met them by this point, returning. Unless they, too, had walked above.
A white van.
Witnesses.
The words came unbidden.
Movement, above, at the barrier; I ducked into shadow.
"Officer! Officer, wait! May Williams of Channel 6. Just a few questions, sir!"
"Lady, get that microphone out of my face!"
"Can you tell us anything about what's happened here? Sir, the people have a right to know!"
"Just a routine driveby, Miss Williams, now would you "
"Then why the police coverage? The rumors of "
"You'll have to speak with my higher ups, ma'am."
Rumors of what?
"Officer, I've seen more drive bys in this city than I want to remember. They never looked like this. And they don't attract this many cops."
"I'm sorry, Miss Williams, this IS a crime scene and you ARE trespassing. I'd hate to have to arrest you for it."
"All right, all right!" mutter mutter.
The reporter backed away, I heard her van peel out a few minutes later. I couldn't force the images away, the sounds of the voices and the words that filled my mind.
White van.
Blood.
Witnesses.
Driveby never looked like this attract the cops...
Gunshots.
Arena.
White van.
Where were my sons?
I had to stay, had to piece together a picture from the hints and suggestions. Even if they confirmed my deepest fears. A strong sense of urgency filled me, frustrated as I prowled the scene, sometimes from above the sewers, searching the alleys and rooftops for signs. Within half an hour I was forced back below, Chief Sterns had arrived and ordered a search of the surrounding block. I watched the officers roll up their sleeves and bring out plastic bags, watched them fill with discharged shells, spilled car oil and blood.
It bothered me that Sterns was here. It must have been nearly 11:30 at that point. I did not think the city required their Chief of Police to work night shift.
The next voices I heard bothered me more. Much more.
I had crawled to the middle of the street to listen to the men and women collecting samples. Their words came dully through the manhole cover I crouched beneath, but I could understand them where another would only hear mumbles.
"Hey, Chet. Come over here and tell me something."
"What's up?"
"Check this looks like our John Doe goes for Italian. I think this is spaghetti sauce over here."
"Whaddaya know, Rennie: you just found yourself your first clue. Welcome to the force. Too bad there's about half a million pizza joints in this city, and eight million people who eat Italian."
"Oh shut up."
Spaghetti. Pizza. Donatello. He was hurt, somewhere. I have to find you, help you. With luck, your brothers have already reached you. But you could be anywhere.
My best hope seemed to be at home. Michaelangelo and I could search together, if his brothers had not returned in my absence. With that thin hope I turned back down the tunnels and headed for my vantage point by the barriers. One final look, I promised myself, then back home with what pieces to this dark riddle I have gathered.
The streets at that hour were as close to quiet as midtown ever gets. A star or two managed to fight through the glare of the city and remind me of the night. Night: homeland of the ninja. The cars came infrequently, mostly off Hawkins to turn onto lonelier Second at the detour. Some left curses to trail behind like exhaust fumes. People hurried through the streetlight suns and faded into shadows, with hardly a glance at the confusion. But some groups lingered, watching from beyond the yellow tape, talking. Maybe it was a slim chance at best but maybe one of them had seen something. Every clue counts, I reasoned, trying not to look toward home. Hadn't I told the Turtles, time and again, that every detail of your environment is important and should not be overlooked?
I crept again below the voices, careful, quiet. The first I came to were an older couple, speaking with a woman of April's age. It seemed that they lived nearby and came to keep an eye on the disturbance. I'd already learned more than they could tell me. I moved on.
Beneath the next streetlight's yellow circle stood a group of young men. Peering through the nearest iron grate, I was reminded of Casey by the three's slouching, frustrated manner. That was, as far as the resemblance went, however. They dressed better. I looked closer and tightened my grip on the bars, as though to keep a hold on the wild hope that had leapt up within. One of the men was squinting through a black eye, another was limping as he angrily paced the sidewalk, all were sporting bruises. They looked like they had seen battle could they have tangled with the Turtles?
The dark haired one was muttering to himself, but his voice rose suddenly, enough for me to catch the words. I strained for them.
"...gonna pay for that, the little bitch!"
"Chill out, Steve, she ain't worth it. Besides, YOU pissed her off."
"Yeah right, Tim! All I does is, I says 'Hey,' y'know? I says, 'Hey, ya wanna bite to eat?' An' she leaps at me!"
The third joined in. "Forget it, man. We just had a rough night, right James?"
"No thanks to Steve and his little brawl. Next time, leave US out, okay?"
"We made it out, didn't we?"
"Yeah, with a little help from the bouncer."
"Look, Steve, Tim. The night is young. Soon as the cops let us get my car out of there, we can go back to cruising. Mephistos' ain't the only bar in town, guys."
Disappointment dropped back to the tunnel floor with me. The night was NOT young, I was wasting time. I needed to get home. I needed to find my sons. But something seemed to be keeping me here. There HAD to be more I could learn. I felt drawn to the scene and there was another lesson I had drilled into them. Trust your instincts.
"If I am missing anything, let me find it quickly," I whispered to the pipes.
Who was next?
A greying woman leaned by a graffiti ridden wall, hunched over a full grocery cart. Her mouth hung open as she watched the police lights twirl. Her teeth were stained and crooked. I watched her eyes glaze over, with a touch of pity. She was canny, but clueless. No help there.
She was brought back to reality as a gang of street children moved down the walkway, eyes flicking over the cars, lights, people. She jerked her cart out of their way and moved off in a huff. I did not think she had anything to fear. They looked bored, and shivered in their black T shirts. I found pity for them, too. We know what it is to be cold.
Then, across the street, between one passing car and the next, I saw him.
there
The boy stood against a shadowed alley wall, one hand deep in his leather jacket, the other casually flipping a small throwing dagger. His dark hair melted into the background, but a bar of light played across his features.
bane
I remembered Keno. I remembered those members of the Foot brought to my prison. Shock reached long fingers back, to the students of Master Yoshi's American dojo. Farther. His friends and classmates who came to our home in Japan. I found myself shivering in the darkness. Again. Cursed silently.
The strange, almost unconscious attraction urged me on once more. I followed, finding a conduit that would accept my size and hurried beneath the asphalt to the far side. Something roared over, a few feet above me. I could feel the rumble go through my body. Another memory: how frightened the young Turtles had been of the 'loud monsters' above. How that had helped keep them safe underground.
I found a manhole that opened to the alley, Let it be one that comes up behind him, I prayed.
My luck held. The boy had moved from the street to the far end of the alley, and had his back to me as I shifted the manhole cover aside. I watched him leap to the ladder of a fire escape, then scale it with deft ease. He skillfully avoided the revealing lights that spilled from unshaded windows; my eyes narrowed. Foot? I wondered.
I glanced homeward, then back at the dark figure halfway up the wall. My fists clenched in frustration. Should I follow or hurry home? Which path led to the sons I sought? I was painfully aware of the precious seconds that passed with each moment of indecision.
I heaved the iron circle away and broke cover. My instincts had gotten me this far, I had to trust them.
The fire escape's rails were cold, cold with a bite that had yet to penetrate underground, beneath the frost line. I had to pause halfway up the building to blow hot breath on my paws. They were going numb, and I would need them ready. With a final tug at my hooded cloak, I continued upward, praying for perhaps the millionth time that no one was watching too closely.
The last platform jutted from a fire door ten feet below the roof's edge. I wasn't able to look before I leaped but I could listen. New York whispered in my ears as it has always done. Tonight, traffic was quiet. Strangely, no sirens wailed within hearing distance. A few voices rose to me; laughter. But there was nothing from above, not footsteps, not breathing. I held my own breath
Risk. ALWAYS the risks. We would never be free
gathered myself and leapt.
He lay flat on the roof top, at the far corner, light shining up to catch his hair and cheekbones as he spied the sidewalks. I darted to cover, behind an aluminum smokestack.
No ninja is free of risk, I reminded myself. Even Yoshi was not safe. We have to take the risks to earn our rewards. The boy was watching for something, I was sure of it. I hope it comes quickly, I thought, glaring with annoyance at the frost on the fur of my hands. But minutes led into more minutes. I found myself admiring the boy, who had not moved at his post. Pictures came to me of a younger Michaelangelo, struggling to be still for more than a few moments at a time. Control had come, slowly, but I knew his skill at remaining motionless at need was now beyond reproach. Pride in him and his efforts rose in me, and I allowed a smile behind wind ruffled whiskers.
Hmf. I wondered if the boy had frozen solid. If he was Foot, he had been trained well.
Yoshi had been proud of me at times, I knew, though not as strongly as I am for my sons. I remember him taking me in his hands and looking on me with warm eyes, saying "Good rat. Good rat, Splinter."
splinter
The boy lifted himself on all fours and silently backed away from the edge. Standing, he turned and looked west over the city to the black snake of the river and New Jersey's glow. Then he ran for the edge. Poised for an instant, one foot on solid ground and the other arching over the ten foot space between him and the next building, his silhouette was that of a dancer. Powerful. Graceful. Incredibly daring.
Raphael
my son
He cleared the gap without a glance and sprinted for the next roof, and the next...
We had covered three blocks in half an hour: the boy, his quarry, and me. The boy stopped every few buildings to watch the street, following the unknown prey without any hint of impatience. I had to admit I was becoming bored with the cat and mouse game. More and more my mind was drawn back to the flashing cruisers and bloodstained asphalt; to the blue glow on Michaelangelo's face and the empty lair. Why had I followed this boy? What was I doing for my sons this way?
I didn't understand it, but I couldn't ignore the feeling that this was RIGHT. Perhaps the gods were leading me on a path away from my sons? Forcing me to let them work on their own? But I was afraid for them, afraid and all too familiar with the feeling. On the darkest nights my mind had often wandered, lonely thoughts...of illnesses that might defeat my skills and rob me of my sons; wounds that they could not survive; discovery, capture.... But all would be well in the morning, and I would watch them training with relief
Would the happy ending come this time?
Ahead, the boy had dropped to his stomach and leaned over the edge, again.
I scowled and rubbed my tingling fingers against each other. This was getting ridiculous. Every path has a shortcut, I thought. I could keep following the boy, my leader, or I could follow HIS leader.
Simple as cereal, as Raphael says. And I slipped away, leaving my escort to his silence and cold.
Perhaps he was wearing long underwear?
It took me longer than I'd hoped to discover the boy's target. I had to watch him from below, to see who and what he reacted to, without him seeing me. I had to figure out his pattern. Worse, it seemed that his prey knew how to avoid being seen as well.
From different vantage points I watched the eastbound cars pass: Seventh street was one way. I watched a group of girls giggle by, following traffic. They fell silent to avoid the bum hobbling in the other direction; even from across the road I could tell he'd had too much to drink. He bent his head as they passed, and ended up stumbling into a telephone pole. I snorted. A motorcycle gang roared along, leaving the street empty for the next minute. In the quiet, a man in a long black overcoat stepped from a doorway and hurried down the sidewalk. I glanced up, suspicious yes, there was the boy, clearing another alley, following the overcoat west. Success. I went underground, enjoying the night's challenge, letting the chase fire my blood with excitement.
I caught up with the overcoat, was underneath him when he stopped in the shadow between streetlights to look around. I silently blessed the steam vent and peered through its thin grey haze at the man above. Only close scrutiny would reveal me to him, if he looked down now.
Then a low wind shifted across the sidewalk, lifting the skirts of his coat and moving the steam cloud enough for me to see the clothes beneath. The fur on the back of my neck stood on end, my lips curled in a silent snarl. Foot. The uniform was unmistakable. He set off again, briskly. I didn't have to look to know the boy on the roof was following.
A few storefronts later the Foot stopped, slipped into a deep shadow, and watched the sidewalk ahead. I hurried forward to the next grate, but I could see nothing. Then the Foot raced overhead, coat billowing behind him. I gave chase almost losing him when he turned north at a corner. Finally I realized what was happening. He too, was following someone! I watched him melt into an alley and wait.
A strange night, indeed. I was getting into something over my head. A Foot above, chasing a Foot below, chasing another Foot? The bum? Someone else I had yet to see? If they were on a training run... I gritted my teeth. I wanted to find my Turtles, not an old enemy's students playing at cops and robbers!
It was time to return to the streets and go home. Whatever the gods had in store was taking too much time, time my sons might not have. It must have been past twelve, over two hours since I'd left the lair. A low panic welled up in me at the realization. So much can happen in a matter of hours! Where has this goose chase led me?
I retraced my steps to the corner, came topside and found a shadow in an empty lot nearby. By the light of a pickup I read the signposts.
Ninth Street and University Place.
A minute's run from Eleventh and Bleecker.
My sons had brought me to April's old home, once. It had not been a pleasant place to visit, even then. But the burned out rubble had yet to be brought down and hauled away; Chief Sterns and his force were still trying to decide what had happened there, that night.
Second Time Around. The name left me cold, alert. I closed my eyes and felt the barren earth at my feet sharpen, like a camera coming into focus. Grass and glass grew here, as they did in the blackened shell of the store. I sent the focus to that other place.
Second Time Around, Second Time Around. The words ran in a child's chant through my head. There WAS something, I felt the excitement rise. Listen, Splinter. At the edge, fluttering. Trying to reach me. With a final effort it came, suddenly strong and clear.
Leonardo!
Leonardo, calling me, in great distress. A wave of helpless pain and fear poured over me.
"Help me, Sensei!"
I fought my way up, his pain dragging at me even as I left the lot at a run. Crossing the blocks to the west, I cut north again, only after I was sure I had avoided the Foot in their alleys and roofs. This was why I had trailed them. I no longer needed their game.
The city had commissioned a crew to put up a wooden fence at the site, to surround the burned out ruin and protect it from children, while protecting the children from it. Children, however, had soon destroyed the door and its lock, smashed in some of the boards, and decorated the planks with spray paint. All of which made little difference it was still secure enough to allow me to explore without worrying about passersby on the sidewalks.
I squeezed through a break in the fence near the front where two planks had been ripped out. The shattered wood around the missing pair held hundreds of slivers, and as I slipped free a long one embedded itself in my arm. I cursed, but knew I was lucky to escape with only one. I used the moments spent drawing it out scanning the area. A wind was moaning through the towering remains of our friend's brownstone, swirling ashes and giving life to flaps of cloth hanging from the second story's collapsed floor. It killed any sound that might have come to me, and turned the world to one of dizzy confusion for my nose. Which meant I'd have to explore the site on foot, and hope I'd find Leonardo quickly. If he was still here.
I reached the foundation, where it jutted a few inches above ground to be half drowned in piles of ash and soft dirt. I stepped carefully over them, into the store that once stood at this level. I leave, after all, rather unusual footprints.
I made my way through old toys, blackened books and record albums, a few scattered piles of what must have been clothes, judging by the twisted wire hangers tangled among them. Sorrow welled in me. These were April's memories, now just rubble in a deserted disaster area, soon to be destroyed. Images of the homes I'd left to violence formed in the dark corners of this wasteland. I couldn't see my son anywhere, despite the glow from streetlights beyond the fence. I didn't let my hope fall some beams had come down from above during their battle, that were later deluged in brick and falling plaster from a collapsing wall during the fire. The resulting bank of debris separated the floor almost exactly in half. With a last hard look at the front, I climbed the bank and peered into the rear of the building's shell.
I saw Leonardo first, sunk against the parody of a wall with head tilted back and mouth half open. Like he had passed out in the middle of a cry. His body was shivering, despite the stained material that partly covered him where he lay. It looked familiar, and even as I started toward my son I remembered. The bum. The drunken bum had been Leonardo! Why hadn't I paid more attention?! I could have
The Foot stepped into view.
His overcoat was gone, but his face was still unmasked. He warily approached my son. I crept toward them. Malice and hatred emanated from this Foot, strong as the vengeance driven malevolence of his former master. Leonardo woke suddenly, blinking at the apparition a few yards away. His hand rose vaguely from the ground.
"R Raph?" he asked weakly.
The Foot paused. The three of us waited. Leonardo's hand dropped, and his head rolled back. At this our enemy shook his head as if to shake off doubts, and stepping in, pulled Leonardo upward, hand poised for a killing strike.
Master Yoshi would have frowned on the fury that burst through me. The unfairness of it all! The cold cruelty of these Shredder spawned ninja shook me to the core! I leapt, a shuriken spinning to stop him.
I heard the wet thunk of the blades entering his hand with grim satisfaction. He did not cry out.
"Let my son go!"
His eyes glinted as he caught sight of me. "You are good," he said, and with a yank, he jerked the star from the back of his hand and shot it for my face.
They are trained to be cruel. And quick.
But I am quicker yet. And shuriken thrown from twenty feet are more easily caught than knives from three away.
His eyes widened as I snatched the weapon from the air. "Yes, very good. Obviously a master. Their Master."
I waited until he drew his sword and attacked using his impatience and confidence against him Snatching a brick from the floor, I blocked his blows with it against my forearm.
With chips of stone still flying from his last strike, I ducked under his arm and drove the brick under his ribs. At that, he lunged backward and leaped for the rafters, holding his side.
"No matter," the Foot spat. "He is not the one I want." The beam was weak— too weak for his weight. The Foot sprang away as it cracked, forcing the beam to fall toward me.
I dove away, rolled to me feet, and sent the shuriken after him, but he was already protected by the pile of debris. I heard him call "We will meet again! I promise!" as he sprinted away. I let him run. He wasn't the one I wanted. Instead, I hurried to my son's side.
Leonardo was breathing strangely. A clumsy, bloodied cloth bound his right shoulder, shallow gashes had torn the skin of one leg. His mask was missing, I didn't see his swords anywhere, and his skin was as pallid and damp as the time he'd gotten blood poisoning from a rusted nail. Even if I could revive him enough to find out what had happened to him, he didn't look nearly strong enough to get all the way home.
And where was Raphael? They had gone searching for Donatello together, I'd thought... My hand found his face, I stroked my son's cheek gently as I crouched beside him. What if all three had been captured by that white van back on Hawkins? Leonardo must have escaped alone, for his brothers would never leave him like this.
"Leonardo," I called, softly. "Leonardo, I heard you. I am here." I took his fingers in my free hand and massaged them. His blood was racing. "You are safe now, my son."
He was blinking again, head rolling as he tried to follow the sound of my voice with unfocused eyes. Had he suffered a head injury? Another concern to add to my list of fears.
My son's eyes finally cleared, recognition blooming as they focused on mine.
"You came," he whispered.
"Of course."
Relief spread across his face. Leonardo relaxed, leaning back against the wall. A smile played across his lips as his eyes closed.
"Splinty, yer so fuzzy."
I sat back, ears pointed at him in disbelief. But he had gone under.
Hmf. I'd never been fuzzy in my life.
coming
Turning from Leonardo, I heard footsteps muffled by the ashes slowly approaching. Someone was trying to be very quiet. They were doing a good job. Even I barely heard the careful shuffling. It could not have been the Foot again! It did not make sense
I grabbed a corner of the canvas that lay twisted around Leonardo's legs, and jerked it over him. It wasn't quite big enough, but I didn't have time for anything else. I hurried back to the embankment, thinking that I could distract whoever was here away from my son, be it Foot, the captors of my sons, another...
Keeping my ears down I brought my eyes over the beam. In the twilight I could make out just enough to see him
challi
The boy from the rooftops wandering over the floor. He kicked at the piles of rubbish, leaned over rusted cabinets to peer behind, searched the corners of the site. There was no doubt the boy was looking for his quarry. His breathing seemed to fill the air. I held my own.
He had seen the stack of rubble, our hiding place. Was coming toward us. Desperate, I seized another brick from among the ashes beneath my hand, and hurled it in the other direction.
This Foot was quick, too. Quick enough to catch the flash of movement as my distraction sailed by. Quick enough to ignore the crash of its impact at the far end of the site and to turn in my direction, even before the dirt and debris I'd disturbed became an avalanche that, crumbling, gave us completely away.
I hated the Foot.
He was coming right for us. I held, waiting for the attack, still hoping, somehow, to lure him away
His leather jacket shone with reflections from his sword. The boy cleared the beam with the grace of an animal, the same careless skill he had shown earlier.
I flipped him midleap. He landed badly on the ground at my back, between me and Leonardo. I snarled as he scrambled away, felt the sudden desire to BITE surge in me. The boy was face to face with my son, who chose that inopportune moment to thrash out feverishly and lose his covering entirely.
kappa!
His eyes went wide as he froze in shock; then I was on him,
I pinned him to the wall, but his eyes were on Leonardo.
In that moment of bestial ferocity I would have killed him. I was, indeed, tensed for the final slashing strike, when the boy cried out in wonder.
"Kappa!" His face swung around to mine. The lips trembled, he was clearly stunned. He dropped his sword. "You are the Kappa of the Sacred Sceptre!"
He wasn't Foot. They could not know of my sons' adventure. Then who was this boy? How did HE know? I snatched his sword from the ground, away from Leonardo's groping hand. "Who are you?" I growled, keeping myself between him and my son.
He rose to his knees, palms up. "I am called Challi. My family has waited for this meeting for centuries."
Challi. The name resonated. But what was he talking about family, centuries? I held my stance and glared, listening to Leonardo breathe in whimpers.
"My father died, preparing to come to America and seek you out in honor of our ancestors. It became my karma to fulfill his final wish to bring the gifts of Norinaga Kenshin and Mitsu to you, in your own time."
His gaze slid over to Leonardo as I took in his words. My son had curled into a shivering ball with his shell to us. The boy looked up at me; our eyes met. "He doesn't look well."
I had to agree.
Careful of the sword I still held pointed at its owner, the boy Challi? got to his feet. "Let me help," he asked. "As he helped my ancestors."
One look at Leonardo confirmed the depressing knowledge; I had no choice. He certainly could not stay here, in the cold of the night. And alone, I could only drag him so far. The question was where could we take him that would be safe?
"Challi," I stumbled, "I am Splinter." He understood the unstated acceptance in my words. Bending to my son's level, he gently lifted Leonardo's shell and reached around beneath his arms. I took his legs, and in a mute shuffle we got him past the barrier of rubble, beyond the crumbled walls that stood in accusing fingers that pointed to the sky, to the rear of the building by the fence.
"Wait here," the boy said, and disappeared over the wooden wall. "I'll get us a car," he called softly from the alley. Again I had no choice. I sat beneath the scudding clouds, hoping they would keep us from the bright eye of the moon, stroking my son's head. Was I doing this right? What had I committed us to?
"Splin ter?"
"Here. Shh, Leonardo."
"Where's my kitten? I had a kitten. Please, Master, don't leave him behind, he's sick too."
"A kitten?" My fur was already bristling.
"He's part of the evidence... there was a bag. Too. Got ya lots of stuff from 'em. They're stoopid."
"Who's stupid, Leonardo?"
"Gotta get the bag, first. In there somewhere. I fell."
I thought of the blanket we had left behind. It would only take a few seconds to run and retrieve it with an eye out for a bag or a cat. Something inside me panicked, subsided.
Go, Splinter. Before the boy returns. IF he returns.
If he did, I prayed he would be alone.
I left my son mumbling incoherently and ran back to the fallen beam. I stood looking down at the blanket, crumpled by the inner wall, and the ferocious creature growling as it settled in among the folds.
Some might have called it purring.
It lay quietly, tiny fangs peeking from whiskered jaws as it yawned. It squeaked. Claws appeared and pressed into the material. It looked roughly the size of my ear.
With a sigh I reminded myself of Michaelangelo's frequent insistence that kittens were fragile little furballs, friendly and harmless. (I still did not want one sneaking through my home, fragile or no, we were not getting a pet.) Yet somehow I found myself trudging through ashes and lifting an ancient blanket in my arms, with a sleepy baby kitten curled in its ridges.
Hmph.
I had to hurry back to Leonardo but I cast about for any overlooked 'bags of evidence' he might have left. After all, the kitten story had come true. There off on my right.
Lifting a bulky canvas sack full of things that clinked proved harder than I thought with a blanketful of kitten in my arms. But I managed, and made it back to Leonardo before two minutes had passed.
Leonardo raised his voice as I approached. "Thought they got Donnie and Raph and I tried to tell you but they got me at Dunkin' Donuts or was it the park? No, the booth. Dunno how Superman got any privacy I mean they must of seen me half a block away. Gimme him."
I handed over the cat without argument, trying to understand his babbling. "So they come up with this joke of a lock and why did I go and give the others away? That dude was slick but I'm better. Least I used to be. I don't feel good. D'ja find the bag?"
I held it up silently. His speech was as confusing as Donatello's computer.
My son's dark eyes looked up hopefully. "Proud of me, Sensei?"
"Yes, I'm proud of you."
He smiled and settled back, tickling the kitten perched on his shell. "Think they shot us both up. Poor guy must feel like shit, too. Should name him. Maybe Perry? I didn't see him there prob'ly got booted out cause he was so smarter than that loser. Or is Jordan a better name?
"Oh jeez Keno's coming but he doesn't know where I went unless he followed us and I sure hope he gets my swords. The mask's a mess, Master," he told me seriously. He nodded at the kitten, whose eyes were closed. "His fault, I guess, but they shoulda given him somethin' else. Sorry. Hope I don't have to borrow Raph's. He'll be mad if he ever gets back. Uh oh." He rolled over, kitten leaping away, curled painfully with his hands clutching his head.
"Ohh, man, Splinter it's coming back I hope I don't hurl this time arghh Splinter it hurts MAKE IT GO AWAY! No, sorry I didn't want it to burn! Please, please help..."
I held him until his clenching muscles relaxed into sleep. He had stopped kicking shortly after speaking failed him. I prayed the boy did not return with thirty Foot prepared to take us. I prayed he would help me get Leonardo to April's it was closer than the lair or Casey's filthy apartment, and, again, we had no choice.
Eyes on my son's weary tears, I prayed I would not cry as well. One of us had to be strong, even though waves of fear and confusion threatened to drown us.
We waited.
The kitten growled on.
Finally I heard an engine leave the stream of traffic and come down our quiet street. It drew into the alley on the other side of the fence, motor dying as it backed in and rolled to a halt. A door opened. My fingers wrapped tight around Leonardo's limp hand.
Then Challi cleared the fence, alone, a few feet away. He nodded to us, and turned his attention to the planking. "I tried for a van," he apologized, using a jackknife to bore out the nails. "But it had The Club. I hope a pickup's all right for you."
"It will do fine," I assured him, feeling anything but assured. It didn't matter what vehicle we used; our lives would be entirely in his hands, once he had torn a space in the fence large enough for us to carry Leonardo through.
"Where are we taking him?" he asked, not looking at me. A board came out, joined the scattered nails at Challi's feet.
"A friend's," I told him. If this brought more pain and trouble into April's life, we would be to blame, once again, and I had no idea how to handle the guilt of that possibility. We would do everything in our power to keep her safe.
Leonardo shivered. Another board came down.
"Is your friend close?"
"A few blocks from this place. A busy area we have a secret way in."
He nodded, yanking out a third board and examining the gap critically. "Big enough," he declared, and came to help me lift Leonardo.
As I started to take his legs, Challi caught my eye.
"Thank you for trusting me," he said.
I swallowed the tension that had been building for hours. "We will be indebted to you, when we reach our friend safely." I gave him the address.
We got Leonardo past the fence safely, he was even able to walk with our support to the green pickup that filled the alley. The passenger side scraped against the brownstone next door. He had assumed I would ride in back with my son. Perhaps that would be for the best. Leonardo made it into the truck bed before fading out again, a stroke of fortune I considered to be a good sign. I joined him there, letting Challi go back for cat, bag and blanket. He handed them up to me without question. I was grateful. A glimmer of real trust was forming in me.
Leonardo woke as I pulled his blanket over him and dropped the kitten on top. I smiled at him, then pressed myself to the metal ridges of the truck bed as the canvas closed over us. I missed the cold breeze immediately. Was this how men felt when forced alive into their tombs?
This is NOT a tomb, I told myself, It is a way to life.
"Splinter, don't bury me!" Leonardo cried.
Challi's hands paused.
"It's all right, my son." I whispered. "We are safe." The boy's face, worried, appeared in the open tailgate. "Let's go quickly, Challi. The swifter we can get him to our friend's, the better."
The tailgate slammed shut, canvas closed us in darkness, the truck roared and we were moving. I fought to control the wild voices in my head and tried desperately not to think of my other sons. Leonardo needed all of my attentions.
Then the traffic engulfed us, and the words were lost in the roar.
Go back to Part Two, Chapter One