Day 2: Suicide

They stood just outside the gate of Pero camp as the sun turned the sky to pink and gold. Don and Raph were carrying only the barest necessities for their three day journey; they couldn’t afford to be weighted down with heavy parcels. "When you’re ready," said Garret quietly, and shook their hands, pressing into Don’s an airtight canister containing the precious message. "Good-bye." He walked back to the control booth, ready, after their departure, to throw the lever that would close the gate again to protect Pero camp. Not many had come to see them off, the sole hope of MHA. There had been handshakes, silent frowns or smiles in the hall, but again, what was there to be said?

Splinter had left them at the gate. The damp of the morning was getting to be too much for him, and his rheumatism gave him trouble. He embraced Don and Raph, looking them in the eyes, silently willing them to come home to him. Come back. We will be together again, soon.

Now the four turtles stood alone, unable to put into words the things they felt. It was Leo who found the solution for them all, opening all his mental channels, welcoming them into a powerful link. The four brothers locked together in mental embrace, sithing with all their will, sharing love and hope with each other. Each was for the other. Four were, for a moment, one. It was with regret that Donatello drew back, pulling Raph with him.

"We have to go," he said simply. Leo and Mike held each of their brothers in turn, both thinking the same thought: Please come back to me.

Heads bowed, Don and Raph turned away, hearts filled with love and sadness. They broke into a light jog south across the hot, parched land. They would make it. They had to.

* * *

They traveled miles upon miles, stopping only to remove rations from their packs to munch on as they went. They jogged or walked in turns, until their muscles screamed for relief, then rested ten minutes. Then they rose to continue. Don knew they had to keep going; if they didn’t delay, they could make the needed 50 miles that day, stopping to sleep shortly after sunset. But it was easy to say, and a lot harder to do. 50 miles, Don was realizing, is a damn long way! He tried to put his thoughts on something else, anything else. He needed the diversion to ignore his body’s distress. He finally settled on multiplication: twice sixteen is thirty-two. Twice seventeen is thirty-four. Breathe deep, Donny, don’t give in.

Raph was trudging along, reflecting on the heat. Why does it have to be so hot? he groused mentally. His feet and Don’s were wrapped in cloth to cool the hot, hard ground against their feet. It wasn’t a desert, but it came pretty darn close!

It was only a couple hours before sunset when the noise began. Raph was the first to hear it. He cocked his head and signaled Donny to listen, silencing his questions. Then Don heard it too; a humming....Humming...as of power? Circuitry? Sentinels!

"Raph, run!" cried Donny. And they took off across the prairie as fast as their legs would take them. Oh, God, why now, not on the first day. We’ve only gone forty miles or so, what’s a Sentinel doing so far out? What difference does it make, we’re going to die... Don mentally shook himself. No, don’t start thinking that way! Start thinking survival--weave and dodge, avoid anything he might try and hit you with. No shelter here. Just have to outrun him. No problem. Just keep going.

Raph could hear the grinding of metal gears as the Sentinel lumbered after him; the only good thing to be said about them was that they were far too slow for such a quick pursuit. Raph was elated. They were going to make it! Just then, a second Sentinel loomed up in front of them and the two Turtles were forced to cut off to the left. It must have been lying in ambush for them, alerted by the first Sentinel. The Turtles cut sharp zigzags in the grassy plain, trying to avoid the lasers of the Sentinels....they were burn lasers that seared a burning black hole into the target, one of the nastiest weapons available to Mastermold. So naturally, the bugger was sure to include it in all his Sentinels. If you can’t kill the enemy at first sight, might as well hurt him really badly.

Man, Raph thought. If I had a blaster right now....but we can’t afford to stop--even if we defeated them without getting hurt, they could call for more, and we’d be caught for sure. Gotta keep moving. Don’t look back. Just run, dammit!

Then the inevitable happened: Raph veered right into the path of one of the lasers. He gave a sharp cry of pain as he felt the terrible beam cutting into his leg, stumbling and falling hard on his side. Donatello turned back, grabbed Raph’s hand and pulled him up; both felt the tension and the desperate need for speed. C’mon Raph, thought Don, We can still make it! Raphael rose, balanced on his left leg, but when he tried to take a few steps, he fell with an involuntary groan.

"Raph, get up!" cried Don. The same urgency and desperation was in his voice. A lance of fear stabbed through him.

Raph grimaced. "I can’t walk. I’ll have to stay here."

Don scowled. "The hell you are! Quit being such a fatalist and get up." But he knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that Raph was right; there was no way he could walk, much less run, all the way to Houston camp. You knew you ran this risk when you volunteered, Don reminded himself. You knew you were going through enemy territory and one of you might get hurt. But reminding himself didn’t help deal with this situation. What would happen if he couldn’t get Raph up?

"G’wan, get out of here." Raph was half-lying on his left side to ease the pain in his right leg, where the laser had hit just above the knee.

Don started. He looked the truth in the face....if Raph couldn’t keep going, Don would have to leave him. He looked down at the message in his hand. A message that could win or lose the war. A message that would never get to the front if they didn’t go on. Thus his dilemma; he wasn’t particularly concerned about being captured with Raph, but what would happen if Mastermold got the message, which he certainly would in that case?

"Better think fast, you’ve only got five minutes or so before the Sentinels get their slow butts over here," Raph said easily. Don growled softly. Here Raph was, about to be captured by some of his worst enemies, and he was sitting here deciding his fate and expecting Don to go along with his dying martyr bit. And he wasn’t exactly all shaken up about it either. Damn him! thought Don. I’d almost feel better if he was weeping all over me begging me not to leave him. But that wasn’t Raph’s way. Raph’s way was to decide what should happen and twist others’ minds until they made it so. "So," Raph said. "Ya gotta make a decision, bro: kin or country? What’s it gonna be?" He grinned. This isn’t funny! Can’t you be serious for once and let me think! Don turned away, clutching the canister that contained the all-important message, trying to decide what to do.

He turned when he heard, almost simultaneously, a click and Raph saying, "Here, let me make it easy for you." Raph had somehow gotten a projectile-firing pistol (nearly an antique by now), and it was pointed directly at Don’s head.

Raph!" exclaimed Don in shock. "What are you doing!?"

Raph grinned sadistically. "Helpin’ you out, bro. Now take off, before I make the decision that tha Sentinels are gonna make for you in mere moments." Terrific, thought Don, he’s finally lost it. Completely round the bend. Or maybe not. Don realized that given the time to think, he’d rather stay with Raph. Screw the MHA. They could do without them and the message. But now he had a gun in his face. But, he wondered, how could he really be serious? Raph fired off a shot that went dangerously close to his head. He ducked.

"Raph!" he yelped.

Raph scowled. "Now get outta here, man. I’m not telling you again....and next time, I might just hit you." Something in Raph’s voice gave Don the full understanding of his position; but why was Raph so nationalistic all of a sudden? Concerned with honor? That sounded more like Leo. But then, Splinter had always said that the two were much more similar than anyone else could guess. Perhaps that was why they seemed to clash so often. Don backed away a little.

"Next time I see you," he warned. "I’ll kick your butt for this."

"Whatever, Don." Raph smirked. "You couldn’t touch me on your best day. Besides, who knows if you’ll-" He stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Ah, thought Donny, a crack in the martyr’s armor of honor. Raph knew the possibilities and didn’t like them much. He was likely sacrificing himself and he knew it. But he grinned, regardless. "But then again, I’ve been known to come back from the dead." It was true.

(This, thought Don, was ridiculous. How could a turtle drown? But there was Raph, lying motionless on the pilings, totally wet, not breathing. "Come on, buddy!" he cried aloud, desperately. Raph’s skin was as cold as ice! He needed a hospital, and Don was definitely not a doctor. But he had to try. "Breathe, dammit!" he screamed, bending again to force his own warm breath into Raph’s cold, clammy lips. He again laid his two fingers on Raph’s neck. But the reassuring throb was gone. "Noooo!" cried Don. His heart had stopped! Denying it, refusing to believe his brother was dead, Don knelt over him, thanking God that Splinter had insisted they all learn CPR. "Please live, Raph, please," Don begged. "We need you, man, don’t leave us."

"Geez, Don, don’t crush me, huh? Give a guy some room!)

But even Raph’s incredible track record might not save him this time. "Go!" shouted Raph, cocking his pistol, ready for another shot.

"I love you, Raph," he said, and went.

Raph closed his eyes. It was finished. But better this way. He had saved the Alliance, but more importantly, he had saved Donny. There was nothing left but to wait, and that was something he didn’t have to do for long. The Sentinel came closer. Raph went limp as he felt the enormous hand close around his fragile body, bit his lip and tried to hold back the screams. The metal fingers were not exactly delicate, and his leg was killing him. A wave of dizzying red faded to blackness.

* * *

Leonardo started. Something had disturbed him in his meditations. A voice? Calling to him, faintly, but not, he realized, in the physical plane. Leo paused, listening carefully with the inner ear he had trained so well. There it was again--a voice, still so faint, but he could still make it out. It was Raph’s. His mind was calling out to Leo, searching for him. It communicated without actual words, using emotions to stress its point: I’m hurt. I need you. Leo immediately forgot everything, his meditation, his students, his appointment with Splinter, and sent his mind seeking. His concentration must be complete. He must break all physical bonds and transfer his spirit into--there!

The move was much quicker than it had been all those years ago when he first discovered this power within himself. Leo’s mind had found Raph, and in a moment, he was inside Raphael’s mind with him. Leo almost recoiled when he felt Raph’s emotions, streaming into him as though they were his own. Tension, fear, anger...and pain. Leo searched, and found the source of the pain, a laser burn a couple inches above Raph’s right knee. It looked, and felt, serious.

--Raph, I am here. It’ll be all right.--Leo thought, trying to calm the turmoil he felt around him.

--Leo?--Raph was confused.

--You called me. I came.--Leo thought how strange it was that their minds automatically sought each other out; it was no longer by strength of will alone which helped them sith. The messages they sent back and forth were not just in words, but also in pictures and feelings. But each understood what was meant. In this state, it was impossible to hide one’s emotions; Leo’s confusion poured over Raph. What was wrong?

--I’m hurt. Don must take the message on.--Raph admitted. --Or it will mean an end to the Alliance.--

--Stop being so melodramatic. What are you doing?--Leo had noted with alarm that Raph had the just fired a gun past Don’s head. Raph allowed calmness and assurance to sweep over Leo.

--Don’t worry. I can handle it.--Raph said. --See?-- Don was going, back on the path south once again. Raph seemed resigned as a Sentinel approached. --Take care, Leo.--he thought sadly. --It may be awhile before we truly meet again.--

--Don’t be silly.--Leo began, but was cut off by the dizziness that swept through Raph as the Sentinel lifted him. Why couldn’t the meathead be more careful? As Raph was struck by the pain, it touched Leo too, and he willingly extended his presence, took a part of Raphael’s agony. Raphael said nothing in words, but sent his gratitude. Leo was amazed--the wound must be very severe to cause such anguish. He had no more time for reflection; as Raph writhed in the throes of fire, Leo mimicked the motions of his tortured body. Cripes! His leg was on fire! He shared Raph’s mental cries, as the turtle made no noise aloud. Then, with a jerk, Raph lost consciousness and Leo was rudely pulled back from Raph’s now silent mind, his spirit dragged back to his body.

"Here! Hold him down while I give him this." Leo felt a needle inserted into his arm, something injected. As he always felt after he’d been sithing, Leo was oddly detached from himself, observing his body as he had observed Raph’s--very aloof, but still aware of every action. So he realized with surprise that he was writhing in agony, convulsing with the pain of Raphael which he had just shared. Gasping, he found himself calming as he centered in and felt more like a part of his body and less of an abstraction. Eventually, his body stilled, and when he tried to move, he found his reflexes painfully slow, his body refusing to respond to his commands as fast as it should.

"Are you all right, sir?" A young woman leaned over him, one of Splinter’s new students--what was her name? Ah, Trisp, that was right.

"Fine, Trisp," he said. His tongue felt heavy and swollen, he could barely talk. "What was that?"

"Muscle relaxant, sir. We didn’t know what was wrong, and you had already hurt yourself.." It was true, he realized. In his convulsions, he had bruised his shoulder on a low table and cut his hand on a knick-knack he had knocked off a shelf. His attention was diverted when he noticed Master Splinter standing before him.

"My son," he came to lay a hand on Leo’s forehead. "You are not badly hurt. Is something wrong?" His deep brown eyes were filled with concern for his eldest son.

"Yes, Master, I was sithing with Raphael. He has been badly injured and captured. Donatello has gone on without him." Splinter stroked his chin, obviously upset. "What shall we do, sensei?"

"We must see what happens. For now, these matters are beyond our control." Leo sighed. He knew Splinter would say that. "Rest now, Leonardo. Sithing is no easy task, I know. When you wake, we will decide what to do." Leo was glad to let his mind drift away to join Raph’s in black oblivion.

* * *

Michelangelo was in Pero camp’s makeshift firing range, pouring his emotion into his pistol and firing it again and again. He wished he was back in New York and didn’t have to worry about this crap....but he wanted to be as close as possible to Don and Raph’s destination. Plus, if and when a battle for Houston was joined, reinforcements would gather at Pero base. Mike hadn’t been sent into the first seige, but he’d be damned if he missed the next battle! He was in the middle of his third round when he heard a scream. It tore through him, causing him to jerk, his shot going wide as the cry echoed back into the deepest recesses of his mind.

Wait--his mind? Why did he hear the cry in his head? He identified the voice--Leo! He must need help! Dropping his gun and tearing off his headpiece, Mike dashed for the door and bolted down the hall toward the source of the scream. By the time he reached Leo’s room, however, the crisis was over. Leo was lying on the floor as Splinter and one of his students carefully removed chunks of a glass statuette from his hand. "Master?" asked Mikey. Splinter turned. "What’s wrong? Is Leo okay?" He knew by then that he was not dead; he was sure that he would have felt Leo’s death. But if he was hurt badly--

"Leonardo will be fine." Mike sighed in relief. "However, Raphael has been hurt, quite badly I fear. He has been captured, and Donatello has gone on without him." Mike shared Splinter’s look of worry and sadness. Poor Raph. After all he’d been through--returning to a ruined planet, losing Arik, resigning as a chief of the Orabu nation--to be tortured at the hands of Mastermold’s traitor mutants, the Trackers? The pain and injustice he was sure to experience turned Mike’s stomach as he remembered the atrocities he’d seen the Trackers commit. He remembered seeing Arik’s small body, mangled in the mud. ("The Trackers--how could even they be capable of--of this?") If they could do that to a child--what then, lay in store for Raphael, a proven enemy of Mastermold, who had Tracker blood on his hands? Mike shivered uneasily. He gently touched Leo’s mind, deep in slumber. It was silent now. He reached, straining to find Raph--but could not. Mike sighed. They’ve always been better than me, he thought. Leo will have to try for us when he wakes up. God! What kind of pain could make him scream that way? And was it his--or Raph’s?

Mike felt so empty. What could he do? Where was Raph? How did he fare? Will he survive this night? Mike wondered, gazing out a window at the darkening twilight. Head bowed, eyes closed, he said a silent prayer for his brother. Hang in there, bro. You’ll be back, I just know it; I will find you. And if I have to die trying, then so be it. He turned away.

* * *

Donny stirred his small, smokeless fire with a stick. Not much to burn around here, lucky he’d found that small stand of brush. For a moment he put off the gloom--but then grief for his lost brother washed over him. Will I ever see him again? Then, Bah, and I say Raph’s a fatalist? Of course I will! Nothing can keep Raph down! Somewhat consoled by this knowledge, Don considered his next move. Raph had sacrificed himself for this message. He had to keep it moving, get it to Houston on schedule. Without getting caught. No easy task, now that the Sentinels knew he was out here. He felt so open! There was nothing to hide behind! Still, if he didn’t run into any more of the robots, he should be fine; motion sensors the Sentinels carried would be a problem, but his low body temperature usually fooled heat sensors.

Donatello wrapped a blanket around him and curled up. Wish Raph was here, so one of us could watch for Sentinels. But Raph wasn’t, and Don would have to sleep if he wanted to move by sunrise. After all, I can’t very well sit here awake all night. Donny thought of Raph. Where was he? Surely at Houston base by now. Was he awake? What was he thinking? Don reached outward, sought Raph’s mind, but found it silent and unresponsive. Ought to try Leo or Mike, he thought. So I can tell them- But he didn’t have the chance to contact them; he had slipped instantly into sleep.