Full Summary: Sometimes, distance is needed to put life in perspective. The process can be painful, even feel pointless. But new journeys unearth revelations, and taking one with the tribal chief Coyolxauhqui through Ecuador changes Leonardo. Question is: after his harrowing at Black Lotus, can he go the distance that's required? Or will the K'ekchi Tribe face extinction? [BOOK 7]

Disclaimer: TMNT belongs to Eastman, Laird, and Nickelodeon. All OCs belong to me. The K'ekchi Tribe referenced in this book is the name of a real Amazonian tribe. HOWEVER, all representations of said tribe are fictional, belonging to me. As such, their holidays, language, social structure, religion, and history aren't an accurate representation. Thank you.

A/N: Okay. Here's the deal, guys. This book won't be like my last ones in that it isn't completed beforehand. I'm not sure when it will be. Or if. But hopefully when. I gotta say, it's been hell to work on. I can't even place WHY. But I wanted to kick off this new year by showing you all it HAS been started. I don't often ask this, but any encouraging words or suggestions would be appreciated. Maybe even entice my muse? Something's gotta give. I don't want it to be me... :(


CHAPTER 01: GHOSTS

Much work went into water purification, especially within the Amazon Rainforest. In hindsight, a Solar Still shamed Hamato Leonardo's survival skills. However, the mutant turtle no longer saw its maintenance as difficult or crude or tedious. It simply…was.

He had little else to do. So he found himself consumed by the home-made contraption.

If he wasn't rearranging the plastic sheet over the hole he dug, he was listening for the drips of the condensation beneath it. Chirps from frogs and birds sometimes silenced their fall, but Leo stared so intently at the plastic that he felt the movement like a leaky faucet inside his head. All day.

Michelangelo would've complained about how the process yielded maybe half a water bottle per day. When Leo thought of it that way, it seemed insufficient. But why did he need any more? Black Lotus had conditioned his body. If Kaiya could survive on such little rations, he could as well. Besides, he deserved less…

Leonardo flinched. Something hit his nose, something wet and cold. He glanced up from his Lotus position, starring at the sun rays that streamed through the rainforest's canopy. Soft light reflected off the yellow-green leaves in a hypnotic dance; it almost distracted Leo from the rainfall that drifted through the occasional breaks.

He noticed a faint rumbling too. Had a storm just passed? Maybe it had. Or maybe that was his stomach.

'When did I last eat?' Leo thought.

Without wiping water from his eyes, he rolled over a slender root protruding from the soil. He hated having to stand; it required so much effort. But since no one else would check his calendar, he rose with a sigh then began searching the lichened tree behind him. There, dark marks marred the moss.

Seven sections of five. Thirty-five sunsets.

Strange. Over a month has passed since the Jonin arrived in Ecuador? A month of sitting, watching the Solar Still? If felt more like a week, and Leo's eye ridges furrowed.

When was his last meal then? He remembered eating three days after leaving New York. If that had been weeks ago…Had he already eaten all the rations Splinter packed for him?

Leonardo turned from the tree. His feet sunk under his weight, an expected side effect from camping so close to a river during the Wet Season. He fought against the slight suction, attention drawn to the tent April had donated on the day of Leo's departure.

It shuddered. Not from the wind; there was no wind inside the humid cocoon on the Amazon's forest floor. The lacking freshness left the air stale and made Leo feel heavy as he ventured around the Solar Still. His eyes remained narrowed until a body emerged from the tent's partially-zipped door—a dark spotted feline no taller than the mutant's knees. Its eyes were wide, and his fanged mouth held the strap of a duffle bag.

"That's mine, Ocelot," Leonardo said. The words hurt his throat like it had been overused instead of underused.

The Ocelot lowered its head, pinning its round ears back as Leo approached. A low growl resonated from it, which grew more severe when Leo lifted his arms.

"I have no idea how much of that is salvageable," he continued, "but I don't have any energy to hunt for dinner."

Like an ocelot cared. The feline hissed, its pink nose scrunched, then darted. Leo dove after it, arms outreached. His fingertips had grazed the bag's coarse fabric before his face met the dirt. He cursed at the sting across his nose, lifting his head to glare at the thief's retreating form.

Just perfect. Guess there'd be no cheese or bread tonight. Not that the cheese would've kept after so long anyways. Unless Leo had already eaten it in his hazy state. Who knew?

Guess the ocelot did…

'I can't keep anything, can I?' Leonardo thought with clenched teeth.

"Outmaneuvered by a pussy cat, Freak? Now that's just sad."

'Ugh, not now.'

Leo stayed on the wet ground, glued there by his sunken stomach. Listless, he craned his neck to glance over his marginal scutes. A brunette man kneeled beside the Solar Still, his hair wild and his athletic build dressed in a white jumpsuit with short sleeves.

"Put the plastic down, Donald," Leo spat.

Donald Horton lifted the plastic cover higher. "You should switch out those leafs, Hombre. They're looking a little brown. And you're remembering to boil the water before drinking it, right? Dysentery ain't fun. Trust me."

"Go. Away."

"And do what?" Donald scoffed, jabbing a thumb sideways. "Play Chinese Checkers with Jackie Chan? Give me a break."

Leo glanced beside the tent. Where the Ocelot had retreated beyond a curtain made from vines, an aged Asian sat Indian Style. His spotted hands rubbed the emaciated leg exposed from his shot-pants, his plump gut expanding the white jumpsuit with a sigh.

"Look how engrossed he is," Donald said with a snort. "How long do ya think it'll be before his son finally joins him? That's what he's waiting on, ya know."

"I know," Leo whispered. He couldn't bring himself to watch Joseph Kim any longer, so he returned his attention to Donald, even if the brunette's smirk made him queasy. "I don't need a reminder."

"You sure? Abi would disagree. Ain't that right, Sweetie?"

Nope; he wouldn't look. Not at her. Leo kept focused on Donald, eyes burning from the rancid perfume scent he knew was Abigail Bryant's decaying flesh. He heard it bubble in his ears, faint pops that soured the smell further.

"We deserve this, remember?" asked Donald. He used a layered voice—as if every Hall F victim spoke through the dead-eyed man. "Can't save anyone. Can't do anything. What a failure."

They were right. Why was Leo even alive?

"You should've died with the rest of us," the layered voice continued.

"I know that too," whispered Leo. His head fell into the dirt. Somehow, it felt frigid.

"Didn't I say I'd haunt ya if I died?"

"You…you never believed you'd die, Donald."

Donald smiled. "You remember that much? I'm flattered."

"Please." Leo's eyes watered as the pops grew louder. "Go away."

"We ain't goin' anywhere, mutant. We're ghosts. Your ghosts. And so long as we're stuck here with that bitch and psycho, you'll suffer too."

No. No. No! They weren't here! None of them were!

New adrenaline surged through Leonardo, tingling. He forced himself onto his knees and searched the area. Abigail lay beside him, dark skin purpled and torn—a morbid contrast to her uniform. She gurgled into the soil as Leo overlooked Joseph's checker game and sobbed her daughter's name when he found two figures standing amidst the giant ferns ahead.

A slender scientist raised her horse-face, distant eyes as black as her suit. She shared a smile with a stout Indian man, who barely peered over the full foliage. They laughed, like old friends who'd just exchanged an inside joke. Maybe they had. Maybe the joke was that they still held Leo prisoner, even in death.

"I'm too tired for this," Leonardo muttered at his sweaty palms.

"Too tired?" Donald asked. "Poor baby. Poor Leonardo. Always picked on by the big, bad world. No one is as unfortunate as you."

"Shut up." Leo shook with his voice, pressing his palms harder against his wet eyes. "I know it's my fault."

"That's right"—the layered voice returned—"you talked about how we'd be saved. We'd be okay. You promised! Well, guess what? We weren't okay. And the ones who did escape? They ain't warriors. What the hell do you think they go through on a daily basis?"

"Shut. Up."

"A couple of runaways, a retard, and a baby? God. They probably would've been better off here with us."

Leo's trembles caused his teeth to chatter, his bones to grow cold, and he cried with a loud voice, "I said shut up!"

Instant silence. Then, birds and frogs began chirping again.

Dare he open his eyes? Was it another one of Donald's tricks? He no longer smelled Abigail, so maybe…

Heart thumping, Leonardo looked up. All was still around the jumbled campsite. Not one impression remained—not by the tent where Joseph had sat or beside Leo where Abigail had curled up. Even the Solar Still's plastic sheet looked untouched. Because it had been, no matter what Leo swore he saw.

The Jonin heaved a sigh then staggered up. His weak legs brought him to the Still, which he stared at blankly for…he wasn't sure how long. By the time he remembered his goal, he was kneeling again, and water dripped heavily from the rainforest canopy. The drops pitter-pattered against the plastic sheet that he peered under.

The leaves in the hole were brown. Withered. Dead. How long had they been dead?

Crack!

"Damn roots!"

Leonardo stiffened at a man's voice. It wasn't Donald or Joseph. Not Chandler or Doctor Stephens. It was unfamiliar, so he made quick work towards his signature tree when a female chimed in,

"Hiking's healthy, Xander."

"Whatever."

"Think of it this way: your lady back home will appreciate the extra effort."

"Liz could care less how toned I am."

"That's not what you told Murphy."

Two people—dressed in Military Green uniforms—stopped along the path Leonardo had leveled over the weeks. It led to a nearby river, although the humans seemed more interested in sending each other pointed looks than in following it.

The man, Xander, scratched at the high-collar that seamlessly joined his helmet. While the tinted glass that shielded his eyes made it impossible to discern an expression, Leo sensed him glance over the rifle strapped to the back of his bullet-proof vest. "You've been spying on me during leave, Beverly?"

"Please; it's hardly spying," Beverly shot back. Judging by the condemnation in her voice, she probably rolled her eyes when she shuffled. "Both Murphy and Evens got big mouths. Besides, almost all of us go to Mashers when possible."

Evens and Murphy? Why did those names sound familiar?

"I don't remember seeing you there, but whatever," Xander said. "Let's just focus on perimeter duty. If we return with more incomplete reports, Rook will have our heads."

"Correction: your head. I'm here only because Quincy is under reprimand. Tomorrow, you'll have your old partner back, and I'll return to the front lines. Where I belong."

"Why would you want to be there?" Suddenly, the air grew thick. "I—I've seen the soldiers that come back. Why would you risk becoming a vegetable?"

"Uh"—Beverly shrugged—"there's no one at home for me? I got nothing better in my life? War fuels my blood?"

"Seriously!"

The woman stepped towards Xander, swatting away the finger he directed at her. "I am serious, Idiot! This fight has been going on longer than I've been alive. My parents were part of it. They lived for it. Died for it. And I'll follow in their footsteps."

"Right…" With a sigh, Xander glanced away. "I forgot about your parents."

"Clearly," Beverly countered. "Now let's get back to work. I'm bored enough as it is."

Xander side-stepped as Beverly stormed passed him. He braced himself for the shove she gave his shoulder then followed her down the path. Only crunches from their footfalls sounded then—until they faded under the Rainforest's song

Leonardo was left stiff beside the tree, fingers scraping the moss along its bark. Who were those people? Ecuador Guerillas fighting with indigenous tribes? Probably not. They were speaking English without any effort, fault, or accent. And it sounded like they were expanding their territory.

Perfect.

'Guess I'm moving,' Leo thought.

He glanced over his campsite and broke apart the loose moss in his hand. Maybe moving wouldn't be so bad. He needed to clean the place up anyway…


A/N: So...there's that. This story will cover over a year of Leo's life. Expect pacing to be more like "Shift" until a certain point.