Empty Streets by KC
Summary: (sequel to Clogged Drain and Dark Windows) Their lair haunted, the farmhouse destroyed, the four return to New York, wounded and exhausted, but the entire city is dark and the humans seem to have vanished. Determined to find their friends, they push into the snow-covered streets, hoping for answers.
Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles nor do I make any money off of this.
Rating: R for violence, creepy
Other Info: Inspired by tons of creepypasta. Previous fics good but not vital for this one.
The blizzard finally died down, no longer beating the doors of the barn. Michelangelo and Leonardo, still slow to recover, had been safely ensconced in the van, bundled up onto the few blankets and futons not ruined by blood and snow. The bedding was enough to cover the floor and make a nest, but it underscored the scant supplies they had left. A couple paper bags of boxed food went in the corner, a couple of over the counter pain medications...
Donatello came into the barn, fighting with the wind to pull the doors shut and latch them securely. Snow dusted off of his shell and arms, melting off of his feet as he came closer to the fire in front of the van's open doors.
"Got my laptop, a couple of other things," he said. "Is there anything else we're missing?"
"...I think that's it," Raphael said, staring at the fire. Sitting at the edge, he kicked his legs idly, his shoulders slumped. "Gonna be a long drive."
"If you want me to do it," Donatello started.
"Nah, s'cool." Raphael shrugged. "Just...we're going to April's place first, right? Ain't no other stops on the way?"
Donatello glanced at their siblings, both curled in the pile of blankets. Michelangelo was asleep, his plastron visibly rising and falling with each breath, and Donatello took some relief that his little brother was breathing at all. Shifting in the grip of fitful dreams, Michelangelo lay in the lap of the eldest, who sat with his back against the van, a blanket around his shoulders.
Leonardo returned his look.
"The corner store," Leonardo said without moving. "We'll hit it before we leave."
"Again?" Donatello asked. "I mean, so soon? It was only a couple days since—"
"We're not coming back," Leonardo said.
Donatello fell silent. They'd all known it, but to have it said made their leaving seem all the more final. One by one, their refuges were being destroyed. He grimaced to think of the wiring, the water heater, the patches on the walls, all the effort he'd put into the barn.
"I also need to put a new tire on this thing." Donatello sighed, looking at the van. "I'll be happy if we can get to a garage, snag some new wheels entirely."
"We'll keep our eyes open," Raphael promised. "Is there anything else?"
Donatello bit his lip. "...I guess not."
Loathe to leave their meager shelter, loathe to stay, they packed up the last few items they had and locked up the van. Donatello opened the barn doors, wincing when they blew wide open, and hurried into the passenger side.
"You guys okay back there?" he said over his shoulder.
"We're good," Leonardo answered.
And they rolled slowly into the snow.
Raphael immediately started cursing under his breath, fighting with the wheel to keep them steady. A shredded tire that was more rim than rubber on icy roads tested his driving, and he drove slowly so he wouldn't outrun his headlights. All he saw were white flurries against a velvet black night that ate up the road. Every few minutes they passed a farm house, and Raphael slowed the van to a halt at one driveway.
"Check it out," he said softly, motioning at the yard. "They got a pickup truck."
"So?" Donatello asked. "Not like we can use that inste—oh. Oh."
His gaze fell on the truck's tires. He glanced once at Raphael, not wanting to be the one to say it. Wordlessly, Raphael turned them toward the yard, put the van in park, and the two of them stole out into the night.
A job that should have taken seconds instead took long minutes as Donatello's fingers began to stiffen. Raphael had angled the van to cover them from the wind as much as he could, but as he worked the van's tire off, he felt his own blood beginning to turn sluggish. A New York winter just wasn't the place for a mutant turtle. He and Donatello worked the switch like pros, exchanging the tires, consoling their consciences that they weren't leaving the truck owner completely high and dry.
A thought that fled when he looked up and noticed that the house door was wide open, the hallway light flickering. He frowned. No one would leave the house open to the elements on a night like this. He was about to take a step forward when Donatello put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.
Curiosity killed the turtle. Raphael nodded once and they returned to the van, now riding more smoothly to the store.
Where he found the door likewise open, the lights on. Raphael and Donatello glanced at each other, not sure what to make of it. The screen door banged in the wind and light spilled out onto the snow.
"That...does not look promising," Donatello said softly.
"We gotta get supplies," Raphael whispered.
"What if something's still in there?"
"Check out the snow," Raphael said. "There's no footprints."
"So maybe it's still inside eating."
They stared at the door for another moment. There was no sound from behind them except their brothers' soft breathing, both of them fast asleep again.
Donatello put his hands on the dashboard, steeling himself. "We need supplies."
Raphael nodded once and breathed out in resignation. "Yeah. Let's go."
They hadn't recovered completely from before, shivering as they drew their weapons, moving as slowly as they could stand, flanking the door and looking in. Both of them went still.
Blood splashed one wall in a long arc that went from the ceiling to the floor, followed by long streaks that went to the door and disappeared under the piling snow. Grimacing, Raphael looked over his shoulder at the darkness. No footprints, no movement, nothing besides the white snow and the hum of the van's engines.
"Maybe we weren't the first course," Raphael said.
"I don't want to think about it," Donatello said, still holding his staff in one hand as he entered. "Let's hit the place hard and go."
"Yeah. Yeah."
With no thought for staying hidden, they pulled everything usable from the shelves—canned foods, boxed snacks, the last heavy duty flashlights and batteries on the shelves. There were throw blankets that they took, plus all the over the counter medication Donatello could bag. Instant coffee, hot water bottles that he filled up with an electric kettle he pulled out of its box, a handful of newspapers on the counter...
"Hey, Donny." Raphael lifted the newspaper in the display rack. "What day is it today?"
"Wednesday, I think. Why?"
Donatello came around and looked. The newspaper was several days old.
"...we can figure it out later," Donatello said. "Let's go."
"Yeah." Raphael grabbed a six pack of beer on the way out, ignoring Donatello's look.
They carried everything with them into the front, not wanting to turn their backs or endure the cold while loading the van. As they shut the doors, laboriously moving their loot into the empty backseat, they heard Leonardo's sigh of relief.
"Thank God," their brother murmured. "You took so long..."
There was no reproach in his voice, no anger. Raphael angled the rearview mirror to better see him and gave a reassuring smile.
"We're good. Got a ton of shit. Gonna fill up the tank in front—" he ran over Donatello's startled gasp at that "—and then we're outta here."
"Is that wise?" Leonardo asked. "We've already spent several minutes here."
"Trust me," Raphael said, driving them around the front. "Guy who works the joint, he don't care no more."
Filling up the tank was a complicated affair of breaking through the front door to turn on the gas pump, but nothing worse happened than feeling his hands go numb. Raphael briefly considered filling up an extra tank, but the sense of emptiness around him and the freezing cold drove him back into the van.
The air inside had changed. Raphael glanced back again and found Leonardo holding Michelangelo securely in his arms, his own eyes shut tight. Neither of them were asleep.
"You told 'em," Raphael muttered at Donatello.
"No point in hiding it," Donatello said. "I'll bet anything the house we stopped at was...was the same way. I'll bet this whole street was one long smorgasbord and we just happened to be the end of it."
"If that was all of 'em," Raphael said. "No way to tell when all of that started."
He drove them back onto the road. He didn't drive quickly, satisfied by the full tank gauge and the steady weight of the van on the ice. If he went slow, there wouldn't be any trouble. And he figured anything else outside couldn't keep up with twenty miles an hour.
"...no," Donatello mused. "Not when it started exactly. But when Leo and I first went out, we saw a car going down the road at an insane speed. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but...afterward, when we saw the police car, things must have been happening then. We've just been so cut off from civilization that we didn't notice."
The road droned on. Raphael tried the radio and found only static. Donatello turned the dial methodically, trying every station. He found one recording of the emergency broadcast signal, but it only played on repeat.
"We left the city at night," Raphael said. "We drove out. I remember being grateful we barely saw anyone on the road, but now..."
"We still had a couple stations," Donatello said. "NPR was playing until...well. Until."
No one had a good response for that. For over half an hour, Raphael drove along the muddy farm road, finally coming to the empty highway. He could see for miles in each direction, but there were no other headlights. With a nervous swallow, he turned onto the highway and started toward the city.
"Y'know," he said, "nothing says we gotta go back. We could just keep going south. Someplace warm."
Donatello didn't answer at first. He glanced in the mirror at his brothers. Michelangelo was staring at the back of the van, watching the snow, and Leonardo merely glanced once at Donatello, lowering his gaze almost as fast.
Leonardo wouldn't say what to do. Donatello leaned back in his seat.
"I think...we could fit a couple more people in the van," Donatello said slowly. "Drive everyone out."
Raphael tightened his grip on the wheel. "If there's anyone to pick up."
After a long silence, they finally came to the turn-off with the sign of the city and the miles left to go. Raphael came to a halt on the road, glancing at Donatello. There was no reply. Donatello met his look, shook his head once and couldn't say what to do.
Raphael looked between the off-ramp and the long stretch of road in front of him.
And then quietly took the turn toward New York.
"You'd think there'd be more cars on the side of the road," he said too casually. "Like in all the zombie flicks, cars out of the city stalled and busted up."
"So it's not zombies," Donatello said. "Yay?"
"I really don't wanna fight more devils," Raphael said. "Or ghosts. Or...whatever the fuck is out there."
"We won't," Donatello said firmly. "We get in, check on April, and then we all go. Takes less'n ten minutes. If she's not there, even faster."
Raphael nodded once. He didn't mention that the street lights seemed to be glowing on automatic, with several burned out along the way.
When the sky finally began to lighten, turning a dingy grey of thick clouds, they finally saw the city rising up ahead of them. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, but as they passed small shops and convenience stores and motels on the way, they noticed that many of them had their lights on, had doors open, had broken windows.
Donatello tightened his fingers around his seatbelt. He had no doubt what they would find inside each one.
"This is crazy," he murmured. "What happened?"
"It can't all be those things," Raphael said. "I mean, we never even seen them before, and now this?"
"I don't know," Donatello said. "Not enough data. Just...just don't stop."
"Yeah...no stopping 'till we reach her shop."
The road through the silent city seemed to stretch forever. Donatello looked for any sign of life, of activity. He saw nothing through the windows, only the occasional spray of shattered glass from a car windshield, blood on an open door.
When they arrived at April's shop, they parked, then simply sat studying the storefront. No blood. No open door. No lights.
"She should'a heard the engine," Raphael whispered.
Donatello didn't reply. Long seconds passed. He gathered his staff and scanned the entire street. The roads and sidewalks were devoid of footprints, covered in a fresh layer of undisturbed snow. Nothing moved.
"Less'n ten minutes," he said softly.
With a deep breath, they opened the van and stepped out.
tbc...