Raphael felt like he was frozen solid. A picture of a vast snowy tundra flickered before unseeing eyes, leaving rallying thoughts to wonder how he'd ended up in the wilderness. The hard ground combined with the painful angle he was sprawled in made the turtle want to rise, though he couldn't muster the willpower to try yet.
The sensation of moisture sliding down his face gave him something else to focus on besides frozen limbs. The sticky residue it left behind was familiar. Blood? I'm hurt. I should get up, find my phone…
He groaned with exertion while he attempted to coordinate his arms to assist him in sitting up. Yet before he could make any ground Raphael felt something close around his ankles. He wasn't prepared for the jerk of being yanked suddenly by his legs. He was moving, or being dragged rather. What's got me?
Raphael found that he could rotate his neck slightly, which was an improvement from not being able to move at all. The surface underneath his shell no longer reminded him of ice, not with the small pebbles being kicked up while someone pulled him along. It occurred to him that he should struggle, but the idea remained a thought, because he didn't have the power to translate it into action.
The turtle was being maneuvered through a puddle of standing water when a scent overwhelmed him, bringing a memory with it. Not water. Gasoline! Those guys were gonna torch that place! Raphael fought to open his eyes, but his blurry surroundings were dark and indistinct. There seemed little point in trying to keep them open.
A new object draped over his feet, the curious texture and weight grounding him in what small sense of reality he could grasp. Raphael hissed softly when the material tightened, constricting, cutting off the circulation of his ankles. His breath came a little faster when his eyes finally connected with a shadow of movement, and the figure of a human took shape.
"Get that thing up for a minute."
Raphael had no idea what the man was talking about, but a growl formed in his throat when his shoulders were jerked from behind, lifting him none-too-gently. He heard a soft gasp from someone on his right, while the individual on the left took a more direct approach. The metal surface of a pipe tapped under his chin threateningly.
"You want another taste, critter?"
"You had your turn, Dalfour."
The hot breath of another man drew Raphael's gaze to shift right as a fist flashed toward him. His head snapped back from the force of the blow, and he automatically clenched his eyes shut while pain reported back to him.
The red-masked turtle was completely caught off guard when the other men pushed him forward so that he tumbled onto his knees. Gravity pulled his upper-body back to earth and he almost struck his head on the odd surface he'd been forced to kneel on. He stared at the rungs for several seconds before making sense of them. It's a sewer grate. What are these guys doing?
The way his feet were already bound meant that they were now trapped underneath him in an extremely uncomfortable fashion. Raphael stiffened while the men grasped his arms, pulling his wrists on top of the bars. Horror seized him as one of them fed a length of chain through the bars and proceeded to wrap his hands together. The chain was fed through the bars a second time, and the click of a padlock sealed his fate. Oh, shell. Shell, shell…
Raphael squirmed, only gaining a couple of inches within the position they'd trapped him. Forced to bend over the sewer grate with his own weight cementing the bars in place, there seemed little hope of escaping.
"You sure about this?" The voice was young and probably belonged to the kid. "He's kind of cool-looking. I bet he'd go for a high price on the black market."
The other men laughed derisively.
"You mean with your many underground contacts?" Lewis asked mockingly. "Nicholas, we don't know anyone who'd be interested in something like that. It'd be a waste of effort, not to mention, it isn't why we're here."
"Are you afraid I'm gonna tell the big man that this critter put both of you on your backsides?" The deeper tone of voice indicated the hulking man who'd brought the turtle down.
"You won't tell anyone about this thing, Dalfour, not ever."
"Oh? Why won't I?"
"Because if you breathe one word about what happened, Morello is going to hear about all the gambling debts you still owe to Terelli's people. Nobody likes a scene between two families."
Dalfour grunted his disapproval. "Fine, but we need to get rid of it."
"We are," Lewis retorted coldly. "It interrupted the festivities, so it's only fair that it gets to take part in them. Nicholas, there's another can in the truck. Go get it."
Raphael swallowed and his heart thudded wildly while he imagined exactly what Lewis meant to do with him. He rested his aching head against the bars, cursing his decision to leave the den that night, and the urge that had pressed him into combat he wasn't ready for. His watch was buried somewhere underneath the chains lashing his wrists together. He'd had no chance to set off his beacon to even ask for help.
I didn't take my chance, he corrected bitterly. Hopefully these goons won't leave any evidence, and the guys won't ever have to know what happened to me. I wish I could tell 'em I was sorry. I wish a lot of things, but it's too late for any of it now.
"This thing is more than an animal y'know." Dalfour hefted a foot against his shell, crushing the turtle lower against the grating.
"What are you talking about?" Lewis sounded bored.
"I'm telling you, he understands. When I talked to him, it was like he knew what I was saying. He moves, dresses, and fights like a human being. He had a phone. This is the sort of thing Vale would be interested in."
"Vale," Lewis scoffed. "Vale's not in charge of us, Dalfour."
"He got Williams kicked off this errand, and left you with the runt instead."
"Williams screwed up, and Morello had the final say. That's how it's going to stay. Vale doesn't fool everybody. Fast as he's climbed in the family, I know exactly what he's gunning for."
"When we get back, you ought to try saying that to his face."
"Maybe I will."
Yeah right, y'big coward, Raphael thought angrily. If I could stand on my own two feet, you wouldn't be standing. The red-masked turtle heard the footsteps he'd been dreading, signaling the return of the kid.
"What do you want me to do?" Nicholas asked.
"Douse him," Lewis ordered. "I'll grab another wick, and then we need to finish this. We've hung out here long enough."
The man's words left Raphael feeling colder than he knew was possible. He hung his head close to his plastron, holding his breath as a deluge of gasoline washing over his shell, saturating his clothes in seconds. Raphael cursed when he felt the fuel penetrate his skin, and the urge to shudder was uncontrollable. This is it, huh? Way to go, Raph.
"You got good coverage, kid. Did you empty it?"
The nearness of Lewis' voice suggested the man was standing right over him, and Raphael craned his neck to catch a glimpse of him. He wished he could think of something clever or threatening to say that would leave an impact on the ruthless stranger intent on burning him alive. No words came to mind though – only the faces of his father and brothers.
"Yeah, it's gone, Lewis. Are you going to do this?"
There was an awkward pause.
"Why are you both looking at me?" Dalfour demanded.
"Where's your lighter?" Lewis was exasperated.
"You didn't ask me to bring one! Are you telling me you're not ready to light the wick?"
"How can you not have a lighter on you?"
"Oh, because I smoke you naturally assume I've always got one?"
"Do you or don't you?"
"I think I left one in the car, maybe up front? Go get it, kid," Dalfour commanded.
The fear that consumed Raphael for himself was immediately overshadowed by concern for the family up in the apartment. They'll be goners for sure. I can't stop these guys myself. But if all else is failing there's still one thing I can try. The turtle breathed in as deeply as he could, raising his voice as a last resort.
"FIRE! HELP-FIR—"
Dalfour reacted instantly, wrapping a hand around his throat and cutting off the air to his windpipe. "Told ya, Lewis. The thing understands."
"I bet it'll scream like a banshee when we light it up." Lewis seemed unimpressed. "I've got tape in my bag, Dalfour. Can you keep a hold of it for a minute?"
"I think I can handle it."
There was a grin in Dalfour's voice that the turtle couldn't stand. The man's grip was tight, so tight around his throat that he still couldn't breathe. He tried to struggle, but the man leaned against him harder.
"I don't know what you are, critter, or where you came from, but you'll sooner move a mountain than move me."
The burning sensation in Raphael's chest came on sooner than he expected. I can hold my breath dagone it! Dalfour's vise grip felt like it was in danger of cracking his neck. His muscles were spasming under the brute's hand, and the drumbeat that had been running through his mind all day suddenly sounded a lot louder.
Darkness was tugging at the fringe of his vision by the time Dalfour let go, allowing the turtle to breathe for a couple of seconds before duct tape wound around his mouth. He wasn't sure he would have had the strength to yell again. Raphael was tired; too tired to continue holding up his head.
The turtle sagged against the metal grate and felt one tear form before everything went dark and even the chill in his bones faded to nothing.