MARK OF THE BEAST II: EXODUS

Needless to say, I was frazzled. My heart was still racing when we crossed into Connecticut, though that may have been from my mistrust about Raph driving the Battle Shell on a crowded parkway at night. Mike had elected himself co-pilot and DJ, which normally left me wishing I'd brought earplugs, but there was something soothing in the repetitive chorus of "We gon' be alright, we gon' be alright. Do you hear me? Do you feel me? We gon' be alright…" that I'd never known to come from hip-hop music before. Leo's foot tapped gently to the beat as he lied on the floor behind me, while I typed away at the screen in the side of the van.

"They got what they wanted." I sighed, dropping my head to the keyboard in angst. "All my equipment in the lab went offline. I don't think they'll be able to crack the encryption on my research, but they have all the prototypes and every last drop of the samples."

"Yeah, and the PS3 too." Mike moped. "Major bummer."

"They didn't get everything they wanted." Leo murmured. "The Foot won't rest until either we're dead, or Karai is."

"Maybe at one point, there was a chance she'd leave us alone for a while. I threw that out the window when I cashed my last paycheck. Now we're homeless…" I could feel a tear start to spill down my cheek. "…And it's my fault."

"C'mon, Donster." Mike soothed from the front, face aglow with the pale light of the MP3 player and changed the song. "You got out of getting beat up once today. No need for you to do it to yourself after all that." We listened in silence to the next song on the album, and I remember being entranced for a verse, feeling like revelation had been achieved as it ended with, "I know how people work, I know the price of life; I'm knowin' how much it's worth. I know what I know, and I know it well not to ever forget, until I realized I didn't know shit, the day I came home." After all the trash-talk I'd given Raph and Mike about hip-hop over the years, I made a mental note to add Kendrick Lamar to the growing list of poets I'd set out to read.

For three hours we cruised, particular artist had an eerily through the plains and gentle hills of New England, each of us dozing off at some point as Raph and I switched seats. Finally, as the monotony of the left lane threatened to lull me to sleep, we turned onto a familiar dirt road, and miles down, again onto along gravel driveway. Against the country moon behind it, the outline of the farmhouse stood darkly. The tires crunched to a slow halt, and as I killed the engine, a light flicked on from the porch. In seconds, the screen door flew open, and a wild-eyed bearded figure appeared, clutching a tarnished shotgun in his hands.

As he squinted his eyes, examining our vehicle more closely, he set the gun down in the doorframe and scratched his chest hair through his unbuttoned flannel shirt.

"You guys are major assholes, you know that? Sending all our calls straight to voicemail, then showing up unannounced in the middle of the night? Geez, it's like you want to give me a heart attack!"

"Yeah, well at least we ain't raggedy-ass Berkshire hillbillies." Raph chuckled, bumping his fist to Casey's before wrapping him in a hug. "What, you vacation up here for three months, and you've already gone native?"

"Had to some time, and it ain't a vacation no more. Ape and I decided we're gonna stay here until we can afford a bigger place in the city. The apartment's no place to raise a kid."

"What, you think a rickety old barn is better?" Mike asked. "Being a kid out here in the sticks must suck. Can't skateboard on gravel, yo."

"I'll have you know I've been fixing this place up all autumn. Gotta have it ready for planting in the spring." Casey answered with pride. "No point in dropping all that money to get the cows if the barn's gonna collapse on 'em."

"Shit, Case, you've gone full country bumpkin. Did we just interrupt banjo practice?" Raph smirked.

"Only thing you're interrupting was us watching the news, trying to find out if you motherfuckers were still alive." Casey snarled back, leading us into the house as he snatched the gun from the doorframe. "Babe, we've got company." He hollered into the living room before we entered. Wrapped in fleece blankets like a human burrito, snuggled into the couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry's in hand, April O'Neil laid eyes on me for the first time in months.

"Oh my god, you're okay!" She sighed with relief. I bent down to hug her on the couch, not wanting to make her stand. "Did you not get our calls?"

"I took the batteries out of all our phones on the drive here. Couldn't risk getting trailed." I explained.

"Well, expect about a hundred voicemails when you turn them back on." She scolded. "We watched the broadcast and everything. You gotta hear what they're saying about you." She turned up the volume.

"…With the government offering three hundred thousand dollars for the location of the aliens. In addition, a private trust, the Oroku Saki Memorial Foundation, has committed to using their satellite technology to aid law enforcement with their hunt." The channel turned to a steaming old pundit lecturing the guest on his show.

"…So isn't it clear the government's hiding how much they know about these creatures? This is what happens when Big Government is allowed to run places like Area 51 or Three Mile Island." Again, April changed the channel, and a portly man in military brass was poised sternly behind a podium.

"We don't know why sentient, non-human life decided to live among us now, or how many more are out there. But I promise you this: they will be found, and we're going to learn what they're doing here. No one can hide from the world."

For the curious, Mike's album is "To Pimp A Butterfly", and I featured snippets of "Alright" and "Momma", which I highly recommend to even non-rap fanatics.

Thanks for reading!