Viper jerked his arms through the sleeves of his jacket with a loud growl, and shot another glare at the paling "technicians" sitting on the couch. "You said the signal was reliable! The only reason I went this route was because you two assured me it could be done!"
"I'm trying to tell you," one pleaded, scooting to the edge of the couch. "The problem doesn't exist with our equipment. We're well within the accepted range—"
Overwhelmed by sudden wrath, Viper yanked the man off the sofa by the collar of his shirt. "If there's nothing wrong with your equipment, why did we lose the signal?"
"We didn't!" the second insisted. "There's some kind of anomaly inhibiting the frequency!"
Viper threw the other man down on the couch and pointed his finger at the second. "You've got ten seconds to simplify that sentence!"
The man gulped for oxygen. "It's a type of interference. Something is blocking the frequency from being transmitted. It's not a coincidence. It would require a special type of technology to pull that off!"
Viper's eyes narrowed and he turned his head to make eye contact with Shade. "How long ago did you get the call about the cars that went through the barricade?"
"Twenty minutes, maybe?" Shade ventured. "But our guys on the ground said one of them was definitely a police car."
Viper shook his head. "This has nothing to do with the cops, at least, not the real ones. They're with the Phantoms."
"Viper, if they're not with the police, how'd they get past them?"
"That's not the part you should be concerned with!" Viper's irritation exploded. "They come on the scene, and suddenly something's magically jamming our radio signal? Do you need to see the writing on the wall, Shade? Someone is helping them!"
"Sir, there are still a lot of live explosives in the Gym," the first technician said carefully.
"Not to mention the smoke our guys on the ground saw," Shade added. "That whole place will be an inferno."
Viper walked calmly to his second and held his gaze dangerously. "Where are the men we assigned to the ground again?"
"They're…behind the barricade," Shade admitted.
"Which means there's no one to verify what's really happening at the Gym. I never should have agreed to take the lazy route. I should have overseen this myself from the beginning."
"Sir, we're working to find a solution to the problem—" the second wheedled.
"You can work from the car," Viper said coolly. "You're coming with us. Hurry up and pack your electronics, because I expect you to be at the front door in less than six minutes!"
The two men hopped to their feet, and Viper turned away from their mad rush to gather the tools they needed.
He caught Shade, and pulled his friend out of the room. "Go wake us up a crew, and make sure they're armed heavily. We are leaving in less than ten minutes."
Shade spun around and dashed up the stairs without even responding to him. Viper fished for the key to the gun locker off his chain while he stalked down the hallway. That's the last time I trust imbeciles to finish something for me. The old adage is true – you want something done right, do it yourself.
Donatello pawed through the contents of his damaged backpack, only half-listening to what Timothy was saying to him. He already knew what he needed to do, and nobody was going to talk him out of it. Isn't there anything that can help me? I picked the wrong night to travel light.
"Jazz is scanning the first floor, Donny!" Tim's voice cut through. "She's going to find us another opening."
"That's fine – you tell her to keep looking. In the meantime, I'm heading your direction to find out what the issue is."
"Don, Luke is insisting that you stay where you are," Timothy relayed.
"Please inform Doc that I'm on my way, and I'll meet all of you at the trap door."
"Donatello, you don't have to do this!"
"Neither did any of you! It's only a hundred feet, Tim. I have that much left in me."
"You could be in danger—"
"We're all in danger, and we need to get out of here as soon as possible! Let me try this, and then if I fail, you're free to go for Plan B!"
There was silence on Tim's end for several seconds, then—"All of us are in agreement that we'd rather the four of you stay together."
"You can't stop me," Don said matter-of-factly.
The man sighed. "You know there could still be live traps."
"No one is more aware of that than I am, Tim! I'm getting ready to move, and then I want you to stay on the radio with me while I attempt this, all right?"
"I don't like it."
"I don't like that any of you are here, and I won't allow you to lengthen your visit unnecessarily."
Donny felt around on the ground, selecting whatever small pieces of debris would fit within his palm. He stuffed them into his bag one-by-one, until his hand struck a paper sack. He withdrew the bag and stared at the remnants of his youngest brother's jawbreakers, now crushed to oblivion. The turtle gazed in the direction he needed to travel, and an idea came to him.
He mentally prepared himself for the pain, and used his bo to help him rise. Once he was on his feet Donatello stood still for a few moments, making certain he had enough strength to remain that way. He didn't care how much the jaunt hurt. Pain is temporary. I can push through it.
The purple-masked turtle tightly grasped his bo in one hand, and balled the candy bag in his other fist. "Okay, I'm up," he informed Tim. "I'm coming…"
"Keep talking to me so I know you're okay."
Donatello silently swore in his mind when he took his first steps. He wanted to scream, but he had a feeling that wouldn't help matters. He clenched his jaw shut instead, and worked his way slowly around the rubble rather than trying to step over anything. When he could see the bare floor again, he dropped a small handful of the colorful jawbreaker dust on the ground.
"I'm trying to leave you a trail," he mentioned to Tim. "That way, you'll know where it's safe to walk."
"You should only be focused with staying on your feet, Donny!"
"I've got this, Tim. I'm doing all right." The turtle took one deliberate step at a time, dropping more of the powder every couple of feet. If the smoke gets much worse in here, they probably won't be able to see it. I've got to hurry.
Donny hobbled forward unsteadily, leaning on his bo to help make up for the stability he felt was lacking. It's not that far. There's no more time to lose. Help is only a few yards away – all I have to do is get there.
"Hey, Donny? Jazz wants to cut in on you. She'd rather walk you through this herself."
"That's fine; I'll talk to her."
There was a short span of static over the line before he heard anything else.
"So you're being a stubborn shell-head, huh?" she demanded.
"You ought to know, Jazz. I seem to recall you refusing to stay where I told you to at Indian Point."
"That's not the same thing."
"Jazz, I don't have energy to argue, all right? It's getting hard to breathe in here. Just…make sure I stay on track."
"You have about 22 yards to go," she admitted.
"Then I'd better get my shell moving."
"Don't use up all your strength at once," Jazz warned him. "You don't know what else you might need it for. Take it slow and steady."
Donatello was tempted to ignore her, but the rational voice inside his head agreed. What he normally could have sprinted in seconds was taking agonizing minutes to perform, but the sensation of new adrenaline flowing through his veins was enough encouragement for him to hold his head higher.
"You're eventually going to have to skirt closer to the wall."
The turtle winced, though he knew the instruction was coming. He dreaded going near to the piled up trash that was pushed against the side of the building, fearing it harbored the strongest potential for hidden danger.
Donny took a few careful steps in the direction of the west wall and reached for his backpack. He dropped Mike's candy bag back inside, and fished out a small chunk of concrete around the size of a baseball. The turtle drew back his hand and threw his missile as hard as he could. When nothing happened, he took a couple more steps to the right, and selected another stone from his bag. He cast it toward the wall, straight down the path he needed to take to get to the trap door.
When there was no interaction, he was emboldened to pick up a little more speed. Again he reached into his open backpack and closed his hand around another rock. The turtle cast the test chunk farther yet, and hardly had time to see the flare-up before the concussion threw him backwards. He didn't have a chance to even take stock of is body before Jazz started yelling at him.
"Donny! Donny, what was that? Hello!"
He sat up with a groan, shooting an evil look at his injured leg. "That…was one of the booby-traps. They're intact, in case you were wondering."
"Are you all right?"
"'Bout the same as before," he answered, but getting back to his feet was definitely a longer process.
"You shouldn't go any closer, Don. I can find another way."
"I have a method here, Jazz. It's not perfect, but it's kind of working. I don't have much farther, do I?"
"It's like…ten more yards."
"Piece of cake," he muttered.
His left leg shook with exertion when he forced it to bear some of his weight, and Donatello knew he would have to go slower still. With the end goal in sight, however, he wasn't about to let the woman tell him to quit.
Donny systematically let a couple more rocks fly, but wasn't able to set off any more traps based on the motion of the stones alone. I hope that means there aren't more traps, and not that I'm getting worse at hitting them. He was so fixated on marking a straight line that was safe to walk in, he didn't see the roadblock of destruction until right before he ran into it.
The purple-masked turtle stared at the debris field for a long moment, and a terrible feeling clenched his gut. "Jazz…where is this trap door?"
"Not fifteen feet in front of you, Donny. There may be something concealing it, some carpeting or—"
"Or half the ceiling?" he exaggerated, but that was what it felt like.
The woman cursed. "Don't tell me."
"Yeah. Pretty sure it's buried."
Jazz swore louder. "I'm sorry! Give me a little more time to come up with something, and get off your feet."
Donatello looked over his shoulder. "We're about out of time, Jazz. I'm gonna make this work."
"Don, that's crazy!"
"Jazz, I have to try, okay?"
He poked his bo through the rubble, testing whether it would shift. Donatello lifted one leg at a time, stepping into the midst of the debris. "You need to tell me when I'm close. Don't let me do more work than I need to."
"You shouldn't be doing any of it!"
"I'm the one who's here. I already came this far, when none of you thought I could! Tell me what I have to do!"
"Just…keep walking, and I'll tell you when you're on top of it."
His steps felt more like a crawl as he struggled to climb over a larger obstacle in his path. Donatello traced his hands over the surface of a concrete divider, and hoisted himself on top of the rubble. His injured leg seized up on him, and sent the turtle to his knees on the opposite side.
Donny looked around for his bo, but couldn't see where it had fallen. He remained where he was for a couple of seconds, hoping for his strength to miraculously replenish.
"Donny?" Jazz called tentatively. "You've only got a couple of feet."
A steel support cut across the line he was traveling, and the turtle knew without a doubt that he was staring at the largest remaining hindrance to escaping with their lives. He licked dry lips as he willed himself to get up one more time. "I'm going for it, Jazz."
The purple-masked turtle stumbled twice before he could straighten out both legs. With halting steps he crossed the short distance that remained, and leaned heavily against the column. He pressed his shoulder against steel to check if it would roll, but the support didn't even shudder. Oh, come on. One side at a time. I can do this.
Donny bent his knees, grunting to overcome the pain that wanted him to fold. He took a couple of deep breaths and locked his arms for the difficult lift. He wasn't sure if the beam was more stuck than the one that'd fallen across Raphael or if he was simply weaker. He cried with exertion as he struggled to get one end off the floor.
Steel was airborne for all of three seconds before a new fiery pain lit through the front of his right shoulder, and radiated down the side of his arm. The column crashed to the floor a few inches to the left, and he nearly fell on top of it.
His chest heaved and tears stung his eyes while he hunched over the rubble. A dozen different curses ran through his mind, but he couldn't force his mouth to utter any of them.
"Donny?"
"Don't," he ordered through gritted teeth. "Oh, God, just don't."
"Don, you've got to talk to me!"
"Stop," he ordered weakly. "Leave me alone for a minute."
Donny rested his forehead against the column with the sensation that he'd reached the end of the road. He didn't feel like he had enough power to force his legs to continue supporting him. Shame mingled with the tears that ran down his face as he relinquished to the gravity pulling him toward the earth.
He sensed a flash of light against his closed eyelids and held his breath, expecting an accompanying explosion. When silence persisted he blinked rapidly, but couldn't make out his surroundings in the haze. For an instant he thought it was more smoke, but the cloud reflected too much brilliance. Something clicked in his mind and he remembered where he'd seen a similar phenomenon. Searching for Leo after the battle on Zuhur…the winged creature…
The recollection filled him with a sense of the same peace he'd experienced that night, even before they'd located the blue-masked turtle. When he blinked again he was consumed by normal darkness, and the smoke that was burning his lungs. But the urge to surrender had faltered; replaced with a resolve he didn't know still existed.
The turtle clutched his injured arm to his plastron, and tested his left hand against the column again. To his surprise it moved slightly, indicating it could possibly roll with more encouragement. He braced his side against steel, not trusting his remaining good shoulder with the task, and pushed against the support with all the strength he had left.
Donatello stopped and started three times, repetitively ramming his left side and then his shell against the column until it finally overturned and rolled a couple of feet. Panting, he turned around to gaze at the debris that remained and shook his head. "We're not going to die here!"
He reached for the first object in his way, casting aside a piece of concrete with his good arm. Donatello didn't think and tried not to feel anything as he dug through the destructive remnants to find the trap door. A mad burst of energy fueled him for a couple of minutes straight, and desperation to survive flooded every single muscle in his body.
He had to slow down as dizziness crashed over his skull. When Don realized he couldn't fight with the vertigo he lowered himself to the ground, but kept shifting, pushing, throwing whatever was light enough and within his reach to effect. A reverberating bang startled him suddenly; mostly because he felt the motion travel up through his legs.
Donatello looked down and understanding dawned on him. He struggled backwards, and twisted his body away from the hard surface he'd been kneeling on. That was when he saw the panel inch slightly off of the floor.