Chapter 38 –Panic-
~~~

Agent John Bishop watched through a window of one-way glass as the turtle once again tested the strength of the restraints holding him to the vivisection table. He frowned as the terrapin, giving in to frustration, strained with all its might against the bands. The computer monitor beside him beeped quietly, indicating a dramatic rise in heart rate.

Could he possibly know he's impregnated the woman? thought Bishop. But she wasn't aware of the pregnancy herself. Not surprising, since she's only a few weeks along.

Donatello's eyes were closed now and he was drawing deep, slow breaths. Still, the monitor indicated his heart rate was out of control. A scowl crossed the man's features. It was almost as if the creature was panicking. When he'd captured the Turtles previously, they had made most satisfactory subjects, because throughout their containment none of them had ever lost its head. It was almost as if they were intelligent, sentient creatures.

Never once had any of them pleaded for their lives, begged for mercy. Leonardo, in particular, had met his gaze with a cold, calculating fury. Of the four, only Donatello seemed less likely to lose control, to allow his animal instincts to take over. He'd seemed level-headed, as well as incredibly intelligent. But now, as Bishop watched, he was losing his struggle against fear and seemed on the verge of hysteria.

Could this be a recurrence of the Outbreak virus? Yet there doesn't seem to be any sign of the secondary mutation.

Donatello was struggling again, pulling at the restraints, particularly those binding his wrists. If he didn't stop soon, he would injure himself. Bishop moved toward the intercom, pushing the button more firmly than strictly necessary.

"Doctor Merriner."

"Yes, Agent Bishop?"

"Come to Laboratory 23 immediately. Bring your collection equipment and a sedative."

"Yes, Sir."

Bishop watched through the glass as the mutant became more and more distressed. In the five minutes it took his scientist assistant to enter the room, his struggles had become increasingly more frantic until Bishop was certain he would injure himself.

We can't have that, now, can we? A damaged specimen is of little use to me. He'll have to be sedated and contained. Blast.

Scowling, the man left the observation area and entered the room where Dr. Merriner was struggling to take a simple blood sample from the thrashing terrapin.

"No! No, let me go! Not again…" The turtle's voice was hoarse with terror and despair. "Let me go!"

"Donatello," Bishop spoke sharply.

The turtle's brown eyes snapped to his face, but its gaze was unseeing, distant. "Jack… let me go…"

Doctor Merriner shot a confused glance at his superior officer, but Bishop was as perplexed as the scientist.

Jack? Could he possibly be referring to the woman's brother?

Moving forward, he deftly pinned the mutant's arm, allowing the doctor to slide a needle into his vein and draw off several vials of blood. Donatello squirmed, turning his face away. Bishop scowled as whimpers of terror sounded in the turtle's throat. Perhaps he had overestimated the creature. It was, after all, only a freak of nature.

Doctor Merriner was preparing a petri dish and a small disposable scalpel. "Should I administer the sedative now?" he asked.

Bishop shook his head. "No. I don't want the samples tainted. Just take what you need."

Merriner nodded, businesslike. He leaned forward and sank the small blade into the mutant's arm, cutting deeply enough to remove a small slice of skin and muscle tissue. An unholy sound came from the turtle. He went rigid, arcing against the table, jerking so hard against the restraints even Bishop couldn't hold him completely still. Merriner swore as blood welled from the wound, pouring out in a small, crimson stream.

"Call in reinforcements. Now," snapped Bishop. "I'll hold him."

Merriner nodded, pale, and rushed over to the door, where a panic button was mounted on the wall. Flipping up the plastic covering, he slapped it. Almost immediately guards poured into the room.

"Restrain the subject," snapped Bishop. Four men piled on to the mutant's flailing limbs, pinning him firmly to the table.

"Administer the sedative, Doctor," said Bishop calmly, standing up and straightening his jacket. Merriner nodded. With shaky hands, he inserted a hypo into the turtle's arm. In moments, the creature's desperate thrashing ceased and he went limp against the table.

"Clean him up and prepare him for preservation containment," snapped Bishop, obviously annoyed. He turned and left the room without so much as looking back.

"Yes, Sir," said Merriner automatically, his attention already diverted by the sample in his hands.

It can wait, thought the scientist, turning away from the unconscious mutant on the table. First, I'm going to get these cells under a microscope and see exactly what you're made of.

***

Drifting… a memory of warm, strong arms around her, brown eyes gazing into hers with such gentle devotion. Beverly Hamto curled up on the narrow mattress she'd been provided with, bringing her knees up protectively over her abdomen.

A baby. Donny and I…

Of course, there was a distinct chance the mad-man was lying. A very good chance indeed. But why should he lie about something like that? What purpose could it possibly serve?

Tears slid silently down Beverly's cheeks. Donny… It can't end this way. It can't. I've only had a few years with you. We've been so happy! And a baby… A baby. Oh, Don. You would've made an amazing father. You will make an amazing father. Bishop's not going to get away with this. We're going to get out of here. Somehow.

She lay there for a long time, cuddling around the precious treasure in her womb. Until this point, she'd contemplated death with relative detachment, her only deep and painful regret the thought of leaving Donatello behind, alone, to grieve for her.

She knew her own death would tear him apart. Donatello and his brothers had known so little of acceptance and love… He couldn't help but be dependent on their relationship.

His brothers will take care of him, she told herself, though the fierce ache burned in her chest. He'll be ok. He'll get over it. In time. Still… She didn't want to leave him. She didn't want to die. But now… Now desperation and fury burned in her chest.

He is not taking this baby. He is not, she thought. He's not taking this chance away from Don and I. At least Donny doesn't know. If I… lose the baby, it won't destroy him the way it would've if he'd gotten a hold of Austin. They knew about her pregnancy. Losing it would have been devastating to the family. No one knows about this. If… if I can't protect the fetus, I can't ever let them know I was pregnant to begin with.

Hot tears slid down Beverly's cheeks.

I'm so sorry, baby. I've only known about you for a few hours. I haven't even felt you move yet. And you deserve a chance, a chance to live. A chance to know what an amazing Dad you have. I only hope you get it. I just hope I can protect you long enough for your uncles to get us out of here.

For the first time, Beverly allowed herself to consider Bishop's words. My men told me the rat had been hit. Splinter… The idea of Splinter, injured, tore at Beverly.

He's been like a father to me. To all of us. He's fought so hard for so long to keep them all safe and yet he allowed me and the others in to their family. He took a chance on us and now he's risked his life to try and save me. God… if you're real, if you're out there… don't take him. Please… Donny's going to need him… they all need him. Please, don't take him away from us.

Beverly sat up quite suddenly, sniffing. Enough of this. Enough feeling sorry for myself. I've got to think… to plan. I can't keep sitting around and waiting for the boys to come and save me. It's time I did something for myself. They haven't been teaching me self defense techniques for nothing. They've been preparing Ann and me for something just like this, so we could protect ourselves if they weren't there. Well, Beverly, it's time to put those skills to use.

She drew deep, steadying breaths, mentally preparing herself. Remember to breathe… Donatello's voice echoed in her memory, soft, familiar, soothing… She blinked back the tears, concentrating. That's it. Draw deep breaths into your lungs, let them out slowly. Let your spirit be still, calm. Allow yourself to be aware of your surroundings…

Slowly, Beverly's breathing slowed. She relaxed, but at the same time she felt more aware. She could hear the faint sounds of someone moving around behind the one-way glass, the rustle of clothing, the squeak of shoes on the floor. Beverly bit the inside of her lip, but forced herself to stay still and quiet.

If they think I'm asleep, they'll be more comfortable… less on their guard.

The minutes passed slowly. Beverly practiced her limited meditation skills, forcing her breathing to remain steady and even, feigning sleep. Sure enough, after she'd lain their long enough to nearly fall asleep in actuality, the sounds from the observation room diminished until she was sure no one was watching from the other side of the glass.

A new thought struck the woman. The ones who bring the food are soldiers. Trained… I don't have much chance against them. But if I could get out of here... if I could get into the next room, maybe I can find a way out.

Slowly, cautiously, she sat up and looked around the room. There wasn't much. A thin pillow and blanket graced the bed. In the corner, a small toilet with a curtain hanging on a track like those in the hospital, for some semblance of privacy, for which Beverly had been deeply grateful.

The toilet was smaller than those usually found in a home. The tank was one molded piece, sealed, so that there was no heavy lid for her to remove and use for a weapon. The seat… the seat was a solid affair, attached with plastic hinges to the rest of the unit. Beverly's eyes narrowed. If she could only…

She made her way across the room and inspected the commode. She lifted the seat experimentally, examining the hinges. Simple plastic. Beverly smiled grimly.

If this doesn't work, I have a feeling my comforts will be greatly reduced from here on out, she thought. I wonder what the penalty is for destroying government property? Oh well, I don't really intend to hang around long enough to find out.

Bracing herself, she pulled at the lid, deliberately twisting. The first hinge came loose with a reverberating snap which had her flinching, expecting an influx of shouting guards at any moment. Nothing happened. Beverly worked frantically, twisting the seat this way and that, until the second plastic hinge reluctantly gave way.

Now, if it's strong enough and I can just get enough force… She slowly approached the window, forcing herself to breathe slowly and quietly. Still no sound from the other side of the glass.

Well, there's no turning back now. Beverly swung the seat at the mirrored glass. It bounced harmlessly off, sending shock waves down her arms. The woman frowned. She took a better hold on her unconventional weapon and braced herself, this time swinging with more force and determination. The seat bounced back again and a growl of frustration escaped the woman. A third time she slammed the solid plastic against the glass. This time there was a crack. Beverly was elated for an instant… until she saw the thin line across the seat's lid. It had broken. Undeterred, she attacked the glass again. It took three more solid blows, and she was beginning to despair, when the glass suddenly shattered under her assault, raining down in countless tiny squares.

Well, I'll be. Tempered glass. Beverly smirked with triumph. Picking her way through the mess, she examined the room beyond. To her great relief, it was dark and empty save for the glow of a computer screen. Her vandalism had, so far, gone undetected. Snatching the blanket from the bed, she carefully laid it over the window frame before clamoring through the opening.

Once in the observation area, Beverly hesitated. Her first instinct was to stay here in this smaller, darker room. It felt safe, rather like the Lair. She knew she'd be discovered almost immediately if she stayed here. She would have to get out.

Turning to the computer, she pushed a button. Immediately a screen popped up, asking for a password, with a timer underneath, counting off 30 seconds.

Beverly bit her lip, frowning. She'd hoped to find something useful, like a map of the place, but it looked like the thing was rigged to shut down if she didn't enter an appropriate code in the allotted time.

This is your area of expertise, Donny, she thought ruefully. I should've paid more attention when you were trying to teach me about computers. Abandoning the computer to its fate, she slipped toward the door. Amazingly, the hall beyond was still silent. No one had discovered her escape yet. Slowly, cautiously, she pushed the door open.

Beverly was so intent on scanning the hall for anyone who might stop her, she completely failed to notice the small card-slot next to the door, and the light that switched from green to red and began flashing a warning when the latch was opened without proper authorization. No one could've missed the klaxon that sounded ten seconds later, though. Beverly jumped and jerked the door instinctively open, every nerve in her body screaming one command: Run.

Run she did, tearing down the hall, dashing for the nearest door that looked like it went somewhere… anywhere but this insane prison. She darted through a door and came into a hall, lined with more doors. With a sob, Beverly threw herself at the nearest one.

Before she could touch it, it swung open. A man was coming out, muttering over the petri dish he was carrying. Beverly backpedaled, her eyes going wide with horror. The man looked up, and started toward her with a frown, but she froze, staring beyond him, through the still-open door. She'd caught a glimpse of familiar green. She charged forward, crashing into the scientist and knocking him back as she rushed past him into the room. Donatello was strapped to some sort of table. He didn't respond to her scream, to the hysterical voice desperately calling his name. Blood pooled on the floor under one arm and his skin, under Beverly's fingers, was cold, reminding her horribly of the day she'd first seen him, a tormented prisoner held captive by her insane brother.

"Donny!" She clutched at him, her fingers dragging across his smooth plastron plates as she was grabbed from behind by rough hands and pulled away.