Chapter Four: Speed and Peace
Day Two
Tuesday, early morning
Wearing two shuko, or hand spikes for climbing, Don crouched atop a steel beam above a subway track, fuming. It's not so bad making me the hero of an action movie, but I'm a little upset about his choice of a victim. I hope the Gamer's on the train, just so I can kick him in the mouth. Of course then he'd ambush me, or pull another nasty trick. But that miserable worm doesn't know all my tricks yet.
A six-point-eight on the Richter Scale announced the speeding train's imminent arrival, and the turtle ran through his calculations one more time. Three-point-five-seven seconds after he seeing the train's beam, Don leapt off his perch.
He knew in that millisecond he had misjudged, but he hadn't figured out a device to lesson gravity's effect yet. Rather than landing on the roof as planned, Don spread-eagled on the train's windshield.
Ouch! was his first thought, followed rapidly by Shell!
Inside, Master Splinter, hog-tied and gagged, accepted his son's entrance as calmly as he would his afternoon tea. Is he okay? He looks okay... The hulking guard, however, jumped in a satisfying manner. In fact, he dented the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, the guard, likely the Gamer's right-hand man, appeared to be Hun's little brother: a mountain of a man with light brown skin and a tiny ponytail. He wore gray sweatpants, a leather gun holster, and a black t-shirt that barely contained his muscular chest and biceps.
We'll have a laugh at that—later. Leaving one shuko embedded in the glass, from his belt Don pulled out an acid pen to cut through the windshield, but several little obstacles arose. 1) It would take several priceless moments for the acid to sink in and do its job, 2) it was extremely difficult to even move, and 3) Little Brother had leveled a Sig Sauer on Master Splinter's head.
Don sheathed the acid pen and locked eyes with his sensei, who seemed to be asking a question; his eyes and body language said, 'Which lever, my son?'
The turtle scanned the controls and found the accelerator jammed all the way forward. 'That one, Sensei.'
In a movement surprisingly graceful and quick for one bound so thoroughly, Master Splinter lowered his head and jerked the lever back even as Little Brother started forward.
The entire train shuddered to a slightly less hazardous speed, and if it weren't for the shuko, Don would have fallen to a crushing death.
He chuckled nervously at this punny thought, then launched immediately into Keikaku Ni, Plan Two, by climbing up the windshield to the roof. He ignored what was happening inside the cabin; Little Brother surely would just continue to threaten his sensei, which was unwise for more than one reason. Besides, the point of the "level" was ostensibly for him to rescue Master Splinter, and the Gamer seemed like the kind of lunatic to command his cronies not to kill him too quickly because that would be boring. The Gamer is probably watching, Don suddenly realized as he arranged himself and his shuko atop the train roof. Ick. He turned his head to be able to breathe. Stop thinking about that. Focus on how to climb back across the top of the speeding subway train to get the door at the caboose.
Centering himself, the turtle began the treacherous journey.
Shell. Now I really feel like the hero of an action movie. Duck the signs with cool flips, don't get blown away, use the shuko, and do the whole thing backwards because of the shuko's forward-facing spikes.
The rooftop journey lasted both a decade and an instant; the next thing Don knew, he faced the caboose door. I hope I never have to do that again, he thought as he unlocked and burst through said door, knocking into a crowd of Foot ninjas.
"Sorry. Oh, you were just leaving? Let me help you. And you, you look like you could use a sit-down. Did you care to move to the opposite side of the car? Bye!"
In this manner, the turtle moved rapidly through the cars, well within his allotted timeframe for each, although he kept turning and expecting to see his brothers helping out, especially since they all had smaller weapons better suited to the close spaces. He hadn't even tried to bring his bo, but thankfully he was no slacker when it came to melee combat.
By the time he reached the locomotive, Don was wishing for another coffee, preferably a vat of espresso. Taking a gulp of air, he touched the door.
A gunshot ripped the air; Don's heart stopped.
He yanked the door open—
But no, Little Brother's smoking Sig Sauer was pointed at the controls, the lights of which had just dimmed.
Well, to say that's a relief would be an understatement.
Little Brother turned toward him with a leer and a mumbled threat.
Don cocked his head. "Rat got your tongue, Little Brother?"
Confusion and rage flickered in the mountain's cappuccino eyes.
The turtle shook himself. Stop thinking about coffee. You are not addicted. "The rat in question would obviously be my sensei," Don said, giving a quick bow in the direction of Master Splinter, who was now tied away from the controls, "And by Little Brother, I mean you remind me of Hun. You know, really big guy under the Shredder?"
Little Brother growled.
"But I'm willing to call you by your real name." Don tried to move past the man toward Splinter, only to have Little Brother block his way with another inarticulate noise.
Don raised an eyebrow ridge. "Is your tongue cut out or something?"
Little Brother tilted his head slightly, and then his stance subtlety changed.
The turtle tensed and was thus ready to duck when Little Brother sent out a well-aimed trunk of an arm. Don followed this movement up with a palm strike, and suddenly it was a fast-paced, hand-to-hand battle.
Block, kick, dragon punch, duck, block, punch-this guy is a tank; I really wish I had backup—kick, strike—
It ended abruptly when Little Brother's tree arms broke through Don's defenses, picked him up by his plastron and shell, and threw him against a wall.
Ooh… pretty stars… ow… my head…
In his haze, Don realized he was defenseless. I'm going to die. I'm sorry, Leo, Raph, Mikey… I failed you, Father.
Then his head cleared enough to register the beast's meaty footsteps retreating down the length of the train.
Oh. I guess the Gamer's not done playing with me yet. Lucky me.
Don shook his head clear and climbed to his feet. Okay, where were we? Train speeding recklessly on its tracks? Bad guy retreating? Not a good place to be.
With a tanto, Don freed his father. "Are you okay, Sensei?" He said, even as he ripped off a panel to assess the controls and the situation. "Shell, he managed to shoot the controls. Okay, Don, think. I can fix it enough to stop the accelerator and put the brakes on," he rapidly thought aloud even as he began to twist wires together. "Does the train have enough time to stop before it hits the end of the line?" The Gamer had been sure to tell him that part in great detail.
Don found a working computer monitor with a map and calculated-
Shell! Some of the Foot will still be unconscious!
Eyes glued to his work, Donatello spoke over his shoulder to Master Splinter. "Sensei, please start moving toward the exit. I'll be right behind you." If I'm not dead.
"My son." Splinter laid a furry hand on his shoulder.
"Please get off the train, Sensei." Don hoped his uncertainty didn't show in his voice.
"Hurry, my son."
As soft footfalls signaled Splinter's exit, Don's emergency timer kicked in, counting backwards. Palladium, rhodium, ruthenium...
Don's six clever fingers flew, unheeding as he sliced one on a sharp metal corner.
Strontium, rubidium, krypton...
The turtle really wished he had the tools in his duffel. Instead he made do with the multitool he had stuck in his belt.
Gallium, zinc, copper...
This is a really bad time for you to need new batteries.
Iron, magnanese, chromium...
Don leapt upright, ground the gears from full-speed to full-stop, and yanked the regular and the emergency brakes on.
Calcium, potassium, argon...
Don ran, darting past scattered semiconscious Foot, sacrificing lungpower to bellow, "Get off the train now!"
Aluminum, magnesium, sodium...
Past the halfway point. The entire train screamed and shuddered as it tried to slow down. Don wished he could cover his ears.
Oxygen, nitrogen, carbon...
Don collided with the caboose door a fleeing Foot had just closed in his face. Oof. You're welcome.
Boron, beryllium, lithium...
He jumped off the still-speeding train, immediately tucking into a roll.
Ouch. He hit the hot rail hard with his shoulder.
Then the world exploded with a mighty roar. Shuddering in honest terror, Don curled up as tight as possible, his shell facing the danger, and waited for it to either reach him or subside. The horrible cacophony engulfed him, and he felt both a blast of heat and debris bounce off his shell.
In another moment, he heard a distant, quiet voice call his name. "Donatello! My son! Are you alright?"
Dazed, Don uncurled and looked up to the silhouette of his teacher, sensei, and father.
He sat up. All around were Foot ninjas making their way toward a service door. Behind him smoldered and groaned the wrecked remains of a subway train, but before him stood the concerned Master Splinter, waiting for an answer. Though his ears rang and his shoulder started to throb like fire, Don heaved himself to his feet and smiled. "Yes, Sensei," he said. "I'm okay."
Splinter's ears twitched. "Except for being alidadev," he whispered.
"What?"
"Except for being a little deaf." Humor winked in Splinter's dark eyes.
"Oh. Well, are you okay, Sensei?"
"I am fine, my son; just a little hungry." He indicated a grated entrance to the sewers, and the pair began walking. Don discovered he'd also hurt his opposite knee somewhere in the evening. Well, early morning, technically.
"But…" Don struggled to order his thoughts. "Mikey said he thought you were hardly breathing, on the phone in the van…"
"You are knowledgeable about many things, Donatello," Splinter said, a smile in his voice, "but in some areas you are but a novice."
Don nodded slowly. Of course. Master Splinter always has a trick up his sleeve. I bet he dropped himself into some sort of healing sleep for the past couple of hours. I'll offer him painkillers, tea, and whatever once we get back to the Lair.
"So, my son. Tell me, what is the situation?"
Tuesday, midmorning
Sunlight warmed Raphael's face. Soft, fluffy moss pillowed beneath him. Birds twittered overhead. Something with a number of legs crawled across his leg.
With a bellow, Raph jerked upright, ready to kill it. "I hate bugs!"
The bug in question—a large black ant—fled, and after the turtle made sure there weren't any others, he relaxed enough to survey his surroundings. The mighty, reddish-brown trunks of trees sheltered the peaceful, mossy clearing. Lush ferns, ruffled as a warm breeze whispered through, cushioned the forest floor. Small hills dressed in green receded into the distance like a comfortable, lumpy blanket. The total effect was beautiful and soothing, like a calming oil painting.
Raph yawned, then caught himself. "Why am I comparin' everthin' ta sleepy stuff?" he asked himself in disgust. "I jus' woke up, and I wasn't out that late last night wi' Casey—Casey! Shell!"
He reached for his sais, found only one, and gripped it tightly. "Is it still the drugs, or is this place enchanted ta make me forget what happened? Where am I, an' where's Casey?"
No one answered him.
After a moment, Raph sheathed his sai. "Okay, this ain't totally new. I've woken up all alone in a strange place before—but usually it's a strange jail cell." He started to pace. "Okay, last night Casey an' me got inta a fight wi' some goons, Foot mixed in wi' some I didn't recognize. Then Donnie calls us to get the shell outta there; they've got th' others. Casey gets hit by a dart and disappears, then a minute later I get hit." Raph sighed and looked up. "Okay, Donnie. Tried it yer way, an' it didn't help. Now let's try it Mikey's way.
"HELLO?"
The birds quieted for a moment at this shout, then resumed their chatter.
"Shell. Okay, no people nearby." Raph caught himself yawning again. "Cut that out! Maybe it's an effect of that drug. I better start moving."
He did so, keeping the sun to his left, so that, assuming it was morning, he'd be heading roughly south. "See, Leo? I do plan sometimes."
Though his sleepiness increased rather than abated, Raph enjoyed his forest walk. Everything seemed happy and peaceful here, and the bugs left him alone for the most part. Perhaps it was something in the air or his tiredness, but Raph could not think of worrisome things—how he got here, if Casey was okay, how Don said the others were captured, and how Don was undoubtedly looking for and worried about him. The idea also briefly occurred to him that perhaps the drug in the dart had been hallucinogenic, and he now imagined the entire forest. But as soon as these thoughts drifted into his mind, they drifted out. Instead, Raph had the unique experience of contemplating birdcalls and different types of ferns.
"HEY! I AM NOT DONNIE!" Raph shouted. Birds on nearby branches startled, and he chuckled. "That one sounded like Mikey when I'm chasin' him after he wakes me up. I hope the little knucklehead's okay. Hey, I think those're fox prints over there."
In another twenty or thirty minutes Raph was nodding, so he found a cool, sheltered nook beneath a bush where he could lean against a tree, out of easy sight. The moment he sat down, he slipped into deep, easy slumber.