Splinter died protecting them. April knew that, although she hadn't witnessed the old rat's murder. She clearly remembered the night Michelangelo had gasped out the news and fallen senseless on her carpet, heartbroken and bleeding from a half dozen wounds. As she dragged him onto her sofa to clean and dress his injuries, April felt almost calm. There had to be some explanation for why it couldn't be true. Later, Mike and the others couldn't--or wouldn't--tell her what had happened.
She'd been in the Asylum a few years when she'd begun playing her game, inventing the Scenarios. Splinter's death was different in each one. They were all very sad, except for one version where Splinter actually escaped and was in hiding, waiting for the four turtles to reunite and reclaim the city from the Shredder. Pathetic of her, really—there didn't seem much hope of that ever happening. In Shredder's world, you didn't rise from the ashes. You choked on them, every day.
But what came after?
She was pretty sure that Splinter was in some version of heaven…probably not one with a bunch of cherubs sitting on clouds. In April's imagination, it was more like a peaceful Zen garden: waterfalls, green lawns, plenty of interesting bonsai and flowers. There had to be a dramatic mountain view, just so things wouldn't get too boring. And Tang Shen must be there, with Master Yoshi...together and happy.
There were days when she'd give anything for Splinter's wisdom and kind words, but she was fairly certain that she wasn't going to make it to that heaven. Could she ever be worthy?
Sometimes she'd almost laugh trying to picture Casey's afterlife. She was fairly certain she'd be welcome there, that it would probably resemble most of the set from Roadhouse, and it would smell like spilled beer and peanut shells and sports. Would Casey recognize her if she died tomorrow and walked through the swinging saloon doors? What song would they dance to first?
"Finally, I get to see you smile."
She looked up at Spader, who was keeping pace with her, a grin cracking across his lean face.
"Spader, why the mask?"
"Utrom technology. It's saved my life on more than one occasion."
"Well, I can understand that. But you wear it all the time."
Spader shrugged uncomfortably and adjusted the insignia on his shoulder; he'd traded his brightly patched cloak for the standard grey Resistance uniform. We're on official business, so I gotta look more official, he'd told her.
"After a while, stuff like that becomes part of your personality, you know? I wear it because…I wear it. Mike wears his all the time and you don't question it."
"What did you do before all this?" she waved a hand vaguely at the towering piles of debris that lined both sides of the street. A flock of seagulls rose, complaining, from a wharf on the nearby East River. The air smelled like rot.
"I was only in high school when Shredder took over. I made Eagle Scout that year…"
"Shh…did you hear that?"
Spader froze, then pulled her behind an abandoned truck. They waited, but the only sound came from the shrieking gulls overhead.
"I think it's okay. C'mon, the Vault is only two blocks away. But we have to be careful; the street is pretty heavily booby-trapped from here on in. Casey had to make sure that no unexpected visitors could get inside," he explained.
"I remember," she said suddenly. She had been there that day, when Casey and Raph laid out the plans for a series of traps. "Follow me."
She peeked out from behind the truck; the pavement ahead was webbed with cracks. It looked suddenly unfamiliar. A stray piece of litter blew across the street, catching April in the arm. Impatiently she waved it away. First, she had to make it to the lamppost—or was it the bench?
"Are you sure—"
Ignoring Spader, April forced her stiffening legs into a painful run from behind the rusting Ford, closing the distance to the lamppost with more speed than she dreamed she had. Her sneakers left the pavement seconds before she would have collided with the post, hands reaching for the broken crossbar that swung nine feet over the street.
She missed.
As she fell, April could hear the trapdoor opening below, and the rusty creak of subterranean metal spikes rising to butcher her. Damn Casey and his sick Indiana Jones fantasies.
He caught her, and the world became a dizzying series of leaps and rolls. The street, the sky, the piles of refuse, then the street again—all seemed to be whirling toward her at once. When he finally set her on her feet she clutched onto his arm for dear life before sliding to her knees, waiting for her second spectacular vomiting session in two days.
It was over fairly quickly, and stank of Chinese food.
"Thanks for the rescue. Guess my memory isn't as clear as I thought."
"Guess not."
April jerked her head up at the sound of a gruff voice that was definitely not Spader's.
His appearance came as no surprise; she had been there the day he lost his eye. Nicotine-stained fingers toyed nervously with the sai in his belt, half-hidden beneath the worn leather jacket.
"You done pukin' April, or should I wait to hug you?"
"Raphael," she said weakly, accepting the hand he held out to her. She felt her body tense as Angel's Second lifted her easily to her feet and gave her a rough hug. He gripped her shoulders, voice raw with emotion.
"If I'd known you were still alive, April…if Leo or Mike would have told me you were in that damned place…I would have busted you outta there in a heartbeat."
"Raphael, even if you had known, there's nothing you could have done."
Dark brown eyes, almost black, held hers. "Then I would have died trying."
"Um…we're going to the same place?"
"The Vault. Yeah, this is it all right. I haven't been here in years. We need the ceremonial gear for the…for the fight."
"So I heard you're standing with Angel," April began, figuring it would be better to get a conversation this awkward over with as quickly as possible. She broke off as she noticed Raph looking questioningly over her shoulder.
"Who's the kid?"
April stared in wonder: the child standing behind her wore Spader's mask and was about 10 years old with spiky blond hair, a bandaged forehead, and a crossbow slung over his shoulder. He also looked about ready to jump out of his skin.
"That's Sp…uh…that's…Greg," April lamely corrected herself, seeing the plea in the child's wide blue eyes. "He's my guide; the city's changed a lot since I was arrested."
"Hey, kid," Raph nodded.
"Hi," the boy squeaked.
"Let me go first," Raphael cautioned. "There's more dangerous stuff in here, but I can knock out the traps as we go." He turned to the crumbling façade of a building that had once been a credit union and started prying open one of the heavy doors.
"What's with the disguise?" April whispered to Spader. "Raph's on our side. Mostly. Except for when I fight Angel. Ugh…this is weird."
"If I don't disguise myself, he'll kill me," the boy said flatly.
"Not while I'm around he won't."
"Don't be so sure. He's crazy."
"Don't call him that!" April hissed.
"We have a history, me and Raph. I pissed him off one too many times. Long story. He vowed to kill me the last time. And he could, easily. Anyway, if you want me to keep helping you, I'd prefer to do it without a sai sticking out of my chest. And couldn't you have picked a better name? 'Greg'? I'm a freedom fighter, not a male flight attendant." He thought for a minute. "Or a Brady."
They were interrupted by the sharp snick of a sai successfully lining up the tumblers in a giant lock. The door opened on silent, massive hinges.
"Okay, I think I've got it—now pay attention: stay to the right, I mean hug the wall if you have to. We need to get down to the lower level." Raph disappeared into the shadowy room beyond.
Spader raised his crossbow with one hand and laid the other over his chest. "Be a sweetheart and try not to give me away, kay?" He followed the turtle into the gloom.
April tried to stride forward bravely, tripped over some debris, sighed, and plunged in after them.
The tour down to the Vault was uneventful. Raph popped every trap and told them which floor tiles concealed Explosives of Death or Pits of Doom. "That's what Casey loved to call them," he recalled with a chuckle. "That guy knew how to name his booby traps."
Beneath the mausoleum-like bank was a gaping vault, which Raphael avoided; instead, he headed for a small metal door that concealed a service elevator. They squeezed inside, Spader careful to position April between himself and the ninja.
"What're you supposed to be, kid? The Lone Ranger?"
"Heh," squeaked Spader.
"Hard to believe Mikey would send you out with just some kid to show you the way, April. If my little brother's not takin' care of you, I might have to have a word with him."
"Uh, yeah, Mike was just really busy today, getting ready for the fight and such."
"Kid's mask actually looks kind of familiar…"
"So, Raph, what exactly are we going to find in this place?" April broke in hurriedly, wondering how it was possible that they were crammed into the Slowest Elevator in History.
"Your fightin' gear, April. This is where Casey stored everything he thought the Resistance would need to hold itself together. There's copies of the Purpose, and maps and things, and souvenirs from our earlier battles with the Shredder to keep us motivated." He lowered his voice and stared at the floor of the elevator for a moment. "And it's where we're storing all of Donny's stuff—his books, his plans and charts and whatall. Ya know, for when he comes back."
He yanked open the metal grating and they stepped out of the suffocating box.
"And there's these," he continued, lifting a spotless white mask from a shelf. April shivered. Funny, when Casey used to wear his hockey mask, it sort of turned her on. Now it was just a skull she was supposed to strap on over her face. She willed her hands to stop trembling as she took it from him.
"Why did you guys write the combat rules this way, Raph? Why these?" she asked as she slid it into place. It made her voice sound far away while her breath echoed eerily.
Raphael took another mask for Angel. Then he began stuffing a golf bag full of weapons. April watched as he added a five iron, then a cricket bat, a pair of ice and field hockey sticks, a driver, a baseball bat….
"Because Casey and Raph's Resistance has to be badass, right Kid?" Raphael ruffled Spader's hair as he twirled a badminton racquet and stuffed it into the bag.
Well, at least that one won't hurt that much, April thought.
Raphael seemed to have the same thought, for he frowned and replaced the racquet with a three-wood. Then he unexpectedly pressed the leather handle of the bag into her hands.
"I wanted to make sure you got the good stuff, April."
"Why are you doing this, Raphael? Why are you standing with her?" She couldn't keep the sound of pain and betrayal from her voice.
He mechanically slid some weapons into a second, more worn golf bag.
"Kid, maybe you should go wait in the elevator, okay? Wow, that kid sure can move fast. Anyway," he cleared his throat, "Angel's my…we're sorta…we've been through a lot together over the past ten years," he finished quickly. "There were times when we both thought the whole Resistance was done for, but we brought it back from the edge. She's saved my shell, I've saved hers. She needs me, April. Not just for your fight, but for a whole lot of reasons."
April raised an eyebrow and was rewarded by the green equivalent of a blush.
"Yeah, okay, she's my girl. But she's losing control of the organization, April. There's somethin' going on in the movement. We've got a leak. First it was the locations of our field hospitals, then the ammo dump. We've had to move headquarters twice in the last eight months. Someone's spilling our secrets to the Shredder, and we've paid for it in lives. Kids as young as that one, dead on the front lines. I gotta be there tonight because I think something's going to go down, if you know what I mean."
"What, like an insurrection? A coup? Does Angel think so too?"
"She's fighting tooth and nail to stay on top of everything, but right now we both think only the Commandos are totally loyal. And me and Mikey, too, of course. If you win this fight, April, you'll have a hell of an organization to run."
Raphael gave them a ride back to the dilapidated hospital on his Harley, April clutching on behind him, Spader tucked into the sidecar.
He took a winding route, mindful of shaking any pursuers, but April was glad for the extra time to think. Her weapons were solid, and she could already feel her body responding to the food, rest, and friendship. She felt almost strong. She should have been focusing on battle strategies.
Instead, images of honey-colored fingers tangled in red cloth, of green hands moving through cropped black hair, flashed through her mind. They brought back a more familiar Scenario—a fantasy of her younger days that made her blush to the roots of her stubble: Donny, exhausted, pulling away from his computer after one of their late night tech sessions. Herself, knowing the power she had over him, drawing her fingers across his cheek and down to his plastron, sliding onto his lap, feeling a pleasant ache as she pressed herself against him. Guilt flooded her chest--thinking about him that way, after all that she and Casey had meant to each other. It wasn't right.
She was glad when they finally reached headquarters—to disentangle herself from the turtle in front of her, to climb unsteadily off the rumbling Harley.
They watched Raph's taillights disappear down the darkening street.
"What's on your mind? And can I have some?" Spader was back to his normal size and age, rubbing limbs sore from being crammed into a sidecar full of sporting equipment and a very pointy crossbow.
"A fight," she said slowly, coming back to the present. Her stomach lurched. "Oh God…a fight. With a badass chick ten years younger than me who commands an army of people who strongly distrust me. I'm going to die."
Spader lifted the golf bag in one hand, an invisible pom-pom in the other. "Er…'go April'?"
"Is it all a big joke to you, Captain Spader?" she snapped. "I don't even have a Second. I'm…"
"Yes you do," he broke in. "It's me. I'm your second. Mike and I decided while you were asleep, before the lovely attack we had last night. Done deal."
"Oh, great, nice of you guys to let me know. Shouldn't I choose my own Second? And haven't you been paying attention? Raph'll be there. I'm sure having a shrimpy eight-year-old on my side is going to win hearts and minds. Angel will probably just forfeit when she sees you standing behind me—"
"Hey—you have permission to Verbally Abuse the Second. It's in the rules. But none of this talk of failure, alright? Mike can't do it because he's gotta stay neutral. Angel knows that—she needs him to represent Law and Order while she's in the ring. Leonardo, as we all know, is batshit—"
April jerked her head up at that.
"—uh, is a bit mentally unstable right now. Obviously he's the best choice because of your history together, but there's no way you can trust him to follow through now. Unless, of course, he's me."
Spader pressed a button on his belt and April found herself standing face to face with Leonardo.
"Wild," she breathed, reaching out to touch his nose.
"Nose Touching is NOT in the rules, if you don't mind."
"Does Leo know you're doing this?"
"He will soon enough. There's no way he's going to miss this fight, April. Crazy as that guy is, you mean the world to him. He'll keep an eye on you as long as he's alive to do it."