The first thing April felt was cold concrete against her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered as she wondered what had happened — had she fallen asleep in the lair again, and fallen to the floor? Her bedroom floor was softer than this. She rolled onto her back and blinked against the light blazing from a naked bulb overhead. The ceiling was more cracked concrete, with some moisture dripping down from one of the larger crevices.
And for some reason, her lungs hurt with every breath.
She rolled over onto her hands and knees, and looked around the room. It was a cavernous prison cell that looked as though it had been carved out rather than constructed, with long cold steel bars embedded in great rough slabs of concrete that seemed to sprout from the floor and ceiling.
And Don was crumpled on the floor nearby, unmoving.
April immediately crawled toward him, and rolled him back onto his shell so she could see his face. He had been unconscious when they dragged her from her bedroom, so he had probably breathed in more of the gas than she had. She had been helpless to stop them as they had dragged him down the stairs, his shell crunching loudly against every step. As she had passed out, her last panicked thoughts were of whether he was all right — they had been so rough with him, as if trying to pay him back for every humiliating defeat they had suffered at the Turtles' hands.
As she crouched over him now, she could see ugly dark bruises mottling his shoulders and legs. And if his shell could bruise, it would probably have done so.
She pressed her fingers gently against his arm. "Don?" she whispered desperately to him. "Don, can you hear me?"
He flinched at that, and slowly opened his dark eyes.
"April," he whispered. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, trying to smile. "They didn't hurt me. But you…"
A strange expression came over Don's face, almost as if he were puzzled by something. His eyes seemed to wander over April's face, and she saw the beginnings of panic sparking in them. She felt his fingers twitch against her hand, but no more than a twitch.
"April… I can't move."
April's eyes widened. "Is it the gas? You breathed more of it than I did," she said.
"No, it's not the gas," a voice said from outside the cell — a snaky, sneering voice that April had heard faintly from outside her bedroom.
A man was standing in the shadows outside the cell, leaning against the bars, one leg raised with his foot against the wall. It was a thin, wiry man with a long face, spiky black hair and a small, jagged goatee on his chin. His eyes were what caught April's attention — they were cold, blank and black, like the eyes of a shark.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said with a grin. "I'm Racer. I work right under Dragon Face, and he's in charge when Hun ain't around."
"What did you to do to him?" April shouted.
"Nothin' much. We just injected him with a paralytic that works like magic. It doesn't affect breathin' or anything, just keeps him from moving his muscles 95% of the time. And it lasts for hours." His grin widened, showing teeth that looked as though they had been sharpened. "After all, we don't want him misbehavin' before he goes to his new home. Someone's payin' us a lot of money to bring him in alive."
April felt an icy chill ripple through her. It couldn't be the Shredder — while he would surely pay for the Turtles, alive or dead, he also had Hun to do his dirty work for him, so he wouldn't need Dragon Face or Racer. Could it be Agent Bishop? No, he had the resources to hunt for the Turtles without resorting to street gangs like the Purple Dragons, no matter how powerful they had become. Her mind frantically searched over all the enemies they had told her about — but none of them made sense to her.
Don had somehow managed to push against the floor enough to get on his side, and was staring balefully at Racer. But the effort caused his arms to tremble as though he was on the verge of collapse, and his breath was coming in pained gasps.
"Color me impressed," Racer said. "I would've thought you wouldn't be able to move at all." His cold eyes narrowed. "Too bad it's all he can do. A baby's stronger than he is right now."
April slipped her arms around Don's torso and heaved him up, so that his side was resting against her lap and his head was against the curve of her shoulder. Though he was shorter than she was, he was also heavier — she supposed it was the thick shell and all that muscle — and she had to strain to support him.
"Let her go," Don demanded.
"Don!" April cried, tightening her grip on him.
"If I'm the one you want, there's no reason to keep her here," he continued hoarsely, his body trembling with the effort. "Let her go."
Racer grinned again. "Aww, is the freak worried about his little girlfriend? How adorable." He shook his head. "No, I think we'll keep her around as a contingency plan, just in case your friends prove to be harder to catch. A knife at her throat, and they'll cave in."
Another tremor passed through Donatello's body, along with a loud grunt. April could feel the anger radiating from him, but his body refused to cooperate. She clutched him tightly, pressing her face against the top of his head, wishing she could protect him as he had always protected her. This was a nightmare. It had to be, she thought feverishly, feeling her fingers digging into his green skin.
"Besides," Racer said, turning away, "both of you might be interesting entertainment for us."
A massive steel door swung open in the wall behind him, and he stepped out, a high-pitched chuckle floating in the air behind him. Don stiffened again in April's arms, but subsided as her arms tightened around him.
April had no idea what he meant, but she knew enough about the Purple Dragons to know that she didn't want to find out. They were violent — brutal — merciless to anyone whom they didn't like. Hun was the worst of them, but he didn't seem to be involved in this particular venture. He probably wouldn't catch the Turtles for anyone but the Shredder, and would have faithfully taken the helpless Don to his master right away. No, he wasn't involved.
But she wasn't sure if Racer was any better. He had watched their faces the entire time he had been speaking, soaking in their reactions almost eagerly. Don's helpless anger had amused him, and April knew that her visible fear had been even more enticing to him. He liked people frightened and preferably powerless. It excited him. No wonder he had come in to taunt Donnie with his own helplessness and talk about putting knives to April's throat.
She raised her head and looked around the cell, for anything they might be able to use to get out. All she saw was a dirty, rather battered old mattress shoved in the far corner of the cell, and what looked like two dog bowls full of rather dusty water.
"Just try to hold on a minute," she said to Don, looping one of his arms around her neck.
It took a long time — probably not as long as it seemed, though — for her to heave him halfway onto her back. Her knees and hips protested as she began half-dragging, half-carrying the heavy Turtle across the cell, her fingers digging into the lip of his shell and his head sagging against hers. His legs trembled as he tried to hold his own weight, but he only ended up half-collapsing against her. His breath in her ear was coming in gasps.
It must have been torturous for him to be so weak, she reflected, because Don and his brothers were usually quite strong. He had carried her in his arms on the first day they had known each other, and her weight hadn't even slowed him down. He might as well have been carrying a housecat. But despite his strength, he had been gentle and careful with her, as if afraid she might break.
Finally her trembling footsteps took her to the mattress, and she almost collapsed onto it as she tried to lower Don's body down. He groaned loudly as he struck the mattress hard, the springs groaning under his shell.
"Sorry!" April gasped, wiping sweat from her forehead.
Gently she arranged Don's arms and legs so that he was more comfortably situated on the mattress, though there was nothing on it to support his head. He smiled wanly at her as she placed his hands gently on his plastron.
"I'm sorry, April," he said softly.
"Sorry? What for?"
"I'm the reason you're here," he said, his eyes dimming slightly. "If it hadn't been for me — or if I had been able to protect you —"
"Don't worry about that," April said warmly, leaning down to press her lips against his forehead. "It's not your fault, Don. Nobody could have done more than you did."
She rested her head against his shoulder, curling one arm around her bare legs and resting the other one against his hand. They just had to hold out until his brothers could find them. Don had called them just as the Dragons had attacked, so they knew what had happened. They knew who was responsible. And she knew that they would tear down every hiding place the Purple Dragons had until they found her and their brother.
The guys would find them. Somehow.