The eldest of the Wyvern Clan's rookery children had a gift that set him apart from his brothers; Pycnofibers. Primitive hair-like feathers veiled the scales of his leathery wings, which let him glide and soar like an ancient pterodactyl. Not even Goliath could match his ability to gain altitude and stay airborne. His 20-foot wingspan and flexible tail could catch and direct even the finest and weakest of air currents.
Unfortunately, there was absolutely no wind tonight. Not that height would help him smell out the stranger who had vanished into the night. His eyes, glowing the faintest white, peered through the brush of the meager little tree that stooped over the road. The branch underneath him creaked softly, all four of his claws clutching tightly and his tail wrapped around the trunk behind. He kept his wings caped, trying to shrink his profile as much as he could.
He sniffed again. There was a human with the stranger now. He smelled the two of them coming well before he saw them. Hunkering low, he tried to melt into the night.
Two pairs of footfalls pounded towards him. "The hell did you say to piss them off, Casey?!" His quarry huffed. His friend–rich with the stink of a human–replied, out of breath, "I told them LA has better sushi, California's for rich softies, and naming yourself after miners is stupid." "Where's the van?" "There!"
They dove into a white van, disappearing from sight. He growled, thoughtful. "So that's how you've been getting around." He murmured.
The snap of the van's doors was quickly followed by the thundering of more feet.
"Where'd they go?" "I dunno, but I'm gonna find that damn Yank and put his head on a pike!"
A knot of humans, clothed in black and gold, swarmed down the street. Five, all male, some elders, but mostly young. He remained as still as possible, slowing his breath. After a few minutes of searching, one of them called out to the others, and they vanished further into the parking lot.
Well, that was a clear enough signal for him. Now, it was his turn.
He leapt from the tree to the lamppost, slithering up its height like a lizard to perch from the arm of the light. Balancing carefully on it, he removed the streamer from his belt. Attached to the other end was a small rock. He whirled the streamer in a pinwheel at his side, letting it spin up a blur of green-and-silver momentum, before releasing the foxtail straight up into the air with a snap of his wrist.
The shimmering streak wouldn't have meant much to others. In fact, it was likely that most humans wouldn't have seen it. But he knew that to his smallest rookery brother, a single flying streamer was as vivid as the falling star of a ship's flare at sea.
The stone clattered into the road, empty and devoid of vehicles or people. Then, suddenly, he saw two shapes fast approaching him from the air above the stadium. In a moment, his brothers had landed in the darkness of the trees, on the outskirts of the parking lot. He swooped to join them in the dark, tucking down his wings into a more stealthy cape. The three stooped down behind a tall juniper hedge that ringed the checkerboard field of car hoods.
"You found a way out?"
"Yeah." The eldest jerked a thumb at the van. "You remember that time we snuck out of the castle in a hay wagon?"
The youngest blinked those huge eyes of his. Then he squeezed them shut. "Please tell me I don't have to hide with the pigs again."
The eldest wriggled his eyebrows. The smallest groaned.
"We're hitching a ride?" The broad one asked.
"We're hitching a ride." The red one smirked.
The small one rubbed his eyes. "We are gonna be grounded to the Rookery for another millennium after this."
Raphael didn't have time to leap back out of the van. He yanked off his ski mask, giving Casey a wild look. He grabbed him by the collar and yanked them both down and out of sight of the small mob of miners. He put a finger to his lips. His radiation-green eyes, framed by the stripe of his red mask, were saying only one thing; don't make a sound, Casey. Raph pointed to his phone, turning the ringer down to nothing. Casey, seeing this was a good idea, did the same.
They pressed themselves down as tightly as they could under the bucket seats of the van, curling up tight. The metal bars of the seats dug into their backs as they waited. Casey risked just enough movement to remove his mask, pulling it to the side to show his face. He gently spat his mouthguard out into his cupped hand. Casey silently mouthed his condemnation; Poor choice, Raphael.
Raph winced and groaned inwardly, knowing Splinter was going to say the exact same thing to him later. As soon as they got out of this, at least.
Just as they were about to get up and exit the van, they heard more footsteps again. This time, slower and more casual. Peoples' voices. Raph risked just enough breath to utter one single curse as the door to the van popped open. Two guys, deep in a conversation in a language that may have been Portuguese or Italian, took the seats up front. They started the van, and Raphael's stomach plunged when he realized they were suddenly driving away.
Now, Donnie was prepared for everything. He was sure that if his brother were here he would be doing two things: One, scolding him mercilessly and fretting over him like a frazzled mother. Two, pulling out the GPS that he kept in his bag to tell him where exactly they were going. But, he didn't have that. He did, however, have a distress beacon linked to it. The question was, did he want to use it and absolutely get his reputation destroyed by his brothers for squealing for help? Or did he want to prove that he and Casey could really take care of themselves and save face?
Poor choice, Raphael.
He and Casey stayed hunkered underneath the seats, legs beginning to fall asleep as the two men started reaching around to the driver's side pouch to retrieve their road map. The man in the passenger seat continued idly chattering, while the driver cracked open the window and lit a cigarette.
Raphael closed his eyes to focus. He strained his ears for any familiar words, of any kind. Hackensack. River. Secaucus. Weehawken. His heart ticked down a few beats, not hearing any mention of the word 'Turnpike'. But he didn't quite get his hopes up yet, until he heard them say one more word he could understand; Lincoln Tunnel.
Holy shell. Raph quietly thanked anything or anybody listening at that moment. He couldn't believe their luck. This van was going right back to Manhattan. He looked over at Casey, catching his friend's eyes. Casey looked relieved too. He grinned, giving his turtle friend a very quiet–but no less enthusiastic–thumbs up.
The tarp covering the bed of the truck flapped loudly in the high wind as it cruised down the highway. One's sharp eyes kept a close watch of the windowless white van ahead of them on the road, ears flapping in the stiff breeze in spite of his hard-fought attempt at staying low. His dorsal digits kept his arm-sails folded tight against his body. Another was hunched low under the wall of the cab, wings caped, carefully making sure his hair was still tied and wouldn't suddenly fly up like a white flag advertising their position.
The third was curled underneath the pile of assorted junk in the truck bed, smiling and making funny noises to the huge, fluffy brown dog that rode with them. Clearly having no care for guardianship duties, the dog had promptly begged them for affection upon seeing them. The largest one always had a very soft spot for animals, so he did not complain about the shared ride.
And what a ride it was! Never in all their years had they ever traveled so far, so fast on the ground. If it weren't for the fact that they needed to stay hidden, they would have been having all kinds of fun. But just watching the lights of the city flash by at impossibly fast speeds was exhilarating enough.
Soon, as the knot of cars drew closer and lingered more, the two sought refuge under the tarp and amidst the junk with their big brother. The traffic began to slow more and more. The smallest risked a peek.
"It looks like it's a toll road." He whispered. "Man, these must be more efficient now than they were back in our day."
"Yeah." The white-haired one grumbled. "Because there are a lot more people using them. We'll never get out of here unseen like this! If we haven't been spotted already."
"It looks like we're about to go into a tunnel." The large one continued petting the dog, whose lolling tongue was wrapping itself around his talons. He pointed ahead past the toll booths, to a white brick facade and three deep dark throats lined with tiny points of light. "If we get in trouble in there, we aren't getting out of it."
"Too late to turn back now." The eldest said, just above the roar of traffic. "Once we make it out to the other side, we'll cut the tarp and let it loose. At the same time, we'll lift off and let the wind from this thing give us some height. Hopefully, the cars behind us will be so distracted by the sheet that they won't see us take off."
"Are you sure we'll be moving fast enough to catch the wind? What if we run out of speed and get dragged back into the traffic?" The green one fretted. "You know my wings aren't as strong as yours."
"Hey. It's just like the downhill slides we used to take when we were hatchlings. Just faster." The oldest patted his younger brother's shoulder. "I can carry you up to gliding height. I promise, you won't get left behind. You trust me, right?"
"I trust you." He said, hugging his brother close. "I just don't know if I trust this wagon..."
It was with this that the Lincoln Tunnel engulfed them.
They looked up and around in awe, their eyes wide as the rows and rows of lights that lit the tunnel whooshed behind them. The roar of the traffic and the ventilation fans inside it drowned out all words that could have been had, the flicker of passing strips of light painting the world in black-and-white strobe flashes. The slick tile of the roof, low and close, reflected the tail lights of the vehicles ahead of them like streaks of red cinders in the night. The dusky reflection of the tunnel in that arching tile roof was like looking up at the sky from underwater. They felt like small fish, being carried along that enormously powerful current of steel, asphalt, and light that all vanished into the tiniest point in the distance.
Two of the rookery brothers folded their hands over their ears to shut out the noise, keeping their eyes fixed on the floor of the truck bed and holding onto the dog for comfort. But one kept his eyes ahead, soaking in the sight. The eldest breathed softly in reverence at this impossible spectacle.
"Whoa…"
For a moment, he wondered if this is what it must feel like to be thrown beyond the stars.
Suddenly, he realized this beauty was fading as the car slowed down. To his dismay and horror, he realized that the traffic was beginning to clog the way ahead. The beautiful wind, the thing that would have ensured their escape, faded around his ears. No. No, no, no! We need speed!
He panicked, tucking his head back down below the height of the truck's siding. A row of blinking red lights stuffed the tunnel ahead of them. He could still see the windowless white van ahead, but the air hung heavy with the stench of exhaust and old rubber. If his quarry left, he didn't know if his nose would be able to follow.
He ducked down, making eye contact with the green one. He tapped his beak, shaking his head. He pointed two claws at his own eyes, to his brother, and then to the van. The smallest nodded, eyes hard and lips thin. He opened his arms for his brother, and the smallest one clambered into them. The broad one nodded, his massive bulk still hidden under the tarp. His claws hooked into the blue plastic, ready to rip it away. He petted the dog's head one more time.
It looked like they were going to have to run for it.
Raphael took a breath, nudging Casey with a finger. He pointed up ahead. Casey nodded, noticing the same thing; traffic stopping, and the light growing brighter. Now would be a great time for them to make their move and escape. Raphael slowly, like a worm through the dirt, reached his hand to his belt pouch. His fingers closed around a single white eggshell, scowling an angry face that was squiggled in marker with a wax blot on one end. He mouthed to Casey; smoke bomb. Don't breathe.
Casey nodded, popping his mouthguard back into his mouth and pulling his mask back across his face. He closed his eyes, and then nodded.
Within the span of a second, smoke bloomed in the van with a sharp bang! The back of the van burst open, and the two of them quickly sprinted across the road. Casey planted a hand on a car hood, sliding across it without slowing down. Raphael tucked a front flip, leap-frogging off the roof of the same car as they both made their mad dash to the sidewalk. More smoke spilled out of the back of the vehicle, the men coughing and shouting, horns screaming and beeping at them as they ran.
They pounded with their feet straight around the corner, down the road. "This way! I took the subway!" Casey cried. Raph followed, letting Casey lead him a few blocks at a dead sprint. As they ran, Raphael frantically jammed the ski mask back on over his head, hoping his up-raised elbow protected enough of his face from being seen.
Raphael knew that they'd been seen. In disguise, yes, so it wasn't that bad. But once again, that twinge, that feeling that he was being followed. It struck him again, like an electric tingle that stopped his heart and fluttered his eyes.
The last thing any of them needed was for the Foot Clan to know they were back in New York.
Casey steered around the corner. Raphael looked over the subway entrance, and spotted exactly what he was hoping he would see; the maintenance hatch for the 42 St - Port Authority Bus Terminal. He skidded in its direction, and Casey turned to follow. Raph found the lip of the manhole cover with his fingers, and he heaved. With a grunt of effort, the heavy iron lid lifted. Casey's hands found the ladder, and he started skittering down. Raph hauled the manhole cover aside, and quickly followed Casey down.
Raphael's feet splashed into the thin, slimy puddle that had built up at the base of the ladder. And for the first time since the game, he allowed himself to relax. He pulled the ski mask off of his head, gasping for breath. Casey was doubled over, his breath making a weird buzzing wheeze through the grills of the skull-like Jason Voorhees mask.
Raph let the humid air of the underground kiss his skin, and his nerves started to ease. Finally, back in the Manhattan underground. His turf. He could relax now, he was safe.
He clapped Casey on the shoulder. They started walking in the direction of the C-Line, back to the warren of tunnels that Raphael and his brothers knew like the knuckles on the back of their Sensei's hand. "Man, Jones. Starting a fight at a football game? Really? Just how freaked out were the guys findin' out I was gone?"
"Freaked out?" Casey looked at him. "The last time you guys went topside, it was the night Leo almost died!"
"Casey, I–"
"Raph, what is the matter with you?!" Casey reeled on his friend. "You guys have spent the last six months at my grandma's farmhouse keeping Leo on life support in a bathtub! You promised that we wouldn't do any of the crazy stuff until after you were ready to fight the Foot again!" He shoved Raphael's chest roughly.
Raph felt the fire that burned at a low smolder in his chest flare at that remark. "You think I don't know that?!" He roared. He rolled back his sleeve and elbow pad to show Casey the mark in the crook of his elbow. "I was the one who matched his blood type! I know exactly what he went through!" He snapped the sleeve back down in a huff.
"Then why do this, man?" Casey stopped walking. "Why risk that? You know what the Shredder will do to you once he finds out Leo's still alive? Finds out that you guys came back? He'll come after you again! He'll come after us! '' Casey put his hands on Raph's shoulders. "Look, Ma's not doin' so hot right now. Doc says she can't be goin' through any unnecessary stress. You know what this is, Raph?" Casey gestured to himself, dressed like Friday the 13th and the Fourth of July had a baby. "This is me, breaking my promise to my mom, breaking my promise to Splinter and April, to come after your dumb ass!"
Raphael wanted to say something. He wanted to roar, rant, rave, scream, punch his friend in the face. Because he was right.
"I just wanted things to be normal again." He whispered hoarsely. "Same as everyone else in that stadium."
Casey blinked at him. It was the kind of blink that Raph knew meant he was pretending he couldn't cry. "Yeah. Me too, Raph. I wish things could be normal again too."
They walked down that tunnel in silence for almost an hour. Quietly, Raphael turned the ringer on his phone back up and checked his messages. Almost forty missed calls. Most of them from Leo. He felt his heart sink like an old tin can to the bottom of the Hudson River, and he cursed himself for being an idiot. Again.
He stopped. He straightened up, muscles quivering in his hands. Casey looked over at him. Raph snarled, shoving Casey down further towards the tunnel. That feeling was back. And it was even stronger. "Casey, we got company!"
The two bolted, splashing through the dry storm pipe on a mad dash away from whatever was following them. Sure enough, Raphael heard a shout–or was it a howl?–and the splashing of at least three more pairs of feet. He veered left, prying his sai underneath a maintenance cover, rushing into where he knew was an abandoned subway line. His feet found concrete and railroad track, and the tunnel opened up into a station. The placards read at the fork: Brooklyn and Points South, 7th Ave - Broadway Station, Lexington Ave - Grand Central Station.
"You take that one, I'll go this way!" Raph shouted. "I'll meet you back at April's!"
"Got it!" Casey shouted.
Five pairs of pounding footsteps echoed through the tunnels, each going down one of three lines. But none of them knew exactly where they were running to, or who was partaking in this little race.
They just knew that they had to run.
