Ambush
Sharra checked her backtrail constantly on the way home. Eventually satisfied she was alone, she picked up her pace. With her eyes fixed on the invisible hatch she mentally prepared for the jolt of the drop down to the lower rooftop.
It wasn't the one Mikey fell from. This building was much shorter so the distance was maybe twelve feet. Usually, she went down hand-over-hand on some well-concealed protrusions, but tonight her hands were full. It had taken some trial and error over the last two years, but she had ultimately mastered the technique required to land the jump.
As she bent her knees, a gleaming blade swished across her throat.
Simultaneously she gasped, flinched back, and dropped her bags as someone grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm up behind her back. Squeaking in surprise, Sharra backpedaled away from the edge until she ran into a solid wall of muscle. The hand continued to lift and she balanced on her toes to defuse the pain, but she refused to give her captor the satisfaction of another outcry.
"Where is he?"
The voice in her ear sounded smooth and commanding. Far cry from the snarling harsh sounds Sharra remembered from the Foot thugs of her childhood. She shivered though, for those three words held a low purring threat— the promise of infinitely more painful things to come if she did not immediately comply with the asker's wishes.
Instinct warned her not to lie to him but she didn't exactly have to blurt out the truth. Dissembling without actually lying required walking a fine line. One Sharra was normally adept at balancing on. The key was staying away from black and white answers; keeping her words firmly in the grey area of ambiguity.
However, she was in no way equipped to handle an extended bout of verbal fencing tonight. Hunger and the sheer terror of being captured blunted her sharp mind. Answering a question with another question was crude, the simplest technique she knew. But it might keep him guessing for a little while longer.
"Wh-where is who?"
For a second his grip loosened; perhaps startled by the sound of her voice, high with fear. Then the sword at her neck tightened until the icy metal moved when she swallowed.
"I have no time for games, girl. It will be morning soon."
First light.
Every day Mikey woke at dawn from some internal clock, despite the fact her sanctuary had no windows. That's why she hurried—to return before he missed her.
Michelangelo will realize I've gone outside.
She had shown him how to check the security cameras. He'd see her predicament.
And do what?
While Mikey was much improved, he still couldn't walk well. And while he might hop up the hatch ladder on one leg, he definitely shouldn't be fighting with a barely patched hole in his side.
No, it's up to me to escape and keep them from finding him.
"What are you talking about?" Sharra whispered.
She hoped for more power in her voice, a bit of additional bravado, but the whisper was enough. The question did not please her captor. He cranked her arm up a little higher. She cried out this time, unable to keep her mouth shut.
"What are you doing up here?" he demanded.
Sharra tilted her head back, exposing more of her throat in feigned innocence, and peered up at him from the corner of her eye.
And up, and up.
The man was massive but she couldn't tell much more because white camouflage wrapped him from head to toe. A ski-mask type hood covered his face; hiding his expression. The blowing snow distorted his proportions. All she saw clearly were a pair of crystal-hard eyes gleaming through a hole in the cloth.
Eyes colder than his steel.
His glare said more diversions would not be tolerated, but this question she could answer truthfully. She shut her eyes, scarcely daring to breathe the words.
"Going home."
He shoved her roughly forward.
Sharra fell, collapsing to her hands and knees in the snow before clutching at her neck—waiting for horrible pain that never came. Her throat sported only a small slice quickly numbed by the cold.
He didn't kill me?
Before she fully absorbed how lightning-fast he moved the sword out of the way; he gripped the back of her coat collar, picking her up like a kitten by the scruff. Sharra swallowed another startled yelp as he vaulted off the ledge, carrying her down to the roof below.
Closer to home.
Closer to Michelangelo. God, Mikey- if you see this, don't do anything stupid.
Opening the hatch would do nothing but give away his position. The Foot rarely traveled in groups smaller than five, and if the previous mob was anything to go by, Michelangelo was a prime target. A full-scale manhunt was underway for him three nights ago, and she had no reason to think a dozen more men didn't flank this giant just out of sight.
Sit tight, Mikey. I may be on my own but I have a few advantages.
On her home turf, Sharra knew every bump, every scant bit of cover. And she was far tougher than this thug would ever credit her. Given half a chance she would bolt.
Her captor's legs flexed lightly and absorbed most of the impact of their landing with a grace she envied. Though the remaining force still jarred her teeth as he tossed her none too gently to the ground. Her shoulders, ribs, and other bruised parts protested the rough treatment, sending a burst of pain sharp enough to make her gasp. Yet she froze, not daring to shift from hands and knees while he hovered above her.
The seconds ticked by at an alarmingly slow rate.
One minute passed. Then two. Sharra couldn't hear anything from the ghost beside her, but he hadn't moved. His boots were still visible from the corner of her eye. The oddly shaped footwear left strange prints and seemed out of place.
Footwear.
Hysterically, she suppressed a snort of laughter as her mind latched onto the word as somehow significant.
For the Foot!
In the next instant, she sobered, the urge to laugh gone as suddenly as it had come, and examined the boots more carefully. Her emotions were going haywire—probably from hunger and fear. And her mind was playing tricks because she swore she'd seen these peculiar boots somewhere before. Dazed, she shook her head; unable to place them.
Don't worry about that now. Just keep acting dumb until you see a chance to run.
The snow returned, falling in heavier waves, along with frozen sleet. Her extremities gradually turned numb. She shifted, ever so casually to kneeling, but she dared not attempt to flee yet. The man still held a lethal sword.
Her arms started tingling as the blood returned. Any minute now the remaining adrenaline would kick in; giving her the edge she desperately needed— and with it her opportunity to escape.
And they'll never realize how close they came to finding Michelangelo.
Donatello watched with hooded eyes from his own rooftop as Leonardo twisted the girl's arm higher when she didn't respond to his questions.
How far have we fallen? Threatening this girl isn't going to bring Mike home. Of course, Leo didn't know she was female until she spoke...
The slight form obscured by bulky winter clothing might easily have been a teenage boy. The kind the Foot used for running errands that were beneath them. Intel from that type of inside source might play a vital role in retrieving Michelangelo alive.
She still might be an errand-runner.
Karai had proven to the countless Foot masses that kunoichi were as able-bodied and talented as their male counterparts. Perhaps the lower ranks were equally enlightened and now employed young women and girls as well.
Somehow, I don't think so.
Don frowned at his brother's actions but kept his thoughts to himself. The hold Leonardo chose was common. It hurt like hell, but there wouldn't be any permanent damage as long as Leo modulated his tension for a human rather than a mutant.
Who am I kidding?
This was Leonardo. Master of control. Of course, his pressure was exact, as was the placement of his blade. Still, the confrontation didn't sit right with the genius. He winced when Leo thrust his captive to the rooftop.
I don't know what she's doing up here, but surely she can't have anything to do with Mikey.
The girl was tiny, practically a child. She didn't even try to run. She just froze like some wild thing caught in the light of an oncoming car.
Leonardo didn't speak again, but he gave the hand sign to wait as he moved forward. Don's frown deepened. Jumping down was a huge risk. Not only would Leo be in sight of the cameras if he proceeded to the lower building, but he was likely to be gunned down.
The leader wasn't the only one who recognized a kill box.
Clamping his teeth together so tight they ached, Donnie began scanning the area for ways to mount a rescue without entering gunshot range, his brain running at a million miles an hour.
Typical Leonardo, baiting the trap with himself.
But Leo wasn't going alone. He grasped the girl's coat before he jumped, taking them both closer to the location of the beacon. Donatello involuntarily jerked toward them in protest, then forced himself to stop and touch his headset. His heart pounded, but whether from anger or fear he wasn't sure.
"What the hell are you thinking?" he hissed to Leo. "She's a low-value hostage! The enemy will just shoot through her to get to you! And if she is only a bystander, you're sacrificing the life of an innocent!"
Leonardo ignored his outburst. He stood poised over the shivering form of the woman, holding his drawn katana like an avenging angel.
Two long minutes passed where every possible awful scenario played out in Don's head. Thankfully, none of them happened in front of his eyes.
When Leonardo gave the signal for them to join him, Donatello darted to his side in seconds. Raph approached a half step behind from the opposite direction. Leo met Don's angry stare with steely determination and offered no explanation for his risky behavior.
Donatello's gaze swept worriedly over the girl at their feet. Seeing her up close did nothing to change his belief Leo had made a mistake. She looked thin, fragile even, and remained crouched where the leader dropped her, staring wide-eyed at the snow.
No way is she a member of the Foot.
"She knows nothing," Leonardo said in a flat emotionless voice.
"I ain't so sure about that," Raph sneered, looming over her. "Even if she jus' lives around here, she saw somethin'. Humans don't forget the freaks."
Since the girl seemed relatively ok, Don scanned their surroundings. He ignored Raph's outburst as he swung his tablet back and forth, trying to nail down the beacon's precise source.
We may be forced to infiltrate the top floor.
That would be dangerous, to say the least. With no door from the roof, they would need to break in through a top-level window. Which meant being in plain view of the street as well as the unknown eyes watching the security camera. But another thought nagged at him.
What is the girl doing up here in a blizzard?
She was obviously aiming for this roof, but with no tent, no cover, or building entrance there was no place for her to be heading to. But, her words rang true or Leo wouldn't release her.
Donatello eyed the sky to the east. The hazy light of dawn brightened the clouds. Their time was up. They would have to retreat and come back tonight to free Mikey. But what to do about their 'captive'?
We'll have to stash her somewhere temporarily because innocent or not, she could spoil the whole plan.
Raphael, however, was not ready to give up.
"We're lookin' for a turtle, girl," he snarled at her in his best threatening bully voice. "A huge one. Green. Stands upright like a man. Big mouth. Might'a been fightin' with a bunch of guys in black. Seen anything like that?"
"No."
The single whispered word snapped Leonardo's head around, his eyes searching her huddled form suspiciously. Don's eyes narrowed. It wasn't true. Leo could sense deception a mile away.
Raph leaned over her further. "You're lying," he ground out, cracking his knuckles. "You won't like what I do to liars. Tell me where you saw him."
Her chin rose and Don backed a pace in surprise. Her eyes were no longer those of a frightened rabbit. They were as hard as granite.
"No."
This time she answered clearly and firmly, with no hesitation. And initiated a move no one expected. The girl launched herself straight up and the crown of her skull collided with Raph's face. As his head flew back, she spun and darted right.
Donatello lunged after her barehanded, not willing to pull his bo against a foe so fragile, but she stopped dead—an almost impossible action with her momentum. His dive overshot her.
She dropped full length to the ground, covered her head with her hands, rolled to the side, and disappeared.
What the...?
Donnie blinked, scrambled to his feet, and rushed to the spot. What appeared to be more endless piles of snow was really a slightly raised platform covering a series of pipes. The girl squeezed underneath and rapidly dragged herself away on her elbows. The space was too narrow for him to follow.
Clever girl!
He glanced at Leo and received a nod. Pulling a tiny grappling gun out of his bag, he pointed it under the platform and fired. Compressed gas shot the miniature hook forward quicker than she could evade in such cramped conditions. The grapple lodged in her clothes and Don gave a mighty tug, hauling her out feet first and arms flailing.
Raphael straddled her faster than thought and forced her flat. She shrieked, bucking wildly against his weight on her midsection as he pinned her wrists above her head in one huge fist.
Oh no.
Raph was beyond provoked. He hated being caught off guard. That an inferior fighter showed him up made things even worse. The hot-head wasn't about to let her go without some sort of payback. Especially now he knew she participated in Mikey's disappearance.
He tore his white hood away—revealing eyes filled with rage. Blood dripped from his lip where her head split it on his teeth.
"Raph, NO!" Don yelled at the same time Leo commanded, "Raphael, Stop!"
Both pleas were ignored as Raph raised a sai violently overhead.
Before Don could grab his arm, a knife shot through the empty space and smashed into the back of Raph's knuckles—handle first but with pinpoint accuracy—distracting him. A millisecond later a figure slammed into Raphael's side, tearing him away from the girl.
Green and white blurred as the two rolled. Raphael struggled at first, then froze staring in disbelief as Michelangelo ended up on top.
Their missing little brother belted him across the nose with a hard left cross.