BUZZ BUZZ Once There Was...

Chapter 1

Michaelangelo vaulted from the roof of one tenement to the next. His bulky coat, pants and boots made stealth unlikely, but his ninjutsu training proved equal to the task. He whispered over the rooftops, even in heavy winter gear.

The city sprawled around him: miles of New York and its outer burrows: all of it slick with ice and clammy with fog. Street level cars and lights made glowing pockets in the cold mists. Up above the haze, rooftops rose in waves, dark and jagged. Over the crags of the city, Michaelangelo ran. His breath billowed in white puffs, quickly swallowed by the night air. He could dimly make out his brother’s shadow flitting between the vents and stairwells one block over.

He did a circuit of the roof and leapt onward to the next one. Ice. Ice. Steam Vent. Heater Vent. More ice. Ancient pigeon coop. Rooftop access door. Ice. Television antennae. No brother. Mike flexed his hands inside their mittens and pushed onward.

Tonight, Donatello had reported strange police behavior in this area of Flushing. Then again, there had been ‘strange police behavior’ in every burrow almost every night since Raphael had gone missing. Michaelangelo would not and could not give up looking for Raphael, but the hope of finding him on any particular mission had dulled. Sure. He was out there. Splinter said, and all four brothers knew, that Raphael was still alive. Yet to find Raphael tonight? After a month of nights just like this one? That would be a miracle.

Donatello had been right though, the police were acting bizarre tonight. Apparently there was a manhunt going on below. Vans and SUVs with racks of lights and reflective stripes sat in the fog, blocking major streets. Men in dark uniforms with dogs on thick leashes had cordoned off twelve city blocks near the Bland Houses in Flushing. It was a poor neighborhood, and one riddled with side streets, alleyways, and abandoned buildings, but twelve blocks was a pretty wide net for the NYPD.

Michaelangelo gave the police wide breadth. Police carried guns. That was one more problem the clan did not need. Next roof. Satellite dish, tangled mess of wires from a cable box, abandoned beer bottles from warmer months, no police fugitives, and no brother.

The shouts of the officers below echoed between the brick fronts. Search lights came on, illuminating the haze. One, two, four, eight…crap. They were lighting up most of the neighborhood! Michaelangelo perched on the edge of the searched building, watching the vague shapes of men and dogs through the glowing mist below him. He shook his head. Infrared goggles would have been better. Too much light in that fog made it impossible for them to see very far upwards. Still, better for him this way. And really, with as many dogs and men as they had swarming the ground below, whoever was running from them was screwed anyway—Michaelangelo froze.

A bulky figure jerked itself over the lip of the opposite building and collapsed onto the rooftop. With the lights and the fog, the distance and the dark, it was impossible to be sure, but Michaelangelo KNEW. He had his communicator in hand and was shouting as quietly as he could even as his bound carried over alleyway.

“Guys, I found him. Two blocks east of Main. Seven blocks up from—whoa! Raph! Come back! I can see Roosevelt Ave three blocks up. He doesn’t recognize me. Get yer asses over here!”

Raphael’s legs sprawled uselessly behind him as he dragged his body across the roof. He made it all of two yards before he collapsed. His eyelids fluttered and he moaned angrily in his throat, but could not form words. In the moonlight, Raphael’s skin seemed gray and thin. His shell was rimmed with frost and blood oozed out from under a bandage on his arm. He shook his head with stiff, jerky denial and his good arm flailed against something unseen. Completely naked, utterly defenseless, and FOUND.

Mike stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside Raphael. He gripped his brother’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back. He patted Raphael’s cheek, desperately trying to get him to make eye contact.

“Raph! It’s Mike. You gotta chill ou—CALM DOWN. Lemme getcha warm an—“

Raphael’s eyes rolled upward into his head and he went limp.

“Shit.”

Mike snatched his knit cap off his head and tried in vain to get it over Raphael’s head. Growling with frustration, he ripped his mittens off and tried again without them in his way. Success. He grabbed Raphael’s hands and stuffed them into the mittens. The mittens were still vaguely warm. Raph needed warm. Raph needed heat. Mike ripped his coat off and tore the top two buttons. He forced Raphael’s good arm down one sleeve and brought the coat under his back and stopped. On his own there was no way to get Raphael into the other sleeve. Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT. Where were—

“Mike!? Where is he—oh God.” Leonardo skidded to a full stop, horrified. Raphael’s eyes rested in deep hollows and his cheekbones stood out as prominently as his brow. His skin bagged around his neck, attesting to weight lost. He was limp in Mike’s arms—Mike’s arms. Mike. Leo blinked, slammed back down to reality with Mike’s next words.

“Help me! He’s so cold. Gotta gett’im into the coat.”

The two brothers did not waste any more words, rolling Rapheal over and forcing the injured arm down the other sleeve. Mike did up the remaining buttons and hardly paused before he was shucking his shoes, socks and pants. Leonardo didn’t stop him. Mike would be all right until they got Raphael back to the van.

“Is he conscious?” Mike passed one of the socks to Leonardo and looked up at the newly arrived Donatello.

“No. He was kinda when I found him. Help us get him into these pants!” Three brothers, one lifting Raphael’s hips, the other two working the pants onto each leg, dragged the fabric up Raphael’s stiff body.

“Get the coat outta the way!” Mike pulled frantically at the clothing.

Donatello jerked the back half of the trench coat upwards. “It is!”

“The pants won’t button!”

Leonardo put a hand over Mike’s. “Calm down Mike. You’re smaller than him. He’s IN them. That’s enough.” All three brothers lowered Raphael back to the ground.

Michaelangelo did not loose a beat. “Right. Shoes.” Mike crammed Raphael’s feet into the boots, giving him as many layers as possible. Mike’s hands shook, but whether it was the cold or the adrenaline, he couldn’t tell.

Donatello pressed his fingers to the base of Raphael’s neck. His eyes unfocused as he counted. Leonardo and Michaelangelo held their breath. Raph was breathing, but he looked like hell. Donatello nodded to his brothers, Raphael’s pulse was stable enough for now. They could move him. Mike piped up with the next question. “How do we get him outta here? He’s too heavy to jump roofs with, and the ground is crawling with the NYPD and their canine units.”

Leonardo shook his head. “Not the NYPD, Mike. I got a closer look at their vehicles and uniforms. These guys are private security.”

“Private security?” Don’s brow furrowed, “but there are so many! Who could afford all that?”

“We’ll figure that out later—“ The shouting in the alleyway below picked up. More search lamps were lit. The reflected shine spilled over onto the roof, and the turtles shifted nervously as they cast shadows of their own. Leonardo frowned. “Sounds like they found something.”

Donatello nodded, “Probably where Raph climbed to the roof. He’s bleeding. He may have left a trail.” Mike rubbed his own arms. Raphael had all his clothes now. He looked to Leonardo, hoping for a plan that would get them all moving again.

Leonardo did not disappoint. “Yeah. Let’s get him out of here. Don. Give me your net and climbing cord. We’re gonna make a sling and you’re gonna carry him. You think you can?”

‘He’s kidding. There’s no way!’ Donatello smothered his initial reaction. Logic and reason would have to take a back seat. His family needed him; no matter what Leo asked of him, he would do it. “Sure. No Problem.”

Leonardo wove the climbing cord under through portions of the netting, and got Don’s help wrapping it around Raph’s lower carapace. Mike lifted Raph and Leo strapped his brother to Don’s shell the best he could. “Don. You’re not going to be able to defend yourself. Just get Raph to the van. I won’t let anyone who sees you raise alarm.” Donatello nodded and shifted Raph’s weight, leaning forward to keep his balance. Leonardo turned to Mike. “They’re looking for a turtle. Give me your gear. Keep your weapons and your communicator. Draw them off. Make it loud.” Mike’s mouth made a grim line and he flashed a thumps up. Mike was all for it. “Just give us 15 minutes, then join us at the van. Casey’ll have it at the edge of Kissena Park.”

Mike, naked as his brother had been, disappeared over the dark sided edge of the roof and into the fog.

Donatello grimaced as Raphael’s weight pulled on him. The climbing rope was already cutting off his circulation. He wrapped an arm under each of Raph’s legs, supporting his mass piggyback style. It helped—a little. Leonardo drew a single katana and waited for Mike to get rid of the witnesses.

Oof!

Ow!

Shit!

There it—CRACK.

Fuck, there it goes! Dogs went off, gunshots went off, searchlights went out with a shatter of glass and feet started running in a mob away from the base of the building.

That’s our cue.

Leonardo descended the fire escape with Donatello awkwardly following. Raphael’s weight completely negated Donatello’s stealth, but Leonardo ghosted ahead. The occasional thud of a fallen body or the slick wet sound that preceded it were the only clues to his passage.

I knew it was time to stop tonight b/c i'd just started typing sound effects. Nothing new. So, we're shy of the 2000 word mark tonight, but still not too shabby!

Here's my spiffy graph again: