Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Fan Fiction ❯ Bad Places III: Ruin ❯ Chapter 7

Part 7

A faint ringing in his ears woke him up. Wincing as he sat straight, Leonardo put his hand over the wound in his neck and wondered how he'd fallen asleep. Must've been more tired than I knew, he realized. Downstairs he heard his family moving around, but he didn't feel any urge to join them. He felt too sore and too sick to move. The strong scent of decaying flesh and old blood didn't help his growing nausea.

A knock on the doorway made him look up and he winced in pain. At least with his head down, the light from outside wasn't too powerful. Staring straight out the door only silhouetted his youngest brother in what felt like blazing light. Shutting his eyes tight, he turned his head aside.

"You okay?" Michelangelo asked, coming in and kneeling beside him. "Why aren't you wearing a mask? Nevermind, I'll go get one from Don--"

"No," Leonardo said quickly. "It's all right."

"But Leo..."

"I'm fine." Not to mention he didn't want to draw Donatello's attention. Or let Raphael know he was awake. Or Splinter. "What did you want?"

"Just came to check on you. Don and April say they've got something set up to track whatever that static is you're hearing, but we won't know if it starts up again unless...um, you know."

"Unless I try to kill Raphael again?" He almost smiled. That shouldn't have been funny, but it was. "Go tell them to turn the televisions on."

"But that's what hurt you last time."

"No, they just made it worse. I heard it without them on, too. Besides, we should know what's going on up there."

"You sure?"

He nodded. As Michelangelo stood up, Leonardo reached his hand out and grabbed his brother's wrist. He was too weak too hold on and his brother slipped out of his grip before he realized it, but Michelangelo paused anyway.

"About last night," Leo said softly. "Sorry I took it out on you."

Michelangelo smiled. "No problem. You were having a bad day."

While his brother left, Leonardo sighed. In the short amount of time left to him, he didn't want to die while not on good terms with any of his siblings. He considered talking to Splinter, but he frowned at the thought. His master hadn't listened to him when it mattered. Even his apology before had been something of a lecture. Why bother trying now?

As he thought about his impending death, he also thought about the still-unfinished mural on his wall. On the street, the stars and moon provided the right amount of light for him to paint by, but inside the lair, getting that perfect amount of illumination proved too difficult. He'd never finish the New York shoreline. There were a lot of things he'd never finish.

It was funny. Every time he looked across someone else's sword, he knew death was just a breath away. Fighting was always one long gamble and every turn of the sword was a toss of the dice, skill be damned when the enemies were almost equal. And he'd never questioned that. It was simply the way he lived. But this cold knowledge that he would die soon and most likely by Raphael's or his own hand made him feel ill.

A wrenching feeling twisted his stomach and he realized it wasn't just his impending death, something really was making him feel sick. Now that he noticed it, he recognized the thin, high buzz of familiar static in his head, as if someone had left a radio on a useless channel. Whoever was transmitting turned the frequency higher, then lower.

This time he didn't scream or fall to his knees. He grabbed the edge of his bed and tensed his entire body, fighting the nausea back as he breathed deep. The entire room felt hot. He needed to get out. With one hand on the wall to steady himself, he forced himself out and downstairs, into the living room that suddenly turned quiet.

His eyes firmly shut, he managed to unerringly find and sit in the nearest sofa, leaning forward slightly and listening to the room around him. To his surprise, he didn't hear anything out of the ordinary on the televisions.

"They're transmitting again," he said.

In front of him, he heard April ask Donatello if he was sure, to which Donatello hesitated.

"Leo...if they're transmitting--"

"It's not the same this time," Leonardo said. "It's not...there's no urge to kill behind it. It's different."

"Different how?" Raphael asked, coming away from his ongoing job of taking apart the body blocking the door.

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "It's not as strong, it just...it makes me feel sick."

Only one reason for that jumped into Raphael's mind and he immediately accepted it as the right reason. "Hunger. Whoever's doing this, they're transmitting hunger."

"How can you be so sure?" Donatello asked. "Broadcasting emotions as electronic signals sounds highly implausible."

"So does making mutant demons," Raphael said. He glanced at his older brother, who perhaps felt the stare and turned away slightly. There was an easy way to convince Donatello, but that would mean breaking a promise and he couldn't do that. Hell, he'd said too much when he figured it out. "And it's something that ain't as strong as the need to kill everything, that way those things don't keep killing each other. You didn't see them in Stockman's game, Don. They got along just fine until they got hungry."

"But that still doesn't explain how you knew--"

The televisions flickered and a woman appeared on the screen. "--live? Are we live? This is a news alert. We've just received multiple sightings of the strange creatures that have wreaked havoc on New York for the past several days. Reports are coming in from all over the city. In lower Manhattan, national guardsmen have--wait, we can go straight to--? Tom? Can you hear me?"

The image flickered again and changed to a man standing somewhat hunched behind several men in uniform. "I can hear you, Katie, can you hear me?" He had to shout over screams, shooting and snarls just to be heard. "I'm behind the line the national guard has set up and you can hear their gunfire--it's like a nightmare, these things are monsters. You can see them skittering on the walls like insects and--Christ, they're eating the dead ones--everyone on this side of the line is safe for now but so many people are cut off on the wrong side and there's no way to get to them. There's a hospital near here--"

The audio crackled and went silent even though the reporter continued talking, oblivious that the equipment had failed. The camera shook a few times as its operator zoomed in past him and onto the street where the soldiers had set up a crossfire, cutting down swaths of feeders. They fell to the bullets in rows, covered by shattered glass and pavement as the gunfire continued, but several managed to slip through the web and leaped into the air, reminding Raphael of how they jumped onto their prey. Most were picked off in mid-air, but the camera caught the one that landed on the lens, giving everyone a close-up of its fangs before the television went dark. Static filled the screen for a second until the news anchor appeared again, one hand over her mouth.

"We...we'll try to get back to Tom in a minute," she said. "In the meantime...in the meantime..." Something off stage caught her attention and she looked up, then looked over at another camera, facing the audience again. "Oh, a-a mandatory curfew is in effect as of right now. Everyone is urged to get inside and lock their doors and windows. If you can't get home, use the nearest building. Shop owners are expected to take in people and--the mayor is, the mayor is what?" She squinted at the teleprompter as if someone had made a mistake typing. For a moment there was silence. Then her face paled. "He's in Manhattan?"

Leonardo paid the news only half an ear. No doubt Felix was out there somewhere fighting these things, but he couldn't do it alone. It had to be cut off at the source. "Donatello, you guys found it yet?"

"What?" Donatello broke himself away from the news and turned back to his computer, leaning over April's shoulder as she worked. "Hang on. This is weird. The signal's everywhere."

"I thought it just followed the television signal," Raphael said.

"Yeah, it's there. But it's on several radio stations, too. It almost looks like a web riding every other signal, like a bunch of carrier waves."

Leonardo didn't even pretend to understand what his brother was talking about. He didn't even really understand how television and radio signals got from one place to another and how electricity could become music or pictures. He just knew that his brother could not trace the signal as he had before. They would have to find another way.

But the door was blocked. Even if everyone helped Raphael, there was no way to get out of the lair before the entire city was decimated. The only way in or out was the stream, and that was impossible.

He tilted his head. Impossible? Only because he couldn't navigate the maze of passages beneath the water. True, the demons that had come in could probably hold their breaths or even breathe underwater, giving them time to find their way, but he was a ninja. He was supposed to be an expert at tracking anything. And those demons were certainly big enough to leave huge scrapes and rends in the walls and floor. His eyes could probably find signs of their passage in the dark tunnels.

No, not in pitch darkness. He'd need some kind of light source, but a dim one. A flashlight would be enough if he didn't shine it forward. He could just tie it to his belt facing the other way. If they hadn't traveled far or if he found another exit, he could do it. And if not? Then he drowned, and hadn't he thought of doing that last night?

But how to get his hands on a flashlight without drawing attention to himself? He knew Donatello had several in his workroom, but they'd notice if he tried to walk there. The kitchen had one. Maybe if he snagged it--but how to get there?

It stung his pride and his weak stomach, but there was no other way. "Raph?"

"Yeah?" Raphael hadn't moved from watching the news, and he tried to split his attention between his erratic brother and the replays of the camera's last image of the screamer jumping on its lens.

"Can you help me to the kitchen? I think...if it's something simple..."

The uncertain tone helped convince Raphael that Leonardo was sincere, and the thought cheered him up a bit. If his big brother was still willing to try, then there was still hope that he wouldn't hurt himself. He was a little surprised that Leo didn't need help getting there, easily skirting around furniture and their sensei as he came out of the sick room. Maybe Leonardo was just nervous about trying to eat again and wanted someone there?

As soon as Raphael opened the fridge and looked inside, reaching inside to move around tupperware in the back, Leonardo didn't hesitate. He grabbed the flashlight he knew stood on the counter next to the toaster and walked out of the kitchen, heading straight to the bridge. He took several deep breaths as he moved, knowing he wouldn't have time to prepare himself at the water's edge.

"So, you think you can handle the same things as from last night or you wanna stick to--Leo?" Raphael glanced up almost instantly. His body turned cold and he ran from the kitchen, bumping into Michelangelo who'd started to follow Leo to the bridge. "Leo! Don't!"

Everyone turned. Leonardo felt grateful that he couldn't see them as he hopped over the side of the bridge, taking just enough time to lean over and take one last breath. Rather than dive, he pushed himself into the water and let the current propel him forward. Hoping his brother wouldn't follow him in and knowing he would, Leonardo slid the flashlight into his belt but didn't turn it on for several seconds. Besides, he didn't need it yet. The light from the lair was strong enough that he could see everything, the broken pieces of stone lying on the floor, Splinter's cane that Raphael had accidentally dropped down here and then disavowed all knowledge of, and most importantly, the prominent claw marks of demons. Following these wouldn't test his skills. They were practically arrows pointing his way out.

He waited until absolutely necessary before turning on the flashlight. Even with the beam behind him, the light stung his eyes, but every detail of the tunnels was clear to him. Cavernous chambers, long and narrow corridors, rooms with dozens of entrances and exits, all of them had one thing in common, the deep and clear scrapes where a demon had grabbed the stone and pulled itself along.

Whether because of his warped genetics or simply because the distance was not that far, his lungs only burned a little when he found the end of the tunnel, not an opening to the river as he'd suspected but rather a broken street-level grating, much like the one Donatello had put together. As he pulled himself up and out, he wondered if anyone in New York knew what was beneath the city.

The streets were empty and silent. After being underwater and underground for so long, fresh air was a welcome relief. Only after he'd ducked into the long shadows as evening descended did he realize that something was wrong with the air. It tasted wrong. It felt heavy and thick. After thinking about it for awhile, he recognized the stench of decaying bodies and blood in the streets. He hadn't recognized it immediately because he'd only experienced it while half-delirious in Shredder's tower. Otherwise, he was only used to dead demons.

Something else became apparent to him when he heard the first sounds of life, the familiar clatter of claws on pavement and the shrieks of hunger. With a sinking feeling, he discovered he'd made one serious mistake.

His swords were still in the lair.

TBC...