Mr Angelo Takes a Holiday.

I’ve won! I’ve wooooooonnnnn!’

The sound of Michelangelo’s voice came booming and echoing down the chill sewers of New York City. He raced past icy slicks, frozen rubbish and steaming pipes. He bellowed with joy, a voice that could almost have woken the bleak post-Christmas feel of New York.

Raphael was momentarily distracted by the noise and Leonardo came slipping in under his guard, pounding him into the floor and making the whole room shudder. The antenna bounced off the tv. Donatello caught the antenna with a reflexive sweep of his hand. ‘Watch it you guys,’ he murmured, stepping over the twisting bodies.

‘I’ve won!’ Michelangelo arrived breathing steamy air into the room and leaving a pile of cold weather gear in his wake. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ He draped a scarf over Donatello’s head and dropped a sodden boot on Raphael’s plastron. Raphael rolled away from Leonardo’s sweeping dive and came upright. He shoved the boot on top of Mike’s head.

‘Won what?’

Michelangelo kissed a piece of paper he was holding. ‘I won! I won! I had to eat five hundred and ninety three of Cyril the Greenie’s Extra Large Wholemeal Vegetarian pizzas with extra non-genetically modified soybeans, but it was worth it. I won!’

‘Won what?’ Donatello made a grab for the paper but Mike swept it away and kissed it again.

‘Knowing Mike it was probably another pizza,’ said Raphael.

‘Try two weeks’ vacation in Australia, dude. For four!’ This time he didn’t manage to evade the grasping hands of his brothers.

Leonardo read the glossy brochure. ‘First prize, two weeks at the Royal Palms Resort, Port Douglas. Won by Mike Tuttle. Mike Tuttle?’

Michelangelo shrugged and grinned, ‘Well if I’d said “turtle” they might have guessed my secret identity.’

Donatello flicked through the pages of the brochure. ‘Tropical Queensland. We’re gonna get away from hibernation city for two whole weeks.’

‘Sun, surf and sea,’ agreed Mike.

‘Wide open spaces,’ sighed Raphael.

‘Cape Tribulation where the rainforest meets the reef,’ Don read. ‘Rare native animals.’

‘Twenty seven hours in a jumbo jet,’ said Leonardo quietly.

Mike pouted. ‘Don’t be such a killjoy.’

Leonardo snatched the brochures away from Donatello. ‘I’m not being mean I’m being realistic. Take a look at this joint, it’s a tropical resort. We’re going to look pretty silly wearing trenchcoats and beanies all day long.’

‘Maybe we’ll figure some new disguises,’ said Mike.

‘What about passports?’

Donatello put a possessive arm around his computer. ‘Not a problem. I can do the same for us a I did for Ginairrunda.’ He flicked the computer on and started typing.

‘We could go see him,’ said Mike.

‘Sure,’ said Raphael. ‘Just give him a call on the rainforest public phone.’

‘Done!’ said Don leaning back on his computer chair.

‘What?’ Leo frowned at him.

‘The brothers Tuttle are ready for their trip downunder. Yours truly Donald, Leonard, Michael and Ralph.’

‘Ralph?’ Raphael scowled at him. ‘Thanks a lot.’

‘That still doesn’t solve the problem of passports. We have to get photos taken, documents signed...’

‘I bet April will help us with that stuff,’ said Mike.

‘Yeah. What’s the point in being a reporter if you can’t haven’t got sleazy underground contacts?’ said Don.

‘I thought that was us,’ said Raphael.

‘Help you with what stuff?’ April was standing by the door.

‘I won us a trip!’

‘We’re going on a vacation!’

‘It’s gonna be great!’

Mike shoved the brochures at April and gazed at her hopefully. ‘We need passports and stuff. Like you did for Ginairrunda.’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem, Mike.’ April glanced about. Three turtles had big grins on their faces but Leonardo stood alone, huffing on one of his swords and cleaning it. ‘Leo you haven’t said a word about this. Is everything okay?’

He thrust the sword back into its sheath. ‘No. Everything isn’t okay. I don’t trust any of this.’

It was Splinter who had been sitting in a corner of the room who finally spoke. ‘Why not, my son?’

‘I just think it’s asking for trouble, that’s all.’

‘Do you feel that this challenge is beyond your skills?’

‘No, Sensei!’ To have said less would have been an insult to Splinter’s teaching. ‘It’s just that if we get caught there, if anyone finds us, then we’re history. We’d never get home. We’d never see you again.’

‘My son, you take that chance every time you go into the street here in New York.’

‘This is just frivolous.’

‘Then change your perspective. Do not call this a vacation, call it a field exercise.’

‘I just have a bad feeling about it, that’s all.’

‘It is always wise to heed your intuition, Leonardo, but I have never known you to refuse a challenge.’

It was only gradually that Leonardo was convinced. He thought of it as confronting his fear. He thought of it as accepting a challenge, of working on his invisibility skills, increasing his knowledge. The worry nagged at him like a little dog, but he put it to one side.

When the passports arrived Mike couldn’t stop laughing. He held up Raphael’s picture. ‘You look like the “before” picture out of an ad for acne treatment.’

‘Donatello looks like he’s doing a Bela Lugosi impersonation!’

‘I don’t!’ Don grabbed the picture from Raphael’s hand. ‘Oh, yes I do!’

They were still laughing when Leonardo stormed into the room carrying a suitcase. ‘What the hell is this supposed to be?’

‘It’s our suitcase, dude. We put all our stuff in it for the trip. That stops it getting lost on the airplane.’

‘He needs a break,’ Raphael nodded.

Leonardo emptied the suitcase onto the floor. The contents consisted mostly of weapons. There were sai and nunchuka, buckets of shuriken and knives. Tangled amongst the amoury were a few disguises. ‘I don’t know what you guys are using to think with these days, but how far did you imagine we were gonna get with all this iron on board an airplane? In case you hadn’t noticed, air travel isn’t exactly the most relaxed form of transport any more.’

‘What are you trying to say, dude?’ said Mike.

‘No weapons.’

‘Not even a bo?’

‘No weapons, Don. I thought you were smart enough to figure that out.’

Raphael shrugged. ‘At least we won’t have to worry about paying excess for our baggage.’

‘I’m gonna feel naked without my chucks,’ pouted Mike.

Splinter, as always, had the final say on the matter: ‘A true Ninja is master of his environment. He can create a weapon from whatever comes to hand.’

***

Sadly for the turtles, their air tickets were only for economy class. They crammed into their seats disguised in bulky jumpers, fuzzy wigs, baggy pants. They had even managed to cram shoes onto their feet. Donatello turned and waved to the tiny figure of April. ‘I wish Splinter could have been at the airport to say goodbye.’

‘That would have been unfair,’ said Leo. ‘You know he doesn’t like crowds.’

‘Yeah, I know. But, you know, we’re going a long way, and what if...something bad happens.’

‘It’s a vacation, Don. Take it easy.’

‘Well it’s all your fault. You’re the one that started all that stuff and now I’m worried.’

‘Cheez, lighten up, willya?’ Raphael leaned across and shoved a headset onto Donatello, nearly dislodging his wig. ‘Comedy’s on channel 8.’

None of the turtles noticed the peculiar look the flight attendant gave as she walked past them. She reached the kitchen bay and scrabbled around in one of the cupboards. ‘What are you after?’ a second flight attendant joined her.

‘Did you get a load of that bunch in row 26?’

‘Not really, why?’

‘Shars, I’ve seen some airsick cases in my time, but these guys are really green!’ She came out of the cupboard with a handfull of airsick bags. ‘Better safe than sorry. I’m gonna do a mercy dash for them.’

Her friend nodded. ‘Better to do a mercy dash than cleanup duty!’

Michelangelo was reading the inflight magazine when the attendant arrived. ‘Hey, when I get there I’m gonna have a Vegemite and lamington pizza.’

The attendant stopped in her tracks, letting the airsickness bags flutter to the ground. All but one which she clutched desperately to her mouth as she rushed off towards the toilet.

‘That sounds good,’ said Donatello.

‘Yeah. And I’m gonna have a Smartie pavlova.’

‘What’s pavlova?’ said Leo.

‘It’s kind of a meringue pizza with whipped cream instead of cheese.’

‘What are Smarties?’

‘Australian M & Ms.’

It was an easy way to pass the flight, concocting ridiculous new recipes from the food articles in the magazines. Eventually they slept, all heaped together and tucked under their airline blankets. Their wigs were askew and they kicked their shoes off, but the lights were dim and they were a long way up and nobody was really looking.

It was an uneventful flight and the trip through customs went without a hitch in the friendly warmth of the tourist airport.

‘I’m just glad they didn’t pick us for a random body search, that’s all,’ Leo said as they left the airport.

They arrived at the Royal Palms Resort and it was all that the brochures had promised, a tropical resort hotel. A fantasy of shimmering white buildings lazing around a series of man-made lagoons whose glittering waters reflected tropical sunlight through the dappled shade cast by palm trees. The staff were smiling and unobtrusive.

The desk clerk insisted on shaking Mike’s hand. ‘Nice to see you, Mr Tuttle. Congratulations on winning your holiday sir. We hope that you and your friends will have a wonderful stay with us.’

‘Thanks, dude.’

‘We’ll be happy to help you with your bags.’

‘Uh, this is all we got.’

‘Well, it’s not the kind of place where you need to dress up a lot. Here’s your key. Jason’ll show you to your suite. Hey, Jase...’

It was bright and airy and colourful and about as far away from the sewers of New York City in winter as you could possibly get. Mike flopped back into a chair and flicked his wig at the light fitting. ‘I just can’t believe it. It’s a dream come true.’

Raphael peeled off his layers of disguise and stood by the open window. ‘Nah, it’s not a dream. I’ve died and gone to heaven.’

‘Thanks Mike,’ Don grinned.

‘This welcome is a little more personal than I would have liked,’ said Leo.

The others rounded on him. Raphael raised a warning fist. He’d had enough of the gloom and doom, but they all froze when they realised what he was pointing at. On each of their beds was a well crafted stone age implement made by the local Kooris. There was a long stick, almost like a bo on one bed, a spear and woomera on the next, a pair of boomerangs, and a stone axe. The tools had been carefully made, they weren’t just the kind of things you’d expect for the local tourist trade.

‘What do you think this means?’ Leo snarled.

‘I think it’s obvious.’ Raphael felt the heft in the stone axe. ‘Look at this stuff. Whoever put it here knows us all right. Think about it. There could only be one person...’

‘Ginairrunda!’ grinned Don.

At the mention of his name, the tall, slender form of the mutant frill neck lizard emerged from the shadows. ‘The very same.’ He was at once overwhelmed by thumps and chafes from the turtles. ‘Cheez, youse blokes’ve really got style, you know? When I said you could come and visit me it was just a joke.’

‘We couldn’t refuse your hospitality, dude,’ grinned Mike.

‘But how did you know we were coming?’ said Leo.

‘I’ve got this mate that does a lot of travellin’,’ he tapped his head. ‘Up here. You know. This morning he told me “Wayne, I just been talkin’ to a rat who says he knows you.” And I say: “Yeah, I know a rat called Splinter who’s a good bloke.” And then Trev says: “Well this rat tells me some turtles are comin’ into the Royal Palms in Douglas and it would be good if you could give ‘em a hand.” So here I am. Givin’ youse a hand.’

Leonardo shook his head in awe. ‘Splinter is totally amazing.’

‘What sort of a hand do we need?’ said Mike.

‘Gotta get youse outa this place for a start, mate.’

Raphael pouted.

‘Sorry Raf, but it’s no good. Not with all these humans round. Specially whitefellas. Can’t trust ‘em. Too many of ‘em think like this: “If it moves, shoot it, if it doesn’t, chop it down. If the greenies won’t let you shoot it or chop it down, then sell it.” Youse want a holiday, I know some good places.’

They followed Ginairrunda unnoticed through the compound to a beat-up looking old Land Rover being driven by a young black man who introduced himself as Trevor. They piled into the car and Trevor took off. In only minutes they were cruising through stunning rainforest. ‘Don’t go so fast,’ Don complained. ‘We want to see the trees, smell the air...’

‘Plenty time for that later, mate. We’ll get to our camp, leave the car and walk. That’s the way to see the forest.’

Camp, when they got there, was nothing to write home about. Trevor hid the car well off the road and the turtles helped him cover wheel tracks. Beyond the first layer of bush was a small tent stuffed with supplies and a couple of fuel stoves. ‘Home sweet home...for the time being,’ grinned Trevor.

‘You move around a lot,’ said Leo.

‘The bush doesn’t like people to stay in one place for too long. When it gets tired of you, it lets you know. Then it takes you to a new place.’

Raphael took a deep lungfull of the warm, damp air. ‘So long as it’s still in the forest.’

‘Yeah. We’d stay here forever if we could.’

‘What on earth could stop you?’ said Don.

Trevor shrugged. ‘Can’t live in the bush if there’s no bush left.’

‘You don’t mean they’re cutting down this forest?’ Donatello was horrified.

‘Chop it down, chop it up, sell it.’ Ginairrunda’s frill lifted for a moment. ‘They make the trees into woodchips and turn the land into more tourist villages.’

‘I thought this forest was on the World Heritage list,’ Don argued.

‘That bit of paper wasn’t worth cuttin’ down a tree for,’ grunted Trevor. ‘Not when there’s a dollar to be made selling the land.’

‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ said Raphael.

‘This is supposed to be a civilized country,’ said Leo.

‘Civilized. Yeah. Not like on the Amazon where it’s only the poor stupid blackfellas who don’t know any better that are choppin’ down the forest. Let me tell you mate, it’s these so-called civilized blokes that are causing all the problems.’

Ginairrunda crouched over a billy of tea. ‘C’mon Trev, they just need educatin’, mate. We’ve still got our forest. As long as that’s here we’ve got a chance. And not all the humans think money is god. There are plenty on our side.’

‘You don’t know ‘em. They’re just being trendy.’

‘Well you’re the one who goes for walks in his head. You’re the one that’s been meetin’ white folks up there. That’s not just trendiness.’

‘Splinter never talks about the people he meets on his meditations,’ said Leo.

‘I walk spirit paths. Plenty of people to talk to.’

‘You’re just a gossip, mate.’

Trevor nodded and grinned. ‘Not like Splinter. His meditations take him inside himself. He searches for strength within. Ninjas don’t often walk the common spirit paths. They prefer the hidden way.’

‘Hey let’s go for a walk outside our heads,’ said Mike. ‘How far is it to the sea? What’s the surf like?’

‘Trev’s gunna get us some boards tomorrow. I wanna show you the croc farm today. You comin’, Trev?’

Trevor shook his head and they left him, sipping his tea and brooding. In a way he did remind the turtles of Splinter, he had the wisdom and, as Mike pointed out, he liked tea. Somehow Ginairrunda found a track through the forest and they moved almost silently, occasionally startling small animals. They were surrounded by the constant hum and chatter of insects and frogs and they crystal sound of water dripping from leaves and trickling down into tiny streams. A cassowarry bobbed up, its hard, golden eyes glared at them from the sides of its blue head.

Donatello watched a butterfly sitting in a patch of sunlight. ‘Why would anybody want to grow crocodiles?’

‘Used to be to keep ‘em safe. At first the blackfellers owned the croc farm, grew the crock and put em back in the rivers where they’d been shot out. Then they got took over by whitefellers. Said they could make more money off a tourist attraction. They grow the big crocs for bags and shoes and things. Then they realised they could make even more money if they just sold the lot to the Japanese. They won’t release any crocs back into the wild. It’ll all be handbags and then turn the whole thing into a golf course and country club. Make the most money. It’s always about money.’

‘That’s nuts,’ said Donatello.

‘That’s money,’ said Ginairrunda.

None of the others were really listening. Leonardo was sparring with his shadow, watching it flicker through the leaves. Michelangelo was following the path of a butterfly, trying to get his hand in the way each time it landed, so that it would perch on his finger. Raphael was on a Tarzan vibe. He climbed a strangler fig and leapt out to grab a vine. He swung for a moment through open air before making a somewhat George of the Jungle landing on the branch of another tree.

A bunch of vivid pink orchids grew in the crook of the branch and Raphael spent some time just looking at them. For all the wealth of plantlife in the forest there were few flowers. He was disappointed at their lack of fragrance. A patch of sun moved along the branch and held the flowers for a little while, like a spotlight that brought them to the attention of butterflies. Raphael smiled. He was going to have to thank Mike for this. De-stressing. Everyone in the world should try it.

Raphael turned onto his back and tobogganed down the tree on his shell. It wasn’t till he hit the earth that he saw the ninjas. Eight of them emerged from the forest, raining hard, silent blows upon him. He kicked and lunged, using the tree for cover, grabbing a fallen branch for a weapon. But the branch was soft, it crumbled in his hand, and the men had come prepared. He was stunned by a blow to the head and somebody grabbed at his mask, twisting it so that his eyes were covered. His wrists and ankles were shackled together and Raphael was slung from a pole like the trophy of a big game hunter.

Nobody commented about Raphael’s absence. It wasn’t such an unusual occurrence. They rounded the back of the crocodile farm and sat by the wide part of one of the billabongs, watching a mother croc as she purred to her chirping brood. Raphael was carried to shack in the middle of the crocodile farm. He heard the door slam behind him and was immediately surrounded by the roar of sound and cold bite of air from air conditioners.

His eyes were still covered but he recognised the voice at once: ‘So. You catch this one for me. A mutant turtle. A ninja.’ Mr Hideo.

Raphael was pinned onto a table, held helpless by his shackles, arms above his head, legs straight and unable to move. ‘Whaddaya want?’

‘My friend Mr Oroku would have wanted me to kill you.’

‘Shredder. You had something to do with his return, didn’t you?’

‘Of course. And I could bring back a thousand more if I choose to do it. Death means nothing to me.’

‘It was your name on all those stupid robots. I should have realised you had something to do with Shredder.’

‘But you didn’t know,’ the voice was close to his ear. He could smell a faint, rotten mustiness from the man. ‘Isn’t it a shame? A shame for you too that your famous ninja skills do not save you from being here. Do not warn you that my men come for you. The old ways are finish now, and so are you.’

‘You’re just another worm and too much of a coward to look me in the eye.’

‘Oh, you want see my face? Something pretty for you to think about as you die? Of course I let you look, because I want to see your eyes. I like to watch you in pain. I like to watch you die.’ The mask was dragged down off Raphael’s eyes and forced into his mouth. He bit at the foul smelling hand that rammed the ends of his scarf down onto the back of his tongue, but the taste made him gag. ‘Now you see me. Now you look me in my eye and I don’t listen to you any more. Only your scream. I only listen for your scream.’

Raphael stared at the deformed little man. His glasses were thick as milk bottle bottoms, his skin looked as though it had been through atanning plant. He was small and almost skeletal. His lips peeled back in a smile that exposed yellow overgrown teeth and he reached behind him to a bench where he drew a boning knife with a slender, vicious blade. ‘I will cut you into pieces and feed you to my crocodiles. Perhaps your mutant flesh makes them even bigger, even wickeder. Make them eat even more people. They do not eat people often enough.’ He drew the blade a couple of times across a steel, putting an edge on it.

Raphael watched, unable to move as the tip of the knife pressed against him where his flesh met his plastron just by the curve of his right shoulder. There was a hot line of pain and then the smell of his blood welling up and spilling down over Hideo’s hand and down Raphael’s skin where it collected in a small pool in his shell before dripping and running onto the floor.

‘People say reptiles cold blooded but your blood is very hot. What makes you like that?’ Hideo jabbed for emphasis, but Raphael made no sound. ‘What makes you blood so hot? Maybe you are angry. I can make your blood cold. I can make it cold with fear.’

He laughed, stomping in the blood on the floor, making it splash. Making it splatter the benches all about. Raphael saw drops of his own blood splatter against a computer screen. He dragged and twisted at the chains binding him but he was helpless. Hideo swung the knife backwards and forwards in front of him.

‘We will have many crocodiles eating people. All eating. No room for peace then. No room for wilderness. All the people will kill the crocodiles, set traps and shoot. No other option then, chop down rainforest. Chop it all, the home of crocodiles and other things which can kill people. Every time animal dies, every time tree comes down, then Gaia dies a little more too.’ And he sunk the knife again into the turtle’s flesh, twisting it so that Raphael’s jaws locked open and his arms and legs strained at their shackles drawing a groan from the metal that held them but no sound at all from the turtle. Tears of rage and pain flowed from his eyes but he remained composed. Though this was not the honourable death he had imagined for himself, he refused to disgrace his training by crying for mercy.

The knife stopped and a voice, soft as a kiss by his ear whispered: ‘Does it hurt?’ Blood dripped down the front of Hideo’s clothing and its hot, ripe smell filled the hut. He dragged the blade a couple of times across the turtle’s plastron as though he was honing it on a stone. ‘I will vivisect you. I will cut you very, very slowly until you die. I cut you out of your shell now.’

And he reached again with his blade, drawing it up around the top edge of the plastron. Raphael’s body arched so that he was raised from the table. His eyes shut tight against the sight of his own blood couldn’t stop the flow of tears, rage, fear, pain, hatred and hopelessness streamed out of him and his choking breath almost found a voice. Only it was Mike he heard.

‘I’m gonna knock you right off your bones.’

There was a slamming crash of sound as Michelangelo pounded Hideo with a single pulverising blow that shattered his spine and most of the bones in his upper body. He crumpled to the floor and lay in the pool of Raphael’s blood. Ginairrunda and the turtles gathered about the blood washed body of Raphael.

‘Will he be okay?’ said Mike

Leonardo sliced the gag out of Raphael’s mouth using Hideo’s knife. He tried to snap the shackles with the steel, but the chains were too heavy. It was Donatello who located the bolt cutters and freed Raphael. He laid his brother’s wounded left arm on his plastron. ‘It’s gonna be okay, Raph.’

Michelangelo brought the first aid kit and thrust it at Donatello. ‘I’m gonna need...’ Donatello looked hopelessly about. ‘I’m gonna need a lot of help.’

They gathered about, Don the master surgeon, Mike the nurse. Leo became the anaesthetist, wiping Raphael’s face and head. Ginairrunda supported his left arm, holding it clear as Don worked. The hard part was wiping away the blood. There was so much of it, Don was afraid he would bleed and bleed until there was nothing left. ‘I need bandages.’

‘How much do you want?’ Mike held up a roll of crepe.

‘Yeah, all of it in a roll, just like that.’ He took the roll and stuffed it hard up against Raphael’s plastron. ‘More.’ Mike handed him roll after roll of bandage until they were all used, each neatly packing the wound, staunching the blood. ‘Now I need a sling to hold everything in place.’

Leonardo reached for the curtains and tore them down, ripping them to pieces until he had a suitable size.

‘Sit him up now, Ginairrunda,’ Don instructed.

‘I can sit up by myself,’ said Raphael.

‘You probably can’t. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re in shock. Just take it easy now and let Ginnai help you. You’re gonna get a rest whether you want it or not. How do you feel?’

‘Like I’m gonna throw up.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Mike. ‘I can’t stand the sight of blood.’

Donatello finished tying the sling. The curtains were a faded Ken Done print that had once been a celebration of tropical Australia.

‘Very sheek, dude,’ said Mike.

Raphael slid down from the table. ‘We’ve got to get out of here. We have to rescue the crocodiles.’ His feet splashed in a pool of his own blood and he slipped, falling to his knees, sick and dizzy with loss of blood.

Leonardo put a hand on his shell. ‘No good, Raph. You’re in shock. You need rest.’

Leonardo and Donatello helped their brother to his feet. His knees shook and his teeth chattered and he gagged, realising how much blood had come out of him. They walked him to the far side of the hut and lowered him to a chair.

‘Here,’ Mike had found a fridge full of juice and he put a straw in his brother’s mouth.

‘We’re not rescuing crocodiles, we’re rescuing you,’ said Leonardo. ‘Ginnai can you get Trevor and the car? We’ll need it to get Raph outa here.’

‘Sure.’ Ginairrunda ran from the building, his long legs carrying him in fast strides, his tail stretched out behind him.

‘No...Leo...’ Raphael fought the bottle of juice aside. ‘We really have to save the crocs. Hid...he’s breeding them. He wants to take them down South and release them in the rainforest to eat people. He wants people to think the forest is full of crocs, too much of a threat. If we can free them up here they’ll get away and be safe. We need to do it. Gotta protect em.’

‘Okay Raph. Donny and Mike and I will go and open up the crock tanks. We’ll do that while Ginnai gets Trevor. But you just stay here and rest.’

‘Yeah. Sure.’ Raphael eyed the computers on benches around the hut. There were one or two things he could do to keep himself amused while the others were gone. ‘Brother, will you lend me your bo?’

‘Actually,’ said Donatello, ‘it’s a woomera Trevor gave me. Just see that you don’t bleed on it, okay?’

When they left Raphael climbed out of the chair, swaying a little with dizziness, and then he set to work, smashing the computers and tearing the hut apart, venting his rage with every gram of energy he had remaining.

Michelangelo loved helping the baby crocodiles. Even the ones that didn’t want all that much to be saved. One of them latched onto his finger, growling like a puppy. ‘Hey, Jaws Junior, I’m tryin’ ta save you from being some lady’s handbag and this is the thanks I get?’ Suddenly the baby croc let out a squeal and leapt for its leather.

‘How’d you get him off?’ said Don.

‘Gave him a taste of his own medicine.’ Mike chopped his teeth together. ‘Didn’t like having his tail bit.’

‘I think that’s all of them,’ Leonardo swung on the open gate. He was half right, the crocodiles were gone. The ninjas who had captured Raphael were still around though. They leapt at the turtles, expecting the same ease of capture they’d experienced with unsuspecting Raphael. Instead they got a fight. Donatello used one of the metal poles used by the crocodile handlers and Leonardo fought using a metal bucket that held fish. Mike reached down for a half grown crocodile that hadn’t bothered to run terribly far. He threw it at the ninjas and they heard it snapping and tearing.

By the time they’d finished with the ninjas, Ginairrunda and Trevor were arriving at the compound. The hut where they’d left Raphael looked as if it had been trashed by a small army of dedicated vandals. There was only the one turtle though, wrapped in a torn up curtain and apparently asleep with a woomera in his right hand and his feet resting on the shattered remains of a desk.

‘You okay Raph?’ said Leo.

Raphael opened one eye. ‘A little tired.’

‘What did you do with him, Raph?’ said Donatello.

‘Do with him who?’

‘The body.’

‘Nothing. Wouldn’t dirty your bo...woomera on it.’

Donatello shook his head. ‘Leo, I think you’d better come and look at this.’ He was standing by the table where Raphael had been held. Their brother’s blood was turning into a black, congealed mess on the floor and there was clear evidence that somebody had slipped it in, and that there had been something lying in it. But the body of Mr Hideo was gone. A single set of bloody footprints lead from the blood puddle out the door.

Raphael stood beside his brothers and looked at the tracks. ‘But he was dead. I thought he was dead.’

Leonardo nodded. ‘He is, Raph. No human could have survived the pounding Mike gave him. Someone must have come in here and got the body, that’s all.’

‘No.’ Trevor pointed. ‘You look here...there’s been someone lying down here, and someone else who slipped and got up again, but that was you, Raph. But this other person, this one over here...he got up by himself. No one picked him up. He just walked out the door.’

‘How can you tell that?’ said Leo.

‘My grandad taught me how to track. He was a top police tracker back in the forties.’

‘Then Hideo isn’t dead.’ Raphael stared out the door. His hands were starting to shake.

Mike reached an arm around his shoulders. ‘I hit him. I know how hard I hit. If he’s not dead then he’s not human.’

‘He knew about Shredder coming back to life. He said he could make more Shredders, that death meant nothing to him. What if he’s just worms too?’ He didn’t want to say them, but the words just came out. ‘What if he comes back?’

Leo turned to the big lizard. ‘Hey, Ginnai, how about you take Raph back to the car? It’s kind of stuffy in here.’

‘Okay mate. I can carry you.’

‘Don’t be stupid. I can walk.’

‘I bet Don wants this back.’ Ginairrunda snatched away the woomera that Raphael had been leaning on and the turtle immediately slumped. The big lizard scooped him into a fireman’s hold and stalked out, ignoring his protests.

‘I think we’d like another demonstration of your tracking skills, Trevor. Show us where this person’s gone.’

The followed Trevor through the compound and into a second building. It was in somewhat better condition than the first. It was newer and there was a satellite dish on top and a microwave phone link. Trevor flung the door open. ‘One set of prints going in, nothing coming out. Your man’s in here all right.’

But the hut was empty. They tore it to pieces, smashing the few bits of furniture within minutes. There was nowhere for a man to hide and no other exit, but he wasn’t in there.

‘What are we gonna tell Raph?’ said Mike.

Leonardo shook his head. ‘Mike, how hard did you hit that guy?’

‘Harder than I’ve ever hit anything in my life.’

‘I thought so. If we want to be rational here we have to either believe Mike or Trevor. You can’t both be right.’

‘Unless what Raph said about worms is true,’ suggested Donatello. ‘Went in as a man...’

‘...and came out worms,’ said Leo. ‘That would explain the lack of tracks.’

‘Which brings us back to the original question,’ said Don. ‘What are we going to tell Raph.’

‘The truth,’ said Mike. ‘He’s our brother and if that Hideo guy’s out there, then we all need to know it.’

They spent quiet days back in the camp, their senses heightened until the tension gradually leeched out of them. Though they turtles were never off guard they were finally able to enjoy the beauty of the forest around them. Trevor left early one morning and came back just after lunch with diving gear and surfboards borrowed from a friend. ‘C’mon you lot, this is s’posed to be a holiday. There’s this great surf beach the touros don’t know about.’

He drove them to a small bay. Pure white coral sand led down from the rainforest to pure blue water. A line of breakers marked the beginning of the reef and a coral bommie stuck out above the surge of white.

Don grabbed a mask and snorkel and raced down the sand. ‘I’m gonna look at the reef.’

Mike and Leo unloaded the three surfboards. Raphael, still with his left arm in a sling, grabbed one of the boards. Mike grabbed a second board and raced down the beach. ‘I’m goin’ surfiiiiiiin’!’

Raphael tucked his board awkwardly under his right arm and followed his brother down the beach. ‘I can out surf you any time!’

‘You sayin’ you’re better than me even with one arm tied in front of your shell?’

‘I could do better than you even with both arms tied behind my shell!’

Side by side they hit the warm blue water of the South Pacific.