It was as if a storm had whirled about inside the ruined plane. A moment before, the atmosphere had been so tired and resigned to our plight; now, the soldiers rushed around despite their multiple injuries, calling out to our comrade. We searched the entire plane from top to bottom and Caboose was absolutely nowhere.
"Where the hell could he be?" asked Church in a panic, his voice cracking. "He was here like five minutes ago. Five minutes!"
"He can't be far then," said Donut, his face devoid of all color. "We need to go out there and find him!"
"How can we?" asked Grif. "I mean, look at us. We're dressed like we just got mugged at Cinderella's ball!"
Unfortunately, Grif had nailed that one right on the head. The boys still wore their suits, though now they were considerably more damaged and covered in twigs and soot. I looked down at myself and realized that patches of my dress had torn off, narrowly missing embarrassing places.
"Okay, let's just figure out how to go out in that jungle before we jump in," I said. "Just a second."
I retreated back into the bedroom, praying that the closet hadn't been destroyed. After wrestling with the splintered door for a moment, I removed it.
Perfect.
There, hanging uniformly and obediently in the closet, were at least ten suits of gray armor highlighted with yellow.
I smiled grimly. Dating Wash had taught me a couple things: 1.) With large ego comes large vanity. 2.) With Freelancer boyfriend comes very prepared boyfriend.
I looked to the front of the line of armor and saw my faithful sky-blue suit ready for me.
"Guys," I called to the other room. "Here's a solution."
There was general uproar and disgust at the thought of all the guys wearing the same color—Wash's gray, no less. However, after a sharp chastisement from my part and a quick reminder of Caboose, they all clambered into the armor, and I in mine.
As we finished dressing, I couldn't help but think how unpleasant (for all of us) it would be staring at six copies of Wash. When I was done, I looked through the cabinet which contained all the emergency supplies, wishing without much hope that I could just find some reflective tape.
To my surprise, I found exactly what I was looking for—several rolls of reflective tape in all the colors of the spectrum. I grabbed six of them, placing the royal blue roll on my utility belt with a painful twang to my heart.
I entered the bedroom again and stopped, staring at the soldiers. There stood before me six Agent Washingtons, varying only slightly in height. It was the first time I couldn't tell who anyone was.
"Well, I found some tape in all your respective colors," I said to them. "Just wrap some pieces around your arms and helmet so we identify each other."
I stepped forward, about to hand them out, but stopped. They didn't move either.
"Why don't you guess who we are?" asked one of the soldiers playfully.
"Diabolical!" a gruff voice came from the far right. "We've got a soldier to save! No time for sissy games!"
I chuckled despite myself and handed him the bright red tape.
The next solder over stood defiantly before me, arms crossed and back straight. The leader's position. He took the pale blue tape as I handed it to him. "I don't know how you knew that," Church muttered.
"I'm next!" said the one to the left of Church. "You'll never be able to guess me!" He practically hopped around with excitement.
"…Donut," I replied with a grin. He sighed and took the tape.
"You're no fun."
The next solder over was already sitting on the bed and complaining he was tired. I handed the orange-yellow tape to him instantly.
After Grif, I saw the next soldier fiddling with the wires on his new armor, tinkering with all the technicalities. I shook my head, and, without a word, handed Simmons the maroon.
I only had the teal left in my hand and gave it to Tucker.
"That's not fair," he complained. "You did me last."
"What—do you think I wouldn't be able to distinguish you from the rest?"
"Well, yeah. You probably wouldn't be able to."
"No, I would. Your figure is much girlier than the rest of these men's."
I turned from him, sniggering, as he protested.
"Come on, let's get this show on the road," Sarge said, finishing up with the tape. "Not only do we have to find a soldier, but it's Caboose. This definitely isn't gonna be easy."
We exited the plane carefully, each soldier complaining about different fit of the new armor. I swear to God, sometimes they're worse drama queens than high school girls…
Outside the plane, we looked around for any sign of Caboose or his trail. Everywhere we searched, there lay only greenery and foliage—the confusion of vines and leaves gave no clue as to Caboose's direction.
"Damn," Simmons muttered. "If only Caboose had grabbed some armor before he disappeared. These are way more advanced than ours. We'd find him in no time with a tracking device."
My stomach churned at the thought of our friend, trapped in the jungle, wearing nothing but a suit.
"This isn't effing James Bond," Grif said, irritated. "He should have known to—"
"Listen, Grif," Church interrupted hotly. "How do you know Caboose left of his own will? Maybe he was kidnapped or something!"
"Shut up!" I cried suddenly, frightened by the thought of Caboose being taken from us. The others stopped at the nervous tone in my voice and turned to me. "You know what happens when you assume? You make an ass out of 'u' and 'me.' So close those traps and look over here."
I had glanced to an area around the plane that we hadn't noticed before. A footprint was squelched into the mud—not a Wash boot print.
"Caboose," Donut said simply.
We nodded and marched into the trees, following the footprints that only Caboose could have made. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness of the trees, we noticed that the greenery had been moved out of the way or stomped in certain places. Our comrade had left us clues, after all.
We spoke little as we followed the rudimentary trail. We had to stop multiple times and look around carefully for the disturbed mud and vegetation—the jungle became darker and darker as we pressed through—but our patience would always pay off, and we would be back on the trail again.
I had no idea what time it was on this planet, but the light seemed to be growing as we made out way through the jungle. As we pressed through, I realized that the crowd of trees was just thinning.
"Oh, look!" Donut said suddenly, making us all jump. "A clearing!"
Just ahead, the trees separated and ended. We hurried to the clearing, stopped at the edge of the forest, and gasped.
The terrain sloped downward from the point where we stood, and we gazed down into the valley without speaking. There, rising below us, lay an enormous concrete edifice. I could tell from here that the walls were several feet thick, and multiple guards roamed around tall towers, clutching large guns. A huge wall of barbed wire lined the building, and a shiver ran up my spine. I didn't know what this place was, but its occupants were most assuredly bent on keeping someone out—or in.
"Do… do you think Caboose is here?" whispered Simmons.
"We'll have to find out, won't we?" I replied grimly.
We crept around the building, staying near the edges of the trees and keeping out of the patrolling guards' sights. As we rounded the corner, a concrete sign to match the rest of the building came into view: COTE D'AZURE DETENTION FACILITY.
"Well, at least we know where we are…" said Church.
"What, it's like a prison?" asked Grif. "What's it doing in the middle of nowhere?"
No one had an answer for him. All we knew was that we needed to get inside.
All our thoughts on Caboose, we began to plan.
