Chapter 14: The Purple Man (Part 2)

Pokey Oaks County. Pokey Oaks Woodland Reserve

7 FEB (Tuesday) 1989. 1115.

Just when the Girls thought that law enforcement in the City of Townsville was hard work, they quickly learned that they hadn't seen hard work yet… until now. Searching the woods for a fugitive was backbreaking labor, and words could never do it justice.

In a forest, the Girls soon found out that their ability to fly at high speeds was useless among the trunks and canopy of the woods, not just because they would likely bump into hard wood or get caught up in the snow-locked and endless sponge-like canopy whenever they tried to zoom through the forest, but also because they had to search every little crack and crevice for some guy with purple fur, or any sign of the lost tac team of Captain James 'Boomer' Wilbur. Not to mention, it was painful whenever the branches and leaves brush past their faces if they even so much as fly at any appreciable speed.

The woods were deep - many times wider in area than the City of Townsville itself, and much harder to traverse even with flight. For almost three hours, the Girls had been scouting ahead for Agent Blake and his forty or so USDO soldiers, but they had turned up nothing - and they were only scratching the surface of the ocean of trees.

But as much as it was tiring, it was also the first time the Girls had truly been in a forest, not counting the last time when they were driven through one as they were taken to a USDO outpost. Every sight, every sound, every feeling, thoughts and emotions they experienced in the forest was new, and it was the only thing keeping them from collapsing in a heap of misery and exhaustion. Blossom enjoyed finding the many different kinds of plants and animals in the forest, while Bubbles enjoyed the scenic sights most of all, such as the mountains and the valleys, all filled with trees and life. But most of all, she was always hoping to bump into a fairy godmother, or a dwarf, or an elf, or some other fairy tale creature. Buttercup had read stories and seen illustrations of soldiers in the woods, and she thought it was cool to live through the experience.

Pokey Oaks County. Pokey Oaks Woodland Reserve

7 FEB (Tuesday) 1989. 1229.

After venturing ever deeper into the woods, the Girls had still turned up nothing – not even a shred of cloth, not even a spatter of blood or scattered expended rounds. Despite flying slowly at not even a quarter their maximum velocity, they grew tired. Maintaining a constant state of alertness and fear and thrill and apprehension had worn out the Girls. Despite having fought no one in the past four hours, it was no different from fighting through a grueling battle.

When their stomachs rumbled for the umpteenth time, groaning for food one too many instances, it was the last straw. They radioed Agent Blake vehemently for lunch.

It was because of them that the USDO presence they were scouting for had set up camp. Otherwise, they would have done it only a couple hours later. While the Girls had rations packed into their backpack, they were never trained for survival and Agent Blake had to teach them how to start a fire and warm their meals over it… With varying degrees of success.

Somehow, the Girls were able to find joy in their miserable and freezing conditions, huddling around their campfire as they cooked their bland combat rations in their little mess tins. It was like going camping - or at least as far as they knew from their Daddy's descriptions.

"I hope we find the Purple Man soon…" Blossom remarked as she watched her meal sizzle in boiling water over the fire. "I don't want to spend the night here."

"Yeah, I sure hope we find him," Buttercup barged into the conversation. "Because I'm going to bust his teeth in for putting us through this!" Even Buttercup has had enough of the forest and this 'soldiering' business.

Bubbles was staring into the fire, mesmerized by the dancing blades of the flame. It was the only thing in the forest that was of any joy to her - her interest in the forest was worn out by the constant terror she felt, knowing that the Purple Man could be somewhere out there, that he could spring at them from any direction, from anywhere. As long as there was a hole or a ridge or a tree, he could be there. The fire reminded her of The House's fireplace in the living room, how she used to sit beside it even before she could speak. It'd made her wish she was home, with Dad and Mom.

"Bubbles? You okay there, buddy?" Agent Blake nudged her gently.

"Wha-? I'm… fine," Bubbles lied - she didn't want to be the weak one. The man handed her her tin of rations and she took it. She stared at it with not a single trace of appetite for the content of her mess tin. The thinly-sauced macaroni and shriveled strips of chicken were a far cry from what her Dad could do in the kitchen. "I wish I'm home…"

There were so many things she could wish for. She wished that everything in the past few days had never happened. She wished that she had stayed at Princess' party instead of surrendering herself to her Mom's whims – the utterly depressing look that the Princess had put on when they left the party prematurely had been haunting her since that day. She wished that she was a normal little girl. Not that that was ever going to happen - so the most she could wish for was Blossom's awareness and wits, and Buttercup's bravery and tenacity, just so that she could survive in this harsh world she was born in.

Agent Blake knew that something was not right with Bubbles, but he knew he shouldn't dig any deeper and risk wounding her emotionally or destroy his rapport with her. Getting up, he stroked her hair lovingly before walking away to check on one of the squads he was commanding.

Pokey Oaks County. Pokey Oaks Woodland Reserve

7 FEB (Tuesday) 1989. 1514.

It had started snowing again, and the fog had come up all around the Girls as they continued their search for the Purple Man, led by a Blossom who was fueled by anger towards the creature who had killed everyone at the gas station that day.

When they did finally find some signs of Captain Wilbur's whereabouts, it wasn't hard to make out. After going very deep into the woods and up to a small hill, Blossom had spotted a most grisly sight downrange using her eyes' zooming ability. She'd almost puked on the spot as a result.

There were heads, about six of them, some still wearing tactical helmets and night vision goggles, stuck on makeshift wooden pikes in the middle of a small clearing. Some still had gullets and windpipes still attached, and those were wrapped around the pikes holding up the heads as if the whole thing was some sickening art exhibit.

The bodies the heads were taken from were a whole other thing altogether. As soon as Blossom knew to expect dead bodies, she could see them as clearly as the Purple Man she was supposed to find out there. They were all nailed onto the trees surrounding the head pikes, some in spread-eagled positions, others like Jesus Christ on the cross, with arms above the head. One of them was nailed in a kneeling or begging position.

Bubbles and Buttercup did not have Blossom's acute vision, and so it took them a little longer to understand what they were seeing, and when they did, after flying close to the head pikes and straining their eyes, Bubbles gasped in shock while Buttercup couldn't help but curl a corner of her lips in a sadistic smile.

"Mister Blake, I think we found them," Blossom muttered into her radio mic, still fighting to keep what remained of her lunch down. She then turned to her sisters. "Come on, Girls! I think he's close!"

Reluctantly, Blossom flew towards the pikes at close to her maximum speed, partly to warm herself up and stretch, as she had been floating at a snail's pace since the lunch break. Even more reluctantly, Bubbles followed. Buttercup went up to the dead bodies without even a hint of hesitation.

"Affirmative. All units, maintain high alert. Papa-Mike could be close, I repeat, Papa-Mike could be close," Agent Blake immediately ordered over the radio, before addressing the Girls once more: "Stay where you are. We'll catch up with you."

Pokey Oaks County. Pokey Oaks Woodland Reserve

7 FEB (Tuesday) 1989. 1528.

"W-why would he do something like this, Mister Blake?" Bubbles stuttered her question. Despite being sickened and repulsed by the necrotic artwork, she couldn't take her eyes off of it at all. "These poor men…"

"I don't understand," Blossom said, trying her best to distract herself with the puzzle at hand. A huge part of her, however, still insisted on being terrified. "Does the Purple Man want to be found? I thought he was hiding from us?"

Buttercup was silent as she continued to study the heads on the wooden pikes and the bodies surrounding her in a semi-circle, in the process of being taken down by their still-living comrades. It was giving her ideas, and at the same time telling her that the Purple Man was someone to be feared and even respected.

"Both," Agent Blake explained. "It's a warning. He wants us to stay away, and he wants us to know what will happen if we don't. But he's hiding out there alright – this is what a man does when he's outnumbered. I've seen this happen before."

"What do we do?" Blossom asked.

"We'll have to keep going. Our people could still be alive and out there. The Purple Man is still out there," Agent Blake said.

"But what if he attacks us?" Bubbles asked fearfully.

"That's the idea, dummy!" Buttercup chided – she really hated Bubbles, especially when she talked.

"Back off, Buttercup," Agent Blake warned Buttercup gently, who did as he asked promptly while pouting. As much as he adored her, he was beginning to detest the way she had been ill-treating the sweetest of The Three. "It's not that simple. We'll stick closer to one another. Don't stray too far ahead, and keep your radios close."

And they truly didn't have to stray that far to find more 'signposts' pointing the other way – the way out of the forest. Not even a half hour further in, the Girls, who continued to scout ahead, had found a few more wooden stakes. This time, there weren't heads mounted on them. No, it was worse: entire men were impaled on them like slaughtered pigs destined to be spit-roasted. There were four of them, all of them still in uniform and gear but with their ghillie suits missing. One of them was even held in a pose by a rickety frame constructed using branches and old rope, pointing the way back from whence they came.

They were all dead. Some of them before they were impaled, as evidenced by clouds of shotgun pellet wounds to the head or chest. Two of them died shortly after. At least, that was what Agent Blake could determine after examining the wounds once he'd caught up with the Girls – not that he'd shared the details with them. He didn't want them to panic.

They kept moving forward despite the warning signs, some of which were quite literal, others, not so.

Then they heard yelling. And screaming. And crying. And the voice sounded somewhat familiar, but different. It wasn't a voice the Girls would associate with yelling. Or screaming. Or even crying. It was once a gentle voice, now made broken and hoarse.

The Girls flew faster towards the desperate cries for help. Pine trees that were still full of leaves but covered in snow blocked the view. The Girls pushed through, pushing aside leaves and stinging branches, starting snow cascades on the trees until they saw it.

There was a huge tree in a large clearing, surrounded by equally isolated but smaller trees. On all of them were hung dead USDO soldiers, with most of whom swinging on the thick branches of the center tree like twisted Christmas ornaments.

The voice had come from the center tree. Someone was still alive. The Girls zipped towards him, only to discover that it was Captain James 'Boomer' Wilbur. And he'd been crucified on the tree. Frozen blood streaked his face, which was contorted by pain. His spectacles were missing, cracked and broken at the foot of the tree.

"Help me! Please!" the USDO officer cried, in a way the Girls had never seen a grown man do so before, not even with the others they'd seen who had died so horribly. "Girls! Please! I'm dying out here! Pull them out! Please! Pull them out!"

Though the Girls were inexperienced, it didn't take a lot of imagination on their part to know what he was referring to. The spikes holding him up were huge and ugly, protruding far out of Boomer's wrists and ankles. Bubbles looked down at his feet: stakes were driven right through his boots – whoever had done it didn't need to make the crucifixion easier by removing hard articles of apparels. In fact, Boomer's uniform was left completely intact save for his winter ghillie suit. Unknown to the Girls' innocent minds, it was a way to delay his death and lengthen his torture by crucifixion. It was a way for him to function as intended…

"It's going to hurt," Blossom cautioned Boomer after she had inspected the stake going through his right wrist, at the same time wincing at the sight of it after she had peeled back his torn glove.

"It hurts so bad! it's killing me! Please!" James screamed. "Just pull it out! Please! It hurts so much! Oh, God!"

Blossom floated backward to take a better look at the captain. He had been nailed in a spread-eagled position on the tree, with his feet apart. Panic was welling up in her because of Boomer's pained screams and delirious babbling – she wanted it to end and quickly, both for her own sake and his.

"Bubbles, help him with his left hand," Blossom ordered. "Buttercup, hold him up!"

The very sight of a stake driven through someone's wrist, however, was making her feel faint. With shaking hands, she took hold of the stake but did not dare to even exert an ounce of strength into it. Meanwhile, Blossom bit her lips before gritting her teeth as she pulled the ugly, jagged stake out in one yanking motion. The Boomer gave a shout when it was out. He could feel his wound throbbing, hurting worse.

Blossom held the stake in her hand, studying it. It felt heavy, and after wiping the frozen blood off of it, discovered it to be metal. It was like a tube, hollow but sort of crushed as if a used plastic straw. It didn't happen immediately, but it dawned on Blossom that it was the barrel of a gun, reshaped for use as a stake. She gasped; whoever had done this was strong enough, like her, to rip apart steel… or shape it like putty.

Bubbles hadn't done a thing in the meantime, except becoming pale and sickly. She'd seen what Blossom had done, and if Boomer hadn't screamed yet, he'd done it – all this had brought back painful memories. People screaming as they were shot – on both sides. Gore and blood and Buttercup sustaining a Duranium bullet wound and she had to pull the bullet out-

"Bubbles!" Blossom scolded when she realized she'd frozen up on her. "Mister Wilbur's in pain! What are you doing!?"

Bubbles turned to look at her, and it was as if she had seen a ghost. She was shaking as though artillery shells were dropping all around them. Alice's words were all but drowned out by the explosions of bad memories.

"Argh, fine! Buttercup, help me with his left hand," Blossom ordered, with no uncertain frustration and exasperation in her voice. "Bubbles, you hold Mister Wilbur up!"

Wordlessly, Bubbles drifted over to Boomer, but she looked so anemic and weak that it'd given Blossom doubts about whether she should even trust her at all. When Bubbles took Boomer by the neck, it'd spelled doom for Blossom's confidence in her.

"Not his neck, Bubbles!" Blossom barked at her sister. In her mind, Bubbles was acting up again, and thus not pulling her weight when she and Buttercup had to fight the same fears. Alice's words had little effect as she couldn't fully understand the implications of what she said. "Boost him by the chest – put your hands under his armpits!"

Despite having to fight the chaos in her, Bubbles was able to follow Blossom's instructions. Buttercup proceeded to yank another metal spike out before she and Blossom both got to work on Boomer's ankles.

Bubbles and Boomer's eyes met, and they both understood each other. In the limited time they had met and worked together in January, he had already known that Bubbles was the meek but sweet one. The sensitive one. He had been called similar things in his youth and even all the way to his adulthood. He knew that Bubbles had always been hurting inside because that was how it was for him. Now, he was hurting physically – badly. Bubbles hugged Boomer tightly as she held her up. He cried and sobbed like a baby as she did, the dignity and leadership of an elite USDO commander all but lost, bled away from his wrists and ankles by hours of crucifixion.

"Shh… It's okay," Bubbles found herself cooing at him, which she found surprising as she had always been at the receiving end of it. It'd only made Boomer cry even harder at the relief of human touch. "It's going to be okay." She leaned her head on his chest as she carried him. It'd quiet him down somewhat, even as the spikes were removed from his ankles.

"Bubbles, you can let him down now," Blossom ordered, and Bubbles lowered the still-shivering Boomer to the ground. Putting her backpack down, Bubbles went to work in trying to provide first-aid. Ever since she had shown some promise as a medic during the battle at Morbucks Industries Research Labs when she was able to follow instructions over the radio to patch Buttercup up, she had been designated the medic of The Three unofficially - by whoever was in the position to care: Selicia, Blake and Mullens. Selicia had trained her in basic first-aid and the latter two had provided her with tips from time to time. She had even gone on a first-aid crash course in the USDO Headquarters. She'd thought of it as 'playing doctor', and found it fun.

But now it was serious business, and she knew it. Pulling a medical kit out of her backpack, she slipped on a pair of rubber gloves - specially manufactured for her tiny hands, all the while trying to push the bad memories out of her mind. It was a near-impossible obstacle. Her hands were still shaking.

"He's- he's here- he's coming-" Boomer mumbled deliriously as he was lying on the ground, feeling relief as if it was the first time since forever.

"Who's coming?" Blossom asked, and when Boomer did not answer, pressed him further: "Who, Mister Wilbur? Is it the Purple Man?"

Boomer did not answer. He had passed out from exhaustion or relief or both. However, the sound of footsteps in the snow, of movement in the shadows had answered her question for him. But they weren't the only footsteps in the vicinity. There were more heading their way, but the fog had obscured the Girls' sight. As Bubbles sanitized her gloves and proceeded to dab a patch of cotton wool in medical antiseptics, their radios came alive, making them jump.

"Agent Blake here. We're coming to you. I think we'll reach you soon," the USDO operative said. Buttercup could hear his naked voice not too far away, and she turned to look in its direction. Blossom turned to look in the same direction, wondering what she was expecting.

Soon, silhouettes appeared in the fog. There was one at first, then three. The figures emerged out of the fog. It was Agent Blake and his men. Soon there were five, then seven and finally ten.

"We found Boomer, Mister Blake," Blossom told the USDO operative. "He's hurt really badly!"

"Let me see," Agent Blake said. As Bubbles had begun to remove articles of clothing surrounding Boomer's wounds, he knelt down beside her. Putting a pair of fingers on Boomer's neck, he'd checked for a pulse and detected a faint one. "Slow pulse, but alive. Good."

"Someone was here, Mister Blake," Buttercup informed Blake. She continued to watch the fog, near-paranoid that someone - something was about to burst through it, running up to them with claws and fangs huge and deadly and thirsting for blood. "We heard him sneaking around just now. He sounded really big and angry, and he ran away really quickly too, away from us. But he was laughing to himself, so I don't know if he's scared of us."

Blossom found Buttercup's level of detail in her report strange - the clarity of it impossible from what she had just heard - all she had heard were some leaves rustling, snow falling, and footsteps in the snow, and she considered her own hearing to be good. She could neither figure out the direction of the footsteps, the size, and demeanor of the mystery man, nor how quickly he had run away. She certainly couldn't hear any laughter.

"How did you hear all that, Buttercup?" she questioned her sister, feeling suspicious about her. If she could hear so well, shouldn't Daddy know about it? The last time he had tested their senses had been all the way back in the middle of January, and none of them had 'extraordinary' hearing, according to their Dad. In fact, the professor had even commented that Buttercup's sense of hearing seemed to be worse than hers and Bubbles'.

'Oh no!' Buttercup thought when she realized she had accidentally let slip her secret ability to hear incredibly well. "I… just happened to be listening really hard, I guess," Buttercup lied, but it wasn't lowering Blossom's eyebrow nor causing her to remove her hands from her hips - she knew the mannerism. It meant that her 'glorious' leader sister wasn't in a fair mood, either cross or suspicious of her or both. She'd seen it too many times.

"Fine," Blossom simply remarked, but the way she was still pinning her eyes on her implied non-complete trust.

"He ran away?" Agent Blake said as he thought about what Buttercup had reported to him. "Why would he?" At first, he believed that the sight of the Girls might have caused the Purple Man to withdraw, as their use of flight had likely given away the fact that they were enhanced by a Chemical like him. The laughter, however… 'Oh shit,' Agent Blake thought as he'd realized what was going on. He reached for his radio.

"Bravo, Charlie, Delta! Watch your six! Papa-Mike coming your way!" Agent Blake warned his soldiers over the radio. "Acknowledge, over."

There was dreadful silence after that. It wasn't encouraging. As Bubbles continued to work on Boomer, Blossom and Buttercup had stood facing outwards, their MP5 and Stoner Light Machinegun at the ready.

"Bravo reporting in. No confirmed sighting of Papa-Mike, over," one of the team leaders sounded out on the radio. Blake had expected it – Bravo was right behind them and wouldn't have been a viable target.

Another moment of silence.

"Delta reporting in. Papa-Mike is nowhere near us, over," another of the team leaders said on the radio.

Then there was silence again. Several seconds too many, in fact. Agent Blake ran through the possible scenarios: upon receiving the heads-up, his soldiers would dig in and defend a position. They would watch out for the Purple Man, then report on the radio their status. It could take some time if the team leader was cautious – that could be it. It had to be it.

But the sound of gunshots and screams in the distance said otherwise.