Helicopters criss-crossed the blazing desert sky, their rotors pounding like heartbeats. Down below lay the smoldering carnage from the previous day's firefight. Wisps of smoke rose from the bullet-riddled concrete building, as soldiers clad in khaki inspected the debris for any clues or signs of the Purple Beast's whereabouts.
A news reporter and his crew had recently arrived, parking their van next to the decoy vehicle the soldiers had arrived in. Upon confirming his frequency and hook-up, the reporter began his report:
"This is Julian Griggs reporting from the Barneyian Compound and Retreat in southern New Mexico, where last night federal troops made a surprise attack, killing one human and what appear to be a dozen half-human monsters. It is rumored that the government--"
The camera monitors went dead as General Brackenridge disconnected the remote. Before the news team could protest, the General hushed them all with upheld hands. "This is a secured area and all information concerning last night's events are to be held confidential, under penalty of imprisonment and a $500,000 fine. Clear out."
"This is news of great importance, General," replied Griggs. "The American people have a right to know what's happened here."
"I most certainly agree, young man," said Brackenridge, wiping his ruddy brow. "But now is not the time. If we succeed in capturing Barney then it will be made public. Until then, we keep a cap on it and save ourselves a lot of public outcry."
"My manager's not gonna be pleased about this. We were supposed to have a story out here."
"Not my problem, friend," said Brackenridge, shaking his head. "Unless of course, you want to accompany us. If you do, just stay out of the way, follow my orders, and no reporting until it's all done and over with. Do you understand?"
Griggs fumbled with his words, and nodded dumbfoundedly at the General. "Uh, let me just call my boss and clear it with her....thank you. Thank you very much." The crew then retreated to the news van.
"Blasted media," grumbled Brackenridge. He lifted a radio receiver and punched down the button. "Swenney and Aiko, come in. Report."
The receiver hissed and spat. "Aiko here, General. Swenney and I have charted almost a half mile of tunnels and pockets under the compound. We've discovered six more Loved Ones sir, all dead. Something else too, sir. Over."
"What is it? Over."
"A hatchery, there are five human females down here sir, four are dead, one still alive. Apparently the four....didn't survive the birthing process, sir. Swenney's going to escort the survivor back up. Over."
"Aiko, radio in if you see anything unusual. I'm going to call in some specialists from the field hospital, see what we can do for her. Good work, and be careful. Over and out".
She was a young woman, with dirty matted hair and dressed in a tattered nightgown. When Swenney brought her outside, she reeled and shrieked in the scorching brilliance of the sunlight, and collapsed to the ground. The soldiers immediately carried her to the decoy vehicle, and gave her water and shade. It was apparent she had not seen daylight for quite some time. Her eyes burned and her skin was a marble white.
She was also in an advanced stage of pregnancy.
The female scout stood near, holding the woman's hand and soothing her with friendly words and small talk. Within time, the field doctor would be flown in and take the infernal creature in her womb out. The very thought made the scout squirm with disgust. She'd rather die than be made the mother of a Loved One. A child of the Purple Demon.
Private Henry Aiko did not like sitting in the dimness with the corpses of the squalid, blubbery beasts. Hopefully the tunnels would not go on much further. The subterranean maze-work smelled of death everywhere. The private clasped his rifle and continued to search the passageways.
Suddenly, Aiko heard a noise. An odd, shifting noise. He dimmed his lantern and set it upon the ground. He steadied his rifle sights on the darkness ahead of him and sucked in his breath. There was definitely someone, or something, up ahead, trying to come down his way. Suddenly there was a crumbling noise and shards of purple light ripped through the darkness. Aiko backed off a few feet, and immediately felt sharp pains tear through his legs. Gunfire. The young private had been caught in an ambush.
Without aiming, Aiko pressed down the trigger and unleashed his rifle's firepower into the purple glare. The noise was deafening, and he could hear bullets whizzing past his ears like hornets. A slow, steady warmth spread down his legs and across his waist, and he realized he was bleeding profusely. Off in the light he could hear demonic giggling, paired with a low, moronic voice.
"Kill him! Kill him for Barney! We'll teach bad boys to play with guns! Kill him, my children!"
In desperation, Aiko clutched for a grenade. Loosening the pin, he rolled it down the passageway. A second later he heard panicky squeals and shrieks. The grenade went off, discharging smoke and sparks. Immediately, the whole tunnel section collapsed. The wounded private painfully pulled himself away from the debris, he was almost buried alive. His lantern was lost, leaving the wounded man in complete darkness.
Aiko fumbled for the radio. Minutes later he pried it loose from under the rock. He spoke into the receiver, feeling his life seeping into the grainy earth. "Aiko here....agressive encounter with unknown numbers of Loved Ones...and Barney....tunnel system extended....send help....wounded.....wounded...."
Above ground, General Brackenridge barked out orders with grim ferocity. "All available personnel, move! Get a medic down to Aiko pronto! Back-up support, get the hell down there! Trackers and all choppers, scan immediate area for caves, tunnel openings, and any viable exits from the underground! Move! MOVE!"
The reporter hurried over to the compound accompanied with a camera man. The General shoved them both back with his thick, steely arms. "Mr. Griggs, you and your friend stay here. I didn't say anything about reporters. One of my soldiers has been hurt, and that's my priority over your precious little story."
Griggs and his crewman reproachfully backed away towards the van. "He's gonna regret this," grumbled the reporter.
As evening fell on the farm, young Trina Westmore rode her pony about the corral. She wasn't sure, but earlier last night she thought she had heard firecrackers way off north. It struck her as odd, as the nearest neighbors were at least fifteen miles away near Pinon. She told her father, but he said it was probably just some high school kids making trouble.
She brought her pony back into its stable, and approached the house. When she came inside, she looked at the empty table. Her father had not made dinner again. She wandered into the living room, and saw him embraced by a huge, ripped leather easy chair, staring into the screen. He pretended not to notice her and laughed at the sitcom. The floor was littered with empty beer cans.
"Dad, are you gonna make us dinner soon?" Trina's voice was shaky. One time she had caught her father "at a bad moment" and he had struck her. Hard.
This time he was kinder. "I think there's a TV dinner in the freezer, be my guest", he muttered. "Now be a sport and leave me alone".
She left her father and put the frozen dinner in the oven. While it cooked, she went into her brother's room. Kent Jr. was lying in bed, staring blankly at the wall. Trina could tell her brother was upset.
"Did he yell at you again?" she asked.
"He's never been the same since mom left," replied Kent Jr. "This time it was because I was late getting home. I wish he would go away."
"Mrs. Guttenburg asked if you and I were going to be in the winter play today," said Trina. "Do you think Dad will let us?"
"I'll ask him tonight".
"Are you hungry?"
"No, you go ahead, Sis. Think I'll sleep early tonight".
When the frozen dinner was done, Trina opened the oven door and rested the tray upon the table. Her father came in immediately.
"Well isn't that nice of you," he said, smiling wide. His dull yellow teeth were jagged. "Not every good loving daughter makes her dad dinner".
Trina only stared down at the floor.
"Well, Trina, you were going to share at least, weren't you?" The kindness left his voice. Off in the distance a clock ticked on.
"Yes....."
"Good, I didn't think you loved me for a minute. Get the salt."
"It's not your dinner, dad. That was Trina's." Both Trina and Kent Sr. Turned around. The young boy stood defiantly in the archway.
"Who asked you, you stupid little bastard," said the father. "I'm hungry, she isn't. You're not hungry, are you, Trina?"
"No....I'm not...."
"She is too and you know it!" The boy began to quiver and sweat. "Give it back to her!"
"I think you and I need to talk, little man," said Kent Sr., rising tall and menacingly towards his son. "Maybe some of your fag friends at school can talk back to their dads, but you're gonna act like a boy oughtta act towards his old man." He undid his belt, brandishing the heavy metal buckle with the engraved eagle on the front. "Trina, put the food back in the oven so it doesn't get cold. And leave the room".
The young girl placed the steaming container back into the oven, and dashed out of the house, crying. Moments later the sound of snapping leather could be heard from the kitchen. Trina ran as fast as she could, away from the house as far as she could go. She wanted it all to end, everything. The girl ran until the house was no longer in view. She looked about to take in the surroundings.
Trina was in front of an old drainage ditch. A thin trickle of dirty water bubbled by her feet. Her jeans were dusty and she noticed her pink blouse was torn. She caught her breath and began to cry again. The tears flowed on like melting ice.
It was shortly after that the young girl was startled by movement from behind the drainage grating. She picked herself up off the ground, but curiousity kept her from running back home. In the darkness, she saw two glistening eyes, dead and lifeless. The two stared at each other, finally the shadowy form spoke in a giddy and cheerful voice.
"Why, hello there little girl! My name's Barney! What's yours?"
Off in the horizon, the last search-helicopter turned back to headquarters.