Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman (4 page)

“Ready weapons,” Brady triggered the PODS.
Fifi braced herself.

“Computer, open the big door.” Brady
ordered.

“Number Eight, play Thus Spake Zarathustra as
the door opens. Super loud.” Fifi added.

Brady looked at her. Fifi shrugged her
shoulders and growled, “Music adds to the dramatic effect.”

The door began to open, brilliant light
streaming into darkness.

The dramatic orchestral music played with
perfect timing, giving a movie like effect to the opening of the
door.

As the door slid open, the details of the
interior were revealed. There was a huge interior space, the floor
littered with numerous animals like the ones that they had seen
outside – dogs, cats, chickens, snakes and others. Small smoky
fires burned pale green and blue on some of the animal bodies. The
smell of burnt hair and charred flesh washed over them.

At the far end of the huge room there was a
raised platform. It had a row of about twenty folding chairs facing
the large space as if some kind of show were going on.

About half the seats were occupied and the
dancing man was standing in front of the group on the warehouse
floor. He held his hands up over his eyes, momentarily blinded by
the lights from Number Eight. It looked like he had been taken
completely by surprise.

Brady noticed two men get up and quickly exit
through a small door behind the row of chairs. They appeared to be
wearing military uniforms. One of them had a silver mask covering
one side of his face. Brady’s observation was cut short as his
attention was drawn to an epic tantrum being thrown by the shaman
as he recovered from his surprise.

“What!? What is this interruption? You will
paaayyyyy!!” The Kachina shaman screamed as he reached into his
cloak and started dancing.

Rattlesnakes started slithering in from every
direction, their scales making whispery, scratching sounds against
the ground as they charged toward Brady and Fifi. Their forked
tongues frantically licked the air, searching for their
targets.

“Cover fire, Eight! Assume all approaching
are hostile,” Brady yelled into his comlink.

The snakes came for them in a huge wave,
hundreds pouring out from inside the warehouse and the surrounding
countryside.

Brady began focusing on directing the PODs. A
huge rattler sidewinded in on their left. It’s mouth was open, grey
fangs exposed and oozing yellow venom. It’s black, reptile eyes
fixed on Fifi. Brady sent the PODS to it, freezing it in place.
Then he made a fist and the PODS cut the snake into neat, even
sections. With a look of concentration, Brady gestured with his
hands sending the PODS into another charging rattler, then
another.

Fifi looked over at him and smirked, “Nice
work, Brady. Snake tartare.”

Number Eight’s computer guided laser turrets
joined in. The ship targeted the incoming snakes with the cool
precision of a robot surgeon. Rotating on well-oiled hinges, the
turrets fired suspended from hidden compartments in the ships
underside. Beams of high intensity purple laser darted out,
stopping each snake by instantly cooking it.

Fifi smiled, “Snake, well-done,” she
said.

As fast as Brady and Number Eight were
working, a few snakes were starting to get through. One almost bit
Brady in the left calf, sneaking in behind him. Fifi took it out
quickly with a flashing silver nunchuck to the head.

“And,” she growled, “snake ala Fifi.”

The waves of snakes continued, and all they
could do was defend. Brady and the ship took the incoming reptiles
out at a distance while Fifi mopped up any that got through.

They were holding on for now, but it would
get ugly if the snake frenzy went on for too much longer.

Then something changed.

They heard the shaman scream in frustration,
and he changed his dance. He started jumping up and down and
snapping his fingers. A dark patch began forming on the ground in a
wide ring around Brady and Fifi.

“What is it? What’s he doing?” Brady pulled
the PODS back into orbit around himself.

Fifi’s sharp eyes recognized what was making
the dark ring. “Scorpions!” she barked, “We’re in the middle of a
ring of Scorpions!”

“OK – think, think…. I’ve got it!” Brady
smiled. “Number Eight, egg roll.”

Fifi laughed, obviously liking the idea.

Number Eight immediately descended, pulling
in its lights and lasers and resuming its familiar egg shape. It
landed softly on the ground next to Brady and Fifi. Handholds
appeared on the side of the vehicle, allowing the pair to climb to
the top of the egg.

From their new vantage point they could
easily see the surrounding ring of scorpions massing and starting
to move in toward them.

“Wow, it’s a huge Scorpion doughnut,” said
Fifi, “There must be hundreds of thousands.”

“And we get to be the tasty jelly center,”
said Brady, “We better get rolling.”

They started walking backwards on top of
Number Eight. The egg-like ship responded by rolling forward
underneath them. They picked up the pace and began to jog in
reverse toward the edge of the ring, and the ship rolled
faster.

It was a delicate business. They had to
carefully balance on top of the egg, like a lumberjack in a log
rolling competition. Instead of falling into the water though,
they’d fall into thousands of stinging scorpions and certain
death.

The scorpions tried to get at them, but
couldn’t find any way to climb up the smooth surface of the ship.
If they didn’t move fast enough they were squished underneath,
steamrolled.

Fifi felt sorry for the little buggers.

“Brady, we have to stop the shaman’s
dancing,” she said, motioning toward the dancing man.

“Let’s get into the warehouse and end this,”
replied Brady.

They worked together to change course,
guiding Number Eight into the warehouse.

That’s when the sky fell in.

At least it seemed that way. As soon as they
rolled into the warehouse – the kachina shaman screamed and began a
new dance, twirling and twisting.

“What’s he doing?” Brady shouted to Fifi as a
powerful wind began whipping through the opening. Pieces of the
warehouse started coming down around them. The building groaned and
the doorway collapsed, showering them with dust and debris.

Boards with rusty nails, torn chunks of metal
roofing, dead snakes, and squished scorpions zipped past them,
spinning into a rapidly growing tornado-like vortex that whirled in
front of the crazed, dancing shaman. The kachina man’s eyes began
to glow a bright emerald green and he danced forward like a madly
spinning ballet dancer right into the middle of the unnatural
twister.

Brady and Fifi hunkered down low on top of
Number Eight. It was all they could do to hold their place on the
ship’s surface. Brady shouted a command into his Commlink, “Number
Eight, take us inside!” He looked over at Fifi, “This is getting
out of control.”

With a series of mechanical clicks and
vibrating rumbles, hatches shifted into place underneath Fifi and
Brady. Number Eight opened hatches right in front of them revealing
short slides descending into the warmly lit interior. Brady and
Fifi skidded down into the safety of the ship.

Brady looked at Fifi, “You all right?” He
asked. They were both bleeding from numerous small cuts caused by
flying debris. It sounded like a hailstorm on a tin roof as the
ship’s hull was pelted by flying objects on their way to being
sucked into the tornado.

Fifi gave him a quick affirmative yip and
they strapped in.

“Status?” Brady called out to the ship and
the front view screen powered-up to reveal a horrifying scene.

The ship stood alone in what used to be the
area just inside the great door of the warehouse. The building had
been stripped down to its foundation, with just a few framing
timbers remaining. They bent like reeds in a strong wind, waving
towards the tornado. The vortex was growing before their eyes,
towering over the ship. In the center of the whirling winds, the
kachina shaman danced and spun – glowing green eyes blazing as he
danced.

“Wow,” Fifi said, “He really didn’t want to
get busted.”

The computer interrupted, “Inertial dampeners
are fully engaged. We are using ninety percent of our available
power to remain stationary.”

“Hold on.” Brady said, “Something’s
happening.”

“What’s he doing now?” Fifi asked, leaning
forward in her seat.

The kachina shaman had changed his dance
again, bobbing his head and flapping his arms. The tornado morphed
before their eyes. It grew legs, becoming thicker and fatter. Then
a head-like shape started to form with bright green eyes and a
gaping mouth. Then the mouth started to stretch, becoming long and
skinny.

“It’s changing into something.” Fifi said in
disbelief. “Is that a beak?”

“Unbelievable…” Brady trailed off and then
resumed, “It’s a giant kachina chicken.”

“Ship. Take us out of here. Now!” Brady
barked the order.

The ship began to lift, but it was too
late.

The giant chicken took a huge lumbering hop
and landed on the egg.

Brady and Fifi were caught inside a flying
wonder egg being sat on by a giant magic chicken.

Brady turned to Fifi. They looked at each
other. Then they burst out laughing.

Fifi remarked, “Say what you will, but at
least that old crazy dancing man has a sense of humor.”

“Any ideas?” Brady asked.

“I still like the front door approach. Why
don’t I climb up inside the chicken and get him to stop dancing?”
Fifi said, “How hard can it be?”

--

Pretty hard, it turned out. It was a good
thing Fifi was small. She scrambled out of a small hatch on top of
the egg.

The chicken was made of packed and tangled
debris gathered by the vortex. Held together by some kind of
supernatural force field, the debris glowed with a dim green
light.

Fifi growled to herself and started the
climb, knowing that Brady was monitoring her in the egg below. The
thought that he was keeping tabs on her made her feel a little
better about climbing around inside a giant magic chicken.

She climbed past and over twisted remnants of
the warehouse, pieces of fence, small bushes and trees, bodies of
snakes, scorpions and other animals. At one point Fifi climbed over
an old pick-up truck that was lodged into the bird’s core not far
from where she climbed.

It was easy to see where she needed to go. A
brighter glow emanated from the head of the chicken and she could
hear distant chanting that had to be the shaman. She kept at it,
going straight up.

Of course he has to be all the way up at the
top, she thought to herself.

After about ten minutes of steady climbing,
she reached him.

The shaman sat as if in deep meditation in an
open circular area that would have corresponded to the chicken’s
brain. He glowed a bright emerald green and didn’t seem to be aware
of her as she drew close.

She hid behind a portion of metal siding just
outside the shaman’s clearing. Fifi loosened up her nun chucks.
Noting the treacherous flooring, she planned her attack carefully.
She leaned back on her haunches preparing to launch herself.

One, two…

Uh-oh – the shaman looked up and stared
directly at her.

She tried to leap, but couldn’t. Why can’t I
move? Fifi thought frantically and struggled against the force that
held her. Oh no, she thought, as realization hit and icy fear
washed over her. She was frozen and could not move.

The shaman smiled and slowly rose to his
feet. He casually walked over to her. Kneeling down, he made a
graceful flicking gesture with his fingers and the torn metal
siding she was crouching behind lifted into the air, leaving her
exposed.

The greenly glowing chunk of metal floated up
and then crashed down behind the shaman.

Fifi was horrified to see that she was
glowing as well.

“You and your friend have caused me a lot of
trouble today. You have disrupted plans and embarrassed me in front
of my partners.” The shaman regarded Fifi, glowing eyes piercing
into her. “Now I will exact payment from you. Here, in the body of
my spirit animal, you are part of me. Inside my body, I reign
supreme.”

“Fifi! Is everything OK? I’ve lost your vital
signs.” Brady’s voice crackled over the comlink. “This is weird,
we’re losing system control. Something is hacking our systems. I
can’t en-” Brady was cut-off abruptly.

The shaman laughed, a deep, surprisingly rich
baritone. “Welcome to my world.”

Fifi thought to herself. I’ve got to move,
got to get free.

She struggled against the force that held her
still, but could not move an inch.