Earth Sentinels Collection

by Elizabeth M Herrera

  The reporters went nuts.

  “Every tribe in the world!?” a journalist cried out in disbelief.

  “What proof do you have that Native Americans created these storms?” yelled another.

  Zachary stared at the TV in disbelief as the president answered the reporters, repeatedly demonizing the tribes. Zachary tightened his lips, trying not to cry, but then a defiant look came over his face. He ran upstairs to his room where he uploaded the photo of the scroll from his phone to his computer, then hit the “print” button.

  Zachary pulled into the parking lot of the two-story office building surrounded by fenced satellite dishes. A large, lit sign read, “Channel 12 News.” He gathered his courage as he walked across the parking lot, hesitating a moment before opening the glass door.

  At the front desk, he asked to speak with a reporter. A minute later, a man wearing a tie greeted him in the lobby, shaking his hand, “Nice to meet you. You said you had information regarding the supernatural storms?” Zachary nodded. “Come with me.” The reporter led him to a cubicle, giving him the sole chair. “Please have a seat. Tell me what you know.” The reporter remained standing, leaning against his desk.

  Zachary uncomfortably explained why the Earth Sentinels created the supernatural storms, then handed the man an envelope.

  The reporter pulled out a piece of paper. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a copy of the scroll that was delivered to the president. It lists the Earth Sentinels’ demands. All the world leaders received one.”

  At this point, the reporter became even more skeptical, but he read the scroll’s message to humor Zachary. “This is very interesting, but how do I know you didn’t write this yourself? I can’t go on air with an unverified document. I’ll look like an idiot.”

  “Funny, no one asks the government to verify their sources and you know they’re liars.”

  The reporter laughed, nodding his head in agreement.

  Zachary continued, “Our country is about to attack all the indigenous tribes, although only a few are actually involved. You can see there are no demands for money or power, only that everyone treat the earth with respect.”

  The reporter countered, “There’re a couple of problems. First, no government has admitted the scroll exists, and second, you’re just a kid. That takes your credibility down a notch or two. At face value, I believe you, but the director will never let me broadcast this. Unless…could you provide the name of someone to corroborate your story.”

  “I can’t do that. There must be another way.”

  “You could give me a heads up before the next event.”

  “It’ll be too late! They’ll all be dead! Forget it! I’m going to another station,” Zachary threatened.

  “Tell you what. I’ll run it by my—”

  Frustrated, Zachary interrupted him, “Do your best, I gotta go,” then rushed out of the cubicle.

  Zachary drove home wiping tears from his eyes. This is all my fault. I’ve got to do something! He pulled into the driveway, hurrying inside the house.

  His parents were watching the television in the living room and didn’t notice him rushing up the stairs to his room where he got on the computer, searching the Internet for conspiracy bloggers. At the top of the results was a blog titled “Earth Sentinels Strike Again” by Norman P. Dunstead, featuring the Bear Claw Lake oil spill, lightning strikes, the death of Chief Keme, and the recent animal-shaped storms. Zachary sent Norman an email that explained the Earth Sentinels’ goals and actions, and included a photo of the scroll, then he browsed for other bloggers who might be interested in the story.

  Ding! An email alert sounded. Norman wrote that he was very interested and would write the post immediately.

  Wearing a winter coat, a very excited Norman sat in his cold apartment. With anticipation, he rubbed his hands together trying to warm them. He picked up his phone and began typing with his thumbs. A low battery warning flashed on the screen. Shit! It’s always something, he thought, but then calmed himself. Norman wasn’t going to let this minor setback dampen his good spirits. After all, he gleefully mused, When this post is finished, it will make world news! Maybe even WikiLeaks! But first, let’s get this baby charged.

  The hum of the Windy City was heard in the distance as Norman walked on the sidewalk past his apartment complex to the nearby bus stop. He waited next to an old lady, a mother and her two small children, and an unkempt man.

  Suddenly three black sedans with dark-tinted windows sped down the street. The cars screeched to a halt, double parking next to the curb. Men dressed identically in black suits and dark reflective sunglasses spilled out of the vehicles, running inside Norman’s apartment building.

  The blogger wondered what was going on, but his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the bus. Its air brakes hissed and doors opened. While Norman waited for the others to board, he looked up at his apartment window and saw one of the men wearing dark sunglasses walk past. Dumbfounded, Norman stepped onboard and found an empty seat where he contemplated what had just happened. Shit! the blogger thought, The government knows!

  He quickly pulled out his phone, using its precious battery reserves to warn Zachary that government agents were heading his way. Then it occurred to Norman that the FBI, CIA, NSA, or whoever the hell it was in the black sedans, could trace him by the GPS in his phone, prompting him to remove the battery. Initially, he felt better, but quickly became nervous again, thinking it was too little, too late.

  He got off at the next stop, leaving his phone on the seat, walking several blocks to a busier street where he hailed a cab.

  The cabbie was an immigrant from India. His vehicle was well maintained and featured a statue of Buddha on the dashboard. The driver started the meter, then hit the gas, throwing Norman against the seat. “Where to?”

  “Umm…” Norman had no idea where he wanted to go. His only concern at the moment was distancing himself from the government agents.

  The driver made conversation, “Did you lose electricity?”

  “Yes. My apartment’s freezing and I need a place to stay.” This was only partially true. Norman didn’t believe he’d ever be able to return. “I’d like to stop at my bank.”

  “Sure. Which one?” The cabbie stopped at the intersection. The streetlight was out, so he checked both ways before proceeding.

  “Chicago Trust.”

  “There is one in Cicero. It’s good there. Okay?”

  “Yes, that’s fine.” Norman reasoned he could use the time to decide where to go next.

  The cabbie interrupted his thoughts, “I have an empty place. It was my mother-in-law’s, bless her. You could rent it. It has a private entrance and cheaper than a hotel, if you can find one.”

  Norman liked this suggestion. The place would be “off the grid” and untraceable by the government—if he paid by cash. “That might work. Where do you live?”

  “Berwyn.”

  Great! thought Norman. It’s not too close to where I live. “When can I see it?”

  “As soon as you go to bank, we go right after. I own my own taxi…make my own hours!” the cabbie exclaimed, turning on the satellite radio to play music from the ’80s.

  When the driver reached the bank, he double parked out front, ignoring the honking car behind them.

  “Can you wait here?” Norman asked.

  “Sure! If traffic cop comes, I will go around the block,” he made a circle with his finger, “Don’t worry, I will be here. Okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. I won’t be long.”

  Norman went through the revolving door, approaching the counter. Bulletproof glass separated him and the bank teller, who spoke through a microphone, “How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to empty my account.”

  “I’ll need your driver’s license, account number and password,” she requested nonchalantly.

  He slid the ID and info under the glass.

  The teller pulled up his account. “W
ould you like this as a cashier’s check or transferred to another account?”

  “No, I’d like cash, please.”

  “Just a moment. I’ll need the manager’s approval.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, the woman returned to tell him, “We can only give you five thousand today. You’ll need to schedule an appointment for larger amounts.”

  Norman fumed inside. It’s my money! I didn’t have to make an appointment to deposit it! But he hid his irritation, asking, “Could you make an exception? Perhaps seventy-five hundred?”

  “I’m sorry, but everyone’s coming in because of the storm needing cash. We have to serve everyone.”

  Reasoning that it was unlikely he’d be able to access his account again, he decided to take what he could. “I’d like it all in twenties.”

  After the teller put the bundles of bills in several envelopes, she pushed it through the security slot. Norman stuffed the money in his pockets and wallet, walking out of the bank feeling extremely vulnerable.

  The taxi was waiting by the entrance.

  Norman jumped in.

  The driver put his hand on the shifter, looked in the rearview mirror and asked, “Where to, friend?”

  “The closest business center. I need to use a computer.” Norman nervously glanced out the window. “Hurry, please!”

  In a few blocks, they found one located in the lower level of a building, the sign barely visible above the cars parked on the street.

  “I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes,” Norman said, opening the door.

  The cabbie tapped the meter. He had no intention of being left with a large tab. Norman took a few bills out of his wallet, and then stepped onto the sidewalk, heading down the stairs.

  The blogger opened the glass door and looked around the premises. Every computer was occupied except for one in the farthest corner. Norman quickly scooted across the room. He sat down, but didn’t touch the computer immediately. He was worried that as soon as he logged into his blog or email account the government would pinpoint his location. He went through the steps in his mind, First, I’ll write the copy in a word program, then paste it into my blog, and then get the photo from my email account. That should give me a few minutes before the agents storm this place. Yes, that’ll work! If nothing goes wrong.

  Norman anxiously wrote the article, divulging the Earth Sentinels’ quest to save the planet. After quickly proofing it, he logged into his blog feeling like a sitting duck. Perspiration beaded on his forehead as he pasted in the copy. Next, he downloaded the photo of the scroll from his email account, and then uploaded it to the blog.

  He moved the cursor over the “publish” button, but hesitated to click it, wondering if he was part of a giant hoax. His finger remained poised over the mouse as he contemplated how all those years of building up his blog’s reputation would go down the drain if he was wrong. Then he felt an odd pressure on his finger, as if someone was pressing on it, causing him to click the mouse.

  The post published.

  Too late now, he thought, jumping up, racing out of the business center, dropping a 20-dollar bill on the sales counter as he sped by.

  Norman rushed up the stairs to the street level. On the sidewalk, he twisted his head back and forth looking for his taxi. It wasn’t there. He briskly rounded the corner, sighing with relief at the sight of the familiar cab idling by the curb.

  He climbed in, collapsing against the black vinyl seat.

  The taxi pulled away, blending into the traffic.

  Behind them, a black sedan screeched to a halt in front of the business center.

  Hiding Out

  AFTER THE BLOGGER had contacted him, Zachary grabbed his jacket, rushing down the stairs, snagging the keys by the door.

  His mother called out, “Are you leaving!?”

  But he was already gone.

  Zachary put the farm truck in gear, racing out of the driveway, peeling the tires when he hit the pavement. Shit! How could I be so stupid?

  Driving the truck as fast as he could over the bumpy trail that ran through the trees, Zachary saw the silver bullet trailer come into view. He jerked to a stop behind Billy’s old pickup, hurrying out, pounding on the front door. From inside, the hound dog bayed, making the young man feel like an intruder.

  “Hey!” Billy shouted from behind him.

  Alarmed, Zachary spun around. “Damnit! Stop sneaking up on me!”

  Billy laughed. “But it’s so easy to do!”

  Zachary’s face remained sullen. “I’m in trouble.”

  Billy’s smiled vanished. “Come inside. Let’s talk.”

  When the door opened, the dog shut up.

  Zachary looked around the trailer. It was tidier than he had expected for a bachelor. The tiny kitchen abutted an even tinier living room, which consisted of a built-in “sofa” and a small television resting on a hinged tray attached to the wall.

  Buddy came out from under the sofa, sheepishly wagging his tail.

  “It’s okay.” Billy petted the dog on the head, then said to Zachary, “Have a seat. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Too upset to sit, Zachary blurted, “They’ve found me!”

  Billy rubbed his chin, giving this some thought. “Where’s your phone?”

  Zachary patted his jacket and pant pockets. “Hmmm, not sure I brought it. Maybe it’s in the truck.”

  “Go check. If it is, we need to get out of here.”

  Zachary had a blank look on his face.

  Billy explained, “Phones have GPS—”

  “Oh, shit!”

  He hurried outside.

  Billy and Buddy followed him.

  Zachary frantically searched the driver’s side while Billy checked the passenger seat and floor.

  After a few minutes, Zachary conceded, “I must have left it in my room,” closing the rusty door. Buddy sniffed a tire, lifting his leg to pee on it.

  “That’s a lucky break,” Billy stated. “Tell me, how’d they found out?”

  “They traced an email I sent to a blogger.” He justified his actions, “Did you hear the government’s announcement this morning!? They’re plotting a war against the indigenous tribes, lumping them all together as Earth Sentinels!”

  “No, I didn’t hear, but nothing the government does surprises me anymore.”

  “Yeah, well, I found this blogger who’s been following us, so he seemed like a good fit. I thought if more people knew about the scroll and the real demands, maybe it would prevent the attack on the tribes. I guess I should’ve waited instead of going off on my own.” Zachary grimaced. “One more thing, I emailed fifty news stations and delivered one in person.”

  Billy lifted his hat and smoothed his hair back, letting out a long sigh. “Well, kid, gotta admit when you do something, you go all the way.” He looked around his yard and the surrounding forest. “I don’t feel safe here. I’ll set out some traps, so if anyone comes snooping around, we’ll know. Meanwhile, let’s head out to the woods and camp for the night…just as a precaution.”

  Haruto Surrenders

  HARUTO STROLLED THROUGH the frost-covered temple garden filled with sparkling cherry trees twisted from age. The stone walls shimmered like crystalized marble, regally glistening in the morning sunlight. She wandered through the ice kingdom feeling magical, climbing a boulder to peer over the wall at the city and nuclear plant below. The meltdown seemed beyond the human capacity to fix, yet each time the Earth Sentinels had met, she forgot to ask for a healing. She wondered why.

  The Voice whispered, “Haruto, learn to surrender. Your resistance is feeding the disaster, reinforcing its reality.”

  For the first time, Haruto passively watched the crane-supported hoses douse water over the extremely hot, melted reactors, sending plumes of steam into the air. However, it wasn’t long before she felt a familiar rage rise to the surface, but instead of letting it consume her, she released her anger to the Voice, who gladly healed the darkness with light.


  Impending War

  THE FALLEN ANGEL glanced around the group noticing the Earth Sentinels members’ stress and anger. He raised his arms. Everyone became quiet, waiting for Bechard to speak. “First, let me show you the propaganda being touted over your mainstream media.” He waved his hand over the crystal ball. Images appeared of reporters discussing the supernatural storms and leaders making public announcements, repeatedly stating that the Earth Sentinels were attempting to take over the world. There was no mention of the scroll with its list of demands for earth-friendly changes. The images faded away.

  From the midst of the group, a shaman shouted, “You’ve tricked us! The world thinks we attacked without just cause!”

  Bechard calmly responded, “If you see yourself as connected to the earth, then you know the world struck the first blow a long time ago.” He paused, letting them think a moment before continuing, “However, I believe people will agree to our demands, once they learn about them. It’s those in power who have resisted us, protecting their own selfish interests.”

  Haruto, still flush from her insightful conversation with the Voice, asked, “If we see ourselves as connected to the earth, doesn’t this mean we are simply battling ourselves? The way the events have played out, it appears we are manifesting, empowering, the hate against us. What if we send loving thoughts to the world instead? Create a new manifestation.”

  The others contemplated her words. A gentle breeze brushed their faces, tempting them to alter their sails. But their anger slowly resurfaced, churning the sea, causing the fleeting thoughts of peace to sink beneath the crashing waves.

  “If there was a simpler way to accomplish this, don’t you think at least one of us would have thought of it by now?” Bechard smoothly answered, then addressed the crowd, “If anyone has a peaceful solution, please speak now!”