Japan had a very different response than most of the world. With its history of integrating shamans into the ruling class and preoccupation with the Fukushima nuclear meltdown, the government didn’t plan an attack on the Miko and Geki. However, they did see an opportunity to blame them for the nuclear disaster. A public mandate was issued, demanding that the female and male shamans turn themselves in to the authorities.
Haruto and the other women living at the temple were not fools. Instead, they quickly transformed the temple into a yoga and meditation studio, hanging a new sign and placing ads in the local paper. Oddly enough, business picked up.
Inside the Rez
THE COMMUNITY CENTER was packed to the brim with mournful tribe members. Cecile stood at the front and said with a heavy heart, “It’s time to begin. Tom, would you please lead us in prayer?”
Accepting the invitation, he bowed his head, uttering the words, “Nohtawinan Kisemanito. Keep us this day. We need your guidance during this difficult time. We face death at the hands of a cruel government. We do not expect to win this fight, but we do expect to die with honor. We ask that you embrace our women and children, and welcome our fallen warriors. Kita-tamihinan.”
After a moment of silence, Cecile began the meeting, “First on the agenda, our children’s safety. Do we accept the government’s offer to send them to detention camps or keep them with us, facing possible death? If sent away, will the government treat them harshly? When they are grown, where will they live? Work? There’s nowhere to go, the world hates us.”
The silence was deafening as the severity of the situation set in. Some remembered their childhoods when they were forced into the residential school system that forbade the practice of their native customs and taught them the ways of the white man. With a Bible in one hand and a stick in the other, the teachers beat and abused them. Over a third of the children died during their “education”. Most were buried in the cemeteries located on school property. Those who weren’t subjected to the school system heard the horror stories from their parents and grandparents.
Tom asked, “Should we send our children into the hands of a corrupt government? With the adults all gone, who will be there for the little ones? If they make it out alive. Who will explain to them it wasn’t their fault? Who will explain that no one really understands the ways of the white man, not even the white man?”
A mother shouted, “If the truth comes out, our children will have a place in the world!”
A skeptical old man shook his head, disagreeing, “We’ve experienced centuries of genocide, and the truth still remains hidden.”
Grandma Hausis suggested, “What if we don’t run or fight, but sit peacefully with our children? The soldiers would have to look us in the eyes to shoot us!”
“Noooo! I want my babies to live!” a mother cried. The woman next to her comforted her.
Tears ran down many stoic faces.
A teenage girl burst through the double doors at the back of the meeting room, her form silhouetted by rays of sun streaming through the doorway.
Everyone turned around.
She shouted, “Come quick!” motioning with her arm.
The tribe members rushed out the doors expecting the worse, but instead, the tribe stood in wonder at the sight before them.
Filtering out of the forest, hundreds of wild animals were promenading through the village. At the forefront of the patchwork group were fierce grizzlies and black bears, snorting and grunting, causing the children to cling to their parents, partly out of fear, but mostly in awe as they watched the magnificent beasts lumber in unison. Stepping behind them were herds of deer and elk. Next came gray lynx with tufted ears and bobbed tails, padding alongside silver wolves and golden cougars. The ground shuddered as the bison’s hooves hit the dirt, churning up dust. Behind the great beasts were red foxes marching with beavers, followed by moose taking long strides. At the end of the line, masked wolverines scampered beside coyotes while majestic bald eagles and hawks soared overhead.
When the creatures reached the edge of the houses, they split into two groups, filing left and right around the perimeters of the village, ready to protect the tribe against the encroaching Canadian Army.
Tom turned to Cecile and said, “Well, this puts a new spin on things! I’m going to make a phone call. It’s time the world knew the truth!”
Reconnaissance Missions
WHILE THE CANADIAN armed forces ramped up for battle, an Air Force pilot flew at low altitude over the Bear Claw First Nation territory conducting reconnaissance. The pilot was stunned to see predators and prey aligned together, creating a barrier around the tribe’s territory. He circled twice before he radioed in, “We got a situation. It appears there are wild animals protecting the Bear Claw Tribe. Anyone else seeing this?”
Flying over the Huron territory, a pilot answered in a voice riddled with static, “For sure! Same here. Bears, moose, wolves. Man, those will make great trophies!”
The pilots spun their jets around, heading back to the base.
A Peruvian military helicopter flew over the Amazon jungle searching for indigenous villages, but the dense forest canopy hid all signs of life.
The pilot spoke into his helmet’s microphone, “What do you think the chances are of spotting one tribe, much less all of them?”
The co-pilot responded, “Don’t know why we’re bothering. The hurricane will wipe ’em out. We should just let nature take its course.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange that the tribes would create storms against themselves?” the pilot asked, surveying the landscape.
The co-pilot shrugged his shoulders, then resumed studying the rainforest below.
The Mess Hall
THREE US NAVY sailors were watching television in the ship’s mess hall when a weather warning interrupted their program. A meteorologist showed the latest radar maps of the Category 5 hurricanes raging around the globe.
One of the sailors exclaimed, “Wow! Those storms are fucking huge! Those natives give me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Did you hear about Lieutenant Martinez and Private Locklear being locked in the brig?” the second sailor asked. “Both said they wouldn’t fight their own people.”
“That’s the problem with these minorities—they need to learn how to be Americans first.”
The third sailor piped in, “Man, they were here first!”
“Yeah, a thousand years ago! Say, did you check out that white ball next to our ship?” The other men nodded their heads. “What do you think it is?”
“I have no idea, and frankly, I don’t want to know. The Navy don’t pay me to think.”
“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!”
“Funny, asshole.”
The first sailor yelled, “Shut up! I can’t hear the TV!”
CREAK!
“What the hell was that!?” exclaimed the first sailor.
A moan echoed from the bowels of the ship, sending vibrations throughout the vessel, which lurched.
The sailors grabbed their drinks before they spilled, assuming the ship would return to its upright position, however, it continued tipping. They fell out of the chairs that were bolted to the floor, hitting the wall with a bang.
“Get above! We’re sinking!” the second sailor yelled, holding his ribs.
Underneath the warship, whales pushed the keel of the boat sideways and upward. The ship’s metal structure groaned as the whales used their massive strength to build momentum, swinging the ship’s bottom to the surface, tilting the destroyer on its side.
The whales surfaced for air, their soulful eyes peering at the shipwreck and the radiant white ball floating nearby, then they swam away.
With half of the cruiser’s deck submerged in the ocean, the interior rapidly took on water. The sailors in the mess hall desperately tried to reach the narrow staircase. The first sailor grabbed the railing, but it was too late.
A wave swelled at the top of the staircase, rushing down,
plunging him backwards.
The salt water quickly filled the room, creating a strong undertow that pulled the men under, banging them against the walls, floor and fixed furnishings until they drowned.
Their lifeless bodies flowed with the current into the next compartment.
Sailors who had been working on the deck were flung into the sea where they now fought against the waves, swimming toward the rubber rafts that had automatically dispatched when the equilibrium of the ship shifted.
The survivors climbed into the lifeboats, watching the war cruiser sink below the surface, heading toward the bottom of the sea with the remaining crew trapped inside the hull of the gray tomb.
The cable attached to the floating platform became taut, dragging the mysterious ball across the water. When it reached the spot where the ship went under, the platform tipped on its side, just long enough to shoot a misdirected microwave beam across the rubber rafts, burning the casing and killing some of the sailors, then it disappeared beneath the waves, heading toward the sea floor, its metal structure groaning as the oceanic pressure increased. The cable to the white ball snapped. The light flickered off and the whirling mechanism finally stopped.
Meanwhile, the burnt lifeboats, which had been turned into remnants of useless rubber sheets, churned in the waves.
Charred, dead bodies floated on the surface beside the still-living sailors, who desperately treaded water.
It didn’t take long for the sharks to appear.
Talking with Hurricanes
WITH THE WHITE balls eliminated, the shamans were able to communicate with the man-made hurricanes. Over the course of several days, the shamans persuaded the storms to deescalate into gentler tropical storms or head out to sea where they dissipated, saving millions of lives and preventing needless pain and suffering.
Interviewing Tom
“HELLO, CHANNEL FIVE News. How may I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak to a reporter,” Tom said.
“One moment, please.”
A prerecorded infomercial played while he waited. “For the latest in news, weather and sports, tune into Channel Five News, always the latest, always what’s important to—”
“Hello, this is Bill, can I help you?”
“This is Tom Running Deer, I’m a councilman in the Bear Claw Tribe—”
“Yes! We’re reporting live near your reservation!”
“I know—anyway, before the army invades, I need to get our message out. I just sent you an email. It contains a photo of the Earth Sentinels’ scroll. Take a look. If a reporter can get here in the next five minutes, we might have time to talk. I’ll be waiting.” He hung up.
Bill immediately called their onsite reporter, Lisa Bantoné, whose crew was parked on a bluff overlooking the tribe’s village.
Lisa answered her cell phone, “Hello?” She listened and a smile spread across her face. She blurted, “Will do!” then shouted, “Let’s go, boys!”
The news van sped down the dirt road, slowing as it neared the entrance guarded by wild animals. As promised, Tom was waiting, but because he stood between a grizzly bear and bison, nobody wanted to get out of the vehicle. The satellite antenna on the roof extended.
Lisa refused to let this opportunity slip by her. She rolled down the window, waving Tom over.
Tom walked up to the van.
“Hi! I’m Lisa Bantoné. Since we’re short on time, let’s get to it. For the record, would you mind introducing yourself?” She held her microphone out the window. The cameraman crouched next to Lisa’s seat, focusing on Tom.
“I’m Tom Running Deer, a councilman in the Bear Claw First Nation Tribe. I want the world to know the truth before it’s too late. While I can’t speak for all the tribes, mine is proud to be a part of the Earth Sentinels. Our mission was, and still is, to stop people from destroying Mother Earth.
“The Earth Sentinels did create the lightning storms, but those were to get attention for our cause, not hurt anyone. However…we’re not responsible for the hurricanes.” He shouted, “I repeat, we are NOT responsible for the hurricanes!” Tom calmed down, continuing, “Anyway, to better understand our mission, go online and search for the Earth Sentinels’ scroll. You’ll see that our demands were not for power, and that we didn’t mean to threaten your lives. We just wanted people to use earth-friendly methods, making the world a better place for all of us.”
A military plane buzzed overhead, drowning out Tom’s voice as it took a wide swoop around the village.
Army tanks and vehicles appeared on the horizon.
Without saying another word, Tom walked back toward his people—to the men, women and children who sat in a circle with their backs to the world, guarded by wild animals.
Chief Red Sun Speaks
ZACHARY’S PARENTS SAT in the living room anxiously watching the news coverage of the war against the Earth Sentinels.
An anchorman announced, “We’re on the phone with Chief Red Sun from the Navajo Nation in Arizona. I believe you have something to say…please, go ahead.”
The gruff voice of an old man was heard, “The Navajo are a gentle people who have been oppressed since the white man first came to this land, centuries ago. Despite this, our young men fought during World War II, used our sacred language to relay tactical information, keeping it secret from this country’s enemies, and they fought in many wars since. Still, you continue to hunt us.”
“Sir, um, I mean Chief Red Sun, didn’t the Earth Sentinels attack the world first?”
“You narrowly define attack. To our people, every time a forest is cut down, it is an attack against us. Every time toxic chemicals are dumped in a river, it is an attack against us. We see ourselves as part of the earth. When she is attacked, we are attacked. However, we are not Earth Sentinels.”
“So you’re saying that you don’t support the Earth Sentinels?” the reporter asked.
“We support their goals.”
“Have you seen the infamous scroll making its rounds on the Internet?” the reporter inquired. A photo of the scroll appeared on the screen.
Yelling was heard off screen.
The line went dead.
“Hello? Hello?” the reporter asked. “I guess we lost our connection. Next, we’ll hear from Chief Toméz.”
Marilyn laid her head on her husband’s chest and cried, afraid for her son.
Larry gently stroked her hair. “I can’t say he’ll be fine, but I know I’ve never been prouder of him than I am right now.”
The War Begins
MILITARY HELICOPTERS FLEW toward the Bear Claw tribal territory, descending from the sky like a swarm of locusts ready to consume its human harvest. The gunners crouched near the open doors while the pilots kept their eyes on the approaching reservation, not knowing that above them black clouds were gathering, spinning faster and faster, evolving into tornadoes. The dark funnels gained speed and began chasing the helicopters.
A gunman shouted at the pilot, “Sir! Twisters at 12 o’clock!”
The pilot leaned closer to the windshield, peering at the sky above. He swore under his breath, then thrust the joystick downward, trying to outmaneuver the fast-approaching funnel clouds, but it was too late. One of the tornadoes tugged the helicopter backwards, causing it to wobble, spinning out of control. The gunners tried to hold on, but they lost their grips and tumbled out. The rotary blades sliced the men faster than a sushi chef.
The swarm of tornadoes enveloped the remaining helicopters, crumpling their rotary wings and tail sections like paper airplanes. Then without warning, the twisters dissipated, letting the damaged machines free fall from the sky, crashing to the ground. Fireballs burst over the landscape.
A military convoy of M35 covered trucks, armored vehicles and tanks, as well as buses meant for transporting the children and prisoners of war, approached the tribe’s village, but came to a stop as a blizzard blew in, swirling around them, intensifying until all visibility was lost. The soldiers were
trapped inside the vehicles, left to wait out the storm.
On the opposite side of the Bear Claw territory, a Special Forces sniper team was sneaking up on the tribe, stealthily scouting for an advantageous location, unaware of the isolated blizzard on the other side of the forest. The men found a hill overlooking the houses, then hunkered down next to the trees, taking their positions.
One of the men slapped the back of his neck, examining his hand. “Funny, there’s still mosquitoes this time of the year, eh?”
“Yah, maybe they migrated from that balmy state of Montana.” The soldier chuckled.
“Damnit, again!”
Another man smacked his own forehead. “Wow! Testy little suckers, aren’t they, eh?”
“Shit, they’re everywhere!”
The men swatted their arms, feverishly batting at the swarm of mosquitoes buzzing around them. The blood-thirsty insects bit the men’s faces, eyes, nostrils, ears and eyelids, as well as through their uniforms.
The soldiers fled, leaving their equipment behind.
They were out of breath by the time they stopped in the woods, glancing around to see if they had outrun the aggressive insects.
One of the men huffed, “This place is cursed,” spitting bugs out of his mouth.
Welts formed on their faces.
A twig snapped. The men reached for the guns they no longer held. Fear slipped over them. Dozens of glowing eyes stared at them from the shadows. Bears and wolves stepped out from the trees, methodically moving toward the men who turned to run, only to discover that lynx and cougars stood in their way.
Earth Sentinels Collection Page 14
