Earth Sentinels Collection

by Elizabeth M Herrera

  The Bear Claw tribe was sitting around the bonfire when they heard screams echoing from the forest.

  In Arizona, a Navajo tribe stoically waited for the US forces to arrive. Their reservation was located in a desert dotted with succulent plants and cacti. In the distance stood picturesque sandstone rocks overlooking canyons, which had been gently carved over countless millenniums. The tribe members sat together in the shade under the Pueblo-styled pavilion communing with the Great Spirit.

  In the midst of the desert’s heat, an army convoy drove down a desolate highway, stopping outside the reservation. The armored trucks and tanks idled their engines while the squad leaders sat in a Humvee studying the wild animals.

  “That is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” said the second-in-command.

  “Stranger than animal-shaped storms!? Come on, let’s round ’em up before it gets any weirder,” instructed the platoon leader who rolled down his window, shouting through a megaphone, “This is your last chance to surrender your children! They won’t be harmed! Send out your children!”

  While they waited for a response, fire ants emerged out of the ground. Undetected, the insects scurried over the vehicles, moving through the cracks in the metal doors, sneaking inside. The ants moved swiftly toward the soldiers, dashing across the floor and over the seats. The vicious insects crept under the soldiers’ uniforms, covering their bodies, but they did not bite immediately. The ants waited for the telepathic command, then simultaneously clamped down on men’s skin, injecting them with venom. The pain was excruciating. The soldiers screamed, batting their bodies trying to kill the ants, but more poured in, crawling inside the men’s ears, nostrils and mouths, and stinging their genitals. The men scrambled out of the vehicles, attempting to escape, but, to their horror, found themselves swarmed by killer bees and meat-eating yellow jackets.

  Hundreds of attacks occurred around the world. Some of the tribes fought back while others sat peacefully. Regardless of their responses, wild creatures and supernatural weather phenomena protected each tribe.

  Double-Edged Sword

  A VERY UNHAPPY US president confronted his generals. “Well, gentlemen, someone want to explain why we’re failing so miserably in a war against people with little more than shotguns and Molotov cocktails?”

  A commanding general spoke first, “That’s not quite true, sir. They also have wild animals and supernatural powers protecting them. Our weapons and manpower are no match for them.”

  “How about a different approach?”

  “Such as?”

  “You know...”

  “You mean chemical warfare?”

  “No! That’s too obvious! I’m talking about good old-fashioned germs. There must be something in our vaults. Spanish flu…yellow fever?”

  “That’s dangerous stuff and could easily spread to the public!”

  “Not if we keep ’em rounded up.”

  Another general said, “If the media or United Nations find out, they’ll crucify us! Look, we have a stalemate in this war. No forces anywhere have been able to infiltrate a single tribe—”

  “Here’s an idea,” Bechard interrupted.

  The men gasped, spooked by the sudden appearance of the fallen angel lounging on the couch with his arm propped over the back and his blue-tipped wings pressed against the cushions. His blue robe was elegantly draped over his crossed legs.

  Bechard coldly smiled. “Why don’t you retreat? You’re not going to win.” His piercing aquamarine eyes struck terror in each man’s heart. “I’m tired of this game. Would you like to die from yellow fever? Or perhaps your wives and children? It could be arranged.” He heard the men’s hearts pounding and knew their throats were tight from fear. “Just as I thought. Not so fun when the gun is aimed at you, is it?

  “You have until tomorrow at noon to announce that the Earth Sentinels pose no threat to the world. And afterward, no harassing our members, no agents sitting outside their doors, no blacklists, and, most of all, no assassinations. Is that clear?”

  The president and his men nodded.

  “I’ll let you decide whether to mention our list of demands in your speech tomorrow. But I warn you…public awareness is growing, and if change doesn’t happen soon, we’ll resume our mission. One more thing, pull back those troops immediately or the Earth Sentinels will create displays of power that make the previous ones look like child’s play.”

  The fallen angel got up. “Well…got to go, so much to do and so little time.” Then he disappeared before their eyes.

  The Retreat

  AFTER THE BLIZZARD ceased, the Bear Claw Tribe members watched the armored vehicles maneuver over the snow-covered terrain, disappearing into the horizon. With the threat gone, the wild animals ambled away, fading into the forest.

  A wave of relief and gratitude spread over the people. Cecile prayed out loud, “Thank you, Great Spirit! We are thankful to spend another day in each other’s company. Forgive us for our attacks. Forgive us for trying to change the world. We can do nothing more than change ourselves.”

  Tom lit a sage bundle, then motioned for the people to come forward one by one. They each took turns standing in front of him, letting the smoke rise over their bodies, taking their negative energy to the heavens for purification.

  Declaration of Peace

  THE LAWMAKERS APPLAUDED as the President of the United States stepped up to the podium, ready to address the nation. Behind him were the party leaders showing their support. The president cleared his throat, reading from the teleprompter, “I’m happy to announce that we have reached a ceasefire agreement with the Earth Sentinels. All the US military troops stationed near the Native American reservations have returned to their bases. This peaceful resolution was made possible through the heroic efforts of our top advisors speaking directly with the Earth Sentinels’ leader.”

  The politicians clapped.

  “During the negotiations, it became clear that their mission was to save the planet from imminent destruction caused by the world’s misuse of its natural resources, plants and animals.

  “Although we don’t condone the Earth Sentinels’ actions, there is a need for change. Fossil fuels won’t last forever, and innovations in alternative fuel sources are crucial to maintaining our way of life, solving our fuel shortages and creating jobs we can be proud of. And one day, when renewable fuels are commonplace, their costs will decrease, meaning all Americans will have more money in their pockets!”

  Everyone applauded. A few members from the president’s party cheered.

  “So, we’re going to put aside our differences and continue meeting with the Native American tribes to rebuild our relationship. I urge you to do the same. Let’s not hold grudges. That will only keep us stuck in the past…and this country is ready to move forward!”

  The politicians politely clapped.

  “I realize change is never easy! It will take an effort by every American, as well as lawmakers working together across party lines to build our country’s future!”

  The congressional men and women applauded, giving the appearance of a unified front.

  The president smiled, nodding his head appreciatively. “I truly believe this recent confrontation has helped all of us to become more aware of the urgent need to find better ways to heat our homes, fuel our cars, grow our food and humanely raise animals. These changes will make the world a better place for all of us, for generations to come. God bless you and your family.”

  He received a standing ovation.

  The Prime Minister of the Democratic Republic of the Congo gave his speech from an undisclosed location for his own safety, because the people thought he was cursed by black magic. The recent public hanging of 12 witches did little to improve his approval ratings. Yet, he knew that meeting the Earth Sentinels’ list of demands was necessary, because if the group created any more supernatural weather phenomena, his people would most likely hang him in the public square.

  Damn that traitor
shaman! he seethed.

  Canada’s prime minister was infuriated, casting blame for the whole Earth Sentinels disaster onto America who, in his mind, had accelerated the events into a war. Now he had to explain the disastrous attacks to the House of Commons and Senate in a discovery session later in the day. Meanwhile, thousands of angry demonstrators were protesting in front of the Centre Block building. It was not going to be a good day.

  The Homecoming

  MARILYN WAS MAKING dinner in the kitchen. The dogs rested under the table, keeping a keen eye out for falling scraps. The back door creaked as someone opened it, causing the dogs to spring to life, barking wildly.

  Zachary stepped inside, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of his mother.

  She set down her paring knife, rushing to greet him, nearly tripping over one of the dogs. She cried tears of joy as she hugged her son, kissing his forehead, then hugging him again tightly. “It’s so good to see you! I’m so glad you’re all right! I’ve got to let your father know! He’s been so worried about you.”

  “Let me,” he requested.

  She stepped back, taking a good look at him. “I guess I’ll let you go.” She laughed giddily. “He’s in the barn.”

  Zachary stepped outside, walking across the backyard with the dogs romping around him. The family cow mooed, ambling closer to the fence, hoping for a treat or head scratch.

  The barn door was open. Inside, his father was cleaning a stall. The dogs ran in, nipping at each other playfully.

  Larry looked over to see what was going on. He saw his son. “Zach!” He dropped the shovel and rushed toward him. They held each other for a moment. “I’m so glad you’re okay! You’re okay, right?”

  Zachary nodded.

  “Wonderful! You have to tell me all about it!” Larry kept his arm around him as they ambled toward the house.

  During dinner, Zachary began telling his parents the story of the Earth Sentinels. It was nearly midnight before he broke the news, “Mom…Dad…I know this is unorthodox, but I’d like to use my college funds to travel.”

  His parents sat shocked, not sure what to say.

  Larry gained his composure, cleared his throat, then asked, “Where to?”

  The Grocery Store

  WITH HER HANDS tucked in her coat pockets, Cecile trudged through the slush to stand on Tom’s makeshift porch. She knocked on his door that badly needed a new coat of paint.

  After a moment, Tom opened the door, surprised to see her. “Hey! What’s up?” he asked, noticing that she was driving the community van.

  She sheepishly answered with a question, “Wanna go get groceries with me?”

  He scoffed. “Strange first date.”

  “It’s not a date!”

  “Um, hmm.”

  Exasperated, Cecile explained, “Neechie, this is the first time since the attacks, and I don’t know…”

  Tom understood her fear. “Sure. Let me grab my coat.”

  Cecile and Tom drove out of the village, heading down the isolated dirt road, passing farm fields nipped by frost, lined with barren trees asleep until spring, blanketed by an overcast sky.

  When they reached the next field, she became solemn. Several oil rigs were pumping and a new one was under construction. She felt her anger rise to the surface, but instead of letting it consume her, she offered it to the Great Spirit, silently praying, Please take this unloving thought from me…I don’t want it anymore.

  Ahead, protestors obstructed the road. Police cars were stationed nearby. Cecile slowed down, examining the men and women holding signs with the words, “Falicon Frack Off!” “Keep It in the Ground,” and “We Support the Earth Sentinels!” The last sign surprised her.

  When the protestors saw the indigenous man and woman inside the vehicle, they stepped out of the way, allowing them to pass. Cecile inched forward, past the police officers, past the demonstrators who shouted, “Earth Sentinels! Earth Sentinels! Earth Sentinels!” She and Tom nodded their heads in solidarity.

  Picking up speed, Cecile said, “I don’t want to fight anymore,” glancing at the people in her rearview mirror.

  Tom reached over, holding her hand. “There’s a time for war, a time for peace…and a time for love.” Out of the corner of her eye, Cecile saw him slyly grin and wiggle his eyebrows. She hit the gas, suddenly in a hurry. There were groceries to buy, bread to fry and love to be made!

  India

  AT A MAKESHIFT airport in the heart of India’s Cotton Belt, Zachary stepped off a prop plane. The heat and smell were overpowering. His exhausted father and mother trailed behind him.

  Marilyn haggardly suggested, “Let’s get a taxi and go to the hotel. I need to lie down,” mopping the sweat from her forehead with a napkin.

  They entered a small, unairconditioned building painted bright yellow that served as the terminal. A friendly porter wearing a formal, long sherwani greeted them.

  He clasped his hands and bowed his head slightly, saying, “Good day, sirs and lady. I will gladly find you a taxi, okay?”

  Larry and Marilyn nodded.

  The porter walked out the entranceway to the street. He whistled. Seconds later, a glorified golf cart swung to the curb. The porter motioned that this was their ride, hurrying back to grab their luggage.

  Marilyn glanced at the taxi before whispering to Larry, “I don’t think we’re going to fit in that.”

  Zachary and his parents waited in the shade while the driver and porter feverishly secured the luggage, tying some of the bags to the back, piling the rest on the roof. The driver tightened the strap and the porter waved them over. Marilyn slid into the backseat, causing the luggage on top to sway dangerously. Larry gingerly got in, sitting beside his wife. Zachary took the seat next to the driver.

  The taxi weaved through the busy streets where the open-air vendors called out their wares. Dogs and children roamed freely. The hodgepodge storefronts were built in a wide array of sizes, painted multiple colors with banners and signs hanging to and fro.

  The driver introduced himself, “I am Harsha. I take you to hotel not far from here.”

  Zachary saw a woman cooking beside the street and peddlers pushing carts. A small boy in dirty clothes ran alongside the taxi begging for change, but before Zachary could pull out his wallet, the boy was left behind with his palm still extended. Zachary asked the driver to stop.

  The driver shook his head. “We not stop. They will take your things. We must keep going.”

  When they arrived at the hotel, the family got out of the taxi, entering the compact lobby. Every inch of the walls was covered with ornate, painted motifs and framed pictures. A tarnished brass-and-crystal chandelier hung in the high-arched ceiling over the well-worn Queen Anne furniture.

  The proprietor greeted them at the counter, “Welcome to our humble abode!” He paused, noticing that Marilyn was sweating profusely. “Madam, please sit down. We will bring water to you, okay?” He clapped, shouting at the houseboy who was heading outside to retrieve the luggage, “Quick! Bring her bottled water!”

  The houseboy spun around, leaving the taxi driver to manage on his own.

  After the luggage was placed on the rolling cart, the proprietor escorted them to their rooms. He paraded them along a balcony overlooking the courtyard, which featured a fish pond surrounded by lounge chairs and urns overflowing with ferns. The stucco walls facing the courtyard were painted with fresco botanical decorations. The Thompson family had stumbled upon an oasis in the middle of the city.

  The next morning, Zachary and his parents rode in a rickshaw. The driver slowly pedaled down the street filled with beggars—mothers with children, children without mothers, the disabled, the blind and the old. Some lay on the ground too weak to sit.

  “Are you sure you’ll recognize them?” Marilyn asked, overwhelmed by the misery.

  “Yes,” said Zachary, searching for Mahakanta Suresh’s family. A group of boys ran up to the rickshaw. This time Zachary was prepared, dropping money in
to their outstretched hands.

  The driver slowed at an intersection. On the corner was a temple decorated with stonework painted yellow ocher and orange. A mother and her two daughters and son sat under a papaya tree eating its fruit. They were thin, dirty and shabbily dressed.

  “Over there!” Zachary yelled, pointing to the spot.

  The driver pulled to the curb. Zachary got out. The mother and children stared at the Westerner. It suddenly dawned on Zachary that explaining his presence might not be as easy as he had imagined.

  The young girls rushed over to him, begging, “Please! Please!”

  He gave them money, moving toward the mother. “Are you the wife of Mahakanta Suresh?”

  She did not speak English, but she did recognize her husband’s name.

  Her son spoke on her behalf, “He is my father.”

  “Your father sent me to help you.”

  “My father is dead.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Have you heard of the Earth Sentinels?”

  “The storm creators?”

  “Yes, exactly. I am part of the Earth Sentinels and so is your father. He and the other farmers who committed…um…died…have joined us.”

  The boy’s throat tightened as he tried not to cry.

  “Please tell your mother that your father asked me to buy back your farm…for you, for your family.”

  Overcome with emotion, the boy put his hand to his mouth. He relayed the information to his mother. She listened attentively. Tears welled up in her eyes. Speaking in Hindi, she discussed the unexpected turn of events with her son. The boy shrugged his shoulders. The mother studied Zachary, glancing at his parents sitting in the rickshaw, then instructed her son to ask a question.

  “How do we know you are friends with the spirit of my father?”