The Redmadafa
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I love you.”
“Do you see my Dad?” asked Rammer, hoping coach would
give him a boost of confidence.
Coach, with hesitation in his voice, knew the answer to that
question without having to look around. “Your Dad? I’m sure
he’ll be here.”
“Yeah, this time. He’s been real y busy coach, but he’ll be here this time. He’s going to be so proud of me when I beat Trax and
win ‘The Little Round About.’”
“He sure wil . Hey, do some more lunges and tail kicks. You
need to stay loose and ready.”
Creatures, beasts and humans lined up and down the starting
line. Others climbed trees and hil sides to get a good view of this year’s race. Rocks formed a wall along the trail-head to keep the people back while race officials scouted-out the route for any last minute hazards or obstacles—competitors were known to place
things on the trail from time-to-time to gain advantage for themselves or disadvantage others.
Johnny, suspended high above the crowd in a leaf hut with
four grass-weaved ropes carried by four flying trelaby hummers,
spoke into the sea shell:
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“I want to welcome everyone to the 49th ‘Little Round About.’
You folks are in for a real treat today.”
The crowd erupted with excitement.
“They sure are, Johnny. We have people all the way from
Jasmine Crossing and beyond. Everyone’s come out to see if
Rammer “The Rambam” Cooper can beat the three-time defend-
ing champion Trax “The Cat” Louise.”
“Mike, we have some great competitors from all over. I hear
Wal y could be the long- shot today. And Tank is always in the
mix of things.”
“Johnny, I believe I see them lining up. The race is about to
start.”
Rammer’s tongue was super-glued to the top of his mouth.
He swallowed but couldn’t make enough spit to knock a fly off a
yellow bel y if he tried. Rammer had trained for months for this moment, but he didn’t expect to be so nervous. Trax looked fast, real fast. Rammer tried to remember what his coach said…something about rocks, but all he could think about was his father.
He kept looking in the crowd to see if he was there, but Rammer
knew he wasn’t coming, he never came. Why would today be any
different?
“Ok, whippersnappers; shut your yappers, and open your
flappers,” said an old, crusty shel back with the thickest spectacles you ever did see.
“You’re standing on the start and the finish line. This is a one-lap event. You must go over or under every obstacle on the course.
If you get off the trail or go around any part of the race you will be disqualified. There’ll be no tripping, kicking, and under no
circumstances, ‘Tail Whipping!’ Any questions?”
A funny looking creature raised his paw and said, “I have—”
“Good, then,” said the old shel back paying him no attention:
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“Let’s get ready to thunder! Ca, ca, ca, ca, ca, he coughed; just line up and get ready.”
‘The Little Round About’ was the biggest race of the year for
Thunder Beasts and other funny- looking creatures. It was only
one lap, but that lap consisted of a five-mile loop over some of the toughest and most rugged terrain outside of Thunder Juice
Town. The first mile consisted of several jumps with the biggest jump being over Meteor Rock. In the second mile, athletes had to go through Skull Tunnel, which was a maze of turns, overhangs
and darkness—a place where a lot of cheating took place.
Next was an agility test across Shifting Sand Bridge, where
one misplaced step could bury competitors up to their waists.
The final couple of miles started with a rope swing over Lava
Pit, a balancing act over Rolling Timber Jam, then a treacherous decent down Crooked Creek Pass—which had a sharp hairpin
turn with a dangerous cliff ledge, and then an all-out sprint finishing back at Junction Point.
The old shel back stretched his head out of his shell and raised it high into the air. He signaled a small dragonfly and pointed at Mack. The dragonfly flew over with a small stick in his hand and smacked Mack’s slimy feet, instructing him to move back across
the starting line. Mack, mad and embarrassed shot his tongue out and gobbled up the fly.
“I saw that,” yakked the shel back. “Let him go, croaker, I’m
warning you.”
Mack spit him out and nodded to his gang. Their eyes
gleamed at each other—they knew what to do with him when no
one was looking.
“On your mark, get set,” Aurrrrrr, the ram’s horn sounded.
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“There they go Mike. Woe, did you see Tank cut off Trax and
Wally.”
“Johnny, it looks like Rammer is having a little trouble find-
ing a spot on the trail.”
Mack spit slime in the eyes of Rammer and kicked him in the
chest as the mob jostled for position. Rammer wiped his eyes and fell in behind Trax who had been blocked in by the howler twins.
Trax faked right and then jumped left easily passing the twins—
he looked more like a ragoole than a saber tooth as he went up
and over the first jumps like they were twigs on a trail.
Rammer kept him in sight. He rounded the second turn and
closed in on Meteor Rock. Tank ran by Holz and whipped him in
the face with his tail knocking him off the trail.
“Mike, did you see that. Holz just got a tail to the face and
went flying off the track right into a patch of green spikes.”
Mike winced. “He’s gonna feel that in the morning!”
Rammer cleared Meteor Rock but hit his tail hard coming
down. Mack, also from Jasmine Crossing, took the lead and was
first to approach Skull Tunnel. As he approached the tunnel, he
slid on his bel y and kicked, pelting Trax and Rammer in the face with rocks and dirt.
In the tunnel, Wal y grabbed Rammer’s tail and climbed over
him slamming him against the tunnel wal . The howler twins
returned the favor and knocked Wal y into a column, which
exploded and toppled down across the trail causing several com-
petitors to dive for cover. Rammer jumped on top of the column
at the last second and rode it down the tunnel, before jumping
off and rejoining the race. Tank ran by, just as the others were standing back up. He taunted them with his tongue and smacked
them back into the wall with his tail.
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The lixoar gang, waited in the darkness with a rope. Trax and
several others rounded the corner and tripped over the rope, toppling them end over end, piling them up in a large heap. Mack
leaped over the pile and slimed them with a barrage of green-mu-
tated mockery.
Once out of the tunnel, Rammer began to catch the lead
pack. As he arrived at Shifting Sand Bridge, Tank was climbing
out of a hole and cut back in front of him. Trax regained the lead and pulled away from the rest of the pack, who were having trouble with the sandy bridge.
Rammer approached the bridge and jumped to the right and
then leapt forward. With a roll to the left and a huge spin, he
jumped over the last sinkhole and back onto the trail. Free of
obstacles and back in t
he open, he focused on Trax.
Trax miscalculated Lava Pit and landed with two feet out
and two feet in, covering his back legs and tail in thick, red mud.
Wal y hurdled in the air and grabbed for the rope. It burned as
it slipped through his hands, planting him face-first in the sticky red clay. Tank, not missing a beat, spit on his head and ran him over clearing Lava Pit with ease.
Rammer soared through the air and grabbed the rope. He
swung across the pit and started to close in on Trax and Mack.
The howler twins appeared out of nowhere. They closed- in from
behind, hitting him from both sides. After several collisions,
Rammer cleverly threw on the brakes, causing the twins to crash
into each other, knocking them off the track and down the side of the mountain into a gul y.
Rammer rounded the turn and closed-in on Rolling
Timber Jam.
At the jam, Mack was having trouble keeping his balance
causing all the logs to vibrate and roll out of control. He fell hard 124
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and rolled off the logs. Rammer never broke pace. He lowered his head, crouched down, and with a move that had never been seen
before, jumped into the air, turned to his side, and rolled all the way across, jumping off Mack’s head—almost catching Trax in a
single move.
The lead pack ran down the trail and over several small
hil s toward Crooked Creek Pass. They entered the tal , narrow
straights of the mountain leading up to what many competitors
had dubbed Hangman’s Noose turn; they called it that because
after the turn on the right-side of the trail was a cliff ledge that dropped several thousand feet into a shallow creek bed below.
Any athlete that fell from those heights would never be seen
again.
Trax and several others hugged the left inside wal , squeez-
ing Rammer up against the mountain face wedging him in. As
he approached the turn (and forgetting the advice of his coach), Rammer swung outside the pack and tried to pass. Exiting the
turn, the loose gravel gave way under the speed and force of his body and thrust him out against the edge. Unbalanced and skipping along the side, he tried to shift his body weight to keep from going over, but his momentum carried him off the path and over
the side.
Trax and the rest of the pack, ran by Rammer with jaws wide-
open and eyes bulging. Rammer, who was well off the path, was
now running on top of the air. He mysteriously glided back onto
the trail and continued into the straightaway and the final leg
of the race—something strange had just happened—something
“Celestial” of course.
Trax sensed Rammer’s approach. With the finish line in
sight, Rammer caught the pack and pulled in front of Trax—he
was going to win. As they entered the last stretch, a crowd had
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lined up on both sides and was cheering them on; heads bobbed
up and down, and arms waved at the competitors.
With Rammer in the lead and less than a hundred yards to
go, he could hear from the crowd, “Come on Son you can beat
him!” His heart raced, pumping adrenaline through his body.
Dad is here! He is going to see me win! In front of everyone,
he is going to see me win the Little Round About. Where is he? Is that him? Rammer thought while scanning the crowd.
He looked over to see his Dad, and there he was, wearing the
red shirt he had bought him for his birthday. But that’s weird, it doesn’t look like him, thought Rammer. Did he color his hair?
Wait a minute…that’s not my Dad. That’s a Saber Tooth!
Trax heard his father’s voice. When he did, a burst of atomic
energy surged through his body. It picked him up, and like a
cyclone force wind, it propelled him past Rammer as if he were
standing stil . Rammer felt powerless, weak, and alone.
It was over. Trax’s nose cut the string claiming his fourth title in a row. Rammer fell across the finish line in shock. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. With his dad’s face imprinted in his mind, exhaustion turned to anger and hate burned within.
* * * * * * *
Thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump! “Wakey, wakey, Mr.
Shaky,” said a howler holding a long stick in his paw striking
Chesty several times in the side. Thump, thump, thump, thump!
“Wake up grunter.”
Chesty, dazed and confused awoke slowly. He heard muffled
voices echoing in the wind, but thought he was dreaming.
“Are you sure we can’t eat this one, he’s a big one? He could
feed us for weeks.”
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Thump, thump, thump, thump. Kuta struck him again and
several other howlers pelted him with rocks. Chesty opened his
eyes struggling to focus as he swung from the rope. He looked
around and then straight down. He was hanging upside down
over a ledge.
“Hey, look who decided to join us,” said Zakok, just about to
launch another rock.
“Yeah, look who decided to join us,” repeated another howler.
Zakok shifted his gaze around the pack and shook his head.
“There must be an echo in the canyon.” The rest of the pack low-
ered and shook their heads too.
Chesty was surrounded by a pack of howlers. He had trav-
eled in the valley for days cleverly going unnoticed but had
accidently stepped into a gog trap that wrapped around his leg
and catapulted him up and over a ledge. Kob walked out of the
twilight and approached the cliff ledge. Ever so serious, he sniffed the air. The marred blood vessels in his scar pulsed, causing him to twitch.
“I’ve smelt this one before.”
“Where, where would you have smelt him before Kob?”
asked Kuta.
He sniffed the air again and tilted his head. Kob rummaged
through the vast stockpile of his scent memory and turned
toward Kuta. “Impossible.”
Kob, the leader of the howlers, hated grunters more than any
other beast or creature. Several years ago, a young grunter’s horn slashed across his face leaving him with a scar that ran across his eye all the way down to his lower jaw.
“Kob, is that you,” said Chesty, still dangling from the rope?
Kob’s eyes glowed fiery red as he pinpointed the identity of
the grunter. Kob stared back at Chesty. Hatred raged within him, 127
Dr. Gary Warren Foshee
as black red-tipped spikes rippled across his body. The other
howlers looked at each other and backed away fearing his anger.
“Pauper!” spit Kob, in a blind rage. “Look who we have
here boys. Pauper, or should I say, ‘ Prodigal;’ The Prodigal has returned.”
Chesty hated being called that. It was a part of his past that
had haunted him for years. “I found forgiveness for my past long ago Kob,” said Chesty, trying to twist his leg in the rope to help blood circulate to his foot. “I see you’re still a slave of Slithler. I hear you’re still jumping people from behind,” said Chesty, referencing Kob’s ravage attack on Traegor.
Zakok walked beside Kuta who had final y put two-and-two
together and asked, “Who is that?”
“That’s the grunter that gave Kob the scar.”
Zakok swallowed and moved back to his latter position.
“I don’t kno
w how you ended up back here Pauper but I can
assure you, no one will save you this time,” vented Kob. Just the sight of Chesty galled him. He paced back and forth, searching
his thoughts.
“But why? Why have you returned?” he said, standing on
the ledge next to Chesty. He glanced at him and thought for a
moment.
“Maybe he squandered his wealth again and wanted Lucky to
bail him out,” replied Kuta.
“No. Not this time,” said Kob. “Money alone would never be
enough to bring someone back here.” Kob searched his thoughts
again. Why would he come back? It must be something real y
important, or something, he paused—seconds later a slumbered
smile revealed two fouled ivory fangs… “Dear to his heart,” he
spoke out loud.
“There’s only one thing that would ever bring someone back
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to this god-forsaken place,” responded Kob. “Love: Only love
would dare bring someone back. But who?” he pondered. “A
wife? A child?”
Chesty listened but the words were muffled. Blood flooded
his brain making it throb. He tried to disguise his emotions and hide the truth from Kob, but Kob leaned over the ledge and stared into his eyes. It was there, on a ledge, in the middle of a Valley of Bones, a valley of death and suffering, that hatred met love face-to-face; vengeance met mercy eye-to-eye.
Kob turned toward the pack. “It’s a child. It’s…his son.
Decided to follow in dad’s footsteps, did he?” gloated Kob, realizing he had sniffed out the truth. Have any grunters been captured or killed in the last few weeks?” he asked the pack.
“Several have been captured but Slithler ordered that none be
killed,” spoke a howler standing behind him.
“I heard a magondrea killed a large one just a few days ago.
He was punished and cast into Dead Man’s Despair,” answered
another.
“We tracked one the other night but lost his scent, you know,
the one from Gravers cave,” answered Kuta.
“Cut him down and get out of my way.”
“Kob, what’s going on? You can’t kill him. Slithler wants all
grunters alive.”
Kob knocked Zakok back, grabbed him by the throat and
threw him over the ledge.
“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. This grunter dies today!”
“I don’t want to fight you Kob. I just want to find my boy;