Earth Sentinels Collection

by Elizabeth M Herrera

  ON A HILL overlooking the Bear Claw First Nation reservation, two CIA agents stood next to a telephone pole pretending to be utility workers. Two more agents sat in the van listening to snippets of private conversations. “…I’ll be back by nine…” “Hey…your father home?” After a few hours of mind-numbing boredom, the agents heard what sounded like a pertinent conversation, “…after what they did to Chief Keme, they deserve it. I don’t have any problem going through with it.”

  “Shhhh…someone will hear you.”

  “I don’t care, they can rot in hell!”

  One agent said to the other, “Sounds like they’re plotting something.”

  “They’re always plotting something.”

  In the spirit realm, Bechard peered into the crystal ball watching the CIA agents. Spying on my fellow Earth Sentinels are you? I’ll have to put an end to that. He touched the glass with his fingers, sending two lightning bolts coursing through the atmosphere toward the eavesdroppers.

  One bolt hit the telephone pole, covering it with electric fingers that sizzled toward the ground, engulfing the agents standing nearby. Both men convulsed as the electricity clawed through their bodies. The other bolt struck the van, causing it to explode.

  Bechard dusted his hands together, admiring the charred remains. Well, that ought to buy some time.

  The explosion echoed throughout the valley. The Bear Claw Tribe members hurried out of their houses to see what had happened. Cecile and Tom observed the black smoke at the top of the hill.

  “Wonder who screwed up this time?” Cecile asked.

  Tom answered, “It’s either the oil company or government. Nobody else is that stupid.”

  Later that evening, Tom flipped on the Channel 5 News and saw Lisa Bantoné broadcasting live at the scene.

  She reported, “The Canadian government gave an official statement late this afternoon.” She looked at a piece of paper in her hand. “And I quote, ‘The explosion near Bear Claw Lake has taken the lives of four dedicated public service employees. Right now, we do not know if it was in retaliation to the recent killing of Chief Keme, who was shot by the Royal Canadian Army. We will investigate this matter thoroughly. However, as of today, no arrests have been made.’ End quote.” The camera panned to show the torched van and utility pole. The area was roped off with yellow police tape. Lisa narrated, “There’s speculation that the Bear Claw Tribe members who have been aggressively protesting the oil spill at the nearby lake may have done this…upset over the death of Chief Keme, who as I mentioned a moment ago, was shot by the Canadian Army. I want to emphasize that no one knows for sure who is behind this attack. Back to you, Gary.”

  The anchorman responded, “Lisa, our thoughts and prayers go out to the victims’ families.”

  An enraged Tom ran out of his house, down the dirt lane to Cecile’s place. He banged on the door, yelling, “Cecile! Cecile!”

  She opened the door, rubbing her sleepy eyes, “What, Neechie?” He pushed his way inside. Empty beer cans were scattered over the coffee table.

  “Did you see the news?” Cecile shook her head, afraid of what Tom was about to tell her. “They framed us for the explosion!” She groggily stared at him, not comprehending what he was trying to say. Tom clarified, “Four men died up there!”

  Cecile’s mind became alert as the adrenaline kicked in. “What!? No! We never win. When we stand our ground, we’re killed, and when we do nothing, we’re framed!”

  Tom tilted his head back, facing heaven, sighing heavily. “Great Spirit, why must we suffer for so long?”

  Cecile suddenly grabbed his arm, startling him. “They know! The government knows!”

  “That we’re Earth Sentinels?”

  She nodded, then cried out, “Why did we think we could win!? They’ll kill us, just like they always do!” She collapsed onto the green, tattered chair in her living room, resting her head in her hands, feeling overwhelmed. Light filtered through the metal blinds hanging in the front window.

  Tom reached over, stroking the top of her head to soothe her. “If we are to die, then let us die as warriors. I’m tired of being powerless.”

  Cecile raised her head. “I’m gonna tell Bechard I’m on board.”

  “Me, too. If the world won’t protect us, we’ll protect ourselves.”

  The New Plan

  THE EARTH SENTINELS regrouped three days later hoping to finalize a new plan. As soon as Zachary arrived, he searched the crowd. Conchita smiled broadly when she saw his handsome face coming her way until her father stepped between them, intercepting the young man. “Can I help you?”

  “Sir, I’d like to speak with your daughter.”

  The shaman sighed, contemplating how to get rid of him, but at that moment, another Amazonian shaman approached Pahtia to introduce himself.

  Zachary used this window of opportunity to sneak past Conchita’s father and greet her, “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Zachary…”

  She grabbed his arm, whisking him away, far from her father. They zigzagged through the people, then stood behind an ancient tree at the edge of the courtyard.

  She began assailing Zachary with questions, “Are you a shaman?”

  “I just learned how…my friend Billy taught me.”

  “Is he a shaman?”

  “I don’t think so…I think he just practices the old ways. Not sure he has a tribe.”

  “Do you have a tribe?”

  He smiled knowing she was isolated from the rest of the world. “No, our society doesn’t have tribes. We barely have families.”

  “You can be a part of my tribe. An honorary member!” She laughed. Zachary loved the way she expressed herself without restraint. He also admired her exotic features.

  Conchita tugged at his shirt. “You wear too many clothes! What are you hiding?”

  He thought, I’d love to show you what I’m hiding, but then felt guilty when she smiled innocently at him.

  “CONCHITA!” her father shouted, startling both of them. Pahtia grabbed his daughter’s arm, dragging her away.

  Zachary was broken hearted watching Conchita go.

  Billy came up behind him and said, “Love is fraught with perils.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Zachary responded, losing sight of her.

  “Nobody said it was going to be easy, kid.”

  “Really? How’s it going with you and Haruto?”

  “Couldn’t be better,” Billy gloated, but his smile faded when a puff of smoke drifted past him. He turned to face Haruto. The dragon standing next to her snorted, sending another plume of smoke his way.

  “Hello, Mr. White Cloud,” Haruto said curtly.

  “Umm…it’s White Smoke,” Billy corrected her.

  She forced a smile. “My mistake. I believe you were talking about me. Would you care to repeat it?”

  Billy could only see one way out of this mess. He complimented her, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Smart, wise, loving?” Billy added sheepishly.

  Haruto stared emotionlessly at him.

  “Irresistible, powerful, and excellent taste in men,” Billy continued, a bit more boldly.

  She tried, but couldn’t prevent a slight smile appearing on her face. Billy grinned, melting her heart.

  Bechard captured their attention by calling out, “Welcome, Earth Sentinels! It is time to begin!” The fallen angel waited for everyone to take their places. Zachary and Billy sat on a stone bench beside Haruto. There wasn’t room for the dragon pouting behind them. “Thanks for coming. It appears a few members have left our group,” Bechard commented, glancing around. “But we’ll respect their decision and move forward. I know you’ve given this a lot of thought and I encourage you to share your ideas.”

  Zachary was uneasy at being the first, but felt confident about his solution. He stood up. Bechard nodded, encouraging him to begin. Clearing his throat, Zachary offered his opinion, “I believe Billy menti
oned this last time, and I agree. We could use storms to strategically disrupt the world. Have them hit major cities, airports, stadiums—just long enough to upset people and gain their attention.”

  “It’s not big enough!” someone shouted.

  The others grumbled similar thoughts.

  Bechard held up his hand to silence them. “This has more potential than you realize. First, it would gain the public’s attention, who frankly have been going on with their daily lives through all of this, and nobody cares until it impacts them. It’s sure to attract the media, which means the government will have to respond. It’s a fairly compassionate solution that will scare the beejeebers out of everyone!”

  Chief Keme spoke up, “I think we need to add something to this. Something that will prevent governments from stating it’s a natural or manmade occurrence.”

  “I have an idea,” Bechard said with a gleam in his eye.

  The Supernatural Storms

  NORMAN P. DUNSTEAD had taken a break from writing his blog to watch a televised Chicago Bears game. He jumped up cheering as the quarterback ran into the end zone, but his enthusiasm waned when a flag was thrown. He sank onto the sofa hoping the penalty was against the other team.

  The announcer said, “Only twenty-seconds until halftime. It will definitely change the scope of this game if the Bears get to keep this touchdown.”

  The camera panned away from the referees conferencing on the field, past the anxious spectators, focusing on the sky over the stadium where a black storm cloud in the shape of a bear lumbered over the arena. Music blared and the fans cheered, celebrating the awesome sight. The announcer exclaimed, “Wow! Looks like our boys got a little ahead of themselves. That’s some cool animation!”

  The other announcer agreed, “Yes, incredible! Must be for the halftime show. Is that a hologram?” He shuffled through his papers looking for any mention of a 3D display on the schedule.

  The crowd rallied.

  A group of shirtless men danced, showing off their flabby chests and beer bellies painted orange and blue.

  The referees stopped talking and the players forgot about the game as they watched the bear-shaped storm drift over the 50-yard line where it opened its mouth, shooting a bolt of lightning at a goal post.

  Sparks flew.

  The fans stopped cheering. Everyone became confused.

  Smoke rose from the blackened metal.

  The announcer yelled, “What was that!?”

  The bear-shaped storm rumbled. Its mouth opened again, spewing lightning at a cluster of stadium lights that exploded. A section of the stands went dark. Screams filled the arena.

  Norman stared at the screen that showed the storm moving away from the athletic field, disappearing into the night sky. He scratched his head, wondering if the bear-shaped storm had been overly realistic halftime entertainment.

  The wind picked up outside Norman’s apartment. He got off the sofa to peek outside, stunned to see the same bear-shaped storm towering over the Chicago skyline.

  “Holy shit! Holy shit!” he yelled, running into the kitchen to grab his phone off the counter, dashing back to the window.

  Just as he began recording, the bear-shaped storm turned its head, seeming to stare directly at Norman with its fiery eyes. The blogger’s heart skipped a beat. Adrenaline coursed through his body as the storm marched closer, encompassing his building.

  Lightning flashed in every direction.

  The building shook, windows rattled, and the lights and TV flickered off, leaving Norman standing in the dark.

  Then the storm passed.

  Shaking with excitement, Norman replayed the video on his phone. The city lights illuminated the storm’s distinct grizzly figure. This is so awesome! he thought.

  The Manhattan skyscrapers towered over the evening traffic below. A sudden gust of wind threw open the pedestrians’ coats. Trash blew in the air and street signs shook.

  The people looked up and saw a horse-shaped storm cloud looming over the tall buildings. Lightning flared down its cumulus legs and hooves. Its red, glowing eyes examined the people cowering on the sidewalks below. The feral storm snorted and shook its head, sending streaks of electricity bursting from its mane.

  The pedestrians ran screaming in terror as the storm galloped through the air, breaking windows and crumpling awnings.

  Cars were blown out of their lanes, hitting other vehicles, bringing traffic to a halt.

  The horse-shaped storm bolted down the midway, heading toward LaGuardia Airport.

  The Bear Claw Tribe gathered around a campfire roasting a pig and drinking a keg of beer. Their celebration had two purposes. The first was to raise the tribe’s spirits, which were extremely low after Chief Keme’s death, and the other was to celebrate the supernatural storms currently besieging the world. The tribe hoped their prayers would be answered after tonight.

  “Look! There it is!” a man exclaimed.

  Everyone saw the stag-shaped storm cloud thundering across the sky. The weather phenomenon bowed its head acknowledging the tribe members below. Its massive set of antlers mingled with the twinkling stars.

  On the other side of the world, an owl-shaped storm glided across the morning sky in Moscow. Lightning surged inside the turbulent cloud formation, frightening everyone on the streets below. The people fled into houses and shops to escape the fire bolts. Safely inside, they pressed their noses against the windows, watching the eerie storm pass over.

  The President’s Reaction

  THE MORNING AFTER the supernatural storms struck, it wasn’t surprising that the first thing the US president did was call an emergency meeting with his advisors. The American people were terrified, fearing an alien invasion, or worse, the wrath of God.

  “Well, gentlemen, I’d like to discuss our strategy for dealing with the supernatural storms obviously caused by the Earth Sentinels,” the president stated. “What do we tell the public?”

  A commanding general addressed the group, “We could say that the indigenous people used black magic to conjure these storms. And since the Canadian tribe is part of the Earth Sentinels, it’s safe to assume the US tribes are as well.” The general looked around the room reading everyone’s faces. They seemed receptive, so he continued, “Making indigenous people the number one enemy of this country would allow us to round them up as domestic terrorists. They’re most likely guilty anyway, so it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.”

  One of the advisors interjected, “We don’t know for sure that the US tribes are part of the Earth Sentinels, although I believe they are. But if we rush in there without public support, we’ll have a PR nightmare on top of the problems we’ve already got. This is a unique situation, because technically, they’re American citizens. We need to show good faith. Maybe invite them to the White House for a powwow.” The men chuckled at the inappropriate remark.

  “They’ve got a tribal council,” the general mentioned. “If we could get the chiefs in here, we could arrest ’em. Say that they tried to attack the president or something.”

  “What if they counter attack?” asked another advisor. “The Earth Sentinels have shown some extreme powers!”

  “Yes, but the Earth Sentinels can’t possibly protect all the tribes at the same time. We could invade the reservations simultaneously. Great chance to try out our new drones and armored vehicles!” the general pointed out.

  The advisor persisted, “What about the list of demands? What if that information leaks out? Everyone will know the tribes weren’t trying to take over the world, and we’ll look like assholes beating up the little guys.”

  The general didn’t give a damn about public opinion. “We’ll say the list is fake, claim it’s a conspiracy theory, a forged document. We’ll tell everyone the tribes threatened us because they want their land back. The public will believe us. They always do. And once the people fear them, they’ll demand we kill them.”

  The president was a little put off by the general’s en
thusiasm for killing people, but reasoned, If the military did get rid of the tribes, it would open up a lot of natural resources at no cost. And that would make his friends at the mining and lumber companies very happy. But the president worried that the Earth Sentinels might attack him personally. All the more reason to quickly get rid of them, he rationalized, then announced, “I’m ready to move forward. Create a plan and present it to me this afternoon. I’ll talk with other leaders to get them on board.”

  The Empire Strikes Back

  ZACHARY HAD BEEN glued to the TV news coverage of the supernatural storms all morning as he anxiously waited for the government’s response. A message flashed on the screen alerting viewers that the President of the United States was about to hold a press conference. Zachary sat upright.

  The president stepped up to the podium. “Hello, fellow Americans! This morning, thousands of people are still without electricity because of the strange storms that occurred last night. While an inconvenience, it should only take a few days to get affected areas back up and running. A special thanks to our dedicated public utilities employees working around the clock to get the job done.”

  As the president took a breath, the reporters shouted questions.

  One yelled, “Who’s behind these storms?”

  “Aliens?” another reporter called out. “Have they made contact?”

  The president held up his hand to quiet the journalists. “The supernatural storms were acts of geo-terrorism.”

  The reporters gasped, looking at each other, trying to determine if they had heard the president correctly.

  “Never in the history of this great country has a leader dealt with attacks of this nature. Our intelligence agencies are working hard to gather all the facts, but preliminary information indicates that the indigenous people, here and abroad, worked with unseen forces to create the unnatural storms we saw last night. This group refers to itself as the Earth Sentinels, and they are demanding control of the world. Should our initial intelligence prove true, we’ll do whatever it takes to defend our great nation against these terrorist acts.”