Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman Read online

  The dramatic orchestral music played with perfect timing, giving a movie like effect to the opening of the door.

  As the door slid open, the details of the interior were revealed. There was a huge interior space, the floor littered with numerous animals like the ones that they had seen outside – dogs, cats, chickens, snakes and others. Small smoky fires burned pale green and blue on some of the animal bodies. The smell of burnt hair and charred flesh washed over them.

  At the far end of the huge room there was a raised platform. It had a row of about twenty folding chairs facing the large space as if some kind of show were going on.

  About half the seats were occupied and the dancing man was standing in front of the group on the warehouse floor. He held his hands up over his eyes, momentarily blinded by the lights from Number Eight. It looked like he had been taken completely by surprise.

  Brady noticed two men get up and quickly exit through a small door behind the row of chairs. They appeared to be wearing military uniforms. One of them had a silver mask covering one side of his face. Brady’s observation was cut short as his attention was drawn to an epic tantrum being thrown by the shaman as he recovered from his surprise.

  “What!? What is this interruption? You will paaayyyyy!!” The Kachina shaman screamed as he reached into his cloak and started dancing.

  Rattlesnakes started slithering in from every direction, their scales making whispery, scratching sounds against the ground as they charged toward Brady and Fifi. Their forked tongues frantically licked the air, searching for their targets.

  “Cover fire, Eight! Assume all approaching are hostile,” Brady yelled into his comlink.

  The snakes came for them in a huge wave, hundreds pouring out from inside the warehouse and the surrounding countryside.

  Brady began focusing on directing the PODs. A huge rattler sidewinded in on their left. It’s mouth was open, grey fangs exposed and oozing yellow venom. It’s black, reptile eyes fixed on Fifi. Brady sent the PODS to it, freezing it in place. Then he made a fist and the PODS cut the snake into neat, even sections. With a look of concentration, Brady gestured with his hands sending the PODS into another charging rattler, then another.

  Fifi looked over at him and smirked, “Nice work, Brady. Snake tartare.”

  Number Eight’s computer guided laser turrets joined in. The ship targeted the incoming snakes with the cool precision of a robot surgeon. Rotating on well-oiled hinges, the turrets fired suspended from hidden compartments in the ships underside. Beams of high intensity purple laser darted out, stopping each snake by instantly cooking it.

  Fifi smiled, “Snake, well-done,” she said.

  As fast as Brady and Number Eight were working, a few snakes were starting to get through. One almost bit Brady in the left calf, sneaking in behind him. Fifi took it out quickly with a flashing silver nunchuck to the head.

  “And,” she growled, “snake ala Fifi.”

  The waves of snakes continued, and all they could do was defend. Brady and the ship took the incoming reptiles out at a distance while Fifi mopped up any that got through.

  They were holding on for now, but it would get ugly if the snake frenzy went on for too much longer.

  Then something changed.

  They heard the shaman scream in frustration, and he changed his dance. He started jumping up and down and snapping his fingers. A dark patch began forming on the ground in a wide ring around Brady and Fifi.

  “What is it? What’s he doing?” Brady pulled the PODS back into orbit around himself.

  Fifi’s sharp eyes recognized what was making the dark ring. “Scorpions!” she barked, “We’re in the middle of a ring of Scorpions!”

  “OK – think, think…. I’ve got it!” Brady smiled. “Number Eight, egg roll.”

  Fifi laughed, obviously liking the idea.

  Number Eight immediately descended, pulling in its lights and lasers and resuming its familiar egg shape. It landed softly on the ground next to Brady and Fifi. Handholds appeared on the side of the vehicle, allowing the pair to climb to the top of the egg.

  From their new vantage point they could easily see the surrounding ring of scorpions massing and starting to move in toward them.

  “Wow, it’s a huge Scorpion doughnut,” said Fifi, “There must be hundreds of thousands.”

  “And we get to be the tasty jelly center,” said Brady, “We better get rolling.”

  They started walking backwards on top of Number Eight. The egg-like ship responded by rolling forward underneath them. They picked up the pace and began to jog in reverse toward the edge of the ring, and the ship rolled faster.

  It was a delicate business. They had to carefully balance on top of the egg, like a lumberjack in a log rolling competition. Instead of falling into the water though, they’d fall into thousands of stinging scorpions and certain death.

  The scorpions tried to get at them, but couldn’t find any way to climb up the smooth surface of the ship. If they didn’t move fast enough they were squished underneath, steamrolled.

  Fifi felt sorry for the little buggers.

  “Brady, we have to stop the shaman’s dancing,” she said, motioning toward the dancing man.

  “Let’s get into the warehouse and end this,” replied Brady.

  They worked together to change course, guiding Number Eight into the warehouse.

  That’s when the sky fell in.

  At least it seemed that way. As soon as they rolled into the warehouse – the kachina shaman screamed and began a new dance, twirling and twisting.

  “What’s he doing?” Brady shouted to Fifi as a powerful wind began whipping through the opening. Pieces of the warehouse started coming down around them. The building groaned and the doorway collapsed, showering them with dust and debris.

  Boards with rusty nails, torn chunks of metal roofing, dead snakes, and squished scorpions zipped past them, spinning into a rapidly growing tornado-like vortex that whirled in front of the crazed, dancing shaman. The kachina man’s eyes began to glow a bright emerald green and he danced forward like a madly spinning ballet dancer right into the middle of the unnatural twister.

  Brady and Fifi hunkered down low on top of Number Eight. It was all they could do to hold their place on the ship’s surface. Brady shouted a command into his Commlink, “Number Eight, take us inside!” He looked over at Fifi, “This is getting out of control.”

  With a series of mechanical clicks and vibrating rumbles, hatches shifted into place underneath Fifi and Brady. Number Eight opened hatches right in front of them revealing short slides descending into the warmly lit interior. Brady and Fifi skidded down into the safety of the ship.

  Brady looked at Fifi, “You all right?” He asked. They were both bleeding from numerous small cuts caused by flying debris. It sounded like a hailstorm on a tin roof as the ship’s hull was pelted by flying objects on their way to being sucked into the tornado.

  Fifi gave him a quick affirmative yip and they strapped in.

  “Status?” Brady called out to the ship and the front view screen powered-up to reveal a horrifying scene.

  The ship stood alone in what used to be the area just inside the great door of the warehouse. The building had been stripped down to its foundation, with just a few framing timbers remaining. They bent like reeds in a strong wind, waving towards the tornado. The vortex was growing before their eyes, towering over the ship. In the center of the whirling winds, the kachina shaman danced and spun – glowing green eyes blazing as he danced.

  “Wow,” Fifi said, “He really didn’t want to get busted.”

  The computer interrupted, “Inertial dampeners are fully engaged. We are using ninety percent of our available power to remain stationary.”

  “Hold on.” Brady said, “Something’s happening.”

  “What’s he doing now?” Fifi asked, leaning forward in her seat.

  The kachina shaman had changed his dance again, bobbing his head and flapping his arms. The tornado mor
phed before their eyes. It grew legs, becoming thicker and fatter. Then a head-like shape started to form with bright green eyes and a gaping mouth. Then the mouth started to stretch, becoming long and skinny.

  “It’s changing into something.” Fifi said in disbelief. “Is that a beak?”

  “Unbelievable…” Brady trailed off and then resumed, “It’s a giant kachina chicken.”

  “Ship. Take us out of here. Now!” Brady barked the order.

  The ship began to lift, but it was too late.

  The giant chicken took a huge lumbering hop and landed on the egg.

  Brady and Fifi were caught inside a flying wonder egg being sat on by a giant magic chicken.

  Brady turned to Fifi. They looked at each other. Then they burst out laughing.

  Fifi remarked, “Say what you will, but at least that old crazy dancing man has a sense of humor.”

  “Any ideas?” Brady asked.

  “I still like the front door approach. Why don’t I climb up inside the chicken and get him to stop dancing?” Fifi said, “How hard can it be?”

  --

  Pretty hard, it turned out. It was a good thing Fifi was small. She scrambled out of a small hatch on top of the egg.

  The chicken was made of packed and tangled debris gathered by the vortex. Held together by some kind of supernatural force field, the debris glowed with a dim green light.

  Fifi growled to herself and started the climb, knowing that Brady was monitoring her in the egg below. The thought that he was keeping tabs on her made her feel a little better about climbing around inside a giant magic chicken.

  She climbed past and over twisted remnants of the warehouse, pieces of fence, small bushes and trees, bodies of snakes, scorpions and other animals. At one point Fifi climbed over an old pick-up truck that was lodged into the bird’s core not far from where she climbed.

  It was easy to see where she needed to go. A brighter glow emanated from the head of the chicken and she could hear distant chanting that had to be the shaman. She kept at it, going straight up.

  Of course he has to be all the way up at the top, she thought to herself.

  After about ten minutes of steady climbing, she reached him.

  The shaman sat as if in deep meditation in an open circular area that would have corresponded to the chicken’s brain. He glowed a bright emerald green and didn’t seem to be aware of her as she drew close.

  She hid behind a portion of metal siding just outside the shaman’s clearing. Fifi loosened up her nun chucks. Noting the treacherous flooring, she planned her attack carefully. She leaned back on her haunches preparing to launch herself.

  One, two…

  Uh-oh – the shaman looked up and stared directly at her.

  She tried to leap, but couldn’t. Why can’t I move? Fifi thought frantically and struggled against the force that held her. Oh no, she thought, as realization hit and icy fear washed over her. She was frozen and could not move.

  The shaman smiled and slowly rose to his feet. He casually walked over to her. Kneeling down, he made a graceful flicking gesture with his fingers and the torn metal siding she was crouching behind lifted into the air, leaving her exposed.

  The greenly glowing chunk of metal floated up and then crashed down behind the shaman.

  Fifi was horrified to see that she was glowing as well.

  “You and your friend have caused me a lot of trouble today. You have disrupted plans and embarrassed me in front of my partners.” The shaman regarded Fifi, glowing eyes piercing into her. “Now I will exact payment from you. Here, in the body of my spirit animal, you are part of me. Inside my body, I reign supreme.”

  “Fifi! Is everything OK? I’ve lost your vital signs.” Brady’s voice crackled over the comlink. “This is weird, we’re losing system control. Something is hacking our systems. I can’t en-” Brady was cut-off abruptly.

  The shaman laughed, a deep, surprisingly rich baritone. “Welcome to my world.”

  Fifi thought to herself. I’ve got to move, got to get free.

  She struggled against the force that held her still, but could not move an inch.

  She tried to talk.

  “Hey….” She whispered quietly, looking beaten. “One last question….”

  The shaman leaned down over her, triumph shining in his glowing eyes.

  Fifi whispered, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

  Then she bit the tooth Gramps had given her. A brilliant nova-like light erupted from Fifi’s mouth. The shaman stumbled back stunned and blinded.

  Suddenly Fifi was able to move. She brought her nunchucks around and leapt at the stumbling, disoriented shaman. She cracked him on the head with the steel shaft of her weapon, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. The sound of the blow was like a wooden mallet hitting a hollow coconut. Donk! Very satisfying.

  “Because I have the nunchucks.” Fifi answered her own chicken crossing the road question as she flipped the chucks back into their holster.

  The giant chicken began to wooble, bits and pieces starting to fall around her as the glow faded. Fortunately she was near the top and was able to climb up onto the crumbling chickens head.

  She looked around and found a piece metal roofing about the shape of a skateboard deck. Ahh - this might work, she thought.

  Her commlink crackled. “Fifi – we’re back.”

  “Stay put Brady.” She replied, “I’ll meet you after the chicken falls apart.”

  She jumped on the roofing panel and surfed down the crumbling giant chicken, howling and yipping as she flew along.

  --

  After they cleared things up with the museum officials and New Mexican authorities, Brady fulfilled his promise to Fifi, swinging by the White House on their way home.

  Fifi and Bo went for a stroll in the rose garden. Smelling good smells and chasing squirrels, they were having an excellent time while Brady sat across from President Obama in the oval office.

  “Please now Brady. Isn’t there some way I can convince you and Fifi to join one of our teams here?” The President asked.

  Brady looked at him and smiled. “Sorry Mr. President, but what Fifi and I have to do is larger than any one country. As you know, we serve all the sentient worlds. We strive to bring balance where we can, preserve the weak from oppression, and to generally kick butt as necessary.”

  “As you know, Mr. President, if you need us, you can always call.”

  Brady looked down as the phone in his pocket started to ring.

  And it wasn’t his regular phone. It was the red one. “Sorry Mr. President, I gotta take this.”

  Brady picked up, “Carmichael here…”

  --

  Author and Illustrator Bios

  David Carnes, Author

  David lives in Minneapolis with his family. He enjoys holding hands, long walks on the beach and playing sensitive, bossa nova style guitar. Sometimes he smells slightly of Old Spice and leather, although he usually wears Tom’s Deodorant and sensible cotton / wool blends.

  Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction evolved from bedtime stories David told his sons, Jackson and Leo. This story is dedicated to them and to his amazingly supportive and understanding wife Lisa.

  Connect with David on Facebook

  https://www.facebook.com/davidccarnes

  Connect with David on Smashwords

  https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/davidcarnes

  Christopher Park, Illustrator

  Chris is a freelance illustrator and artist living in Minneapolis. He is an avid civil war reenactment buff and regularly attends mock battles every summer in the Carolinas. Sometimes he hears and sees things that aren’t really there.

  Connect with Chris on Facebook

  https://www.facebook.com/plantmonster

  Brady and Fifi Updates

  There are literally hundreds of stories and a complex villainous mythology associated with Brady and Fifi. Until now it has strictly been an oral tradition. We
are actively working on bringing more to a screen near you! To stay up to date as we post new stories or to give us feedback, like Brady and Fifi on Facebook.

  https://www.facebook.com/BradyAndFifi

  We hope you enjoyed the story as much as we did writing and drawing it.

  We are so glad you got to the end!

  If you liked it, please tell your friends and write happy reviews! If you didn’t like it please tell us why, we do aims to please. 

 

 

  David Carnes, Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman

 

 

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