Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman Read Online Free PDF Page A

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 morphed
before their eyes. It grew legs, becoming thicker and fatter. Then
a head-like