Author's Notes:
Hi! I am the High Priestess Lunatic and a Sentinel fan. This is my First Fan Fiction, and I have seen a total of count 'em two episodes of the Sentinel! So all the Canon I know comes from Fandom (I have read a LOT of Sen Fan Fics). My email address is
High_Priestess_Lunatic@hotmail.com.Disclaimer:
The main characters and premise of the Sentinel is not my intellectual property, nor made any money off dabbling in the genre. Yes, this is the crappy work of a hack writer, however it is not intended to offend anyone, least of all people with lawyers. Especially really good lawyers.
Recently I discovered that these disclaimers of ours are a flimsy legal at best and an outright admission of copy right violation at worst (if you have that really good lawyer) so I would like to add this addendum: if I receive a 'cease and desist' statement/order from a lawyer (even a really bad lawyer), actor or legal owner/other representative of a legal owner of the Sentinel I will IMMEDIATELY (in 2 to 7 business days) pull down all my fiction and never post another Sentinel related story again. I do not want to be sued.
~~~~~ First Impressions ~~~~~
A half-mile off the coast of Miami Poseidon, the colossal one hundred-foot mascot of the Atlantis resort, rose from the turbulent ocean on a merman's tail scaled with over lapping plates of green copper.
He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck with a giant conk seashell horn that hung from it, a neatly braided forked beard and a crown of seashells on his head. All of which was part of the concrete that composed his body.
The titan, a concrete shell over a skeleton of reinforced steel, stood stoically, facing the coming storm with a trident in his left hand and his right hand raised to shield his eyes.
On the tip of the tallest point in Poseidon's crown was a small gazebo of thick wrought iron shaped like a roofed birdcage. Due to the approaching hurricane all the furniture, carpet, light fixtures and plexi-glass window panels had been removed from the Sky's the Limit.
So Blair Sandburg sat cross-legged on bare floor enjoying the view of lead gray waves with fluffy white caps of foam bending into the pear gray sky in the distance from Miami's most exclusive restaurant sans the comforts usually enjoyed by its customers.
Blair was breaking his week long fast with a metal mixer bowl full of a chunky fruit salad. He had scavenged his meal of kiwi, strawberries, pineapple, and mango floating in a quart of coconut milk from the Sky's the Limit's kitchen. The sterling silverware was locked in a vault somewhere so Blair used a wooden mixing spoon found and occasionally lifted the bowl to his mouth to drink off the juice.
The ground around him, his shoes, backpack and jacket covered chest, arms and shoulders were covered with tiny dew droplets left by the mist fine rain blowing in from the sea. Blair's 150$ Nike's had lived up to their guarantee and his socks were still dry. However his baggy gray sweatpants were uncomfortably damp.
The hood of his bulky navy blue nylon rain jacket was pulled up. It dipped down in front covering his forehead and shading his eyes like a monk's cowl. Water dripped from the tip of the hood and rivulets ran down his shoulders and chest to land in his already sodden lap.
He was listening to the small boom box, hidden from the damp in his all weather backpack beside his left knee, through a set of headphones. Between spasmodic coughs of static, the weatherman was going hoarse raving fanatically about the demonic nature of the approaching hurricane like a street preacher warning of the coming Apocalypse.
According to the Doppler Radar and the satellite photographs from the National Weather Service, the eye of the storm was roughly a mile and a half in diameter and the winds were gusting at almost two hundred and sixteen miles an hour. The camera's mounted on the hotels facing the ocean were relaying live video of yachts and fishing boats being thrown at the thrown at the beaches of Miami by two story tidal waves.
The weatherman prophesied that after the wrath of Damien, everything from Miami to the Florida Keys would be washed right off the map.
Blair laughed out loud. No storm was going to muss a single blue tinted hair on Miami's head while the self proclaimed Shaman of North America was on the job. No sir, no how. Especially not with the Shaman of North America's fully restored classic 1969 Coravair parked in front o the Atlantis Resort.
Last year, Blair had made it to Florida in time for Hurricane Danielle. He had the storm trapped five miles off the coast and was ready to demolish it when well meaning soldiers from the National Guard burst into his hotel room and dragged him to a shelter.
When his concentration was broken Blair lost control of Danielle. Before he could find his center again, the forces he had been using to control the storm pulled it in two. Hurricane Elle seemed to ricochet off the coast like a cue ball on a pool table. It went sped back out to sea and die in the Atlantic Ocean. Hurricane Dan devastated the Florida Keys, which thankfully had been completely evacuated.
The incident rattled Blair badly. After another year of practice on the tornadoes in the Mid-west and countless hours in calming mediation Blair decided to try again. This time he choose the top of the statue Poseidon as the location of his fast and mediation, instead of a hotel room hoping he was not again disturbed.
Blair took a last deep swallow of the coconut milk then set the bowl and spoon aside. He dug into his backpack switching his boom box from the radio to loop on track six of his Primal Drums CD. Music he burned on to compact disk himself from tape recordings he made during his travels.
Blair rolled his shoulders and neck to pop out the kinks. He unfolded his legs to toe off his shoes, then refolded them in the lotus position. He sat up straight as though a stack of books were balanced on his head, and drew back his hood: baring his face to the storm. Closed his eyes, deepened his breathing and let his mind sink into memory.
The rhythm began with a dozen feet stomping a single thudding beat. Keeping time and setting pace like a sleeping human's heart. Long short. Quick slow. Right left.
Blair could see the dancers. Chopec warriors, the tribe descended of the Olmec's temple guardians, keepers of the lost cities, protectors of the rainforest and the secrets of the dead. He could see them moving in two circles around the bonfire.
Their red brown bodies splashed with the fire's light, painted with symbols in a jaguar's and dusted with powdered gold. The young men and women with straight black hair braided with flowers from the trees, the bright feathers of tropical birds, or the skins of animals they symbolized.
The bodies and arms of those in the inner circle gracefully swaying like trees in the wind. Like birds in flight. Animals prowling the ground below or crawling up the trees. Those in the out circle moving like the clouds, and wind itself: gracefully leaping and twirling. Yet always their feet in rhythm: long short, quick slow, right left.
Then Shaman gave the signal and clapping began. Slow claps. Fast claps. Claps in a hic-cupping rhythm. Loud claps that died away softly like pattering rain in a storm that swells and lessens. Chanting that was more the sound of leaves and branches tormented by the wind than words. Hushed and rattling. Then the drums began. Thundering drums whose' bass throbbed though Blair like the echo in an empty room.
This was the music of a thunderstorm in the rainforest.
Blair let his mind sink deeper into himself opening his Inner Eye, willing his conscious mind to see the intangible Shadow Realms. He could see the World Between, the World Above and the World Below.
Directly before him was the blue green lattice of energy he had been carefully weaving over the past week. At its edge was a swirling mass of vibrant violent color, the power that drove the hurricane. It slowly approached the fringe of the net like a fly flitting near a spider's web.
Calling with his Inner Voice, Blair summoned his Avatar from his the Center of his soul. A deep baying howl resounded through the primeval forest of majestic moss speckled trees that represented Blair's Inner Sanctuary.
It was his favorite of the many tracks of virgin forest his grandfather bought during the Great Depression and handed down to Blair along with the mantle of Shaman when he passed. It was on the wooded slopes of Mt. Rainier that he had his first vision quest in his grandfather's sweat lodge as a little boy.
Blair jerked slightly as a great wolf of silver, with black markings and white tipped ears and tail leapt from with in his chest. It paced the perimeter surveying the little metal cage at the top of Poseidon's crown then he walked in front of Blair.
He sat down with the Shaman between his front paws like a great canine sphinx. His bushy silver tail swishing back and fourth on the damp floor behind him. The wolf dipped his head down to bury his cold wet nose in Blair's hair and sniff the curve of the Shaman's neck.
Satisfied, that the perimeter was secure and his charge was not in distress the Avatar gave the side of his Shaman's face a long wet lick and was rewarded with a smile. Blair's eyes blinked open and he looked deeply into his Avatar's gaze, communicating his will to the Spirit Animal without words.
//Summon the Shadow Warriors of the Spirit Realm, Silver as the Midnight Rain. //
Silver as the Midnight Rain sat up on his haunches and howled. In response wolves of silver, white, blue, black, gray, red, brown, and gold bounded into visibility from thin air. Sliver turned to face them. He stood protectively over the Shaman, keeping him safely in the shadow of his belly.
Unlike the Avatar whose eyes glowed the color of Blair's own the unclaimed Warriors and Guides of the Shadow Realm had eyes empty and black as a shadow at night. One by one the other wolves came forward to acknowledge the authority the Avatar and his Shaman.
When they ducked the top of their heads beneath Silver's chin, rubbing his scent into their fur. Then they were granted a measure of power from Blair to do the work for which they were summoned. Their eyes became Sandburg blue. Their bodies became solid so that the dim light of the overcast day no longer shone through them, and they cast shadows of their own.
Blair turned his attention back to manipulating and maintaining the stability of the web of energy that he had knit during long hours of meditative preparation, leaving his Avatar to direct the attack on Hurricane Damien. It was easier to trust the competence of Silver as the Midnight Rain, than to split his consciousness to govern two separate minds and micromanage the whole process.
Silver split his pack into three hunting parties. One group Silver headed himself, the second was lead by a wolf as large a Silver, with fur as brilliant as sun fire, the third a lean wolf the light blue color of a cloudless summer day. With a sharp bark Silver ordered the blue wolf into action and he led the swiftest runners into battle.
The hunting party divided, going around the swirling hurricane then coming behind it cutting off its retreat back out to the Atlantic Ocean. Then the golden wolf and her group swept down on the storm barring it from drifting east or West. Slowly the wolves lead by the Gold and Blue wolves drove the storm forward, while Silver and the largest wolves waited around the Shaman.
The statue swayed gently as Damien was brought forward. The hurricane roared in thunder. It lashed out at Poseidon with lighting from its thunderheads. It spat hail the size of golf balls hard enough to dent the metal bars of the Sky's the Limit. Its wind blew so hard that the rain came in side ways in waves and sheets.
However Blair was safe, and relatively dry from Damien's rage. His Avatar, who stood above him, protected the Shaman and Silver's chosen warriors who stood around him. Blair blinked with sleepy slowness. In a Waking Dream, with his Inner Eye open and the music of the storms throbbing in his ears Blair was in harmony with nature.
He calmly observed the chaos of colorful energy that was the storm's furious power. He inhaled the violence it infused into the salty wind from the Atlantic. He held his breath feeling the heady power in a rush, like a puff of peyote smoke, then exhaled slowly.
The Blue and Golden wolves had the storm at the edge of his net. Blair manipulated the Threads of Serenity that composed his blue green web of power. He warped the disk into a funnel. The Golden and Blue wolves held their warriors back as Damien rolled around its rim then into its nexus like a basketball into a goal.
Blair squinted, concentrating, as he knit the Threads of Serenity; he had spun in hours of fasting and meditation into a lattice ball that completely enclosed the hurricane. Once he had finished the wind, rain, thunder, lightning, hail and all Damien's ferocity was trapped inside. Maintaining the sphere was spinning a ball on the tip of his finger. Blair had to be very careful to sustain his concentration to prevent a disastrous repeat of the Danielle mishap.
Silver as the Midnight Rain lead the final attack. With his chosen behind him he swept down on Damien with a deep reverberating howl. He and his hunting party tore into Damien grabbing two and three cords of color from the swirling mass of volatile power in their jaws. Then they ripped them loose from the knotted chaos and brought the energy back to the head of Poseidon. It dissipated into a hazy mist that was absorbed by Blair.
The Golden and Blue wolves lead their packs into the fray. Their followers took hold of the thickest cords in the hurricane in their jaws. They were not strong enough to pull them loose, so they pulled counter the Hurricane's spine. Slowing it down and lessening it's power.
Meteorologists were at a loss as to how to explain the phenomenon to the refugees from south Florida sequestered in shelters, school gymnasiums, church sanctuaries, and the homes of family, and friends from Orlando to Atlanta Georgia.
Their satellite pictures and Doppler radar showed that instead of scouring the lower quarter of Florida off the map as they had predicated, and expected Damien was standing still a mile off from the beaches of Miami. The hurricane's winds were slowing. The eye of the storm was shrinking. Damien was dying.
The station switchboards were jammed with calls from people demanding answers. The National Weather Service's website crashed because of the numerous hits. Network programming managers were calling their affiliate local stations. Network executives were calling the programming managers. Newspaper reports called everyone and got no comment.
Finally the media decided amongst themselves the equipment was faulty. Damien really was doing apocalyptic damage to southern Florida. To prove it, the news stations activated the cameras they had mounted on the rooftops of Miami's tallest beach resorts by remote control.
The cameras did not relay video feed of three and four story tall tidal waves stampeding up from the ocean to flood the land being driven by thunder clouds that made day as black as night. The cameras relayed pictures of the Atlantis Resort's Poseidon stoically staring down a pillar of smoke black clouds erratically striped with lighting that swirled like a giant tornado.
The live footage was allowed to play without interruption for half an hour. The weathermen and national weather service meteorologist still could not think of anything to say. The network executives, programmers and CEOs had plenty to say however the FCC wold not allow most of it on air.
After watching the events unfold on the Weather Channel Stephen William Ellison who happened to own the Atlantis Resort, which had been loosing money faster than a water could run out of a cup with a hole in the bottom, called his brother James.
"I need to speak to James Joseph Ellison . . . He's a police volunteer from Washington . . . Cascade, Washington. The state not the city . . . Don't tell me he isn't there. I know he's there just find him . . . His brother Stephen is calling about his pregnant wife . . . Yes it's an emergency."
Stephen turned the volume of the television up to block the easy listening music that he was forced to listen to on hold. He went over to the closet and started raffling through his clothes for the pair of chinos and cotton polo shirt he packed for the day he planned to beg for a loan over a round of golf with the his father.
"Hello Jim? It's Stephen . . . Look I'm sorry, but I needed to talk to you and I didn't want you to think it was a life or death emergency. I didn't want you to worry . . . A favor, a big favor. Have you been watching the news? . . . Guess what? Your little brother owns that hotel. Yes," Stephen nodded even though his brother could not see him. "That's the white elephant Dad's been bitching about . . . The bank only wanted a hundred million. It was the steal of the century . . . I need to get down there, figure out what the hell is going on, and stop the press making up a story that will ruin me."
Stephen held the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he stepped into his khaki pants. James was telling him how dangerous and stupid his to go to the hotel was in the same tone of voice his father had told him how dangerous and stupid it was to invest in it two year before.
"I'm not going to get killed, you saw the weather report . . . I have a helicopter parked on the roof . . . I don't know how to fly it, that's why I'm calling you . . . I gave the pilot two days off to visit his family . . . Yeah, well I thought a hurricane was going to hit."
He pulled his light blue shirt over his head then got down on his hands and knees to find his loafers in the bottom of the closet.
"Okay how about I make a ten thousand dollar contribution to your favorite charity and take you out for an all you can eat feast at your favorite steak house . . . Twenty thousand, plus tickets for your whole department to the next super bowl. Transportation and accommodations are your problem . . . This isn't bribery, you aren't on duty. You aren't even in your jurisdiction."
Stephen stood up and stepped into his shoes then began hunting for his Rolex. It should have been on the nightstand but he could not find it. He stooped to look under the bed, then tore the blanket and sheets off the bed. Finally he found it under his pillow beside two stale mints.
"How did you get there? No I'm not talking to you; I'm talking to my watch. Never mind that, will you fly my chopper or not? . . . Thanks Jim, I owe you one big brother . . . The Orlando Hilton; I'll be on the roof with the helicopter with the keys okay? . . . Yeah, you to. Bye."
While James Ellison went grumbling to the Orlando Hilton, and Stephen Ellison was taking the executive elevator to the roof, the various network and local television news people had all independently decided to send a helicopter and crew down to Miami as well.
It took thirty minutes for James Ellison to get from the Red Cross head quarters to the roof of the Hilton and into the helicopter. By the time he had the Executive Class Sea Hawk 23B was in the air, there was already a small flock of news helicopters following a military escort in a 'V' formation like migrating geese.
Colonel Norton Oliver from Barksdale Airforce Base was in charge of the military escort for the media. He ordered his helicopters to land on the parking lot between the public beach, and the west wing of the Atlantis Resort, but gave the news crews clearance to on to the statue. He did not want to get any closer to the ocean than he absolutely had too in case a hasty retreat became necessary.
Colonel Oliver was not opposed to the media flying into danger. His brother was a fighter pilot in the navy, who flew Tomcats on the U.S.S. Alamo. Bradley was demoted a rank and lost his chance to fly the space shuttle Columbia because of the Tail Hook scandal. Brad was so ashamed and disappointed he committed suicide. Colonel Oliver hoped he got the chance to watch Damien killed them all.
The camera men were hanging half out of the sides of their aircraft, anchored to the walls and seats by the wide bands of their woven nylon safety harnesses, trying to get the best shots. They were not ready for what they saw when they zoomed in for a close up of the dying gale.
Running through and around the hurricane was dozens of wolves. Some were as small as polar bears, others were as large as elephants all were dashing back and forth between Damien and the Poseidon after wrestling long trailing brightly colored veils from Damien like a terrier fighting for a sock.
As the news media filmed, and the world watched in silent awe the ethereal wolves dismantled the storm piece by piece until only a gentle breeze and a light fog remained from the storm of the century.
Blair disbursed the Threads of Serenity, turned off his boom box and took of his headphones. He was exhausted, and a little tipsy with the power he had absorbed but pleased. He had fought the forces of nature and won.
Having finished the appointed task, Silver and the wolves rushed back to their master. Blair stood up slowly, mindful of his stiff muscles and aching joints only to be knocked back on his behind when his Avatar barreled into him.
The others hung back, respectful of Silver of the Midnight Rain's authority, playfully yapping, nipping, mock fighting and cavorting with each other like large puppies. Silver pinned Blair under his front paws just long enough to give the Shaman a wet swipe with his tongue from neck to forehead straight up his face.
"Eeew, dog spit! I have got to meditate you some spiritual tic tacs," Blair said ruefully wiping his face on the sleeve of his jacket while Silver danced away grinning as only a dog can grin: with his mouth slightly open and his tongue hanging out the right side of his mouth.
"So what do you say?" Blair addressed the pack sitting on their haunches around him, as he scrambled up to his feet. "We make an annual pilgrimage to Florida for a little hurricane hunting?"
The wolves sat up and howled in unison. Blair covered his ears with hands. The resonating bass of their baying rattled the metal cage skeleton of The Sky's the Limit.
"I'll take that as a yes . . . What the hell?" Blair turned to face the soft sound of rotator blades in distance and saw a small flight of helicopters fast approaching from the beach. " Oh SHIT!"
The pack, picking up on the Shaman's sudden burst of fear and anxiety stood up as one. With Silver in the foremost they began to stalk forward crouched low, with their ears laid back their sharp teeth bare and their hackles raised in bristled anger.
"No! Stop! Stay! HEEL DAMNIT! We DO NOT mess with the media or the military under ANY circumstance!" Blair shouted. He pulled his the deep hood of his jacket up to hide his face, grabbed his backpack by its strap and slung it over his shoulder.
"Don't you remember that crazy click of pseudo psychic chicks who kept looking for us during tornado season last year? They were on our trail from Nebraska to Texas! If they ever found out who I am they would set up camp outside my door and that would be the LEAST of my problems!"
Blair ran for the exit. He slipped on the rain slick marble floor, his arms wind milling as he slide on one foot. Silver teleported over and grabbed Blair by the back of his jacket with his teeth to prevent him from falling.
"Thanks Silver."
Silver set Blair gently on his feet, then got a better hold on him with his teeth. The wolf picked him up like a cub by the nape of the hood. He gestured to his pack with his head, swinging Blair slightly as he gave them directions. Then trotted off to the front of the statue.
"Hey! What the Hell? What are you doing?"
~ I am going to help you to escape, since you do not wish to take credit for your good deeds. ~
"Much as I appreciate your help, I can walk Silver!"
~ Yes, but you can not yet fly. ~
"NO! I am not, YOU will not-"
~ Your fear of heights is an obstacle to your total Enlightenment. You will never be able to embrace the full power at your disposal until apprehension of Air Walking has been removed from your heart. ~
"I prefer to address my psychological issues on the ground, in the comfort of a psychiatrist office. Not two hundred feet up in the air dangling from the jaws of a wolf!"
~ You have been under the counsel of various doctors of the mind for many years, my Shaman and none of them have cured you. So I must take the matter in hand. ~
"YOU DON'T HAVE HANDS!"
~ A minor technicality. As you see, my jaws suffice. Trust me, my Shaman. I will never fail you. ~
Without the panes of plexi-glass between the metal bars that composed the frame of the Sky's the Limit were wide enough apart for Silver as the Midnight Rain to walk through sideways. There was plenty of room for him to carry out his squirming charge.
Blair struggled to free himself, using both hands to try to work or rip his jacket out of Silver's mouth, until Silver stepped out on thin air. Looking down at the hundreds of feet between him and a watery grave, Blair went totally limp, and his backpack slide off his shoulder.
"Please put me back. I am very, VERY scared of heights," Blair said in a small quiet voice.
~ I am sorry to frighten you, however you want to avoid to the passengers of the approaching helicopters, and that is not possible if you try to escape the way you came. There is no need to fear. I will never drop you. ~
The lean Blue wolf, who had lead one of the smaller packs in attack of the hurricane darted down caught Blair's backpack and brought it back to the Shaman. Blair accepted it back, slipping the straps over both shoulders and snapped the clip across his stomach.
"Thanks Wyon," Blair said shakily. The Blue wolf, Wyon whined and licked the side of Blair's face. "I'll be okay when I'm on the ground again."
~ Perhaps it would be better if the Ancient of Ways, would allow you ride on his back instead of in his mouth like a shank of meat. ~ Wyon thought looking meaningfully at Silver over Blair's head.
~ How I lead my Shaman to full Enlightenment is my affair pup. ~ Silver growled menacingly.
"You know Wyon that's not a bad idea, let me ride on your back Silver," Blair said. "This scary instead of terrifying if I had something to hold onto."
~ That would be undignified ~ Silver huffed gruffly. ~ I am not a beast of burden! ~
"Well you aren't a puppy either but your whole body still wags when I scratch behind your ears in a certain spot," Blair countered.
~ You should not torment the Shaman, Beloved. ~ The Golden Wolf advised as she approached the descending Silver and Wyon. She brushed her length against Silvers side and licked the side of Blair's face. ~ He may become angry and pull the hairs out of your tail one by one, and I do so admire your full bushy tail. ~
~ If you let me take him down to the ground on my back, I bet he would allow you to torment the helicopters. ~ Wyon suggested slyly. ~ Why should the pack have all the fun? ~
"Fine with me. Just don't, hurt anybody or break anything okay?" Blair said.
~ Very well. I will allow it. ~ Silver said finally. ~ Convey the Shaman to his car, and return to the pack while Golden as the Sun at Dawn and I handle these interloping busy bodies. ~
Wyon dipped lower, so that Silver could position Blair to straddle the blue wolf's back. Blair took up fist fulls of the soft blue pelt, clamped his legs on the wolf's sides and buried his face in the canine's broad back.
Silver as the Midnight Rain released Blair when he was satisfied with his grip, then turned with Golden at his side and went to peruse the media helicopters. Wyon descended gently, a little faster than an elevator, until he was a few feet above the water, then shot for the beach at a dead run.
~ Some times the Sire forgets that flight is not an appealing proposition when you can not fly. ~
Blair laughed. "Are we down yet?"
~ Yes, Shaman. Look up and enjoy the wind in your face! ~
Blair did sit up a little. The wind pulled his hood back; it made his hair trail behind his head like a whipping streamer. It was like riding a motor cycle without a helmet. The wind buffed his face hard, and tried to rip his jacket off his back. He had to squint his eyes and still they watered.
"Yyyaaaa Yyee! This is GREAT!" The powerful muscles beneath his legs bunched and relaxed as Wyon ran through the air.
~ This is no challenge. ~ Wyon scoffed. ~ Through a narrow valley or long ravine is exciting through. ~
"Spring Break we are going to do this in the Grand Canyon! Oh yeah!" Although he was terrified of heights, Blair loved speed and had ridden every roller coaster at every major theme park in North America as a teenager.
The ride ended much to quickly for Blair's taste. Wyon landed on the beach, and Blair slid down from his back. After receiving a generous lick on both cheeks and giving a hearty ear scratch Blair was left to amble across the beach, up the embankment green native with wry seashore grass alone.
He stumbled onto the black top of the beach's parking lot startling a gray haired man in an Air force blue gray flight suit down around his hips urinating on the embankment. For a moment they just stared at each other. Then the man in Air Force fatigues grabbed his gun from his holster at the small of his back and pointed it at Blair.
"Don't move."
Blair raised both his hands, but could not fight the smirk off his face or hold the tittering giggle inside. He was still a little tipsy from eating a hurricane and adrenaline was still high in his veins from his wolf ride across the waves. He felt no fear.
The situation suddenly struck him as hilariously absurd, and he started to laugh. A man was trying to kill him in satin purple boxer shorts with little pink hearts. He laughed so hard he lowered his hands and held his sides instead while the gray haired man in the flak suit scowled at him darkly.
"You think a gun pointed at your head is funny fucker?"
"No. But the fact you pointing a gun at my head while your pants have fallen down around your ankles and you're pissing on your shiny shoes certainly is."
As if suddenly feeling the warm wetness soaking his boats the man in Air Force drab looked down at himself and swore lyrically blaming Blair and his questionable heritage for the mishap. While he struggled to pull his coveralls up one handed, Blair grabbed a chunk of concrete and threw it at him.
The concrete rock hit the man in the shoulder hard enough to knock him down. The gun went off, but the shot missed Blair by ten feet, but the Shaman ran as through it had come within inches of his head.
The gray haired man rolled over on his side, to take another shot but Blair was gone. He stood up pulled up his pants, buckled his belt and tried to think of a suitable lie to explain why he smelled like piss. Then started after Blair.
He followed the trail Blair had taken across an empty street, through the metal gate around the pool area and into the lobby of the hotel. The ground floor of the Atlantis hotel was a confusing catacomb of ballrooms, conference rooms, restaurants and small souvenir shops.
The first person he ran into was Stephen digging around in an open wall safe behind a painting in his office, trying to make sure that no looters or insiders had robbed the him. After landing he and James split up. Jim had gone down to the doors to make sure they were closed locked.
"Move and I'll blow your fucking head off."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Colonel Norton Oliver U.S.A.F. Where's the little guy? The punk with the curly hair?" Oliver demanded.
"Who the hell are you talking about? What guy? The only people here are me and my brother James. By the way I happen to own this hotel Special Colonel Oliver," Stephen said sarcastically.
"What's your last name?"
"Ellison, Stephen William Ellison," he said haughtily.
"Right," Colonel Oliver drawled sarcastically and cocked the hammer on his gun. "You're a Ellison, and I'm Mary Queen of Scots."
"Drop the gun before I blow your head off your majesty," James growled dangerously.
Norton looked over his shoulder and saw James Ellison walking through the doorway behind him, with his gun drawn.
"Who the hell are you?"
"James Joseph Ellison, crack shot and big brother of the brat you're pointing a gun at."
"You can spout one liners later," Stephen said. "For heavens sake just shoot him James!"
"As brother's go he's fairly useless, but my parents are the sentimental type." James shrugged casually ignoring his brother.
"Hey!" Stephen said indignantly.
"Shut up Steve." James glanced at his fuming brother, hoping he would get a clue and understand he was trying to draw the gunman's attention away from his unarmed sibling. "I'm going to ask just one more time: put the gun down Oliver, or I'll put you down."
"How do I know you two are really the Ellisons?"
"Stephen close the safe."
Stephen closed the safe and swung the panting back in place with a lick. The painting was a six by four-foot portrait of James, Stephen, and their parents with a bronze plaque with their names and ages beneath. Oliver looked at the painting, then at James and Stephen and blushed in embarrassment.
"Oh. Excuse me," he said sheepishly re-holstering his gun.
"Why do you reek of urine?" Stephen asked suddenly wrinkling his nose.
"I caught a looter in the act," Oliver said curtly.
"And you're tracking it into my hotel? Son of a bitch! Get out! Don't walk on the damn carpets we'll never get the smell out!"
Stephen picked up a heavy brass paperweight of the Poseidon statue and threw it at Oliver who ducked it and started backing out of the room. James, leaned against the door wall well out of the way, smirking. He held his gun in one fist and his arms crossed over his chest.
"Do you have any idea how much it will cost to clean all the carpet on the first floor? I ought to shoot you!"
"I thought there was a looter-"
"The insurance company will pay for stolen or weather damaged goods and property. I can't very well blame the stench of piss in the carpets on the hurricane that never came now can I? Now get the hell out before I have you arrested for breaking and entering!"
Stephen looked over at his brother; "I can shoot him for breaking and entering can't I? I mean he doesn't have a warrant and no body invited him in here. They'd never convict me would they?"
"Sure you could," Jim assured Stephen. "But think of the carpet. The bloodstains would never come out. You'd have to take it all up and replace it."
Stephen scratched his chin and mulled it over for a second while Oliver watched the two of them. "I can live with that."
He opened his top desk draw, pulled out a glock and pointed at Oliver. "You have until the count of ten to get the hell out off my property before me and the crack shot fill you with enough lead to be a human pencil. One . . . two . . . three-"
Oliver looked at them both with venomous narrow eyes. He could kill them both, but that would not be nearly as satisfying as fucking with them later. He would not forget the brothers Ellison, or the humiliation he suffered at their hands. He turned and ran off.
Stephen dropped the gun and collapsed into his leather wingback chair. He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the edge of the desk and buried with face in his hands. James walked over and re holstering his gun under his arm.
"You know that gun isn't loaded," James said casually picking up Stephen's glock and looking it over. "Not much good without bullets."
"James, to day is the second time I have ever touched it. I didn't buy it to shoot anybody with, just to scare them off."
"Then I think you should loose the gun. Get a metal door with better locks and another security system," James suggested patting his brother on the shoulder. "A gun is only effective protection if it is loaded and you are prepared to use it . . . I can teach you how if you want."
"No. No thank you. I still remember the letter you wrote me after you killed someone for the first time. I'll get rid of the gun . . . hey where are you going?"
"To find that looter. I remember seeing a car parked out front. I was going to check it out when I saw Norton with a bead on you. I'll check it out now."
Blair had faked Norton out. He had gone into the hotel, hid in a janitor's closet until the Air Force Colonel passed by. Then the shaman skulked back out the way he came in. He carefully crept all the way around the outside of the hotel, to the front vestibule where his car was parked.
When he got to the front he saw James had wrapped his jacket around his fist and was about to break the glass on the drivers side window. It suddenly seemed just too cosmically unfair to Blair that his innocent car should be molested while he was out defending the interest of Florida. The universe owed him big time. The guy messing with his car was about to get his come uppence.
Blair ran over grabbed Jim by his left arm and spun him around. "Hey get the hell away from my car!"
James turned; grabbed Blair by the front of his jacket with both hands then slammed him up against one of the thick Ionic pillars in one fluid motion.
"Who the hell are you, and why are you parked at this hotel when the whole city has been evacuated?" Jim demanded shaking the smaller man. Bouncing his head off the pillar behind him. "Are you some kind of looter? Where's the rest of your gang?"
"Why afraid of a little healthy competition in the free black market economy?" Blair choked out recklessly.
"I'm being nice," James growled dangerously getting close to Blair's face. "You don't want to see me angry."
Something about the angry large man in comfortably worn blue jeans, black tee shirt and leather jacket set off instinctual warning bells in Blair. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his mouth went dry. He started to sweat and shake. The man was to close and to dangerous.
Silver could feel Blair's anxiety spike and immediately teleported to his Shaman. When he saw James threatening Blair, he rushed full speed for his Shaman. The wolf barreled into Jim's side knocking him away from Blair.
By the time the police lieutenant realized what had happened he was flat on his back with two wide clawed paws pinning his arms down by the biceps and a snarling mouth full of sharp white teeth around his throat, but not breaking the skin.
"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Get This Dog Off Me Now."
Silver did not like his tone of voice and tightened his jaws slightly growling a clear warning at James.
"Why should I?" Blair asked irritable with himself for being scared, he tried to himself he was not. He picking himself up off the ground and trying to dust sand off his wet sweat pants.
"I let you go then what'll you do? Beat me? Shot me? Dump my body in a ditch? What are you going to do Mr. Big Bad Asshole?"
He walked over, crouched down next to Jim's head, and looked him in the eye.
"Just because you have your Timberland butt stomping boots, your muscles, and your fucking height you it your prerogative to push me around, like some school yard bully," Blair said angrily.
"Now my puppy's got you by the jugular you're ready to beg for the mercy you never showed anybody. I'd spit in your eye, but it'd be a waste of perfectly good spit."
"It's against the law to spit on a officer of the law," Jim ground out.
"You're a cop? I believe you. Sure. Of course I caught a COP in a five hundred-dollar leather jacket trying to steal my car. NOT."
"Badge in my pocket."
"Beat it came out of a cereal box," Blair muttered darkly.
Blair started frisking Jim from the legs up. He found the gun in Jim's ankle holster and the one in his shoulder holster.
"Look guns, big surprise there. As someone who has taken psychology classes I feel obligated to tell you that the high caliber of these pistols says a lot about you. Particular about certain inadequacies and your transparent attempts at compensation."
Blair stood up and threw the guns as far as he could into the bushes: one to the left and the other to the right. He tucked his hair back behind his ears and got down to rummaging through Jim's pockets again.
"Handcuffs? A kinky man on the go . . . a wallet. I ought to rob you since you tried to rob me for the sake of karmic justice, and all that. You're lucky Evil Doer all my student loans are paid so I'm just going to turn you over to the cops and – FUCK MY FRUIT LOOPS! You ARE a cop."
"No shit Sherlock," James hissed clenching and unclenching his fists. "Now get your damn dog OFF me!"
"This is not happening. Oh man this is so NOT happening!"
"Calm down!"
"I am calm. I can't go to jail. What would my mother say? My aunts would have a stroke! I'll loose my fellowship! Shit, shit, SHIT!"
Blair took a deep breath through his noise and let it out slowly thorough his mouth. Then he took another, and exhaled it slowly as well.
"Okay. I am going to let you go."
"Bout time."
"But not before I'm in my car with the engine running."
Blair dashed over to his car, got in and rolled down the passenger window before putting the keys in the ignition. Silver as the Midnight Rain kept James pinned to the ground until Blair had the engine started. Then he released the police lieutenant detective, ran over to the forest green classic Volvo and jumped into the rolled down passenger side window.
James rolled over the small Porsche like car's back wheels squealed as the drive went from neutral to first gear with his foot pressing the execrator to the floorboard. By the time Jim got to his feet, the boxy little sports car had gone from zero to sixty. It sped around the curve of the circular drive, and down the straightaway.
It whipped into the turn on the two-lane street without slowing down, and come dangerously close to flipping over when the front and back wheels on the left side came two feet off the ground. However there was no traffic or pedestrians to avoid and Blair knew his automobile well. So he and Silver as the mid Night Rain escaped down the palm tree lined boulevard, but not before James Ellison read off the license plate.
"M-E-D-M-A-N? And from the rainy state of Washington too. Well let's see if my friends at the DMV can unravel your secret identity Mr. Medicine man," James said darkly as he pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and flipped it open. "Hello? Hi Tammy, its James Ellison. I need you to run down a plate for me . . ."
0-o-0-o-0-o-0
All right, I have writers. I have no more to add to this part. I would appreciate your comments, criticism of the constructive sort, and corrections of every sort (spelling, grammar, and characterization.). Yes there will be a sequel or part two or something as soon as I figure out what do in it.