Well, here's part 2 of the `Visions in the Wind' fan fic. I hope
you like it. Let me know, won't you?
Most sincerely,
Edward Becerra
*************************************************************************
Visions in the Wind: Walkabout
by Ed Becerra.
-----------------------------------
Some days later...
"So this is what things looks like when you've got rain on a regular
basis. Kinda beautiful." said Edward Anthony Coyote. "Bit damp for the
likes of me, though. Funny to see _green_ grass everywhere, instead of
brown buffalo grass, cactus, and tumble weeds."
Kickaha had left his native dry, wind-swept desert prairie far behind
him, and had just reached the edge of the Great Plains that lay next to the
Great Forest. He still had a ways to go before he reached the forest and
could start looking for the village of Knothole and it's famous Freedom
Fighters.
He lifted his muzzle and sniffed at the wind.
"I smell water. Good thing, too. Been a long way since that last water
hole. Cain't hardly eat jerky without water. Gotta refill my water skin.
Hmmm... Smells like it's in that direction."
He turned in the direction the scent was coming from, and limped slowly
off towards it. He was moving a little stiffly. His back and legs were
bothering him again. It was the damp climate.
He looked around. "Better start looking out for those furshlugginer
SWATbots. I'm a lot closer to Robotopolis, now. Probably got regular
patrols out this way, hunting for any poor fool dumb enough to leave the
protection of the forest. And right now, that means _me_. I wonder why I
haven't seen any already. Robotnik's usually quite the paranoid. Used to
be he'd have 'bots patroling out along the edge of the prairie. But that
stopped some time ago. Something's happened. But what? He's evil and a
more than a little stupid, but not careless."
Kickaha pondered these thoughts as he walked, his cane thumping
rythmically on the ground beside him. The scent of water was growing
closer. The conclusions he was coming to worried him. He didn't like that.
"Dammit! The tribes just don't have enough information on how the
rebellion is going. I _told_ the shaman that, more than once. We need
connections to groups who are closer to the fighting. Well, once I get
ahold of this 'Davey Crockett' Old Man Coyote wants to talk to, maybe I can
convince Princess Sally to share what her freedom fighters know with the
Wild Pack." he growled to himself.
He sighed. One more job to do. Didn't the work _ever_ end? Wasn't it
enough that he was mashed up in that stupid accident? Hadn't he done
enough, already? He snarled angrily. All he ever really wanted out of life
were a few good books and a little time to read them. But duty called, in a
tone he couldn't resist.
He could hear the babbling of the small creek now. And, in the distance,
an odd, whining noise that was rapidly coming closer.
*Crud! That's a hovercycle! SWATbots for sure!*
He yanked a camoflauge tarp from his pack, wrapping it around himself.
He dropped to the ground, looking for all the world like a clump of grass
and dirt. He gripped his cane tightly.
*Okay, maybe they haven't noticed me yet. If so, then I've got the
advantage of surprise. Best use it for all it's worth. One coyote against
several Swats ain't good odds.* he thought. *Gonna need every advantage I
can get.*
Looking underneath the edge of the tarp, Kickaha could see the cycle
coming in for a landing near the edge of the small creek. The whining sound
stopped, as the Swat piloting it shut down the engine. There were two of
them, the pilot and one Swat riding shotgun behind it. REALLY riding
shotgun!
*Damn! That's gotta be the biggest shotgun I've ever seen! From here,
looks like a USAS-12 12-guage fully automatic assault shotgun. With a
ten-round clip, at that. And it's carrying plenty of extra clips. Old Man
Coyote is REALLY gonna owe me for this one. I'm not a fighter anymore, just
a crippled-up ex-soldier and shaman-in-training. Oooh... just wait 'til he
gets my bill! I'm gonna demand an entire library for this one! May the
fleas of a thousand prairie dogs infest his fur! May he... Whoops, here
comes one!*
The SWATbot with the big shotgun dismounted from the hovercycle, and
started circling around it, searching the area in an ever widening pattern.
*They must have spotted me, or they wouldn't have landed and started a
search. But they're not certain where I am. That gives me a chance. Not
much, but it's better than nothing. Better let the Swat come to me.*
He could hear the clanking of the SWATbot's joints as it approached his
hiding place. *Heh. It's joints sound even noisier than mine. Guess it
could use a little oil. Well, so could mine. It's almost here. Get
ready... Get set... * he thought.
Then something happened. A huge black raven swooped out of the sky,
pecking at the Swat's eyes. The SWATbot raised it's shotgun and turned to
fire at the attacking bird.
*HEY! It's back is to me!* This thought flashed through his mind as he
leaped from under the tarp, gripping his cane with both paws. One claw
touched a stud hidden among the carvings that decorated it. A twelve inch
long steel spike with razor sharp edges shot out from the base of the staff.
He jumped up behind the Swat, swinging his cane overhead, like the short
spear that it had become. A heartbeat later, the Swat had a full foot of
blade buried through the back of it's head.
Kickaha looked down at the dead 'bot. *I really must remember to thank
the Timber Wolf tribe for this cane. And compliment them on the quality of
the steel they make. They _said_ it would cut right through a SWATbot. And
they were right.* Pulling his cane out of the swat's head, he pressed the
stud again, retracting the blade. He took note of the weapon the 'bot had
dropped when he had spiked it. *Humph. Be a cryin' shame to let a
perfectly good shotgun like this go to waste.* He picked it up, and
unbuckled the belt full of extra ammo clips the 'bot had around it's chest.
He slung the ammo belt over one shoulder, and checked the weapon.
*Hey, HEY, hey! There's a round chambered, the clip's full, and the
safety's... off. Whoa! Lucky for me it didn't go off when it hit the
ground. Thank the Great Spirit for grip safeties. And the selector
switch's set to full auto. Stupid 'bot.* He reset it to single shot.
*Guess they just don't program SWATbots like they used to. Now to go 'bot
hunting!*
He dropped his pack to the ground. The raven who'd saved his life hopped
over to it, and pecked at it.
"Quiet, bird!" he whispered. "Do ya want that other 'bot ta blow yer
head off?"
He slipped into the tall grass on the bank of the creek, circling in the
opposite direction from the defunct SWATbot. Moving slowly, cautiously, he
spotted the remaining swat waiting with robotic patience on the cycle.
*Can you say `Dead Meat', Mr. Swatbot? Good. I knew you could!*
He stepped out of the concealing grass with the shotgun raised. The 'bot
on the cycle whirled around when it sensed his approach. But not fast
enough. Kickaha pulled the trigger three times. The slugs hammered the
swat's chest in, knocking it backwards over the seat of the hovercycle.
When it tried feebly to rise, he let it have four more rounds. These shots
ripped completely through the 'bot's body shattering it's chest, and tearing
the 'bot apart.
"Hey, HEY, hey! Looks like I can _ride_ the rest of the way to the Great
Forest. Finally, a little good luck, for a change!" he gloated. He walked
forward to dump the second swat's body from the seat. Suddenly, he heard a
hissing, crackling noise coming from it's corpse.
"Oh, crud! Not again!" he growled, dropping to the ground, and rolling
quickly into the nearby creek.
! ! ! B O O O O M ! ! !
The SWATbot, and it's hovercycle, exploded in a fireball of destruction.
When the flames died down, there was nothing left but a few small pieces of
metal, a lot of ashes, and a small crater near the banks of the creek.
Edward crawled out of the small creek, covered in water weeds and mud,
his fur soaking wet. He still gripped his cane and the SWATbot's shotgun,
though. _Kickaha's_ shotgun, now. He bent painfully, and fished the ammo
belt from the bottom of the stream.
He turned toward the smoking crater, and gave it a dirty look. "Damn!
Must have hit the power supply. Or a booby trap. Guess it's still the old
Leather Personel Carrier for me. Well, no use crying over spilled oil. At
least I came out of this with more than I came in with. This shotgun's
gonna be pretty useful if I run into more SWATbots. Speakin' o' which,
gotta grab my gear and get going. If that blast didn't get the attention of
every SWATbot within ten miles, then I'm Snivley's brother-in-law!" He shook
the water and mud from his fur as best he could, and headed towards his
backpack. "I _hate_ walking, I do, I really, really do." he muttered.
"Well, that's not true. I _like_ walking. It's the back pain that I really
_HATE_!"
When he got to the spot where he'd left his pack, he saw the large black
raven was still there, perched on top of it.
"Hey, guy! Thanks for the help, but I gotta run now. And so should you.
Pretty soon, this place is gonna be hip-deep in SWATbots." He reached for
the pack, folding up the camo tarp and stuffing it inside. He turned to say
goodbye to the raven, but when he saw what was happening to the bird, he
couldn't get out a single word.
The bird's body was blurring, stretching, and changing. A golden light
surrounded it. It grew larger.
Before Kickaha stood a four-legged coyote, as large as a small pony.
Then it changed again. From four legs, it went to two. It's fur peeled
back. It was as if a human was crawling out of a cocoon of coyote skin.
When it was done, a man stood there, wearing what seemed to be a coyote-skin
headdress, complete with the coyote's head. He smirked at Ed.
"The Cheyenne call me Wihio, the Sioux, Iktome. The Blackfeet call me
Napi Old Man. The Cree call me Saultaux, the Micmac, Glooscap. I am the
Great Hare on the East Coast and Raven on the West. But you can just call
me..."
"...Old Man Coyote! What are you doing here?! I'm already _doing_ what
you asked!" Edward growled angrily. "You didn't need to check up on me! I
keep my word and pay my debts, Old Man. You _know_ that."
"I'm not checking up, I'm apologizing."
"... huh ...?"
"Those swatbots were my fault. I knew you were still having trouble
walking. So, I decoyed one here so you could count coup, and take his
hovercycle. But two showed up, instead. Two swatbots again one coyote with
a bad back is unfair odds, so I lent a hand. But I didn't plan on the cycle
exploding."
"Oh. Heh! Well, neither did it! I'm not hurt, I counted two 'bots, and
I've taken trophy from one." He held up the shotgun and ammo belt. "I've
lived with the pain before, and it hasn't stopped me yet. So, I might as
well get a move on. There's a Great Plain to cross before I can reach
Knothole and find Davey Crockett." Kickaha shrugged, picked up his pack,
slung the shotgun and turned to go. "But it's nice to know you still
care... Grandfather."
He trudged off towards the Great Forest, cane in paw. Coyote watched him
go. Kickaha was almost out of sight, when Old Man Coyote left. He blurred
into the form of a large black crow. And as it flew away, the wind
whispered...
"Take care of yourself... Grandson."
To Be Continued...
-----------------------------------
Now for the legal stuff.
Princess Sally, Knothole, et cetera,
Copyright by Sega.
Davey Crockett & the Wild Pack
Copyright by David Gonterman
Kickaha & Timber Wolf tribe
Copyright by Edward Becerra
Coyote is a spirit of the native peoples of the Americas.
Please respect him as you would your own beliefs.
Received on Tue Jan 23 1996 - 00:50:52 PST
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