The huge dog bounded out of the jungle with a vicious roar. The bald man standing triumphant on the stump of the tree he just blasted didn’t even have time to turn. The dog devoured him in one easy bite like a jalapeño popper. The shiny steel gun fell to the ground like a toothpick.
Six of seven other bald men looked on in horror as their comrade disappeared in the gaping jaw of the massive dog-monster. The seventh just smiled as he picked up the weapon then patted the beast on its leathery head.
“Good dog, good Azuwell. My weapon now!” As if to punctuate the point, he blew up a tree directly behind and dangerously close to the still shocked others. The fire from the muzzle reflected on his scales. “Any questions?”
“No, Awlac,” they chanted in unison.
“Good. Now, let’s check out the rest of Dlagon’s secret weapons stash.” They walked over to the ship that had crash-landed in the jungle probably 100 years ago. Most inhabitants would have never found the ship so deep in these jungles, but Dlagon had stumbled into it while searching for antidotes to the poisonous Etouryoun plant venom that was infecting all the youngsters on the island. Most inhabitants wouldn’t have dared enter the jungle.
And even if they had, now the opening just looked like a dark cave as the local flora had grown over the roof and inside the interior giving it the dank, musty feel of the monster Hark’s cave — and only Awlac had tamed one of those.
Inside the space ship cave, Dlagon had discovered a supply of highly advanced alien technology. Of course, he was too primitive to recognize the irony and just grunted like an idiot all the way home.
At the mouth of the stash, the tallest one slipped. A black puddle of oil. “Odd,” he thought, “oil? Here? After 100 years?” He never had a chance to answer his query. His heart stopped immediately when he impaled on the long spike of the deadly poisonous spike-petal plant. His last thought might have been, “Awlac!”
Another maniacal laugh from the clear leader of these leather-scaled bald humanoids. “Ha! More for me, you fool.”
They all disappeared into the space ship to take stock of their new treasure.
sweatpants. As usual the three-legged terrier greeted him with suspicion. He growled back. The dog did not relent but dug in on her two good front legs. A routine morning.
The man feigned defeat, fell on the floor, and let the dog lick his ears until her tail wagged in rhythm with his school boy giggle.
“Flame! Stop playing with the dog. What are your plans this morning?” A tall red-headed woman in black dance clothes barked at the two playmates and both stared up at her with sad puppy eyes.
“Gym, ma’am. Meeting Newzboy at Oh-900. Upper body.” He barked back his answers like a soldier.
“Here’s your shake.” She handed him a shaker full of a foul-smelling brown drink. “Be back by noon. I have work for you today.”
“What are your orders, ma’am?” He took the drink and downed it in one second. The woman cringed as he downed the lumpy concoction.
“Need you to paint the fence. The Association will charge an extra month’s dues if it isn’t done today.”
“Shall I pick up the paint, ma’am?”
“Not necessary, it is in the garage.”
“Okay, it’ll be done, ma’am.”
“No distractions today, Flame, straight home. The Association is starting to get suspicious.”
When he stood up, the dog started barking again and he growled back.
“Flame! Norman! Enough! I need silence.” The two stopped and gave her the sad puppy dog look again.
“Ma’am, what is wrong? This is about more than the fence isn’t it?”
She glared at him, “I have been asking you to paint the fence for three weeks! So ‘this’,” she said making quotation marks around ‘this’ with her fingers, “IS a little about the fence.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned to bound back up the stairs.
“Flame.” Her voice had a new, more serious tone.
“After the fence, I need you to call the families together for a meeting at The Market.”
“Yes…” before he could get out another ma’am, she interrupted.
“Flame, it has begun.” And then she repeated in a soft whisper that sounded like doom itself, “it has begun.”
Flame ducked his head and skipped two steps at a time up to his room. He had his first mission.
Read Part One HERE. Read Part Two HERE. The Superdaddy stories were written to my kids while I was on deployments in support of the US Navy. This is the second part of the second such story. Throwing back to it again this week for my kids out in California who are officially on LOCKDOWN!
(C) 2012 Stephen Fuller