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Raven hit us from above – diving down from out of the clouds and making a loud and dangerous thump on the top of the big pink Winnebago that sounded a little like a kettle drum beating up on a peal of rolling thunder in the middle of a twenty-one gun salute.
“Holy old baldheaded moose stink,” Bigfoot bellowed. “What’s raining down on the tin roof privy now?”
“HANG ON TO YOUR TOOTSIE ROLLS!” the Prophet yelled. “WE’RE GONNA ROLL OUT OF CONTROL!”
Which is exactly what happened – we rolled out of control - the pink Winnebago nearly turning over in mid-air, rolling sideways like a great pink man-eating whale shark, drunk and dizzy on way too much tabasco sauce.
I fell over into a sort of a slow-motion somersault across the back of Coyote who was busy struggling with the Warren-cocoon which had slid across the floor of the pink Winnebago and had slammed into Coyote’s stomach.
Why don’t you try saying that five times fast?
KA-BANG!
Raven hit us again, this time even harder.
I never dreamed that a stupid bird could be that strong. I mean what was a bird, really? Nothing but wings and feathers and whole lot of squawk – but who would have thought a bird could hit like this one could.
“That Raven is beginning to irritate me,” Bigfoot growled. “I’ve got to get out of here and get my hands on that Raven and instruct him in the fine art of chicken plucking. Somebody better take this wheel from me now.”
Only I was way too busy trying to hang onto Warren.
“Don’t let go of my steering wheel!” the Prophet yelled back. “We will fall like a fast-frozen rock if I don’t have anyone steering.”
BOOM!
“We’re going to fall anyway!” Bigfoot yelled.
The big pink Winnebago tilted and the Warren-cocoon slid towards the door – which had swung open and was hanging from its bright pink hinges.
“Bow-woo! Bow-woo! Bow-woo!”
I could see Old Shuck standing in the middle of the Gulf of St. Lawrence on top of the back of a less-than-happy humpback whale barking in sheer frustrated desperation. From all the way this far up Old Shuck looked like a tiny little grape Chihuahua but his bark carried just fine. I guess he wanted to get at that Raven nearly as badly as Bigfoot did – but both Bigfoot and Old Shuck were way too far away to help me much.
I caught a glimpse of Raven as he flew by the flapping Winnebago door.
He was having himself a fine old time - laughing like he had inhaled about thirty-eight tanks full of pure undiluted giggle gas. I guess he thought we looked pretty funny – spinning out of control the way we were.
“SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!” Bigfoot yelled at no one in particular.
BOOM-BA-BOOM!
Raven hit us one more time again.
The Warren-cocoon bounced a little and began to roll a little bit more – steadily moving towards the open Winnebago door. I made a sort of a clumsy leap for it and reached my hands out just far enough and hard enough to sink my fingers into the skin of the Warren-cocoon.
I could feel Warren’s life-force pulsing into my fingertips. I wasn’t sure if I was soaking him up or if he was soaking me up. I could feel something that was yellow and blue and green and tasted like a cold rusted penny and I might have even peed my pants a little and I knew that I was more scared than I had ever been in my lifetime but I hung onto the Warren-cocoon like it was the last thing that I would ever do.
And then I heard Warren talking to me – like he was talking in another room a thousand miles away over a very bad telephone connection.
“It will be okay, Adam,’ the voice of Warren said. “Just you wait and see.”
I didn’t have all that long to wait.
BOOM-BALOOM!
Raven hit us again.
The Warren-cocoon bounced even harder and then it slid right out the door with me still hanging onto it. I stuck one foot out against the left side of the doorway and the other foot against the right side and I hung on for dear life – barely managing to hold onto the Warren-cocoon.
I could see Warren and I could see my Dad and the two faces were flashing in front of me like a playing card clothes-pinned onto a spinning bicycle wheel.
And then Coyote was standing directly beside me – with his teeth sunk down into my left leg – trying to haul me back inside.
I could feel his teeth digging in and even though I knew that he was doing his best not to hurt me much – he was also doing his level best to hang onto my leg – which meant he had to bite down hard.
Which hurt.
A whole lot.
“OWWW!” I yelled.
“Stmmmm Cmphlighning,” Coyote mumbled – which I think was him asking me to stop complaining – only my leg kept getting in the way of proper enunciation.
And then he bit down harder.
“Owww!” I yelled, nearly as loud as Bigfoot.
And then I kicked Coyote with my other leg.
It wasn’t that hard of a kick and I didn’t really mean to do it. It was just sort of instinctive. It was just as instinctive a move as him biting down on my leg even harder in return.
“Owww!!!” I howled out – twice as loud as Bigfoot had EVER yelled.
And I kicked again – only this time Coyote yanked his head backwards – pulling me and the Warren-cocoon back into the safety of The Prophet.
Great, I thought.
We’re winning.
And then Raven grabbed hold of the far end of the Warren-cocoon.
Great, I thought.
Now we’re NOT winning nearly as much as we had been.
I could see the Godzilla-sized bird somehow reaching in and shrinking down just enough to catch hold of the end of the Warren-cocoon with his beak.
I had never seen so big a bird from this close up before now but I’m pretty sure that Raven was grinning at me.
“I’m losing him,” I shouted – meaning the Warren-cocoon. “Pull harder.”
“UMPH-LOOGHEN-HUM,” Coyote mouthed over my leg – meaning that he was losing his grip on me.
The whole time Raven kept on laughing.
I guess that he had never seen anything half as funny as the two of us jammed up together on top of each other in that mystic pink motor home doorway, hanging onto that big fuzzy Warren-cocoon with all of our might.
Did you ever watch a domino tipping match?
You know – where somebody with a WHOLE lot of spare time on their hands will lay out some really cool sort of a design – like maybe a maple leaf or a map of the Yukon Territories or the outline of a fully grown bull moose just by lining up a giant forever-long row of dominos?
And THEN – once they have got that entire moose/maple-leaf/map=of-the-Yukon laid out then they’ll crouch down and give that very first domino just a tiny little flick just hard enough to tip that next domino which tips into the third domino and finally that entire moose or maple leaf or Yukon Territory map is nothing more than a long mess of dominoes laying on the floor waiting for somebody to pick them back up.
Well that was just sort of how it went with me and Coyote and the Warren-cocoon and Raven. We were stuck at what my geeky chess-playing step-dad Warren – whom I was clinging onto for dear sweet life – would have called a stalemate.
Until Bigfoot jumped in.