LITMIR.BIZ

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The pain from the urchin was bad, but nothing like the time he raced around Key West. During the four-hour swim, Portuguese Man O’ Wars stung him six times. The first five were mild, but with the sixth, tentacles adhered and wrapped around his left arm. The pear-shaped, blue sac of the Man O’ War looked like a small balloon stuck to his arm. The long tentacles stung him from the arm down to his lower torso. It felt like he had swum into a bed of electrical wires. To add insult to injury, his right hand received stings trying to peel tentacles away from his left arm.

      The newsreader broke his train of thought. “This has to be the most disturbing yet amazing video I’ve ever seen in my twenty years in the news business.”

      John was familiar with Man O’ Wars not only as an open water swimmer, but as a physician as well. Over the years he treated many stings from the common ocean inhabitant. He knew the crest on top of the air sac, blown by the ocean breeze, frequently moved colonies of hanging tentacles close enough to shore for encounters with surfers and swimmers. Each tentacle contained multiple poisonous nematocysts that paralyze any unfortunate fish brushing against them. Although rarely deadly to humans, the pain and sequela from the stings is intense.

      “This looks exactly like a giant Man O’ War,” said John. “This has got to be a video hoax.”

      “You mean like the War of the Worlds radio show,” said an elderly, bald-headed patient who was sitting next to John.

      “Exactly! What we’re seeing is impossible,” replied John. “The thing is floating in the air, and look—“ John pointed to the screen. “The tentacles are pulling it along the ground. It’s moving on its own.”

      “Looks dang real to me, Doc Long,” said Mr. Jenkins who followed them into the waiting room.

      “Trust me it’s not,” said John.

      John began pressing the buttons on the remote and flipping through the channels. With the exception of stations running critical programming, such as reality shows, all were either showing or talking about the clip.

      “Dr. Long,” said Cathy, “it’s real! And more reports are coming in with other sightings, but you haven’t seen the worst airwar clip yet. That’s what they’re calling them: airwars—”

      “Look!” Mr. Jenkins yelled, holding his oxygen canister under one arm and pointing to the monitor with the other.

      The news channel cut to the airwar passing the shacks. One of the tentacles pulled something through the door onto the wooden porch. The struggling creature was then pulled down the one-plank step. A small cloud of dust swirled as the writhing, tentacle-wrapped animal was dragged onto the dry, dirt road. John gasped as he realized the twisting object was a petite woman. The paroxysmal movements of the battle suddenly stopped as the body went limp.

      “I can’t stomach watching this again,” said the elderly male patient. He stood and grabbed his walker. “I’m going home to my family.” As he left the waiting room, two other patients followed.

      Back on the monitor, five red tentacles appearing from the inside of the black outer curtain began to lift the paralyzed form slowly upwards toward the sac. John watched in horror as he noticed several other immobile and struggling human forms being lifted the same way. Presumably, others were unseen deeper inside the curtain, blocked from view by the density of the numerous tentacles.

      Suddenly, entering the right of the screen, a military jeep came sliding to a halt in a large cloud of dust. Three swarthy soldiers dressed in brown and green fatigues leapt from the jeep. In unison, the men began firing automatic weapons into the airwar sac, which floated 75 feet off the ground.

      At first, there appeared to be no effect, but then the sac began to shred in several places. The airwar began to collapse on itself.

      “All right!” said John, and he began clapping, but then he noticed Carol, one of his nurses, shaking her head, frowning.

      “It gets scarier,” she said.

      As John continued to watch the now rapidly descending airwar, he noticed something was exiting the shredded sac. At first, there were a few dozen. Only moments later, there were hundreds, then thousands of what appeared to be miniature airwars released into the sky. The juvenile airwars were twelve inches in diameter, the same size as a birthday party balloon. As the flock of newly birthed airwars passed in front of the sun, they were so numerous the skies darkened momentarily.

      “Dang!” said Mr. Jenkins. “See ya’ll later. I’m gonna go buy me some extra shotgun shells.” He left the waiting room and John could hear him coughing all the way down the hallway.

      The entire staff was now looking at John in silence, waiting for him to comment. He took his stethoscope from his neck and removed his white lab coat.

      “It’s Friday afternoon and I imagine the entire world is glued to their televisions,” said John. “Waiting for patients who won’t show seems pointless. Let’s take the rest of the day off and, God willing, we’ll be back at work on Monday.”

      CHAPTER 3

      THE AIR WAR SCIENTIFIC COUNCIL

      Dubbed the airwar crisis, the media fanned the flames of fear to the point widespread hoarding began and worldwide riots broke out in large cities. Congress immediately held an emergency session and passed a forty billion-dollar airwar crisis funding bill, eighteen billion directed at the airwar crisis, and twenty-two billion for special earmarks.

      The entire world craved more information. An endless stream of airwar experts peppered the airwaves speculating on the etiology of airwars. Every social-political cause tried to lay claim to the airwar crisis. From greenhouse gases, ozone depletion, and deforestation to oil drilling and laboratory animal testing, every group tried to make the connection with their fund-raising efforts and the airwar crisis.

      General scientific consensus was airwars were a genetically engineered species. Scientists weren’t sure if this was intentional or accidental, but a worldwide search was underway to find the person or persons responsible.

      In John’s condominium, he and Cassandra watched the crisis unfold on television with undivided attention. Cassandra finally took a break to make sandwiches in the kitchen. John shouted new statistics to her as they appeared on the news.

      “The Secretary of State just reported the fifth airwar sighting, and the death toll is now seventy-eight.”

      “I thought she said earlier the death toll was twenty-five thousand,” said Cassandra.

      “No, not from airwars. That’s the number killed in the riots. Matter of fact, I’m feeling the urge to go rioting right now. Sounds like a good solution to the problem to me,” said John facetiously.

      Cassandra walked back in the room with a plate of sandwiches. ”Well, you’ll have to riot by yourself. I think I’ll take my chances with the airwars. The odds are better.”

      “Not if airwars keep reproducing,” retorted John.

      The destruction of the five airwars resulted in the same outcome as the first. Torn air sacs, which were now known to be filled with hydrogen, released thousands of young into the sky. One of the airwars, shredded by incendiaries from a fighter jet, ignited with images reminiscent of the Hindenburg’s fiery collapse. It was spectacular, but even with many juvenile airwars perishing in the fireball, scores escaped.

      John and Cassandra stayed up late following breaking news reports. Around midnight, a female senator from Massachusetts, accompanied by other politicians and scientists, conducted a press conference. John and Cassandra watched the senator speak to the press.

      “We believe, earnestly, that personal attacks on airwars must end immediately. Furthermore, the United Nations is obligated to create a multinational crisis team to address this epic disaster that—”

      “John,” interrupted Cassandra, “it’s late. Let’s do some end-of-world lovemaking.”

      “I knew there had to

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