LITMIR.BIZ

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the air. A gaunt man, he had sinewy muscles, which were bulging from battle. His pose and grimace was reminiscent of an Olympic gymnast performing an iron cross on the rings. Moments later he was engulfed by tentacles.

      The Colossus then passed over the village. It moved forward at a speed a trained sprinter couldn’t outrun, though many in the village tried. Tentacles were everywhere, exploring, probing, and coiling. If it was a living creature—from humans to livestock—its fate was the same. The black tentacles entered the small shacks and huts, dragging screaming victims out into the more dense inner red tentacles.

      One hundred sixty-seven women, men, and children lost their lives in the seven minutes following. A lifeless village remained now sterilized of all humanity. The only evidence of the attack was a few dead bodies scattered from where the Colossus dropped them and the numerous human forms entwined at various heights beneath the airwar, which were rising in a slow ascent. From within the curtain of tentacles there came a chilling chorus of screams.

      The small tear in the hydrogen sac already self-sealed. A sticky resin-like substance formed along the tear. As the two membranous flaps fluttered, they enjoined via the sticky substance. In a few minutes, this seal dried into a hard binding resin. No one observed the release of a single juvenile through the small tear.

      John knew the video belied the euphemism “Gentle Colossus” granted to the oversized airwars by the press. Clearly, when provoked, the response was horrible. Yet, Colossi congregated in areas showing little or no resistance. Therefore, overall deaths due to the Colossi were extremely low.

      The video became propaganda used extensively by the ASC to espouse what officials referred to as a passive battle against airwars. “Run, hide, do no harm” is the path to victory. RHDNH was the acronym seen everywhere from bumper stickers to billboards.

      Goldman wouldn’t budge on John’s request to take down or at least move the posting wall. John left Goldman’s office more frustrated than when he entered.

      CHAPTER 6

      A STAGE EIGHT

      After leaving Goldman’s office, John began his shift in the ER triaging the dead and soon-to-be-dead from the salvageable injured. There were no Colossi in Florida, so all envenomizations were from common airwar stings. In the triage area, the typical patients were young adults. They were most likely to escape an attack.

      ASC released an antitoxin for airwar stings just days before. The antitoxin helped minor envenomizations, but not severe stings. Unfortunately, a common side effect was a transfusion-like reaction. One out of fifty victims died from the antitoxin. Private pharmaceutical companies petitioned ASC for the antitoxin production process. ASC refused and Senator Snivaling explained the denial in a press conference.

      “Airwar antitoxin is far too important to entrust to private companies who would profit from its production,” said Snivaling, “ASC always looks out for the common man.”

      Fair and equal was the distribution plan, with ASC officials as the top priority. ASC took a great deal of pride in supplying the antitoxin free. There was always a severe shortage.

      John was on a mid-morning break checking news on the Internet. Although he knew the Internet was rife with bogus reports, it was more informative than ASC news. Network programming was nothing more than cloned presentations hour after hour. He cringed each time he heard of another ASC plan to “manage” the net.

      The current buzz was a viral video of Ube Watabee, a Rwanda tribesman trapped by an airwar. The video showed Ube running and falling in front of an advancing airwar. Covered by black tentacles, he unmistakably struggled free without assistance. Although he had a few small scrapes from the fall, he claimed to have suffered no ill effects during his escape. The captivating portion of the video was a close-up of his skin showing no evidence of airwar stings.

      John’s eyes turned from the computer monitor to the television screen. ASC spokesman, Glavin, was holding a press conference with Senator Snivaling.

      “Yes,” said Glavin, “I can assure the press that the Ube video is a complete hoax. I’ll remind everyone this is an extreme violation of our airwar sedition law. Anyone forwarding or disseminating this video will be arrested and prosecuted.”

      Glavin looked obsequiously at the senator, then stepped aside. Snivaling took the podium.

      “ASC is offering a one-million dollar reward for information leading to the capture of the producers of this sham video,” she said, “I’m personally disgusted with the crimes committed. These criminals will be punished swiftly and severely.”

      John’s eyes returned to the computer. A second video of Ube was now surfacing. This time an airwar passed over an upright Ube as he walked through the curtain of tentacles. Ube passed to the other side unscathed. Although John realized this was a hoax, other reports had surfaced with similar claims. Even though it was impossible, the thought of it made John feel good.

      John’s attention shifted back to the television. Glavin returned to the podium. An aide handed him a red folder and whispered in his ear. Glavin nodded.

      “I’ve just been informed in the last twenty-four hours, total human attacks on airwars decreased thirty percent with a corresponding decline in human fatalities worldwide. Even more exciting is the criminal, Ube Watabee, has been captured. He has fully confessed to the immunity hoax.”

      A wave of disappointment passed over John.

      Glavin continued, “Ube is currently being transferred to an ASC facility. There he’ll have psychological testing and a full confession tape will be available in a few hours.”

      Senator Snivaling, who appeared smugly pleased, leaned to the microphone, “The capture of this horrible man is an important victory in the run, hide, and do no harm battle,” she said, “We must fight this as a collective society. One thought, one action, one world, one victory!”

      “Dr. Long,” interrupted a triage nurse, “there’s a man who wants to see you.” John looked up from the television. “Says he knows you.”

      The nurse maintained a stoic look. An unmoving detached countenance graced the faces of the hospital staff. It was the only way to cope with the daily horror.

      “He’s got a boy with him,” she added, then glanced at the floor and shook her head, “He’s a stage eight.” Then she disappeared from the doorway.

      John’s stomach knotted up. It was hard enough giving bad news to parents he didn’t know, but when he knew the family, he couldn’t disassociate himself from the event. It was always heart-wrenching.

      ER personnel triaged airwar stings on a one-to-ten rating stage. Children rarely survived a stage five and none survived past a stage seven, even with antitoxin. Matter of fact, due to shortages, ASC protocols banned use of antitoxin on kids above stage six. John hated the rule, but he understood the practicality. On the other hand, government dealt with statistics and he dealt with real people. “For the good of society” rang hollow when dealing with a dying child and the eyes of the parents were on you.

      John walked back into the triage area and saw a tall man who appeared to be about forty. He had salt and pepper hair, strands of which were pasted to his forehead from sweat. His white dress shirt was plastered to his body from perspiration, revealing a swimmer ’s physique. His clothes were disheveled and stained like he’d been rolling on the ground, but he was still wearing a tie. The man was holding a limp figure of a young boy, maybe seven or eight years old.

      “Bob!” said John, and motioned to a nearby stretcher, “My God! Bring the boy here.”

      John couldn’t remember Bob’s last name, but they both swam at the YMCA Aquatic Center with the master ’s swim team. John knew Bob and his wife owned a small gift basket business, Bob’s Baskets and Balloons. He visited Bob’s shop on a weekend a few months back. It was a small storefront in a strip mall near the hospital. Most of what he remembered of the shop was an animated, friendly, freckle-faced boy eager to assist him in

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