followed her into the reception room where his patients and staff had gathered. All eyes remained fixed on the flat screen monitor hanging above the reception window. The only sound came from a newsreader, whose tone seemed to be a mixture of agitation and excitement.
“ . . . and we’ll be showing you that astonishing clip again from a rural area of Niquero, Cuba.”
The screen filled with a jumpy B-roll clip, which looked like it was from a hand-held consumer video camera. Initially fuzzy, the camera refocused on a floating object. It hovered directly above weather-beaten wooden shacks built in a scattered pattern along a dirt road. The location appeared to be on the outskirts of what looked like a small village. As the camera continued to focus, the object appeared to be a large coal-black mass the size of a blimp.
John said, “What the heck is—?”
“Shush and just watch,” interrupted Cathy.
John thought, if it’s a blimp, its shape is grossly distorted. It had a ridged crescent top, and one end of the body was more conical in shape. Unlike a free-floating blimp, this object had hundreds of black hanging ropes, the thickness of a man’s arm, in concentric rings attached to the base. John’s first impression was of a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon with a veil of dense ropes and absent handlers.
“Again,” said the newsreader, “I must remind you, this clip is not appropriate for children.“
John looked again at the shape. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t bring it to the front of his mind. As he was deep in thought, he ran his hand through his hair. His hand throbbed where the sea urchin puncture wound remained tender.
Suddenly it came to him. 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
