bunch of crap!”
Cassandra nodded and said, “I agree, they’re a bit redundant, plus they overdo those videos of juveniles being released.”
“Yeah, the press makes it look like airwars are the victims. Go figure.”
Cassandra snuggled next to John. “Well, they do give nice tips on how to avoid airwars.”
John reached for the remote. “From what I see in the emergency room, their tips are bogus. I get my information from the Internet. That’s the only media ASC doesn’t control . . . speak of the devil.”
John hit the volume button on the remote and a newsreader ’s voice blathered about an Internet video.
“The posting of this video by Noble Laureate, Dr. Koehler, yesterday was determined to be illegal today by ASC . . .”
Dr. Koehler ’s German accented voice synced with the video. “I have absolute proof airwar movements aren’t random. Myself and other concerned scientists outside ASC demand access to airwars for research—” The clip ended abruptly.
A reporter standing in front of Dr. Koehler ’s lab appeared on screen. “Dr. Koehler was found dead today in his lab. Coroners report he suffered a deadly accidental sting from an airwar carcass, which he illegally acquired.”
Senator Beulah Snivaling’s image filled the screen. A U.S. senator, she now sat on the ASC High Council. A middle-aged woman with ash blonde hair in her early fifties, she was attractive for her age, but had the odd look of a face-lift done a bit too tight, giving her unnatural slitted openings for her green eyes. Botoxed to the max, she showed no facial expressions as she spoke.
John turned to Cassandra. “I’ve seen her on TV before. That’s the senator from Massachusetts I find so irritating,” John said and felt the muscles in his jaw tightening.
“Although Dr. Koehler was well-meaning,” said Senator Snivaling, “his death was unnecessary and avoidable. ASC was already aware airwar movements are not random. In his ill-advised push for more fame, Dr. Koehler ended up dead. His family members, who remain in seclusion, issued this statement—you there! Sit while I’m speaking!” she shrieked nastily while pointing her finger at a photographer who changed positions.
“Wow!” said Cassandra, “she seems lacking in people skills. I wonder how she got elected?”
Senator Snivaling read from a yellow legal pad, “We urge all scientists to leave airwar research in the superior hands of ASC, so other families are not torn apart by tragedy as ours has been.” Laying the pad down, the senator gave an expressionless nod and continued in a scolding voice, “Handling airwars is a serious business, not one for amateurs. Koehler ’s work created unnecessary panic and his findings were insignificant compared to ASC’s current fund of knowledge.” She then proceeded to list twenty recent deaths of other prominent scientists accidentally killed in their private research of airwars.
Cassandra touched John’s arm, “That’s a lot of dead scientists. Can airwars sting after they’re dead?”
John nodded and said, “It takes several hours after the hydrogen sac has been ruptured for the tentacles to lose their stinging power.”
Chairperson Snivaling droned on, “The Airwar Scientific Council has virtually unlimited resources and extensive safety features for handling airwars. There has not been a single sting suffered by ASC scientists. It is humanity’s duty to report unauthorized research on airwars, not only for the safety and well-being of researchers, but also for the safety of society. There is an ASC hotline for any unusual airwar behavior noted. Call this hotline. Don’t investigate it yourself.” Snivaling smiled an emotionless smile.
The local news cut in with a report of a nearby airwar attack on a women’s shelter, which involved several deaths.
“I’d feel more comfortable if you’d move in with me,” said John, looking thoughtfully at Cassandra, “I know you have a month left on your apartment lease, but it took thirty-five years to find the perfect woman, and under the circumstances, I don’t want something to happen to her now.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
She gave him a beaming smile.
“I’ll bring the small stuff tomorrow. I won’t worry about the furniture until the end of the month.”
Before they went to bed, John watched Cassandra try to contact her stepbrother again without success, as she had done every night since the first airwar sighting.
“John, I’m worried about Chunky.”
“You said yourself he’d be out of communication at times,” he said, rubbing her back in a comforting way.
Cassandra, looking somewhat reassured, fell asleep in his arms.
John lay awake, troubled by thoughts of scenes he would again be experiencing at work the next morning.
CHAPTER 5
THE COLOSSUS
John spent most days in the expanded triage area of the local hospital ER. The city had a higher daily death toll and injury rate than other areas. Resistance to the confiscation of firearms was great in Central Florida. Attacks on airwars in Orlando were more frequent than other large cities. He fully understood local feelings on the repeal of gun rights. Although he turned in his shotgun and reluctantly even his childhood BB gun, which he doubted would have any impact on airwars, a defiant individualistic streak made him hide the Judge, his 45-caliber pistol that could fire a 410shotgun shell. Even with death as a deterrent, some mandates were too misguided.
The airwars numbered few in Orlando, but all acted aggressively. Lists of the dead and injured were located on the “posting wall,” an outside wall of the hospital running its entire length. A makeshift canopy ran the total span protecting hundreds of sheets of paper held in place with duct tape from the rain. Due to large numbers of victims, the posting organization was simplified into male and female sections, then into children, adults, and elderly.
The posting wall started near the hospital entrance and John hated passing it. He personally complained to the hospital’s chief administrator, Mr. Goldman, about its placement. Early before his morning shift, John visited Goldman in his office on the top floor of the hospital. Goldman, a short, thin man, bald on the crown of his scalp, sat behind an oversized mahogany desk. He never directly looked at the person he was speaking to and sometimes even closed his eyes as he spoke.
“There’s nothing the hospital can do,” said Goldman.
“Well,” said John, “it’s morbid having the posting wall near the entrance. It’s one constant scream of grief. Everyone who visits the hospital is exposed to it.”
“I’d think you’d be used to screams,” said Goldman.
“In the ER it’s unavoidable,” replied John, “but the posting wall is like an endless public funeral you can’t escape from attending.”
“I think what you need is a bit more compassion, Dr. Long.”
“Compassion? I would think it would be far more compassionate to give the grieving families a bit of privacy.”
Goldman looked out the window as if studying the
