The Immune. Doc Lucky Meisenheimer
for the transfusion, coupled with the swollen skin, required several sticks in the boy. John was out of practice as well. He hadn’t started an IV in a decade. He thought in a few more sticks Bob would start reaching for his gun, but Bob looked on with stoic reassurance.
The procedure required two IVs each, one in the radial artery and one in a vein of the same arm. The artery of Bob connected to the vein in Daniel and the vein of Bob to the artery of Daniel. When he connected the tubes, the circulations would commingle. John coupled the tubes, looked at Bob, and said, “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely!” said Bob without hesitation.
John opened each valve and blood shot down the translucent tubes, forcing out the clear saline solution. Within seconds, each line was now supplying blood to the other.
John watched Bob closely for toxic signs, as he knew the venom in Daniel’s bloodstream was now entering Bob’s body. John figured if airwar toxins didn’t kill him, a transfusion reaction would. Amazingly, after five minutes, Bob demonstrated no signs of ill effects and began a casual conversation. The light conversation seemed to ease the tension, but after a few minutes, both seemed to run out of things to say and they sat back in silence, watching Daniel’s monitor.
After fifteen minutes of silence, there was a change in the vitals on the monitor. Daniel’s pulse dropped from a tachycardic 178 down to a more reasonable 115, and his blood pressure increased from 40/0 to 80/40. The boy groaned.
“I’m getting antitoxin,” said John and he stood to leave.
“No!” said Bob, raising his free hand, “He’s improving. Let’s not change a thing.”
John knew they were dancing on the edge anyway, so he nodded agreement. Another twenty-five minutes passed, and the change was nothing short of miraculous. The boy was sitting up, crying in his father ’s arms. His vitals had almost normalized. He looked like he’d been beaten by a two-by-four, but it was clear he would survive.
“Bob,” said John ecstatically, “I’ve got to let the staff know,” he began removing the IVs, “This is a breakthrough. We need to notify ASC immediately. If we determine what this quality in your blood is, we could potentially save tens of thousands of lives. You’re the real live Ube, not a hoax.”
John was shocked to see Bob vigorously shaking his head. Just then, John’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen. It was Cassandra. He let the voice mail pick up and made a mental note to call her back.
“No one must know,” said Bob.
John was astonished, “For God’s sake, why?”
“I’m a member of Mad Mike’s Liberty Fighters,” said Bob with a hushed voice.
John paled. Mad Mike’s Militia was the government’s biggest terrorist threat. Reward posters for members hung everywhere. The liberty fighters were reckless in their attacks on airwars. Glavin’s press releases excoriated Mad Mike on a daily basis. John could relate to the militia’s hatred of airwars, and Mad Mike had many Internet supporters, but their absolute disrespect of authority concerned him.
Bob continued, “Look, I know you think of us as monsters or terrorists, but we believe airwars must be killed not coddled.”
“You release thousands more for each one you kill,” retorted John.
“Not always. We had two clean kills where no juveniles were released and many others where less than one hundred escaped.”
“Somehow it doesn’t reassure me to know we’re replacing each one with only one hundred new ones,” said John with a slight amount of sarcasm.
“Well,” said Bob, and he began cleaning his son’s face with damp gauze, “We’re improving.”
The boy pulled away as the gauze touched the inflamed skin.
“Dad,” whined the boy, “I want to go home.”
“In a minute Danny boy,” said Bob with a loving smile. He then looked back at John, “The government’s idea of run, hide, drop your pants and bend over is worthless,” he said.
John gave a slight laugh and replied, “Well, it’s certainly not a testosterone-driven strategy, but it seems to be working. In the areas with complete adaptation of the strategy, the death tolls have dropped ninety-five percent.”
“So deaths of hundreds rather than thousands are acceptable to you?” said Bob sarcastically, “What the government doesn’t say is the Colossi are appearing in huge numbers in areas following policy, and I assure you they’re not gentle giants when pissed off. At some point there’ll be hell to pay. Don’t be an idiot, John.”
John felt the irony. Only hours ago he was in Goldman’s office saying the same thing. Somehow being called an idiot made him feel obligated to twist himself into defending ASC.
“ASC’s best minds believe this is the necessary policy to save lives,” said John, but without feeling much conviction.
Bob retorted, “Of course, and if you disagree, ASC kills you. Look, I don’t doubt they fully believe in what they’re recommending. It seems compassionate; sacrifice the few to spare the masses, but it’s reckless compassion and let me tell you, politicians are experts at reckless compassion. In this case, the government isn’t fighting. They’re doing a victory surrender.”
“From what I know, it’s the militias who are reckless.”
Bob smiled and said, “You only know what ASC tells you under the pretext of preventing panic.”
“Well,” said John. “Panic isn’t on my top ten list of desirable emotions. Bob, you’re the key to a much-needed treatment. You may be singular in this respect.”
“I’m not,” said Bob with a smile.
John looked astonished, “You mean there are others?”
Bob nodded, “I’ve personally known two others, then there’s Ube.”
“You think Ube is for real?” said John with disbelief.
“Absolutely!”
“Dad!” interrupted Daniel, “my face burns—bad.” His face was cherry red from the stings.
John opened a cabinet and pulled out a white aerosol can of lidocaine spray.
“Close your eyes, Danny,” He said and sprayed a light coat over the boy’s face, “That should help shortly.”
“Thanks, Doctor Long,” said Daniel, “It feels better already.” He pulled on his dad’s tie. “Dad, can we go now?”
“Not yet,” said his father.
John looked at Bob and said, “But why on earth would someone cover it up?”
Bob laughed, “Think of it. You can’t have a bunch of guys immune to stings thinking they can attack airwars, releasing juveniles all over creation.”
“Well, I suppose, but at least you can try to contact ASC.”
Bob shook his head and said, “Well, both the guys I mentioned did. Jeff Bowen disappeared with his family at gunpoint in the middle of the night. Steve Able got a late night phone call warning of what happened to Jeff. He left his apartment and went to his neighbor ’s house, only to see his residence raided by ASC agents. His name appeared on a government terrorist list the next day. He’s now with Mad Mike’s Liberty Fighters.”
“How do you know I won’t turn you in?” asked John boldly.
Bob smiled as he picked up his son from the gurney. “Because you’re like most, frightened. You want to believe the government can legislate every problem away. That’s a comforting thought for the masses because it doesn’t require any personal responsibility, but deep down, self-interest motivates us all. You still question whether we’re going down the right path. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have kept your gun—by