"The Doctor´s Orders" by Vicki "Kiddalee" Nemeth

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For those of you who viewed the source to find out how I made indents, I did it by creating characters called no-break spaces. If you're using Windows, make sure the num lock is on, then hold Alt and hit 0160 on the number pad. I don't know if it works the same way for other OSes. (I tried CSS first, but it was read very inconsistently.)
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“Honey, wake up.”

“Huh?” Joe opened his eyes. There was his wife, still beautiful in the darkness. When he heard the rain he realized why she had awakened him.

“What time is it?” he asked her, sitting up.

“About four o’clock.” She saw him frown. “I didn’t want to wake you earlier. You need your sleep to work, y’know, and…”

“How’s your headache?”

“It’s alright, honey. I tried one of those pills you had sent in and it worked.”

“That only covers up the symptoms.”

He got up, dressed, and left the room for his office. He knew she could see through him, but that had never stopped him from acting like he was too busy in his work to be afraid for her.

    He turned on the lamp in the office. It was a typical doctor’s office. There was a small couch with sheets on it that were changed between patients. There were posters stuck to the wall, with pictures of healthy digestive systems and diagrams of a skeleton. On the desk was a titanium briefcase filled with syringes, most carrying honeydew, a few with maple sap. In another briefcase he carefully stored a set of puffers filled with carbon dioxide. In a smaller bag he placed several bottles of corn leaf extract, both in liquid and capsule form. Everything had to be loaded into a shopping cart for him to carry it. When this was done, he donned his raincoat and walked out the office door.
“Honey!” he heard his wife calling behind him, “Don’t’ forget your breakfast.” She had a bowl of jelly with a spoon. He noted the wrinkles in the light of the streetlamps – her sickness had caused her to age early.
“Thanks, dear.” Joe took the breakfast and kissed her goodbye. He then headed down the street.
He always passed the same streets on his house call days: Oak Line, his home street, then Pine Road, onto Cedar lane, and past Elm Street to Maple Crescent. Elm Street was the duty of another doctor whom he hadn’t met.

    When he reached Maple Crescent, he gaped. The place looked like a war zone. Most of the people were out of their houses; usually he only had the emergencies of children on his hands, but today there was a crowd of eager wounded ready for his services. The houses themselves were disheveled. Their pantries had been raided and the food turned worthless. Their top floor windows were broken, their ventilation systems ripped out. Shards were still falling as the rain poured down on them like fire.
He raced for the first child he could see. She was gasping for air, as her house’s ventilation system had been reduced to nothing by the acid rain.

“Here, sweetie,” he coaxed as he held a puffer to her lips, “Breathe in, c’mon.” She did, to his relief, and squeezed his hand. Her bony fingers were like pliers. He knew this girl for appearing more malnourished every time he saw her. Even her parents were ill.

Glancing up for a moment, Joe spotted an unusually healthy looking teenage boy.

“Hey, you!” he called, “C’mere.” The kid ran up to him. “Go to Elm Street and get the doctor there. Tell him I need carbon tanks and birch bandages. Then find a crow and tell him to call for several ambulances. Hurry!”

    There was no time to watch the kid leave as the doctor moved on to another patient. Through the day, he found it hard moving between those with the most urgent needs. Those who could still walk were selfishly crowding around him, crying like willows to be the next helped. The acid rain continued to fall. The smell of burning leaves and acidic soil was around him as he pushed his way through hordes of adults to the most needy children. He was grateful for his coat of resistant beeswax, knowing that he, too, would suffer if he were to give it to his burning patients.

    The sky grew brighter and still there was no carbon tank, no Elm Street doctor, no ambulance. It wasn’t until the rain stopped that he actually began counting on them, though. ‘Why would they get a few leaves burnt off their heads to save a whole neighborhood from dying outright?’ he thought, ‘Everyone in this damn town is selfish.’ Finally an ambulance came, though he knew many more were needed, escorted by two police cars, which were not. Joe was unable to ask them where they’d been all this time. He was assessing the length of a pantry’s repair time after the acid rain had finished seeping in. A strange man approached him from one of the police cars.

“Mr. Crystal. My name is Pollen.” He spoke what should have been Quebecois French in an American accent. Joe Crystal straightened up.

The man spoke softly. “These dryads are going to die, Mr. Crystal.”

“What the…”

“Please come with me.”

“They’re not going to die if somebody would treat them, Mr. Pollen.”

The stranger looked sheepishly at the ground as Joe again bent over. After a sigh, he continued.

“Ms. Pollution herself showed up in Town Hall before coming here last night.”

“… the hell…”

“Her legion was more organised than usual.”

Joe got up and scowled.

The stranger offered his hand. “The police are willing to drive you home.”

“The pollution elemental came to a freakin’… dryad sugar bush!?” he blurted.

“Please come with me.”

“Don’t stop me from helping people.” Joe was in the man’s face now.

Arms suddenly grabbed his from behind. He was wrestled to the ground, his nose held, and one of his own carbon dioxide puffers placed on his lips. After a fruitless struggle, he finally had to breathe in…

    Joe Crystal awoke in his own bed. Naomi was there, her face showing as light filtered through the window.

“What do you remember?” she asked.

“Was I drugged?”

“The paramedics brought you in looking like you’d been smoked.”

As Joe sat up, he realized he was still dressed.

“Mr. Pollen from Chicago is here to talk to you,” said Naomi.

Joe tried not to look embarrassed.

“What is a honey sprite doing in Chicago?”

“What is a honey sprite doing in an acidic wood?” she replied.

“You win.” Joe got up. “Let’s hear him out.”

    The man who had tried to speak to Joe peacefully was in the living room enjoying a glass of sugar water. At the sight of his hosts he stood up.

“Ah, Mr. Crystal.”

Joe shook hands with Mr. Pollen. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pollen. I apologize for…”

“No worries, no lawsuits. And call me Liam.”

Naomi handed Joe a glass. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk it over.”

“What?” said Joe as she left for the kitchen.

The two men sat down on opposing couches around the coffee table.

“She’s a great gal, Naomi,” said Liam with humour, “How’d you find that among oaks?”

“I didn’t. She threw an acorn at me.” The two men laughed, Liam with spirit, Joe with relief.

“So,” said Joe, “What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Crystal,” began Liam, “I’ve come to offer you a job in the military.”

“No.”

“Please, hear me out. As you know, the Acid Legions in the area begin as militia on Lake Ontario and gain further training and numbers south of the lake before riding the wind here.”

“Yes,” said Joe.

“Have you been watching the news? We managed to free a hybrid between the African Killer Bee and a Brazilian Honey Bee. It’s made it north of Mexico. We don’t think they can get too far north, but in case they can, we need a team of people like you to find out whether we can teach them to shut up long enough to hibernate every year. If they go north, teams will be helping them build hives in parks near the lake. Then, there will be factories.”

Joe sat back on his chair. “You’ve told Naomi about this already, haven’t you?”

Liam nodded.

“Naomi?” Joe called towards the kitchen.

Naomi came and sat close to Joe. As he was about to speak, she interrupted.

“I don’t mind if you move away to work, Joe.”

“What about you?”

“They need you over there and you might help me get better if you go.”

“It’s true,” said Liam. “That’s why I started by mentioning the Legion’s air route.”

“Naomi,” said Joe, “I don’t want to leave you…”

“I’ll be fine,” said Naomi. “And there’s no work left for you here.”

“There are the cedars.”

“They have doctors.”

“There’s you.”

“I’ll be alright.”

Liam interjected. “The best you can do to stop this pollution is to come to Mexico with me.”

“Told any human ambassadors yet?” asked Joe.

“Yes, as far north as Suzuki” said Liam, “They’re not happy, but they were expecting this to happen with or without our assistance.”

Joe put his arm around his wife and gave a long sigh. He looked her over. The oak leaves that made her hair were cascading over her. Today she seemed to glow with beauty, and the lines on her face were blurred. He glanced over at Mr. Pollen, smiling from across the table.

“Well, I guess I’ll go,” he said.

“Good,” said Mr. Pollen. “I hope you are successful when you get there.”

“What about transportation?” asked Joe.

“Tomorrow, a shipment between beekeepers is leaving for Texas. From there, we can take a swarm.”

Joe was lost for a moment with the transition at hand. Finally, he said, “Alright.”

He stood up and the party followed him to the front door. Opening it, he said, “I hope you have a good night, Mr. Pollen.”

Mr. Pollen shook his hand and winked. “You have one. And thanks for the sugar water.”

Naomi smiled. “Of course.”

“I’ll be seeing you on the shipment to Texas.”