The drums beat out a crisp beat, urging their soldiers forward. Bom, bom bom bom. The microscopic soldiers have marched for two weeks without rest, laying siege to John’s immune system. They’ve sieged the nose, razed the throat, and left the stomach a burned husk, and yet they drive on. How much longer could this war go on, they wonder. Their wives are lonely. Their children are hungry. Bom, bom bom bom.