Suffer the Children

by Craig DiLouie

  Doug’s instincts, however, told him to keep fighting. He saw National Guard troops shooting at each other on TV, and it had excited him. He didn’t know how they’d ended up fighting each other. He didn’t care. They were fighting over blood. That much he knew. Again, he had that feeling other people knew something he didn’t, had courage he lacked. For millions, it wasn’t going to be over until it was over. They would fight for their kids until the end.

  He wanted to join them and win it all or go down fighting. He’d obeen tested and failed; he wished he could be given another chance. Even now, with his weakness, constant pain, and dizzy spells, he felt a strong urge to knock on Art Foley’s front door and bop the old guy on the head. He was finding it hard to accept the prospect of the long, hard middle road—letting his kids disappear into the past and facing his long, bleak future.

  A future cleaning up the mess while the world went to hell. He saw mountains of garbage in his mind’s eye, surrounded by clouds of flies and scavenger birds. Drained corpses rolled up in carpets. Bodies chopped up in Glad plastic bags.

  Doug stepped on what was left of his cigarette. He looked at the claw hammer on the shelf. Then he went back into the house.

  He found Joan sitting in the darkened living room. She was smiling at the playback screen on the family digital camera.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  “I’m saying good-bye.”

  “What about the blood substitute?”

  She said nothing.

  “If we could hang on a little more, you know, we could save our kids.”

  Her laughter startled him. “Look at you two with that helicopter.”

  He decided to leave her alone. She’d gone to a happy place. God knew that was a rare thing these days. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out another Miller High Life.

  The phone emitted its grating ring. Doug cracked open the beer and picked it up.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Doug? Doug Cooper?”

  He took a gulp and stifled a belch. “Yup.”

  “It’s Tom. Remember me? Tom Rafferty. We worked together at the—”

  “Burial ground. How’d you get this number?”

  “You’re listed.”

  “Right, right. What do you need?”

  He recalled Tom being the sentimental type. And now, because he’d been stupid enough to answer the phone, he would have to listen to the man drone on and on about how sorry he was for Doug. If he heard the words blood crisis even once, he would tear the phone out of the wall.

  “Actually, I was wondering what you need.”

  Here it comes. Get ready for it.

  “We don’t need anything. We’re just peachy over here, Tom.”

  “What about—you know?” His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Blood?”

  “I said we’re good here. Was there anything else on your mind, Tom?”

  “Oh.” The man sounded disappointed. “I was just wondering if you needed help.”

  Doug gripped the phone tighter. “What are you saying, exactly?”

  “My girlfriend and I have been lying low for the past few weeks. Staying out of the city at her family’s cabin. You were right about the burial ground, Doug. What I saw at that place stayed with me. I couldn’t get the sight of those dead kids out of my mind.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Doug, feigning interest.

  “So we decided to get out of town for a while. We knew the kids had come back, and everything looked like it was going great. Now we hear about this blood crisis thing. It’s just incredible. Your kids too, right? I mean, they need . . . ?”

  “Blood. Yup.”

  “I heard about the blood substitute, but a month sounds like a long time.”

  Doug’s hopes were flagging. He decided to cut to the chase. “You asked if we needed blood over here. You said you could help. Do you know where we can get any or not?”

  “My girlfriend and I talked about giving some blood. We each picked someone. I chose you. I’d like to give you two pints of my blood. That is, if you want it. Would that help?”

  Doug closed his eyes. It’s meant to be. “It surely would.”

  “Good. Then I’ll do it.”

  “Why me?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  “I worked with you at the burial ground.”

  “That’s it? No strings attached?”

  “I don’t want your money, Doug. I don’t want any—”

  “Then why? Why would you help me?”

  “I saw the pain you went through. I can’t get it out of my mind.”

  Doug didn’t know what to say. It was the greatest kindness anybody had ever showed him in his life. He swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. “God bless you, Tom. Your call came just in the nick of time. You’re a good man. I won’t forget this.”

  We could ration out those two pints to keep our kids going another week. Enough to prevent them from rotting too far. After that, we’d only have three more weeks to go.

  At that point, maybe he’d be ready to visit Art Foley after all.

  Three weeks, three bodies. His kids could live out their lives. If as monsters, then so be it. It struck him as a small price to pay.

  It’s meant to be, he thought again with fresh hope.

  “How do you want to do this?” Tom said.

  “Let me get everything set up, and I’ll call you back.”

  He wrote down the man’s number, thanked him, and hung up.

  Joan laughed on the couch. She’d put the digital camera away and had cracked open one of their old photo albums. Doug walked behind her and glanced at the spread on her lap. The photos showed a screaming baby swaddled in a blanket.

  Nate had entered the world just as he’d lived it. Fast and furious.

  He returned to the kitchen, picked up the phone in his sweating hand, and hesitated. It was eight o’clock at night. The doctor and his wife wouldn’t be working now. He paged through the phone book until he found their number.

  The doctor answered on the fourth ring.

  “Who is this?”

  “Dr. Harris, this is Doug Cooper.”

  “Doug, what are you doing?” Joan called from the living room.

  “Yes, I remember you. And how are—”

  “We’ve just hit on some terrific luck here, doc. The most amazing thing just happened. A friend agreed to donate two whole pints of medicine to our kids.”

  After a long pause, the doctor said, “I’m very happy for you.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you on your personal time and all, but I wanted to see if I could make an appointment as soon as possible to get this done.”

  Joan appeared frowning in the doorway. “Doug, we need to talk about this.”

  He turned away from her. “It’s been a while since we woke them up last, doc. We need to do it tonight if we could. Tomorrow at the latest.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper,” said the doctor, “but our office has been closed permanently.”

  Doug’s heart sank in his chest. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Nadine and I aren’t drawing blood anymore. We’re done with it.”

  “But you . . . you can’t be done with it.”

  “All of this has gone too far. It’s over for us.”

  “It’s not over. I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

  “Okay then. I’m hanging up now, Mr. Cooper.”

  “What about my kids?”

  “Your children are dead. I’m sorry.”

  The doctor disconnected the call. Doug gripped the phone, his chest burning with rage.

  “What happened?” asked Joan.

  Doug was tired of getting pushed around. He tore the page out of the phone book and stomped off toward the garage.

  Joan called after him. “What are you doing?”

  “Providing,” he answered.

  He was going to straighten that doctor’s ass out in person.

  Nate and Megan needed this
blood. If they didn’t get it, they’d die forever. And if the doctor refused to help, he in effect would be killing Doug’s kids.

  Not me.

  “Doug, no!” she pleaded. Her voice rose to a scream. “Don’t do this!”

  He slammed the door behind him and got into his old truck.

  Finally, Doug’s hatred had a face.

  Ramona

  44 days after Resurrection

  Ramona sat on her living room couch, a cup of tea going cold on her end table and an address book open on her lap, calling everybody she knew.

  “Hello, Denise? How are you?”

  “I’m sorry. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Ramona Fox. How have you been?”

  “I’m just fine, thanks.”

  “Has the high school reopened yet?”

  “No. Not yet. Um. I’m sorry. Did you need something?”

  “Well, I know it’s late notice and everything, but I was wondering if you could come tomorrow evening, say around six, and watch Josh for an hour?”

  A long pause. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t, Ms. Fox.”

  “It won’t take more than an hour. I’ll pay you—how does fifty sound?”

  A boy’s voice: “This is Randy, Denise’s boyfriend. Don’t ever call here again.”

  “I’m just calling about some babysitting.”

  “No, you’re not. We know what you’re trying to do. If you ever call here again, I’m going to come over there and kill you.”

  Denise howled in the background as he hung up: “And feed you to your kid!”

  Ramona pulled at her hair. The pain felt good. She plucked out a single strand and dropped it to the floor.

  Josh pounded on the basement door. “I’M HUNGRY!”

  “Mommy’s working on that, little man.”

  The boy stomped back downstairs into the basement.

  The last time she had a guest, Josh had helped after she’d killed the man. He lapped up every drop of blood from the floor and sucked the body until there was nothing left but a gray, emaciated corpse with skin the consistency of putty.

  He’s learning how to feed himself, she’d thought with not a little pride.

  The phone rang in her hand. She checked the caller ID and accepted the call.

  “Bethany?”

  “Long time, no see! How are you?”

  “Great!” said Ramona. She put on a smile to make her voice sound right. “Everybody’s great. What about you? How are you holding up?”

  “Fantastic. Well, we’re a little short of medicine for Trent, but who isn’t these days?”

  “I know. I know. I hear you.”

  “I’ve been talking to some other moms. This blood substitute thing has everybody thinking maybe we could get through this crisis. We were thinking about pooling our resources.”

  “How so?”

  “Get organized. Strength in numbers. Share and share alike. What do you think?”

  Ramona pictured a room full of arguing women. “Oh, that’s not for me. I’ll have to pass.”

  “What do you mean?” Bethany lowered her voice. “You’re not letting Josh go, are you?”

  “No, I’ve got an angle.”

  “What kind of angle?”

  Ramona glanced at her watch. She had to get to her next call. The call. “Sorry, I have to run. Josh needs me.”

  “Oh, my goodness! I didn’t know I was intruding on family time. You shouldn’t have answered the phone. Before you go, though, could you share what your particular angle is?”

  “I can’t. Sorry.”

  “Come on! It’s me, Ramona.”

  “I really have to go.”

  “Seriously, Ramona. We’re friends. Why can’t you tell me?”

  Josh slapped his hands against the basement door. “I’M HUNGRY!”

  Ramona pulled at her hair and forced a grin. Saying the right things, smiling at the right places, controlling her voice—it was hard work. But she was getting better at it.

  “Okay, Bethany, I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Would you? You’d be a real lifesaver!”

  “But I can’t actually tell you. I have to show you. I’ll be up for a bit. Why not come over tonight?”

  Bethany hesitated. “Um. Well, we’re—we’ve got—”

  “I’d really love to see you again. It’s been too long.”

  Bethany said nothing. The silence stretched.

  Ramona said, “Hello?”

  “God,” Bethany said quietly. “I just can’t believe it.”

  “Believe what?”

  “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” Ramona said, her voice hard now. She waited. “Hello? Bethany, are you there?”

  “Just stay away from me.”

  Ramona’s smile stretched until it hurt. “What’s wrong?”

  She sighed. Her friend had hung up.

  Friend, she thought with distaste. Friends were a luxury she could no longer afford.

  Now she could make the call she’d been saving for just the right night. Mitch.

  Mitch, the little punk who’d debased her. Mitch, with his black leather jacket and sneering face and ugly zit—

  The phone rang in her hand again. “What now?” She answered after checking the caller ID. “Hello, Joan, how are you?”

  The woman sounded panicked. “I’m glad I caught you. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  Ramona glanced at the basement door. “Everything all right?”

  “Doug found somebody to give us some medicine, but Dr. Harris won’t take it for us. He shut down his practice.”

  “Did he? I didn’t know that. Anyway, I’d love to help, but I don’t see how.”

  “Doug’s on his way over to the doctor’s house to talk to him. He’s been drinking, and I’m scared it could get a little rough. Your house is on the way, so I was wondering if you might come along. I think if you were there, Doug wouldn’t do anything crazy.”

  “Really,” said Ramona. It was a ridiculous request.

  “I really don’t think he’d do anything if you were there.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  After a long pause, Joan sighed and said, “I’m sorry I called. It was a stupid thing to ask you to take a risk for me.”

  Ramona forced a smile. “I’d love to help you!”

  Mitch would have to wait.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “For a pint of medicine.”

  “We don’t have any medicine!”

  “You said you had a friend who was donating.”

  Joan’s voice turned hard. “If he donates, you can have it all.”

  “I’ll be ready. Honk when you get here.”

  Ramona hung up and went to the basement door. She put her ear against it and listened.

  She heard fingernails gently scratching at the wood. She recoiled at the sound.

  “Josh,” she whispered. “My little man.”

  Even after everything, he could still terrify her.

  Joan

  44 days after Resurrection

  Joan slowed her Dodge Durango just enough for Ramona to open the door and drop into the passenger seat. Then she took off.

  “Thank you for coming,” Joan said.

  “No problem. I was glad to get out of the house. Mind telling me what’s going on?”

  Joan did. She told her everything. Ramona took it all in without a word.

  “We were settled,” Joan finished. “We were going to let the kids go. I just don’t know what Doug thinks he’s accomplishing.”

  “It sounds to me like he’s fighting for his family,” Ramona said.

  Joan wondered about that. While it was true Doug never went around looking for a fight, he certainly didn’t mind an excuse to get into one. “Getting drunk and losing control is not fighting for your family. He’s fighting for himself.”

  Ramona shrugged. “You’re talking about method. The result is the same.”

  Joan narrowed her eyes
at that. She glanced at Ramona. Why wasn’t she backing her up? “He can pick a fight with somebody else. That doctor and his wife helped us more than I could ever put into words. I won’t have Doug going over there and beating up the guy for it.”

  “I’m going to tell you something personal that is a little painful to say, so listen carefully,” Ramona said. “Before Herod’s syndrome, I failed Josh. I failed him so many times.”

  Joan hated this kind of talk. “No, you didn’t—”

  “You don’t know me, Joan,” Ramona said, almost shouting, then resumed at her normal volume. “You really don’t. I’m not like you. I’m a single mom, and even if I weren’t, I still wouldn’t be like you. Even if I didn’t have the job.”

  “There’s nothing special about me. You’re—”

  “Listen,” Ramona said, shutting her up. “This is not like before, where we lied to ourselves and other people all the time. We’re past all that now, don’t you think?”

  Joan stared at the road and nodded.

  “There were so many times I was too tired to play with him. Too distracted by work to really listen. Too irritated by his tantrums and sickliness to be present. Understand? But not now. I look back sometimes, and I can’t believe what used to matter to me. The things I used as excuses to get away. Not now. This is a different time. A purer time. I’ve never known such clarity. The only thing that matters is blood.” She added, inspired, “The blood that binds.”

  Joan shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  “You don’t see it. Doug sees it. Many other people do too. More every day. It’s almost impossible to get blood now. People have their backs up against the wall. There’s a war coming. What’s the word? Fratricide. Things are about to get even simpler.”

  Joan gripped the wheel. “It’s not going to be like that. We’re not savages.”

  “It takes time for things to break down. But they will. They already are. For most people who have children, there’s only one choice left. Let their children die, or kill for them.”

  Joan thought about what she’d seen on the TV. American soldiers shooting at each other. “What about you, with all this tough talk? Are you going to fight in this war?”

  Ramona said, “Who says I’m not already?”

  Joan realized she didn’t really know the person in the car with her.