Suffer the Children

by Janden Hale

  Jane doesn’t want to discuss that particular issue. She has a lot to say about trusting strangers and she doesn’t think Dressler will enjoy it. Not that she cares. She just doesn’t have the energy for it right now. “I’ll talk to Edward about it.” It’s the best stall she can think of at the moment.

  The door opens and Amy Runkle shuffles in, hesitant. “How’s he doing?”

  Jane Landry nods. “He’ll be fine. For now.”

  Amy slides over to the bed and notices the bandages. “Oh my God.” She veils her mouth with her hand. “You amputated him.” Jane steps in front of the wastebasket to intercept her attention. She doesn’t think Amy wants to see the arm in there. She’s going to have to take it out and and put it in the lye pit anyhow. Otherwise the twitchers will be able to smell it and they’re liable to get more of them slipping through, more victims, more people needing medical attention. More people needing supplies they don’t have. Blood outside its container is like an eager missionary, spreading the message far and wide. That’s what the lye pit is for. They used to burn things until they realized the twitchers could still smell it like a barbecue grill on a summer breeze.

  “Had to be done, dear.”

  Amy had heard the screams from the hallway, but she never imagined what was actually happening.

  “He’s so...pale.”

  Jane puts her hand on Amy’s shoulder. “It’s okay. He lost a lot of blood is all, but he’ll be fine.” Jane doesn’t seem to care that her clothes caught much of the blood. Even Dressler is covered in it. Amy tries not to look at either one of them.

  Jane leads Amy over to a chair and helps ease her onto it. “Tell you what, if you want you can stay and wait for him to wake up. I bet he’d like that. Would you like some coffee? Did you eat?”

  Amy nods. “Coffee sounds nice.”

  Jane turns to Dressler. “Sure you don’t want any coffee?” She has a small gas camping heater in the cupboard that had come in handy on many occasions. Keeping him buttered up with cordial manner will be to her advantage later on, she’s sure.

  “What the hell. Long as you don’t mind if I bring the cup back later. I better round up the crew and go over the changes for tonight’s run. And you might want to check in on Buck. He damn near had a heart attack from all the excitement. I think he puked as soon as he left.”

  “Give me a few minutes, I just need to get cleaned up.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “And hey, if you happen to come by any scented candles, can you save them for me? You can never have enough of the things.”

  Mayor &

  Mayoress

  FOUR

  The shriek of rusty hinges. A rustle of staggering leaves, pushed along by a breeze that no longer carries the laughter of scions. Chains slicing through the air like pendulums, the swings empty but for hollow recollections. The Landrys sit on their porch, overlooking the sedated playground across Knighton Street. The playground is a somber scene, filled with memories, residue of a better time. The sky iced over with gray hastens the sunlight’s departure.

  Ed Landry adjusts his neck scarf and takes a long sip of steaming tea his wife had heated on a portable cook stove. It’s almost dark; there will be no stars this night, not while these clouds loiter. There will be no children in the playground this night, nor any night.

  He cranes his neck to peer down Knighton Street toward the water tower. They’ve been using its contents ever since the beginning, and he’s been avoiding the stress of finding a way to refill it. There just aren’t enough people to do everything they need to do. The events this morning make Ed wonder if they should beef up wall security, maybe add a second scaffold somewhere. Everything is a stark reminder of precisely how vulnerable they all are, how connected every problem is. Something so small could induce a giant ripple, and it’s his job to try to predict and handle such things. More security in Ashland means pulling someone from a run team, which in turn puts the team at risk. Bringing in more survivors means leaving themselves open to danger from unknown refugees. Every decision carries risk, and these are the types of decisions he doesn’t like having to make. They still consider him to be their mayor, even though that world is but a specter. He looks over at Jane, who’d since cleaned up and changed the soiled scrubs from the amputation. All their bloodied garments had gone to the lye pit with the loose arm. Times like this he’s glad he has her on his side. He always considered her better at hard decisions than he was.

  He snakes his hand over and squeezes her shoulder. “Pretty long day,” he says. “Rough one.”

  “Yep.”

  “Even in all my time as mayor, I never had to make a decision like that.”

  She brushes his hand off. “Don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not. That boy is going to live because of you. I’m sure he’s grateful. And I know for a fact the Judge is grateful.”

  “I don’t give a damn what Robert thinks.” This is something she had taken every opportunity to remind him of for years. “I don’t know what you see in that man. I only know that you’d resent me if I let his nephew die.” She never liked Judge Robert Hafer and she doesn’t think she’ll start anytime soon.

  Ed doesn’t respond. He knows she is right. He absolutely would resent her. And so would the Judge.

  She continues. “I did what had to be done. As always. He wouldn’t have healed right. The decision was clear to me, it wasn’t hard at all. Anyway, what’s done is done. But he still might actually die in spite of it all.” She takes a sip of her own tea and sucks air through her teeth. “It’s likely to get infected. I don’t suppose your friend will be too grateful about that part.”

  “The Judge can rest easy knowing you did everything you could. Even so, what I said still wasn’t patronizing. I never had to make a decision like that. That’s a true statement.”

  “Now you’re talking like a damn lawyer again. And like I said, it was an easy decision.”

  “You can take the lawyer out of the courtroom, but you can’t take the courtroom out of the lawyer.” He smiles without showing any teeth.

  “Didn’t realize I was on trial.” She’s not in the mood for any of his attempted humor. She rarely is, but she has her moments.

  “I’m not trying to fight with you. I’m trying to give you a compliment.”

  “You don’t have to try fighting, it happens regardless. Arguing is in your nature, Edward. I think that’s why you married me.” She must have said that exact thing a thousand times.

  “You know that’s why. You’re the only one who never quit once the arguing started. I respect that.” He really did. Arguing with her was sometimes like running headlong into a wall of knives. He enjoys the challenge. He takes a drink of tea and tosses the rest over the railing, it having gone cold. “It’s getting chilly.” He checks his watch. “Dressler and the others should be coming up on Oak Point right about now, assuming they didn’t meet with any trouble.”

  “One of these times they might not come back. Have you thought about that? What’s your plan then, mayor?” She likes calling him mayor sarcastically. She seizes every opportunity to do so. She’d never liked his decision to run for office because he made far more money as an attorney. But he couldn’t be swayed. He’d always craved the heat of the spotlight, whereas she preferred to evade it. He had needed the validation that came along with winning an election, the rush of being favored by the majority. He needed the attention. She always thought that was a weakness. She hates weakness, absolutely despises it more than anything else. She’d had to learn to hide her contempt for his, to focus on other qualities about him she found redeemable. She takes pride in being able to do it. It’s often a challenge, so overcoming it is her way of eliminating weakness in herself. More than anything, though, is that Edward is comfortable. He is routine. A steady fixture in her life. That fact is enough to offset all his shortcomings.
/>   “What are you going to do when one of these times they don’t come back?” she asks again.

  He presses his lips together and shrugs. “Nothing. If they don’t come back they don’t come back. There won’t be any search party, no rescue. That’s the general understanding among those of us who go out. Anything that can interfere with the return of him and his team would surely be able to interfere with a rescue party. There’s no question. Once you leave Ashland’s modest walls, you’re on your own. It is something we all accept. So the plan, mayoress, is to make do, should that situation ever arise.”

  She crosses her legs and puts a finger against her temple. “He wanted to go to Soquili.” She says it while staring straight out at the dark playground.

  Ed’s eyebrows raise. “That’s my team’s zone. We can’t risk him coming into contact with people there. Did you talk him out of it?”

  She nods, still looking out at the desolate brown grass of the park. “I’m well aware. And he’s aware, I made sure of it. I talked him down, but it’s probably only a temporary stall. He’s a hothead. He likes being in charge of the soldiering. He likes having autonomy.”

  “I cannot fault a man for that. And it makes sense, the man was Special Forces. 3rd Group, out of Bragg. That’s what he claims at least.” He tells her this information already knowing she doesn’t care. The details mean nothing to her, never have unless she can easily perceive their usefulness. He’s the opposite. He is a champion of trivia, an eager cheerleader for details often overlooked by others. He feels that more information always leads to some covert advantage. Knowing lots of what some might perceive as being pointless stuff is something he’s extremely proud of. “One of the things that attracts those guys to that world is they get to bend the rules a little. Relaxed standards, less oversight. They’re cowboys. It’s a benefit of being elite. You get a longer leash. And technically it’s the nature of that profession. Those guys had to be able to operate on their own. Behind enemy lines and such. I can tell you think he’s going to be a problem.” He knows he’s not wrong. Her trust doesn’t extend very far, and the distance is even shorter for strangers like Dressler. That he is a man in possession of his particular skills makes him dangerous in her eyes. Most people fear what they do not understand or cannot control, and she is no different.

  “I think we need to keep an eye on him. We don’t even know him. Guy shows up out of nowhere after everything goes to hell and we’re supposed to put our faith in him, just like that?”

  “No one expects that. But he has pulled his weight since day one, you have to concede that. That has to account for something.”

  She doesn’t seem to notice that Ed had replied. “Not to mention he was Army. Does that not bother you at all?”

  Ed shakes his head. “A lot of people were in the Army.”

  “The goddamn Army was the ones started this whole mess, so I’m of a mind to be suspicious. Very suspicious. And you’re a fool not to be.”

  “To be fair, not everyone in the Army was involved. You cannot condemn a man while there is reasonable doubt. The evidence is circumstantial, and flimsy at best. All the craziness happened in Colorado. That’s a far piece from Fort Bragg. To infer that he had something to do with the shit in Colorado is to neglect the far greater probability that he did not.” He holds a finger up while she rolls her eyes. “However. Do not make the mistake of thinking I’ve not already pondered all the possibilities. I simply feel that I’ve arrived at the most reasonable conclusion.”

  “That’s all well and good, but what’s he doing here? Isn’t Fort Bragg in North Carolina? That isn’t exactly right next door. You really buy that crap story about family in Thaxton?”

  “It stands to reason, Jane. End of the world happens and the guy’s instinct is to get to his family. Makes perfect sense to me. Listen, I’m not trying to discount your concerns. They are valid. But until we have some evidence to the contrary, it would behoove us to stick to the most probable and most logical conclusions. I’ll probe him for more info if it alleviates some of your doubts. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t get out of hand. We’ll keep him distracted with the runs.”

  “That plan is good in theory,” she says, “but he’s also found purpose in teaching others. That could become problematic. He’ll eventually end up with a small army, especially if he rescues stragglers like he wants to. Those he trains, they’ll respect him and do whatever he says. Any refugees will have an inflated sense of loyalty to him for saving them. He might one day get the notion he should be in charge. Those under his supervision definitely will, unless you take pains to demonstrate that he is subordinate to you. They’ll look up to him instead of you. He’ll be their hero, not you. He’ll have the popular vote. Then what?”

  “I agree, that’s a risk, but it’s a risk we have to take. It’s a double-edged sword. We’ll never survive in this new world unless everyone can fight. We need his expertise. We need him to get everyone up to speed.”

  “I agree. Allow him to do that. But control the situation. Use him until he’s served his purpose, but thereafter you must remove the threat from the equation.”

  “You should have been the politician. You’re ruthless. And slightly paranoid, but ruthless all the same.”

  “No thanks. I don’t need the attention. Most of the controlling is done behind the scenes anyway.” She smirks at him and brushes something off her pants.

  “Well then, Rasputin. Glad you’re on my team.”

  “Be glad I never decided to kill you in your sleep.” He loves to banter, so she throws him an occasional bone. Her mood fluctuates often with regards to how she feels about him at any given time. Most of the time, what she feels is unbridled annoyance. It seems to be her default setting. When she’s not annoyed, her next most common setting is neutral. It’s like she is mostly just putting up with him. But sometimes he totally redeems himself. Those moments are scarce, but she is grateful for them. For instance, she sincerely appreciates that he listens to her when she proffers up a valid concern, a trait she attributes to his lifetime of debate and litigation. He genuinely wants to listen and consider, and it’s not always to find ways to refute the argument. It’s one of his strengths. Finding things to appreciate about him is important, especially when there isn’t a lot of it to go around. She’d been practicing this skill for nearly thirty years now, ever since the beginning of their marriage. She’d always considered herself fortunate to have endured the worst of the bullshit in the beginning rather than the end.

  It didn’t even take a whole year before it started; she’d gone in to consult the doctor about why she wasn’t getting pregnant. Turns out, she couldn’t get pregnant. At the time it was the hardest blow she’d ever been dealt, but it would still be less vanquishing compared to what came next. If the news wasn’t devastating enough, Edward’s response had been to go out and fuck his paralegal all over half of Memphis. Finding out easily overtook the doctor’s assessment and claimed the top spot for Shittiest Thing Ever. She ultimately survived that ordeal, but not without sustaining a few scars of contempt. She actually finds it easier to endure the little annoyances he presents on a daily basis because of that. And with the wisdom of time, she has since amended her impression of the event, thinking he was never worth the distinction of having been the source of her worst moment in life after all.

  She decided to be more pissed at her situation than she was at Ed. She got over Ed’s indiscretion after a while, but she never overcame the infertility. What she will never admit to anyone, not even Ed, is that she laughs inside that all the kids are gone. Not for the kids’ sake, but that the parents finally get to experience what it’s like to be her, to long for children. She feels somewhat vindicated. That it’s not just her anymore. That they all get to suffer what she had spent her whole life dealing with. She envied them for so long, veiling an intense hatred of every parent she encountered. For years. Her schadenfreude is strong
er than ever, yet she struggles with it, because it’s somehow mixed with pity. She both delights in their pain, but feels sorry for them at the same time. So many had lost, and so many were not ready to let go. She saves most of her empathy for the children. None of it was their fault. She’d save them all if she could.

  “Jane, my love,” Ed says, and pats her hand. He never says he loves her straight out. He always says it that way instead. My love. She doesn’t care either way. It’s just another quirk of his to be annoyed by or appreciate, depending on what mood she’s in.

  He stands and holds his hand out and she takes it, rising from her chair. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a quick, passionless kiss.

  It is as routine as everything else about him. She doesn’t mind, though; passion isn’t something she craves as she did in her youth. She prefers nowadays to replace it with quality time together and doing things of purpose. “I’m going downstairs,” she says flatly. It is their special place. A place of purpose. “Will you join me?”

  He nods. “I’ll be along shortly. I want to check on the boy before we turn in for the night. I also told Amy I’d look in on her. She’s frightened. I’d send Dressler or maybe one of the Rantons, but, well, they’re not here. I won’t be long.” He scans her face for any signs of disappointment or frustration. He doesn’t think she’s annoyed at him needing to go and do this, but he still senses a hint of turmoil beneath the surface. “What’s wrong, dear?”

  She takes a deep breath and releases a long overdue sigh. The truth is, she is exhausted from the stress of the day, the swarm of thoughts swirling in her brain.

  “I feel vulnerable, Ed. What happened today. It shines a spotlight on our weaknesses. You know I cannot abide weakness. I despise it. Weakness opened the door for everything that happened this morning. This is our home, Edward. All that’s left of the old world is in here. There’s no room now for weakness. If it’s not us it’s someone else. You know how circumstance can force the hand. It makes us do things out of necessity. Awful things. For preservation.” She nods a few times and gathers their tea cups, looks at him as he takes up his rifle. “Something I told Dressler earlier, at the school. I said there’s no room for sentiment anymore. And I believe that, yet here we are. Trying to fulfill a higher purpose. Are we sentimental towards that purpose? That’s what I can’t figure. Does that make us weak?”