Suffer the Children

by Janden Hale

  “Okay, thank you.” She sets the handset down on the counter and turns back to Dan. “I’m going to wait for Ed out front. She says to drink water.” She is relieved that the mayor is coming by instead of Jane. Amy always feels uneasy around her, as though the old hag knows too much about things she maybe shouldn’t be knowing.

  All the air evacuates from his lungs and he realizes he’s been holding his breath. He sinks his head back against the pillow and tries to untie the knots in his stomach.

  Vantha

  SIX

  The news had been doctored at first, the incident that caused the end of the world covered up with a potpourri of lies. The government tried to cover it up. The fake explanation seemed nice at the time but everyone could still tell something was off. It wasn’t until classified documents of the experiments were leaked by a hacker group that called themselves Pixel 66 that the world would come to know the horrific truth.

  To know that we had brought this on ourselves didn’t soften the blow of losing the children, but it provided an outlet for all the anger and pain. People had someone to blame and that was the U.S. Army.

  The Army had undertaken a series of genetic experiments called Operation Rainwall. They were an attempt to create the next generation of Supersoldier. It was classified above Top Secret, and completely illegal, which was probably why it was all kept hidden. Everything took place in a clandestine lab deep underground at Fort Carson, Colorado. A place the documents referred to as Facility 42.

  They’d gotten greedy with science, cocky, careless. Like the housing bubble that burst and led to the economic crisis just after the turn of the century, the people were left to deal with the fallout, only there would be no recovering from this one. No bailout.

  The scientists used children for the enterprise because they found that the mutagens worked better that way. This information came to light subsequent to the leaked documents finding their way onto the internet. One of the project’s lead geneticists had spoken to the media on condition of anonymity in an attempt to blow the whistle, having been seized by conscience. Not long after, that scientist was found in his garage at the end of a noose, and conspiracy theorists everywhere immediately proclaimed that it was really an assassination, or as they put it, he was “suicided.” Murdered by the government and made to look like a suicide.

  The child subjects forced to participate in the experiments were never identified. It was the one piece of information that never surfaced. All that was known was that they were orphans the government “acquired” from the many war zones in the Middle East, Africa, even Southwest Asia. The idea was that one would miss them. Some of the children were purchased outright from their parents in third-world countries. What they needed were kids they could groom. The scientists had contrived a way to infuse animal DNA with human test subjects to facilitate a sort of forced, accelerated evolution. The procedure had been successful with rats and pigs. The human trials began soon after. They bestowed their human subjects with traits like enhanced night vision, limb regeneration, heightened senses and agility, superior strength. And they managed to do it while maintaining human intellect and cognitive skills. Once they had the kinks worked out, the operation went smoothly, and unsubstantiated estimates placed the number of child subjects anywhere between 200 and 1000 in total.

  At least until Subject H9A.

  The child never even had a name. The independent media quickly capitalized on her in an attempt to demonstrate advocacy for the victims. They tried to humanize her by dubbing her “Hannah,” a name previously given to her by sympathetic human rights groups. They felt it would help elicit more empathy for her and the other subjects, and it did.

  The scientists quickly discovered their fatal mistake with Hannah, but by then it was too late: they had overlooked a dormant case of varicella zoster. Chicken pox. The mutagens that enabled the children to take on traits of extrahuman species had also engaged with the virus, causing antigenic shift. Essentially, creating a newer, more menacing virus: the Vanthavirus, colloquially named after the Cornell virology professor who was first to write a paper on it, Rachel Vanth. The Vantha, however, not only still behaved like a virus, passing over to the other subjects, but it also managed to replicate elements of the mutagens in the other subjects. It became a hybrid between virus and mutagen. If it didn’t like the host’s cells, it would change them to better facilitate its replication. Operation Rainwall was immediately terminated until they could get it contained, but that was also a failure.

  Vanthavirus got loose.

  It spread rapidly, propagating over a period of several weeks until the CDC classified it as a Category 5 pandemic. The strange thing, though, was it had a very narrow host range: it still only went for the kids. People who hadn’t hit puberty. Something about the original biological agents kept the mutated Vantha from infecting adults, however, adults were still able to act as carriers to help spread the pandemic, as were vectors such as mosquitos.

  So the children got sick, something not unlike the flu initially. Headaches, body aches, fatigue, sore throat, runny nose, nausea, dizziness, fever, sweating, diarrhea. Over the first week the effects would intensify; it was an agonizing stretch of time for both the infected and those acting as caretakers alike. Some children would suffer through bloody noses or rectums, delirium, tooth or hair loss. Parts of the larger cities went under quarantine; the rest were instructed to bring their children to FEMA aid stations or hospitals. Many parents hadn’t heeded any of the instructions, choosing instead to comfort their children at home.

  The virus overwhelmed its hosts until the children finally mutated into the gruesome creatures. Only unlike the controlled experiments, the result was haphazard, grotesque, random. They became like animals, hideous monsters, most of them predatory. Unlike the test subjects, they didn’t retain any of their human cognitive skills. They became feral. A staggering number of adults died from early attacks, especially parents who were unaware of what was taking place or didn’t have the nerve to do what had to be done. People who were like Amy Runkle and not like Dressler.

  The devastation didn’t stop there. With the creatures came chaos. With the sudden death of so many adults, infrastructure soon eroded, followed by riots, looting, mutiny, coups. While governments struggled to maintain control, often with a heavy hand, other factions rose up in the vacuum and attempted to claim positions of power. Anarchy was crowned the new king. The American government, wielding the full might of its armed forces, held on as long as it could. Some say it still exists in some parts of the country.

  But those not fortunate enough to partake in the military protection must rely on their own resources for survival and protection. Those not fortunate enough to be dead not only have to contend with the twitchers, but each other. Dangerous, desperate people. And no one could say for certain which was the deadlier threat.

  Infection

  SEVEN

  Three days since the twitcher attack and Dan Shenk’s nub is electric with pain. They’d transplanted him from the infirmary to his own bedroom at home. He shudders as Jane Landry unravels the bandage, glaring at the others who had gathered around to bear witness—Ed, Dressler, and his uncle Robert Hafer, who everyone always calls the Judge. The air in the room seems to hang, paralyzed, and the whisper of Dressler’s sleeves brushing together as he crosses his arms is like thunder. Dan’s stomach gets heavier the longer he looks at their somber faces.

  “Now you know,” Jane Landry says to them, annoyed. Dan’s nub is a wicked crimson color. She carries the soiled bandages over to the yawning wastebasket. She turns back and rests her hand upon her hip. “I tried to keep it at bay, but this infection is stubborn. I thought we could beat it. He needs meds. Now. If he doesn’t get them...we’re looking at sepsis. He could go into septic shock. He’ll probably die.”

  Dan glares at her in surprise. It’s as though she doesn’t realize he’s right beside her.<
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  She ran out of antibacterial cream and morphine. She kept the wound as clean and freshly dressed as possible, given the limited resources at hand, but it will only get worse if they can’t get antibiotics. She tried to avoid it, not just for Dan’s sake but for Dressler’s also. For all of their sakes. Dressler’s team still has scavenge duty this week, so it’ll be on him to make the run to Soquili. No getting around it. It if were up to her, she still wouldn’t let Dressler go. This one event could be their undoing.

  A harrowing truth lies in Soquili, which must remain buried. Only those on Ed’s team know it, and if it came to light it would cast their entire way of life into disarray. Their survival relies upon the system their community had built, it is a machine. All the pieces must work together in harmony without disruption or the whole machine will break. Keeping this truth in the dark is the reason Ed’s team cannot go, not until next week. If Ed’s team went now, Dressler would suspect they were hiding something, so they need to make everything appear normal.

  The easiest course of action would be to let the boy succumb to the infection. They won’t just let Dan die, though. Not the nephew of the venerable Judge. They also need Dan’s skill set. The boy is a prodigy with electricity. It’s a predicament, for sure. A gambit. The meds they need are most likely in Soquili, inside Ed’s team’s territory. They can’t wait until next week, when Ed’s group has the duty and now they must do something that puts the machine in jeopardy. The infection will worsen, possibly transition to wet gangrene or sepsis, if they don’t act soon. The boy is fine now, but he won’t be able to hold off the fever that will announce itself soon. He’ll get delirious. Someone will have to sit with him, and that someone will probably be her. The man hours that will be wasted on this boy are not worth it, even if he is the Judge’s nephew and he brings a valuable skill to the table. They could figure out the electricity without him but it would mean others taking on the extra load. Between Dressler and his group going off in search of meds and her having to babysit—taking her away from other things she could be tending to—it’s too much hassle in her mind. They’re damned either way. In her mind, though, taking on the extra load of learning the boy’s trade is preferable to bringing certain truths to light. At least the machine will still be functional. On the other hand, if they let him die to protect the system and people found out anyway, it would erode their trust in that very same system, making it all for naught regardless.

  Sometimes circumstances force the hand. They need to let Dressler go to Soquili so he doesn’t suspect anything if they are to save Dan Shenk.

  She takes a wash basin and sets it on the stand by Dan’s bed, then dumps two bottles of water into it. She dips a fresh rag into the basin and wrings it out, then starts gently wiping the wound. Dan grits his teeth through this part.

  “We can talk more about this after I’m done here,” she says. “I’ll come find you.”

  Ed taps the Judge and looks at Dressler, nods toward the door. He doesn’t need to be told twice. She doesn’t want them around, getting in her way. They got what they came for; the wound’s dire condition had been authenticated. Ed knows what must come next, and he knows he must tread carefully and be meticulous with every move from here on out. Everything hangs precariously on a knife edge; if he’s not careful he could tip the situation one way or the other. One false move could lead to certain chaos. Ed ushers the other two out and eases the door shut behind him.

  The three pause just outside the door. Ed claps his hand on the Judge’s shoulder and nods. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure something out.”

  The Judge nods in response, rubbing his rotund belly through the three-button suit he still wears every day. “I know. These things happen.”

  Ed slips his hand off the Judge’s shoulder and taps his foot nervously. “Why don’t you go on ahead,” he tells the Judge. “I’ll drop in on you in a little bit.” He looks at Dressler. It’s a good time for an interrogation. “Walk with me?”

  Dressler nods and shakes hands with the Judge, who fits his Homburg atop his head, then makes a somber exit. Dressler and Ed commence to walking toward the front porch of Dan’s house. The place used to belong to the Burtons, but being that they’re all dead, the place sat unoccupied. So Dan moved out of his uncle’s house and into this one. Nobody in town thought anything of it.

  Ed pauses in the hallway just before the front door and plucks a couple cigars from his jacket pocket, offers one over. They light them once they get outside.

  “Well. You saw it. Like as not, you’re gonna have to go.”

  “I should have gone three days ago.”

  “I know it. That was a bad call, I’ll admit,” Ed says. Of course, Ed is just being conciliatory now. He doesn’t really mean it, but he needs Dressler to think it hadn’t been planned that way all along. Dressler doesn’t know the full particulars on why they didn’t want him to go three days ago, he only knows what they told him: that they were trying to spare him from peril. And now Ed Landry must ascertain how to handle what’s to come. Dressler is going to have to go to Soquili regardless now.

  Ed takes a great puff from the stogie. Normally he’d be regaling Dressler on the merits of this particular brand of cigar, to demonstrate his knowledge of trivial minutia, but he doesn’t this time. He wants to keep that skill set concealed for the purposes of their little chat. He needs to appear oblivious to detail. “Still. It’s a dangerous job.” They’d been avoiding this moment as long as possible, trying to keep Dressler from going out to Soquili, hoping he wouldn’t have to. Ed had been trying to devise an alternative plan on the off chance something like this would happen, but he always fell short of anything viable. Dressler and his team hadn’t been able to find any meds in their zone out to the east on any of their scavenge runs. “Maybe you ought to get some rest then. Seeing’s how you’re going out again tonight.”

  Dressler tries to blow a smoke ring, but it dissipates before it can take shape. “I’ll be fine.”

  “All right. I’m sure you’re accustomed to it. Going on little to no sleep I mean.” Ed investigates the ash on the business end of the cigar. He won’t tap it off, though. He always likes to see how long they’ll get before falling off on their own. “How long did you say you were in the service?”

  Dressler leans against the porch railing. “’Bout ten years.”

  “Rangers, right?”

  “At one point, yeah. Then I went S.F. Just seemed like the natural progression. Guess I always wanted to see what I was capable of.” Of course, Dressler had already told him that before, but it will help Ed’s strategy to play dumb. Now is not the time for showcasing random knowledge or solid memory.

  “Understandable.”

  “Were you ever in?”

  Ed shakes his head. He knows Dressler would respect him more if he had served, but there’s nothing he can do about that. He could lie, but Dressler would easily smell it. It is better, in this instance, to stick with some version of the truth. The best way to hide a lie is to package it with a little veracity. “Never did, no.” He taps his hand against his knee. “They wouldn’t take me. Messed my leg up playing college ball,” he says. This is as close as he can get to lying about it. A little fib to give the impression that he’d wanted to serve. It’s something, better than nothing, and certainly better than getting caught trying to lie about being in the military. His mind whirs, thinking how to do this without raising any red flags. These men, the commando type, know when they’re being interrogated. It was included in their training. He hopes the cigars are helping to disarm him somewhat. An interrogation disguised as just two men talking. He once read somewhere that the most capable German interrogators in World War II used a friendly demeanor to their advantage. Hanns Scharff, widely considered the best interrogator in all of Nazi Germany, was able to glean a higher volume of quality information than his more aggressive colleagues. Ed has decided to take a similar a
pproach. He notices a piece of military getup poking out from Dressler’s cargo pocket.

  “Hey, what’s that you got there?”

  Dressler angles his gaze down. “This?” He lifts it out of his pocket.

  “Is that the infamous green beret?”

  Dressler nods, raises his eyebrows. These guys always always have some kind of keepsake around. Berets, badges, patches. Things that hold sentimental value, convey a sense of accomplishment.

  “Yes sir,” Dressler replies. “All I’ve got left of my stuff. It’s probably the most important thing I’ve ever earned, so I couldn’t just let it go, you know? I no longer have my tan one, unfortunately.”

  Ed smiles, trying to appear not too excited. The esteemed green beret. Shaved, shaped, and folded so the flash and crest are visible. A real Green Beret would know how to shape and fit the thing like this. And how to fold it appropriately. These are the details other people might miss out on. If Ed had done his job properly, Dressler would never suspect that Ed knows a thing or two about these kinds of details. Ed rocks back on his heels and whistles. “It’s cool, man.” Ed makes a mental note of the green flash patch sewn on under the crest. He shifts his attention back to his cigar and Dressler returns the beret to his cargo pocket. That one little moment provides Ed all the information he requires, but he still needs to play dumb a little while longer.

  “A tan one? Truth be told, I’ve only heard about the green ones.”

  “Ranger beret.”

  “Ah. I can see why you’d want to keep than one, too.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t spend too much time worried about it. Kinda small in comparison to everything else that was lost.”

  “Very true,” Ed says, “very true. We’ve all lost someone close. You had family nearby, is that right?”