Suffer the Children

by Janden Hale

  But still, if they didn’t want people knowing they’d surely get rid of it before morning. So he needs to tell someone before it’s too late. They may get rid of the creature, but the stench will remain. It might be enough to convince Dressler, or whoever. It would take forever to clear out all the candles.

  He needs to get out of here. That’s the first thing on his list, he can figure the rest out later. A guttural whine from the creature breaks him out of his coma. He swerves the light back to confirm that the abomination is still in the cage. The encounter with the other twitcher and how it had cleared the distance in no time at all has him on edge. He needs to leave before the little fucker gets loose. He survived one rumble and he’d rather not repeat the experience. With no one around to help him this time, the best he could hope for out of a second brawl would be a quick death. Thoughts of disfigurement flood his mind. Losing an eye or even his whole face. He illuminates the cage again to double check. The path of the light’s arc traces across the concrete foundation, then flares back a bright, blinding reflection. He puts the light back on the cage. It’s still in there, jerking and throwing a fit. He returns his attention to the reflective object on the wall. At first he thinks it’s possibly a mirror, but he can see it’s not now. He angles the light down, trying to establish what it is. He blinks, adjusting his eyes to the stars in his vision, ignoring the frenzy happening within the cage. When the image sharpens into focus, he forfeits his grip on the flashlight.

  It’s a portrait, interned in a haze of dust, but still recognizable. A young boy he vaguely remembers from before, but there’s no question.

  Caden Runkle.

  Dressler

  THIRTEEN

  Adam Dressler is poised on the comfortable end of a pistol in the restaurant kitchen of the old Pilot truck stop and he can’t stop staring at the toothless cavern that’s taken up most of the old woman’s face. He can’t tell if she’s gasping still or not, but both her and her partner’s faces are skewed in the snare of surprise, eyes wide and blazing with the beam of the tactical light on his gun like cornered rats. The man’s face pinches hard and the sounds of defecation leak out from behind him, wet and steady. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone shit himself in such a situation.

  “Oh, Scott,” the woman whispers, embarrassed for her companion, still squinting from the intensity of the light. These two must be drifters, unaware of the dangers that were said to roam these parts. He doesn’t think they’re rovers. He’d seen these two from the road, a pair of flashlights inside the building chewing up the darkness like wildfire. He was halfway to Soquili in the SUV, driving with the lights off to avoid attracting attention. He’d left the vehicle parked in a ditch across the highway and crept up to the building using the corpses of the old gas pumps for cover. A single sedan parked near the entrance on the restaurant side, no one outside pulling security. He figured maybe four or five people at most, not a real huge threat, but he’d only found these two, rummaging through remnants that had already been picked over a number of times by other scavengers.

  Dressler angles the pistol down so he’s not blinding them with it. “What are you two doing out here?”

  “Don’t shoot us,” the man says, trembling. “We,” he gulps, “we was just looking for something to eat.” Their ragged clothing swallows their gaunt figures whole. “You ain’t gonna kill us for that are you?”

  He doesn’t answer the question. He want’s to keep his options open. “It’s dangerous out here, from what I’ve heard,” Dressler answers. “This whole area is said to be crawling with rovers. Real bad people. You should be more cautious.”

  They both nod vigorously. “It’s the truth,” Scott adds. “You...you ain’t one are you? Why would you be out and about if you wasn’t?”

  “Never mind about me.”

  The woman shakes her head ever so slightly. “He isn’t wearing any mask.”

  “It could be a trick,” Scott replies back at her.

  “All the ones before had them animal masks.”

  “Maybe they’re trying something new.”

  “I don’t think so,” she says.

  “No trick.” It’s obviously they don’t trust him, and he can’t blame them for it. He doesn’t trust them, either, though he still feels like he’s got a superior set of circumstances in this moment. Dressler slowly crouches and shakes off his little backpack, the gun still trained in their direction. He unzips the pack and sifts through it, rolls a potato across the filthy floor. The woman snatches it up and takes a bite, a stream of juice trickling down her dirty face. He’s amazed she’s able to do it, being toothless and all. He chucks the man a candy bar. “I don’t want to kill you.” He still would if he had to, but at least this part is the truth. He’s not lying, and it still leaves the option open if he needs to take them out. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t one of them.” He rolls over a bottle of water and zips the pack, puts it back on and stands. He lets them finish eating.

  He glances behind him, not really thinking anyone new has arrived, but just to be cautious. It’s a habit. He’s sure now that it’s just the two of them. “You guys drifters?” Lots of people went nomad after the fall of man. Thinking no place was safe, they prefer to stay on the move. He’d encountered several of them on the way out from Colorado.

  They shake their heads. Scott discards the candy bar wrapper and licks his squalid fingers clean. “Not like what you might be thinkin. We’re holed up out west of here, and if you think we’re gonna tell you exactly where you got another think comin’.”

  “I don’t give a damn where your hideout is, don’t worry. You say you’re out west?”

  “That’s right.” If that’s the truth, it means they’re closer to Soquili.

  “Then you know of the rovers.”

  The man nods, brushes his greasy hair back. “We don’t call ‘em rovers, but I get your meaning. They took our neighbor, Dale Deavers, no more’n a week ago. They take people all the time. What do you think they do that for? There’s only one thing we can think of.”

  “Food,” she says, finishing his thought.

  “Food. They eat folks.” He’s nodding again. “They done ate Dale Deavers, I bet. Mrs. Barrett. All the others. Ate.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing out here?”

  “I told you, we was hungry. And we ain’t about to go much more north of here. Lots of them creatures over there in Nolan. You know, the ones what used to be kids.”

  “Nolan up north of here?” He still doesn’t know the areas outside his team’s zone too well.

  “That’s the place. There’s a bunch of herds up there, but those ones ain’t a threat unless you spook ‘em. But they attract the other kind. The hunters. We just stay clear of that whole spot. You can actually eat the docile ones, sure as sweet on sugar, but it ain’t worth the risk.”

  They must be desperate to be out taking risks like this in rover territory. Desperate people will do anything. Desperate people are unpredictable. He needs to keep his guard up.

  “You drive straight here?”

  The man squints at Dressler, trying to figure if there’s any trickery to the question. “If you’re trying to trick us into finding out where we come from—”

  “I’m not trying to trick you. I need to get to Soquili. We got a real sick boy and I hear there was a hospital there. I need to know of any fake checkpoints on the highway. Traps. Things like that. I’m not in the mood to be ambushed.” Ordinarily he’d stay off the road completely, but because Soquili is almost sixty miles round trip, he doesn’t have time to hoof it. Dead reckoning would be the best way to avoid humans on patrol, so he’d only have to contend with twitchers and other wild animals. But since he’s stuck driving, he needs to plan the best route.

  The woman wipes her hands across her jeans to dry off the potato juice. “You’ll be fine. Ain’t none of them out
tonight anyhow.”

  “What do you mean? How do you know this?”

  She almost laughs. “Things is always quiet after they come through. They gone back out east. You got at least a week’s worth of peace and quiet. We figure they’re off sweeping some other place, so it’s safe to come on out. There’s bound to be more people out there trying to stay alive. I ‘magine they get harder to find as time goes on.”

  “Since they keep getting ate,” Scott adds.

  Dressler ignores him. “Out east? That can’t be right.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Ashland is to the east. I can tell you there are no rovers there.”

  “I don’t know what else to tell ya. They always come from the east.”

  Dressler’s mind is spinning. They must be mistaken. His concentration is interrupted when man snorts and hawks a thick mass of spit into the corner. “You’ll be fine to go to Soquili, but I wouldn’t bother trying the hospital if you’re lookin for supplies. It’s one of the first places cleaned out.”

  Dressler should have figured that about the hospital, but Ed had suggested there was a possibility of it still having supplies. It puts a kink in his plans, but it makes sense. Hospitals are a prime destination for looting. He’ll need a backup plan, maybe there’s a vet clinic or something. The news about the rovers not being around is also strangely fortuitous, and he isn’t yet sure he can trust the information. He needs to avoid a false sense of security, to avoid getting complacent. Complacency kills. Something one of his old team buddies used to say. Then again, this could be one of those elaborate traps he mentioned earlier. These two, innocent as they seem, would be perfect for a ruse. They could be positioned here to lure people into the hands of their waiting comrades. Whatever information they provide needs to be filed away as suspect, no matter what. No rovers out tonight. Don’t go to the hospital. It all seems too helpful.

  “I know someplace you might try,” the woman offers.

  The motor in his mind kicks into overdrive. She could be telling him where to go, where the real trap is.

  “Where’s that?”

  “What’s it worth to ya?” She tries to suppress a grin. Now she’s negotiating. She thinks he’s got more food in the bag. Smart gal. It would be more suspicious to start handing out information like it wasn’t worth anything. In his mind, there are only two options available: either they are with the rovers or they aren’t. If he can eliminate the possibility of either, he’ll know for sure what they are. Either she’s very good at playing the part or she’s actually innocent. Either way, he wants to see what she has to say. Maybe she’ll make a mistake. The more he urges her to yack, the greater the odds of a slip up.

  He eases the pack off a second time. Both scavengers start to get antsy. They genuinely appear to be starving. He rummages for a bit and then tosses over two cans of whatever. He doesn’t even bother to check what they contain.

  “That’s all I can spare. And I hope you’ll consider the fact that I could have killed you both but didn’t.” He hopes the bribe is sufficient.

  They inspect the can labels and nod. Apparently it’s enough. “There’s a drug store, Peterson Pharmacy, not in an obvious place,” she says. “Maybe it ain’t been scoured as much. On Clover and Hancock. Just take the highway all the way in. Make a right when you get to the middle school. You’ll find it.”

  They’re still focused on the canned goods. “Thank you for your help,” he says. He hitches the bag up and climbs into the straps. “And twitchers?”

  “Twitchers?”

  “Uh, you know. Kids.”

  “Never heard ‘em called that before. Just keep an eye out. No more than usual, ‘less you go up north like I said.”

  Reunion

  FOURTEEN

  Dan struggles to climb the steps to Amy Runkle’s door and starts pounding. He flails at the door with every sliver of energy he has left, his body aching with every strike. The run exhausted him. He had to stop several times on the way to dry retch, but thankfully nothing ever came up. He can barely stand, but he keeps ramming his only remaining palm into the door. His hand is numb from the effort and the cold; it feels like static on a dead radio station. He is vaguely aware that this probably isn’t going to compel her to answer, considering the results of their previous discussion, but he is driven by the need to inform her of the grisly discovery.

  “Amy! Answer the door!” He batters a few more times, the rapping losing potency with each successive strike. “Amy! It’s important! You have to come out here. Please.”

  Of course there is no answer. She’s ignoring him, probably hoping he’ll go away. The notion amplifies his frustration and nibbles at his energy like a hungry buzzard.

  Inside, Amy crumples against the wall with a baseball bat clutched so tight that her knuckles blanch. The bat trembles and shudders like an extension of her own quivering body. Why can’t he just leave her the fuck alone? She knew it was a mistake to go to his house, but she felt so bad for him. Considering everything that happened, she presumed it was the right thing to do. Like it or not, they all have to coexist in what’s left of their little town. Ashland. They have to persist in the wreckage of the world now, against the odds. There’s no room for pushing people away, especially ones who surrendered an arm. Trying to save her, no less. She couldn’t have risked ostracizing him. Every survivor in their community is family now. They have to toil in the afterbirth of tragedy, so it’s important to keep people close and show solidarity. Togetherness. It is the only way they’re going to survive. To rebuild. Everything is trying to eradicate them. The twitchers, hunger, other people outside the town’s delicate but hopeful walls. The damn world itself. At the time it seemed like the right decision, to go to him, to try letting him down easy. Yet in her desire to inhibit the drama it just rolled back in with even greater tenacity.

  What if he gets in the house? She has no doubt that he is distraught, that his pride is injured. And totally acting without reason. He could harbor intention to harm her.

  She wishes Ed were here. Even if she slipped out the back door, where would she go? Of course the other survivors would protect her, but right now she only wants Ed. And with both teams gone anyhow, her options for protection are severely diminished. It’ll be up to her, the baseball bat, to make the stand this time. Ideally she shouldn’t have to. But this isn’t an ideal world. Had it ever been?

  Dan slams against the door again and she starts to cry. She wipes a strand of snot from her face and squeezes her eyes shut.

  “Amy.”

  His voice is softer now, but the pleading undertone is still there, floating on the sound like a tired bird. Can no one else hear what is happening? Surely someone will come to see about the commotion. Maybe if she waits it out he will be forced to abandon whatever crazy notion he has colliding around in his mind. He is no condition to be out in the cold, and despite everything she still feels the impulse to help him, to take him a blanket—something—but the impulse is overshadowed by her fear and the resolve to ignore him for real this time, to continue making her point. If she helps him he won’t have the incentive to seek out the warmth of his own home, where he belongs. Tomorrow he might locate his senses. The sting of tonight will be dulled by time and sleep.

  “Amy.”

  She adjusts her grip on the bat, not holding as tightly as before. She can’t stop shaking. She sniffs and swallows, tries to steady herself.

  “Amy!” A booming slam against the door causes her to flinch. Goddamnit, why won’t he just leave her alone?

  He shudders against the calm breeze and cinches the peacoat closer around his frame. He flips the collar up but it doesn’t seem to improve the situation. He struggles to open and close his hand, to stimulate some circulation, but his fingers are getting unresponsive. He doesn’t hear any activity from inside the house but he knows she’s in there. Ignoring him. This k
nowledge makes his guts come alive. It burns inside like he swallowed a glowing ember, but it also makes him want to puke. He dabs his forehead with his sleeve. Tendrils of sweat absorb into the wool. The fever. He doesn’t know how much longer he can last. All he knows is that he must get to her. She needs to know. She’ll want to know. With his last bit of energy he pushes himself up using the door for support. He rests his forehead against it and taps the door again with his numb palm.

  “Amy.” He slumps his whole body against the door, then raps a few times with his forehead. He takes a deep breath and lets his next words fall out, like the final volley of a soldier’s last stand. “Amy, I found Caden.”