Suffer the Children (21 page)

Across the site, the pace was ebbing. The initial urgency had petered out. The bodies had stopped moving. When the recovery workers opened the bags, the children didn’t sit up and cry for their mommies anymore. Their eyes were open, the sole evidence they’d once woken up, but blank, as if looking inward now instead of out.

As if waiting for something.

The big yellow machines growled across the landscape, reopening its scars. Work crews jumped into the fresh-cut trenches to dig at the mangled earth. When they reached the children, they didn’t bother opening the bags anymore. They just pulled them out and loaded them on trucks. Doug had an awful feeling they’d soon have to pick up these same bodies and bring them right back again.

Doug had learned over the past few days that feelings had sharp edges, and he dulled his with another long pull from his flask. His back and shoulders ached, but he didn’t care. Quicklime burned in his lungs, but he’d live. Snow continued to fall from the murk above and make a mess of everything; he accepted it.

When he worked, he stopped thinking about the ghosts of his children.

He didn’t feel grief right now. The pain of the past four days wasn’t there. Something else had replaced it—a nameless fear that came from a deep internal place governed by instincts instead of reason.

At some point, he’d have to go home and face them, but not yet. He just couldn’t do it right now. In fact, he could face just about anything other than the mocking imitation of the people he loved more than himself.

Mitch stabbed the ground with his shovel. The men heard the crack of bone.

“Whoops,” he said. “Hey, I found another one.”

“For Christ’s sake, be careful,” Tom said.

When Doug had walked onto the site, he’d found Tom, Jack, and
Mitch working in one of the trenches. Although he wasn’t looking for company, he’d joined them.

He’d come to regret it. All they did was bicker to pass the time.

“Why bother being polite?” Mitch said. “We all know these kids are toast.”

“It’s common decency to respect the dead,” Tom said.

“Like I care,” Mitch replied with a laugh. “They’re dead, so what? It’s all pointless, college boy.”

“We’re also responsible, dipshit,” said Jack. “Our names are assigned to this group. It’s going to end up in the public record. I don’t want some screaming mother coming after me because her kid was sent home with a broken leg.”

Mitch made a show of gripping his crotch. “If some screaming MILF wants to come at me, I’ll be happy to console her.”

Doug leaned on his shovel. “Mitch, you’re right, it’s all pointless.”

The kid grinned at Tom. “See? Even Doug—”

“But we live here, and these are our dead. If you hurt one of them again, I’m going to punch your teeth down your throat.”

Mitch sneered back at him. He was an expert at trading trash talk and already had a response ready to launch. Then his brain processed the look on Doug’s face.

“Yeah, uh, sure thing, boss.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to laugh, while Mitch scowled.

“How’s everything at home?” Tom asked Doug.

“Peachy,” he answered.

“I just wanted to say I hope everything’s working out for you—you know, with your kids being back and all.” The man hesitated, his face flushed, and added, “I’m not sure what the right thing to say is here.”

“As little as possible is usually best,” Jack muttered.

“I’m hoping everything’s okay for you,” Tom said. “That’s all.”

“My kids scare the shit out of me,” said Doug. “I’m dad of the year. Okay?”

Tom blanched and went back to work.

Doug’s phone rang. He climbed out of the trench and answered it.

Joan’s voice: “Come home, Doug.”

“Not right now, Joanie. We’ve got to get these kids out.”

“Your own kids need you here.”

He shivered as a strong wind blew across the field. “I can’t say that I’m ready for that just yet.”

“The kids are asking for you.”

The old fire burned in his chest. He felt the urge to put it out with a stiff drink. Instead, he said, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Don’t play with me, Joanie.” His heart thumped in his chest. “You’re serious? They’re really talking? What are they saying?”

“Pick up some milk on the way.” A moment later, the call disconnected.

She expected him to come home. No discussion. And God help him if he forgot the milk.

It was a familiar feeling—this was how she had managed him back when she was pregnant with Nate and he was still pounding shots and beers with the other san-men at the Cornerstone Pub.

The message was always loud and clear:
Come home now, or don’t bother.

As he did then, he’d obey now. This time, however, he had an even bigger reason than the fact that he loved Joan.

Just before she’d disconnected, he’d heard Megan laughing in the background.

Which meant she was right—the kids were back. That, or he was losing his mind.

He walked off the site. The other men called to him. He didn’t answer.

He was going home.

He walked straight to his truck and drove out of the works. The burial-ground operation kept the access road well plowed, but the public roads were still terrible. Snow fluttered in his headlights. Doug watched it, mesmerized, while he drove at a snail’s pace and chain-smoked.

When he passed Cody’s Bar, he felt the tug of its gravity.

I could have a quick one. Maybe the girl is in there.
He tried to remember her name and laughed.
Cindy Crawford. Just like the model.

Her number was still scrawled in black marker on the back of his left hand, faded now to a dull smudge. The memory of being with her, equally faded, conjured up mixed feelings of guilt and longing.

He remembered Megan’s laugh and drove past the bar.

Love is a powerful thing. So is hope. With love and hope, you can conquer anything. You can even conquer yourself. The worst in yourself. He knew that firsthand. He was a veteran of that kind of war.

He pulled into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. The lot was full, so he drove his truck onto the sidewalk and parked it there. The store was packed, and the shelves were half-empty. People weren’t showing up for work, the world was falling apart, and nobody gave a shit anymore. He grabbed the last gallon of milk and cut in line, his yellow hazmat suit parting the way just as it had at the liquor store. He stocked up on Winstons at the counter, grabbed the jug, and returned to his truck.

Joan had told him to pick up milk because the kids drank it.

He drove on past an endless series of houses, traffic lights, and businesses he recognized, all together, as home. Garbage had been piling up for days on the sidewalks and in the back alleys, another giant mess for him to clean up in time. When he reached his house, he parked in the garage and sat in the dark for a while, smoking and listening to Leo Boon’s cover of an old mountain song.
This train don’t carry no gamblers, this train. No hypocrites, no midnight ramblers. This train is bound for glory.
Yes, sir.

The idea of the kids magically becoming normal again seemed impossible, even after everything he’d seen. He was pinning his hopes on something that couldn’t have happened and therefore simply could not be.

Maybe Joan is losing her mind
.

That, or the kids had returned to normal by magic. Which was more likely?

But I heard Megan laugh. I heard it.

Maybe
I’m
losing my mind. I heard what I wanted to hear.

He reminded himself that the kids had come back from the dead. Anything was possible.

But he was too scared to hope.

He hesitated at the garage door. He was breathing hard. He couldn’t face it if they were still sitting on the couch like dolls. Something inside him, in fact, might break.

He opened the door to the smell of baking and a pot roast cooking in the kitchen. Joan had the stereo on. He poked his head into the living room, which was empty. The lights wrapping the Christmas tree were on, and presents were laid out under it. Logs blazed in the fireplace. The fire filled the room with warmth and light and the smell of burning wood.

I’m home
.

Again, he heard a laugh. He hurried to the kitchen.

Oh, God.

The scene that greeted him was shocking only in how normal it was:

Joan at the stove, her hips swaying to the rhythm of a country music song.

Megan sitting on the counter wearing a little pink apron, making a mess out of Joan’s preparations for a cake.

Nate at the kitchen table, looking through his geography schoolbook and wearing his oversized orange Giants hat.

Doug tried to speak. A choking sob came out instead.

Finally, he managed a croak: “Kids?”

They all turned and looked at him.

They’re normal.

No, they’re not. They’re not normal at all.

They’re PERFECT.

His hand shot out and gripped the door frame as the world began to spin. “Joanie, are they real?”

Megan screamed: “
Dad-deeeeeee!
” She climbed off the counter and raced toward his legs. He scooped her up in his arms and rained kisses on her warm face.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said.

“Stop!” she squealed, and patted his stubble. “Your face is
prickly
.”

“Jesus. I can’t believe it. It’s really you.”

“You’re not supposed to say
Jesus
, Daddy.”

“He can if he’s happy,” Joan said with a big smile.

Doug couldn’t smile, not yet.

“Hey, Dad,” said Nate.

“Hey, sport.” He extended his other arm to embrace his son.

Now was the time to give in to his joy. Let it light up his face. Instead, he cried. He cried loud and hard. He didn’t even try to stop it.

Megan started crying too. So did Nate. They huddled on the floor and cried.

Joan stood at the stove, her hands covering her mouth, saying, “Oh my God.”

Moments later, she was bawling.

“It’s you,” he kept saying. “It’s really you.”

“Please don’t be sad, Daddy,” Megan said.

He looked up at Joan through a warm blur of tears and said, “How?”

Joan sniffed, wiped her eyes, and told him a nurse had brought medicine that was reviving the children. Ramona Fox had sent her.

“What kind of medicine?” he asked her.

“Something from the Centers for Disease Control.”

Doug had lived with Joan long enough to know when she was full of it. His gaze shifted to the little cotton ball taped over her inner arm, which only raised more questions.

He didn’t care. Whatever had happened, he was all for it. His children were back. They were normal again. They were
alive
.

Like the horrible reign of Herod had never come.

“We’re going to have pot roast,” she said. “And Meggie and I are making a cake for dessert. Why don’t you grab a quick shower and get yourself cleaned up?”

A shower was the last thing on his mind. He just wanted to go on hugging his kids until he truly believed they were there. He
did
need
to get his bearings, though. That was what Joan was suggesting he do. Step under a hot spray of water and get his head together.

He nodded, weary but happy. His stomach growled at the thought of pot roast. He’d barely eaten in days.

Suddenly, he was starving.

He handed her the jug of milk. “I’ll be right back, kids.”

“Cool,” said Nate.

“You have to take a shower now,” Megan commanded. “Stinky!”

He trudged upstairs and peeled off his work clothes.

He groaned with pleasure in the shower. He dozed under the downpour until the hot water started to run out. He gave himself a quick scrub and shave, all the while filled with wonder at what he’d seen. Still not quite believing it.

Afterward, he wiped the steam off the mirror and found a gaunt man looking back at him with hollow, sunken eyes.

But he was smiling.

He wanted a drink but knew he wouldn’t have one. He’d never drink again.

They ate their dinner at the kitchen table. Doug wolfed down everything in sight while the kids plowed into their own meals.

“I’ve never seen them eat like this,” Joan said.

Doug helped himself to another couple slices of pot roast, which he drowned in his wife’s homemade gravy. A dash of salt made it perfect.

“Can I take Major for a walk after we eat?” Nate said, his cheeks bulging.

“We’re staying in tonight,” Joan answered.

“I’ll take him out for a walk later,” said Doug.

“Awww.”

Doug studied their faces. “Do you kids remember anything about what happened to you?”

Joan’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.

Megan fidgeted. “I don’t know.”

“I woke up in the dark,” Nate said.

Doug and Joan stared at him.

“I remember everybody falling on the ground. Dad was carrying me away from the skating rink. I had a killer headache. Then there was this funny smell, and I went to sleep. I woke up, and everything was dark, and I was in a bag.”

“I woke up in the dark too!” cried Megan, wanting in on the attention Nate was now getting.

“I wasn’t scared, though,” Nate told them. “Even though I really hate feeling trapped. I just knew you were going to get me. After you brought us home, it was like being in a dream. I guess I was pretty sick or something.”

“Sick?” said Doug. “Son, you could guess you were
dead
.”

“
Doug
,” Joan scolded.

“Wow,” Nate said. “Was I really?”

“You weren’t here, and now you are. You and princess both.” Megan laughed as he poked her belly. “A real miracle.”

“I wasn’t here, and now I am?” Megan raised her hands and wagged her head. “
Whaaaaat?!
”

They all laughed at that. Joan told the kids she had something special planned for the evening.

In the living room, Christmas presents awaited.

“But it’s not Christmas yet, is it?” Nate asked.