Suffer the Children (29 page)

And it didn’t even work. Nate drank some of the blood and choked it back up. Major’s sacrifice had been for nothing. Doug had killed his friend for nothing.

Standing in his garage watching the blood—almost black in the fluorescent light—drain into the bucket, Doug had crossed over into a very dark place.

With that came an epiphany. He would do whatever it took to keep Nate and Megan alive. Even if their survival meant other people died.

“Everybody ready?” said Russell.

Doug and the other men nodded. It was a simple plan. After Doug got them past the locked doors, they’d walk straight back and grab the blood. Then they’d exit through Shipping and Receiving. Carl would be waiting outside in the Range Rover.

They marched to the front door. Doug led the way inside. Russell and Howard walked up to the receptionist and said they wanted to donate blood. Doug pointed at the door.

“I’m back from my smoke.”

The receptionist looked like she’d given a lot of blood. She barely even glanced at him as she buzzed him in. He entered a bright corridor as the others retreated to chairs in the reception area to fill out medical forms.

He waited. Moments later, a short knock. He opened the door and let them in.

“Administration’s on the left,” said Russell. “Canteen’s on the right. The next area ahead is the donor area. Collections is on the right, Quality Assurance on the left. After that, the lab. That’s where they store the blood.”

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Doug muttered. He wished he could take one more snort on his flask. His mouth felt dry as cotton.

Howard unzipped the duffel bag and offered them a choice of weapons. Doug took the crowbar. He grunted at the weight of it in his hand. Just a tap on the head with this thing could bring a man to his knees. He wasn’t nervous anymore. He felt powerful.

He marched ahead. A grinning man in glasses and a blinding white doctor’s coat appeared at the end of the hall as he approached.

“Donors!” he said. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Welcome!”

“We were told to go straight back to the lab,” said Russell.

“Who told you that?” The doctor saw the terrible grin on Doug’s face. “No. Please. Wait—”

Doug grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him down the hall. Medical people stepped out of their offices and then dodged out of the way with shrieks and shouts of alarm.

“Please don’t do this,” the man pleaded.

“Take it easy on him,” said Howard.

“Shut up,” Doug told both of them.

He shoved the doctor headlong into the laboratory. The four technicians working there looked up like startled deer. Doug showed them the crowbar.

“We’re here for a donation,” he said.

Russell took charge. “We want whatever blood you have in storage. And then we’ll leave. Do this, and nobody will get hurt.”

“Don’t do this!” said one of the technicians. “People need what little we have left.”

“Shut the hell up and cooperate, or I’m going to beat every single one of you with this crowbar until there’s nothing left,” said Doug.

They looked into his eyes and believed him. Which was good, because he’d meant every word. One of them pointed to the refrigerators.

“It’s in there,” she said.

Howard crossed the room and opened the refrigerator door. “Problem!”

Doug grabbed the doctor by the back of his neck and shoved him toward the cold storage. He looked inside for himself. The refrigerator was almost empty. “Where is it?” he snarled.

“What do you mean, ‘where is it’? The hospital used it!”

Russell said, “I know for a fact this bank always has at least three hundred units on hand.”

“Hardly anyone donates anymore because of the children. Thirteen units is all we have left.”

“Not enough,” said Doug.

“Then leave it,” the doctor said. “We can save four people’s lives with that blood.”

“If I don’t take it, my kids die. Understand?”

“And I’m talking about the deaths of four people who could live long, normal lives—”

Doug slapped the back of the man’s head. “You want to make it five?”

“No,” the doctor said in a quiet voice.

“You want me to take
your
blood?”

The man cringed. “Jesus. No. Fine. Just take what you want and go.”

“Leave us alone,” a technician said. “We’re cooperating with you.”

“Now we’re communicating,” said Doug. He leaned in close to the doctor and added quietly, “You think my kids don’t deserve to live, doc? Is that it?”

The doctor bowed his head. “Of course I don’t think that.”

“Then I ain’t got a choice, now, do I?”

“I’ve got it!” Howard called out. He held up the duffel bag.

“Let’s move,” Russell told them.

The men ran out the back. Doug followed at his own pace. He felt superhuman. It had all been so easy, taking what he needed. Outside, the cold air dried the sweat on his face. No sirens yet. He climbed into the backseat of the Range Rover and lit a cigarette, flush with excitement.

He took a long draw. After a million smokes, it was the best he’d ever had.

Carl glared at the cigarette. “Hey, do you mind?”

Doug smiled back at him.

“We’d better get going,” said Howard. He was shaking from stress.

“Here’s your share,” Russell said. He handed four pouches of thick red blood to Doug. “You earned it.”

Doug exhaled a stream of smoke and studied one of the blood bags. It felt cold in his hands. The label read, Rx ONLY, VOLUNTEER, AB, Rh POSITIVE, RED BLOOD CELLS, ADENINE-SALINE (AS-1) ADDED, FROM 450 mL WHOLE BLOOD, STORE AT 1–6°C.

None of these esoteric terms and numbers meant a thing to him. The only number that mattered was four. Four hours of life for Nate and Megan. A far cry from the hundred pints he thought he’d be getting, but four more than he’d had this morning.

Blood was wealth these days. He felt rich for the first time in his life.

He felt
right
. He’d taken a stand for what was his. He’d finally really
done
something.

“Why does he get the extra one?” said Carl.

“Because we couldn’t have done this without him,” Russell replied.

“Pleasure doing business with you folks,” Doug said.

“Likewise,” muttered Howard, who looked anything but pleased.

They drove to Doug’s truck. Doug opened the door.

“I’ll keep the crowbar, if you don’t mind.”

“You can have it,” Carl said. “Just get the hell out of my car. I think you’re crazy.”

Doug laughed as he got out. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Hang on then,” Russell said. He took out a pen and scribbled onto an old receipt from his wallet. He handed it to Doug. “Call me, all right?”

Doug took it and nodded. He’d like that. He’d like that a lot.

36 days after Resurrection

The world was slowly bleeding to death one pint at a time, but people still needed to brush their teeth and do their laundry and get their shopping done. Joan was no exception. She pushed her cart down the aisle at the supermarket in a mental fog.

Time’s passage had a funny way of distorting the past. It had only been about a month, but as far as she was concerned, her children had always been dead. They’d always been dead, and she’d always lived her life in an endless confusing blur imposed by grief and severe blood loss.

Only when she watched home videos did she remember the way things used to be. Only when she dreamed. Only when her children woke up for that precious hour that flew by so fast. That’s when Joan, like her kids, returned to life. Only to watch them die again. Every time, it tore a new hole in her chest, and she died with them.

She’d given three pints of blood. Nadine had refused to take any more. She’d replaced Joan’s blood volume with saline to ensure good circulation, but Joan’s body had to replace the red blood cells themselves, and that would take months. She’d never known how important those little buggers were until she didn’t have them. She was irritable and short of breath all the time. She had trouble thinking straight. Her tongue was sore, her nails brittle. She felt close to passing out every time she stood up.

It didn’t help that she occasionally cut herself to draw a little more. Always a little more. A teaspoon here, a tablespoon there.

Other women trudged down the aisles, studying what was left on the shelves with blank stares.
We’re all zombies now
, Joan thought, though she felt no real kinship with them. A woman was looking at an empty shelf with hollow eyes, as if expecting what she wanted to suddenly materialize. In the time before, one might have mistaken her for a bag lady. But this was her friend Coral. Joan turned away and pretended to be interested in the slim selection of instant coffee.

A month ago, she’d known everybody who lived in her neighborhood, attended her church, or had anything to do with her children’s education or social life. All these relationships had deteriorated into nothing. Everybody had retreated into themselves. The only social unit that mattered now was family. Cut off, each to his or her own.

That was human nature. When there was enough to go around, people were all too happy to help others in need. When there wasn’t, they kicked each other when they were down.

It was a time for kicking, and she had no wish to be kicked.

Best, in fact, not to be noticed at all.

The deli had no ham, so she bought a half pound of bologna and American cheese and dropped the packages into her cart. The anxious teenager working behind the counter eyed her as if she were a crazy person who might get violent at the slightest provocation. She wondered why she even bothered to continue shopping for the kids, whom Doug had laid out in the garage, wrapped in plastic like leftovers.

She already knew the answer. If she didn’t shop for them, she wouldn’t shop at all.

The deli sold kosher meat, according to a sign. To make meat kosher, it was soaked in water and covered in salt to extract the blood. Observant Jews ate it that way because God forbade the drinking of blood. Joan had discovered this while reading the Bible for guidance.

What she’d found wasn’t very comforting:

And if any native Israelite or foreigner living among you eats or
drinks blood in any form, I will turn against that person and cut him off from the community of your people, for the life of the body is in the blood.

It was right there in Leviticus. Instead, God commanded blood be poured over the altar for the atonement of sin. In other words, blood was for sacrifice to God.

The life of the body is in the blood.

“Here you go,” said the teenager.

Joan made sure she thanked him.

She maneuvered the cart away from the deli and toward the meat section. She saw some chicken legs and wanted to buy them, but just the idea of having to cook them exhausted her.

A smiling lady walked down the aisle, trailed by a crowd of women. A little girl sat in her cart. The woman called her Jackie. Jackie sang along to “Lucky Star,” one of the eighties songs that passed for Muzak in stores these days; her mom laughed.

In the time before, Joan would have smiled. Now she glared with open resentment.

The woman’s sleeve was rolled up to reveal a ball of cotton taped over her inner arm. Everybody displayed them these days as a badge of honor.
Look, I gave.
But in her case, it was just fashion. She was a faker. You could see it in her eyes, her face, her body, her clothes.

Her eyes were bright and alert; the whites hadn’t turned bluish. Her lips and cheeks were pink from healthy circulation, not from garish makeup. She walked erect and breathed easy and deep; she didn’t pant like a dog after a long run. She still cared about her appearance; she’d taken time that morning to style her hair and put on nice clothes.

But the real proof was in the fact that she took her little girl shopping. Nobody wasted precious medicine taking their kids with them to run errands. Blood time was family time.

In short, this woman had never given a drop. She paid others for blood to feed her little girl. And here she was flaunting it like some kind of celebrity.

“Who do you think you are?”

Joan blanched, wondering if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

One of the women who’d been following now broke away from the group and stepped in front of the rich woman. Another mother who looked like a bag lady. Reduced to skin and bone, with bluish lips and eyes.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. You’ve got enough medicine to take your little girl shopping?”

“Excuse me?”

“Even a hundred fifty mils would bring Alice back for a half hour. I haven’t seen her in a week.”

Jackie’s mom frowned. She looked at the other women staring at her and blinked in sudden fear. “I don’t have any to spare. I’m sorry.”

“Alice’s skin is turning green and black. Like marble. Her gut is swelling. The blisters—”

The woman covered Jackie’s ears.
“Please.”

“Alice is going to
die
if I don’t get more. Do you understand?”

“You look like a really nice person,” one of the other women said. “If you have any extra you could give us, we would take anything.”

“And I told you I don’t have any to give.”

“Please, you’re a mother too. You have to share.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I don’t even know you.”

“You’re not better than us!” The skinny woman pointed at the girl. “She’s not better than Alice!”

Jackie’s mom reached for her purse. “I’m calling the police.”

“What else do you have in that bag?”

Alice’s mom reached for the purse only to have her hand slapped away. She snarled and swiped at the other woman’s face, her hands splayed into claws.

Jackie’s mom shoved her. The woman fell back against shelving filled with condiments and toppled to the floor. Bottles of ketchup and mustard bounced and shattered around her. The other women cowered at the violence.

Jackie’s mom looked even more terrified. “Jesus. I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

The other woman sat on the floor crying. “Alice . . .”