Suffer the Children (37 page)

Sure enough, he’d been found.

Doug squinted at them. They were eight- or nine-year-old boys wearing identical blue coats. At this distance, they looked so alike they could have been twins. A blond-haired girl dressed in a pink snowsuit skipped out of a nearby house and joined them.

One waved, and he waved back, nerves tingling. He kept an eye out for the parents. The way Doug figured it, the people who cared for these kids quite possibly had systematically cleared out the entire community. Whoever they were, they obviously had no reservations about doing what needed doing. He had to get out of there fast before they did it to him.

The children started walking then, following in his steps.

Doug passed the house with its mangled tree and paused at the bottom of the hill. The forest ahead stretched to the top of the rise. It’d be hell to climb but necessary; on the other side was home.

He stopped after a short distance and looked behind him. He glimpsed color through the trees. A blue coat, a red hat. The children sang as they followed his tracks.

Where are the parents?

A classic trap. The children create a distraction; then the parents take him. He scanned the woods, looking for signs of ambush, but saw nothing. The only sound was the snow rustling as the children worked their way up the hill.

He started moving again.

A boy’s falsetto voice: “Hey, mister!”

He ignored it.

“Hey, mister! Hey, you up there!”

Doug leaned against a tree and sucked oxygen in gasps. His heart drummed against his ribs. His legs trembled.

“Our friend got hurt. Can you help us?”

“Go away,” he growled, resuming his upward march.

“Come
on
! He’s hurt really bad!”

He saved his breath. He was almost at the top.

“Aw! Please! All the grown-ups
left
. We’re all
alone
.”

None of it made any sense, until it did.

Megan biting down on Joan’s arm. Joan’s face as she howled in pain.

Megan’s bloody teeth after he pulled her off laughing.

“Hey, mister!”

He groaned with the effort of trying to move faster. The sound sent the children into peals of playful laughter. Reaching the hilltop and standing on the rise, he found the bar right where he thought it was, its parking lot almost full even though it was barely lunchtime.

He’d never make it.

Behind him, the children were rapidly closing in. Branches thrashed and cracked. Doug gripped the broomstick in his hands, his only protection.

They were just kids.

But kids drank blood these days, and he barely had enough energy to stand.

“I know what you want,” he said.

He reached into the pocket of his EMT jacket, where he’d put one of the blood bags. His hand came away wet.

“Fuck,” he sobbed.

The bag hadn’t closed properly. Most of its contents had leaked out. Blood dripped from his fingers onto the snow.

The kids stopped. Grew quiet. Sniffed the air.

He saw a flash of steel. A knife.

They
growled
.

He pulled out the other bag. It was full. He threw it toward the children and ran down the hill as fast as his oxygen-starved body would allow.

At the bottom, he spun, ready to fight, but saw only trees.

If he’d had the energy or breath, he would have laughed. He’d never thought he would ever have to run in terror from a bunch of kids his son’s age.

Two pints of blood, gone just like that. He’d just lost two hours with his children. Two hours of
life
.
Memories.
It was like winning the lottery and losing the ticket.

The road was empty. He crossed over, followed it for another two hundred yards, and shuffled into the bar parking lot, still angry at himself.

At least I’m alive
, he thought.

His luck held. His truck was right where he’d left it, thank God.

A man’s voice: “Hey, buddy!”

Doug turned as three men walked up to him. “I didn’t do anything,” he croaked. He felt for the keys in his pocket.

They glanced at each other. “Didn’t say you did,” one answered.

“I was just leaving.”

“Jesus, Lloyd,” said another. “Look at his face. Somebody messed him up good.”

Doug backed away. “I’m okay.”

“Buddy, you need some help.”

He gripped the broomstick. “Stay away from me.”

“Take it easy. You’re a dad, right?”

Doug said nothing.

“I could tell. So are we. We’re all in this together, right? All in the same boat? What’s your name?”

Doug didn’t answer.

“You from around here? You’re not from around here, are you?”

He threw the stick at the men and lurched to his truck on stiff legs. He climbed in and slammed the door.

A bearded face appeared at his window. “What’s wrong with you? We’re just trying to help!”

He fumbled with his keys. The engine turned over but wouldn’t start.

Jesus, Mary, and God—

The truck roared to life. Doug revved the engine and threw the transmission into gear.

A fist thudded against the window next to his face. “Why won’t you let us help?”

The men ringed him with their hungry eyes.

Lloyd stepped in front of the truck with a smile. “You’re not thinking straight, buddy.” His smile widened. “We’re going to help you.”

Doug smiled back.

The truck bolted forward. The bumper thumped into the man’s body, the momentum trapping him against the radiator. The man clawed, screaming, at the hood. The truck built speed.

He slammed on the brakes. Lloyd flew away and crashed against the windshield of a parked car.

Doug cranked the wheel and sped across the parking lot. The truck roared onto the road in a cloud of exhaust.

He watched his rearview until the bar dropped out of sight. He was shaking. His head throbbed. He’d just seriously hurt a man. Maybe even killed him.

“You didn’t give me any choice,” he said.

The road behind him remained empty all the way back to Highway 69, where he began to breathe a little easier. He laughed, but it was forced and didn’t last long.

Safe.
For now, at least.

I’m alive
.
I’m alive.

Fuck you all. I’m alive.

41 days after Resurrection

David felt like he was floating. Somebody wheezed next to him. He turned his head and looked at the man wasting away in the bed next to his. The man’s face was the color of ash. He stared at the nearest TV with a blank smile.

In less than a week, David knew, he would look just like him.

Dr. Smiley had already taken a pint from him last night and was working on another this morning, replacing the volume with saline solution. Gravity brought saline, basic nutrition, and a barbiturate into his body from one bag, and took blood out of his body with another.

The steady introduction of saline into his body replaced the lost blood plasma volume and ensured adequate circulation. Dr. Smiley was heating the saline before giving it to the prisoners to reduce risk of hypothermia.

The average person could safely donate a pint of whole blood every fifty-six days. Platelets could be taken every two weeks. Plasma every forty-eight hours. If a man remained very still, half or even more of his blood could be drawn if the lost volume were replaced. People had been known to survive with blood containing just a third of its original amount of hemoglobin. They survived, but only barely, turned into drained husks.

David knew he’d be bled until he died or was near death. There was no real parole. It was a convenient lie the cops told to the inmates and themselves. Eventually, his systems would crash, and the cops would put him on a bus for Detroit with a smile on his face. He’d curl up in a ball on one of the seats and die.

He heard the steady hiss of breath beneath the grating Muzak. Dozens of men were being farmed, all of them criminals or homeless. Many had nobody who missed them in the outside world. None had connections with people who could get them out. They were considered easy to dehumanize. One could justify doing all sorts of evil things to them. After all, it wasn’t like the cops were draining and murdering soccer moms. Or doctors.

David wondered what Nadine was doing now. Pulling blood from some asshole’s arm, most likely. The great cause would go on even after he was dead. Had Dr. Smiley called her as David asked? Had she called the police? Were there any cops who weren’t in on this and could help her find him? Even now, against all reason, he clung to hope of rescue.

It pained him to think that she’d carry on in her hopeless mission
alone. It was more than just delusion that brought her to work every day; she had a good heart. It was one of the reasons he’d married her and one of the things that had made her such a wonderful mother. He wished he were there to protect her from what was coming. If the police were farming people for blood, things were even worse than he thought.

Missing her, he cried.

He had one last chance to help himself. Soon it would be too late. They were keeping him drugged, and every day they took a little more blood. He would grow steadily weaker and more disoriented. If he was ever going to escape from this place, he had to try soon.

Dr. Smiley was making his rounds. David watched the doctor with the bloody lab coat perform his duties with meticulous precision. Unmasked orderlies—hard men with prison tattoos, likely recruits from the jails—walked the aisles, changing bedpans. The overweight cop who’d taken an interest in David yesterday had returned and now sat at his desk with the reading light on, the snout of his mask buried in a magazine.

His main hope was the doctor. He’d appeal to the man as a fellow physician. Remind him of the Hippocratic Oath. Moved by this plea, Dr. Smiley would undo his restraints. When the cop behind the desk left the room for a toilet break, David would sneak out and go home.

The drug helped him believe this was possible. He fantasized it several times, and each time, it appeared even more possible.

He turned his head. The cop had lowered his magazine and was staring at him. David turned away to feign interest in the nearest TV.

He watched it, too afraid to move, until the images blurred.

“David.”

Nadine?

“Nadine!” he cried.

“Be quiet,” Dr. Smiley hissed.

The pig face leered down at him. He turned. The cop had left his station and wasn’t in the room.

Now was his chance.

“My name is David. Tell me your first name. Please.”

The doctor hesitated. “It’s Jeremy.”

“I don’t belong in here, Jeremy.”

“I know.”

“So get me out.”

Jeremy patted his shoulder. “Don’t make this difficult.”

“Help me. Please.”

“We only have a minute before he comes back. I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable—”

“You know I don’t belong in here.”

“I’m sorry, David. I really am—”

“Loosen one of these straps. Free my arms. I’ll do the rest.”

The doctor turned toward one of the exits. “He’s going to be back soon.”

David reached and gripped the man’s wrist. “Help me, Jeremy.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

David stared at him. “You mean you won’t.”

If he escaped, the cops might blame it on Jeremy, who would stop being a business partner and instead be treated like one of the criminals. Just as bad, if David escaped, he might bring other police here to bust up the operation, and Jeremy would lose the source of blood he needed to feed his own children.

The doctor peeled David’s hand from his wrist. “I
can’t
.”

“You’re a coward.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“I’m going to die if you don’t help me.”

Jeremy clapped his hands over his ears. “Stop saying that!”

“I’m begging you!”

“Stop it!”

The doctor bolted. David cried at the ceiling. “Call my wife! Tell her I love her!”

A soft moan passed like a wave through the other prisoners.

He heard heavy footsteps. The big cop plodded toward him. Weapons and gear jingled on his belt.

The cop stopped at David’s bed and looked down at him.

“I’m Officer Smiley. Remember me?”

David groaned in fear. “I’m cooperating.”

A grim orderly appeared on either side of the bed.

“Get him on his feet,” the cop ordered.

The men nodded and went to work removing David’s tubes and restraints.

“What are you doing?” David said. “Please don’t do this.”

The cop unhooked the cattle prod from his belt. “I think we need to have a private chat, Dr. Harris.”

“I’ll behave,” David said. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Bring him to Room Five A.”

The orderlies hauled David to his feet and pulled him toward the exit.

Jeremy was right. I should never have told the cop my name. He made a call to his cop buddies, who recognized my name from the autopsy reports.

They were going to kill him for it. A bullet in the head. A flash of light, and then oblivion.

He couldn’t resist them; he could barely stand without the men supporting him.

Instead, he pissed down his leg.

“Jesus,” one of the orderlies said, while the other snickered.

They marched him down the corridor and into one of the classrooms. The orderlies released him there and returned to the gym as Officer Smiley pushed him toward the middle of the room. David fell to his knees and cowered in the dark.

Retreating into his mind, he saw Nadine lying in a hospital bed, beaming a radiant smile at him as she held their infant son in her arms. At the time, David had just finished his residency and was starting his practice. He wasn’t sure he could handle helping Nadine care for a child. He wasn’t sure he’d be a good father at all. The second he laid eyes on Paul, though, he fell deeply in love. He realized, from that moment on, he would do anything for his son. He understood these cops more than they ever might have guessed.