Suffer the Children (34 page)

The address turned out to be a bar called the Shamrock. Twenty minutes later, he walked in and took a seat across from Russell at a dim corner booth.

The man pushed a pint of some dark beer across the table. “You drink, right?”

“Are you kidding?” Doug downed half of it in three long swallows. “Where’s the rest of your guys?”

“Chickened out. They’re giving up.”

“That’s them. That ain’t me.”

“Me neither, I guess.”

Doug emptied the glass and sighed. “More for us.”

“What did you bring?”

Doug told him about the Mossberg, which he’d left in the truck in its travel case. “Is that what you had in mind?”

“If it goes bang, it is.”

Russell had a simple way of looking at things. Doug liked that.

“What did you load it with?” the man asked.

“Three rounds of bird shot. I figure if you want me to point it at people, I should have something that’ll be less likely to actually kill somebody.”

“I thought you didn’t have a problem with taking somebody’s life. You were talking pretty big last time I saw you.”

Doug bristled. “I don’t have a problem doing what needs doing for me and mine.”

“Emphasis on
needs
, I suppose,” Russell said with a nod, and called out for another round. “I meant no offense. I just like to know who I’m working with.”

“What about you? I figured you for ex-military.”

“You figured that right.”

“You ever take a life?”

“A while back, when I was in Afghanistan. I was hoping I’d never have to do it again. But like you, I’ll do what needs doing.”

“You really think we’ll need the guns?” Doug asked.

“There’s only two of us this time. And the hospitals are probably wising up. We could have opposition. We’ll go in hard and fast.”

He nodded. Russell struck him as the kind of man who’d seen and done a lot in his time, including the dark things one does in war. He was in good hands with this man.

“How many mouths you got to feed back at home?” he asked.

“Three,” said Russell. “A pint stretches to about forty minutes. It’s never enough.”

“I got two at home. A pint gets us an hour. The time does fly.”

They sat in silence for a while, each in his own thoughts. Finally, Doug spoke. “Mine have been acting a little funny lately. Yours?”

Russell’s face darkened. “You could say that. Rabid is more like it.”

“We had to lock ours in their rooms today. They ripped the whole house apart.”

“My youngest bit a mouthful out of my wife’s leg yesterday afternoon. Ate it right in front of me.” The server set two foaming glasses on the table along with the bill. Russell picked up one of the glasses and drank, his mouth set in a hard line. “But they’re still my kids.”

Doug raised his glass. “That’s the way I see it.”

They finished their beers in silence, paid up, and walked out into the cold light of day. Doug went to his truck, Russell to his SUV. They traveled about a half hour along Highway 69, heading south toward Addison before catching Route 60 to Magnolia. The truck rattled the entire way. Doug lit a Winston and cranked the heat.

Russell led him to the parking lot of another bar on the outskirts of Magnolia. Doug parked his truck, hopped out with his gear, and climbed into the SUV feeling hopeful.

Neither man spoke for a while as they passed the flask back and forth to build up their courage. Doug decided to float an idea.

“If this doesn’t work, maybe we should just find somebody nobody will miss.”

“You do talk tough,” said Russell. He started his SUV and drove onto the road. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet.”

“Less risk, though. We don’t know what’s in that hospital. There could be cops.”

“You kill a man, you don’t get as much as you think. Once the heart stops beating, you need gravity to get it out. And it all starts clotting up fast.”

“We could fill the guy up with blood thinners. Coumadin or something.”

Russell snorted. “Good luck finding some at a pharmacy. We’d have to use aspirin. In any case, we’d still probably only get a few pints.” He glanced at Doug’s profile. “Could you do it?”

“If we take blood from the hospital, isn’t it the same thing?”

“The end result is the same, I guess. But it’s not quite the same as stringing a man up by his feet and cutting his throat over a bucket with a knife, now, is it?”

Doug grimaced. “I already did it to my dog.”

Russell blinked in surprise. “I can’t believe I never even thought of that. Did it work?”

“Nope,” said Doug.

Russell opened his mouth to say something but closed it after catching the pained expression on Doug’s face. A sign appeared on the right-hand side of the road: M
AGNOLIA
M
EMORIAL
C
OMMUNITY
C
ENTER
. Doug wiped his eyes as they pulled onto the grounds.

“It’s all one facility,” Russell was saying. “They don’t have a separate building for the blood bank here like they do back in Lansdowne.”

“Looks kind of small,” Doug said.

“It’s here, and so are we.”

He nodded. It was good enough. “What’s the plan?”

“We park behind the building and come in through the front showing our guns and moving fast. We go straight through to where they keep the blood, clean it out, and go out the back, where the car will be waiting.”

“Do you know where we’re going once we’re inside?”

“Sure I do. I studied the floor plan. Found it online.”

Doug pulled the shotgun out of its traveling case. “Let’s do this.”

Russell loaded his own gun. “Listen, bud. It sounds simple, but when we get in there, it’s going to seem like a blur. Just don’t lose your head. Keep your finger off the trigger.”

Doug pumped a round into the firing chamber with a metallic racking sound. He followed Russell toward the front of the building with the weapon held low against his leg to make it less visible.

Russell opened the door. Doug strode into the hospital lobby and swept the area with his shotgun. He didn’t see any security guards. Russell raised his own shotgun to a flurry of screams.

“Everybody get down on the floor!” Doug shouted.

The waiting area had eight people in it, and none was a threat. Russell was right; it was a blur except for details that leaped out at him. Ashen faces belonging to men and women staggering from blood loss. Cotton balls taped over inner arms.

“Down on the ground!”

Russell hadn’t told him about the rush he was now feeling.

The people cowered as he and Russell continued their rapid advance to the reception desk.

“Buzz us in,” Russell told one of the nurses.

The woman could only stare at him, her mouth hanging open. She shook her head.

Doug walked up to the nearest patient, a woman lying on the floor in a fetal ball, and pointed the shotgun at her.

“Buzz us in,” Russell repeated.

The doors glided open and welcomed them into a bright corridor.

Doug rushed through with his gun raised. People in scrubs and lab coats scrambled out of the way.

They jogged past a row of offices. The hall led to another set of doors. Doug remembered what Russell had told him about the layout. They were already halfway there.

They were going to get blood. Maybe only a few pints, but it would be enough. He’d show Joanie what kind of man he was. A man who saw things through. A man who provided.

He’d surprise her when he got back. He’d wake up Nate and
Megan, and they’d all bring her breakfast in bed. They’d go to the park and let the kids run free.

Russell screamed.

Doug turned and saw the soldier shudder and collapse to the floor. Two security guards were shouting at Doug to drop the gun.

Doug only had time for a single thought.

If I go to jail, Nate and Megan will never come back again.

And for a quick decision.

He swung his shotgun toward them.

Snap
.

Wires leaped out of the gun in one of the guards’ hands, hooked onto his shirt, and flooded his body with electric current.

It was like getting stabbed in the chest with a jackhammer.

Doug heard laughter. “You thought you’d take
our
blood, bro?”

He saw the swing of the billy club before the world went black.

40 days after Resurrection

David watched his wife draw blood from her patient, a young woman gripping her husband’s hand.

Nadine noticed him staring and smiled. He smiled back.

They lived together, worked together, but they were still miles apart. All they did was talk and think about the children. About Herod.

But they were together. They were on the same side. He had to admit that in many ways Herod had brought them closer than they’d been since Paul passed on.

Before Paul was born, they used to lie in bed drinking coffee on Sundays. David would read the paper while Nadine did the crossword
puzzle. They wouldn’t say a word for an hour at a time, but he’d always feel connected to her. When it was cold, she wore her oversized men’s pajamas. When it was hot, she wore nothing. Sometimes, he would just sit and watch her lying on her stomach, pencil in hand and her long black hair a tangle on her shoulders and back.

David now felt the same contentment but hoped that, given more time, they could do more than just share space. Nadine believed love had brought the children back from the dead. Was it so much to ask it to save his marriage?

He retreated to his office and started a pot of fresh water boiling on the propane stove. Basic medical resources were no longer available due to huge demand and erratic supply. Bags, anticoagulants, clean needles, saline. They used clear zip-lock bags to collect blood and boiled needles and tubing for reuse.

It would all be over soon. He just hoped he and Nadine would survive it.

The heat from the stove warmed the room. He changed the filter in the coffeemaker and poured in fresh water and coffee. The smell of brewing java filled the air.

The couple stumbled out of the examination room. They hugged Nadine. They were crying. After they’d gone, Nadine entered the office and stared at the stove’s blue flame. David poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

“Fewer people coming in,” he said. “We’re getting near the end.”

She regarded him. “The end of what, David?”

“The blood supply is collapsing. There isn’t enough to keep the children alive.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” she grated, as if his skepticism were the sole reason her predictions weren’t coming to pass. “Something wonderful is going to happen.”

“Wonderful?” He stared at her in amazement. “Nadine, you do realize that they’re going to eliminate the middleman and start taking it from each other, right?”

“It won’t get that—”

“And us,” he reflected, “if we’re not careful.”

She walked into his arms and rested her head against his chest. He forgot his anger.

“I love you, Nadine.”

She said, “I’m still trying to decide to whom I’m going to give mine.”

“Your blood?”

“Yes. Have you thought about it?”

“I wasn’t planning on giving any,” he told her. “I don’t really see the point.”

“Life is the point.”

“We’ve done our part. Haven’t we done enough for them?”

“We must give everything. God demands a blood sacrifice. He won’t lift the curse until everyone has given every bit they can. If this is the end, now it’s our turn.”

He stroked her hair. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course. Otherwise, Paul died for nothing.”

If he wanted to keep her, he had to accept that basic premise. In her mind, Paul died so Nadine could do this great work. If the work was futile, if it was all for nothing, then Paul’s death was meaningless.

“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll give a unit if that’s what you want.”

“Kimberly. My friend Caroline’s daughter. We’ll give it to her.”

“I’ll do it for you. Because you want me to do it.”

Nadine pulled away and touched his face. “You still don’t believe we’re meant to do this.”

“No. I wish I did. But I don’t. I tried.”

“Have faith. All of this is meant to be.”

It was a strange feeling to be in love with a crazy person. Wasn’t that what one called somebody motivated by delusion?

It’s all a big charade, Nadine. The human race is inching toward genocide. Genocide and ultimately suicide. That’s the cause we’re serving. And if there’s a higher power directing all these events, his name is Herod.

But he didn’t say that. If he did, he might lose her. Nadine was
as invested in continuing the insanity as the parents, and David was invested in her. They were all in this together. To the bitter end, apparently.

Perhaps he was crazy too, by his own definition.

“Meant to be,” he echoed. “I hope you’re right.”

And if she was wrong, it didn’t matter. Even if the parents let the children go, the human race was finished anyway if they couldn’t destroy Herod. Perhaps killing and dying for love was better than dying of old age, without any hope for the future of the race.

“I’m just glad we’re doing this together,” he added.

The phone rang in his office.

“You get that,” said Nadine. “I need to go out to buy a few things.”

“Be careful out there, okay?”

She offered him a weak smile and patted his cheek. “I’ll be all right, darling.”

David stepped into his office and picked up the phone on his desk. “David Harris.”

“David, it’s Ben.”

He sat in his chair. “How are you?”

“The great thing about being out of breath all the time is you don’t have to do small talk.”

“Given your condition, it’s hardly small talk. I also happen to care.”

“My CDC contact told me Herod is changing. Or rather its victims are. Interested?”

“I’m listening,” said David.

“Herod reanimates the body and reboots the mind, which draws upon information stored in body tissues to re-create the individual . . .”

David already knew this background. Everything that made people who they were—emotions, moods, memories, personality—lived in body chemicals stored in cells, the smallest unit of the body. Ultimately, there was no “mind over matter” because mind
was
matter. Memories, for example, were stored in certain cells in the hippocampus region of the brain.