Suffer the Children Read online

  “Suffer the Children takes the reader through some of the darkest possible territories. Craig DiLouie weaves dark magic. . . .”

  —Jonathan Maberry

  “Terrifying. . . . A stark, brutal, and chilling vision of the end of days.”

  —David Moody, author of Autumn and Hater

  “The most disturbing book I’ve ever read. Suffer the Children unnerves you more and more as you come to realize how much of it is true.”

  —Peter Clines, author of Ex-Purgatory

  “I don’t believe I have ever been so freaked out by a story. Suffer the Children truly demonstrates in a wicked and frightening way how far a parent will really go for their child. It is honest and hits a chord with anyone who is a parent.”

  —Jackie Druga, author of The Flu and Then Came War

  “A relentless burn of a novel, a compelling tale of hunger and desperation, recalling P. D. James’s The Children of Men but injecting that tragic apocalypse with a mad thirst for blood.”

  —Jason Bovberg, author of Under the Skin and The Naked Dame

  “Suffer the Children grabs you by the gut early in the book and doesn’t let go until the final page.”

  —Scott M. Baker, author of Rotter World

  “Every parent’s worst fear is just the first round of terror in Suffer the Children, a book that grabs you by the throat and won’t let you go. Craig DiLouie weaves a remarkable tapestry of raw emotion, loss, and guilt, then soaks it with terror. Suffer the Children is one horrifying ride.”

  —Stephen Knight, author of The Gathering Dead and Earthfall

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  The good mother knows what her children will eat.

  —AKAN PROVERB

  I

  We All Fall Down

  ONE

  Joan

  23 hours before Herod Event

  The children were driving Joan Cooper bananas.

  One meltdown, two spills, three time-outs, and counting.

  Ninety-seven minutes until her home-based day care closed for the weekend and she’d have just her own kids to manage.

  Megan assumed a commanding pose. “You have to share!”

  “But this one is mine,” whined Josh.

  Joan had just set a box filled with reject plastic-lens eyeglasses, a donation from a local LensCrafters, on the floor for the kids to play with. Dillon and Danielle put on oversized black frames and made faces at each other. The room filled with hysterical laughter.

  Then Josh snatched the green pair. Megan wanted them.

  “Be nice to people!” the girl shouted, hands on hips. Joan thought the gesture seemed familiar. Her four-year-old daughter, she realized, was imitating her own style of scolding.

  Josh was close to tears from her nagging. “I want to wear it.”

  “Megan, wait your turn,” Joan said, using the warning voice.

  “But I had it first.”

  Joan picked the funniest pair out of the box—big and red and round—and put them on. “So how do I look?” She held out her hand to shake. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Mommy.”

  Megan laughed. Then Josh ruined it.

  “My glasses,” he said, walking away in a huff.

  Megan stared at her mother in a mute appeal for justice. Her chin wobbled. In a moment, she would wail full throttle, and Joan would scoop her up and let her cry it out into her shoulder. Half the time, Joan walked around with dried snot on her shirt.

  “Here, Megan, you can play with these until Josh is done,” she said. She took off the red glasses and waved them. “Play nice for the next half hour, and I’ll give everybody a piece of gum.”

  “Gum!” Megan crowed.

  The other children eyed Joan. They wanted in on the action.

  She repeated her offer, and the kids all cheered. “Half an hour, though,” she repeated. “Playing nice.”

  “Me too, right, Joanie?” said Josh, who had dietary restrictions.

  “That’s right, buddy.”

  “I love Dubble Bubble,” Megan announced. “It’s my favorite!”

  Joan smiled. Where discipline and distraction failed, bribery won out every time. It was her last resort, the Alamo of parenting.

  She’d launched her day care three months ago, inspired by an article that said stay-at-home moms didn’t count in the gross national product because they didn’t get paid. Sell some cigarettes and pesticides, that counted. Chop down a rain forest, bully for you too. Raise two kids in a loving home 24/7 and watch them grow up one day at a time, though? It didn’t count one bit.

  It pissed her off. Joan had never thought of doing anything else but what she did. It wasn’t about finances or lack of child-care options. She had always wanted to be a mom and housewife. She’d grown up with a mother who’d poured all she had into parenting. She’d wanted the same fulfillment, the same sense of satisfaction. It sure as hell had value.

  Her eight-year-old, Nate, attended school all day, leaving her with Megan. She’d figured, why not watch over a few more kids and get paid to do it?

  Only it had turned out to be a hell of a lot more work than she’d anticipated. After three months, Joan was still learning the ropes.

  And her dreams of how they were going to spend the money were turning out to be just that—dreams. No sooner did she get paid than the money bled away on all the little things—hockey equipment for Nate, a new outfit for Megan, dinners out at Denny’s.

  Her friends asked her how she could handle four children every day. The simple answer was she had no choice; she’d signed up for it and wasn’t about to back out now. She also loved it, though she often was too busy to realize this fact.

  The front door flew open. Joan felt a gust of cold air. Nate trudged into the house, stomping snow off his boots.

  “Home again, home again, jiggety-jig,” he said, and roared, “Mom!”

  “I’m right heee-re,” Joan sang.

  He shrugged his jacket onto the floor. “I’m hungry, Mom.”

  “We’ll be eating supper as soon as your father gets home.”

  Nate sat on the floor and pulled off his boots. “But I’m really hungry now.”

  “Mommy said I could have Dubble Bubble if I’m good,” Megan bragged.

  Nate stopped and looked at his mom hopefully. “Can I have some gum?”

  “You can have a peanut butter sandwich,” Joan told him.

  “Awww.”

  She eyed the playing kids like an engineer looking for cracks in a dam and judged it safe to leave them alone for a few minutes. Dillon was playing near the Christmas tree, but not near enough for worry. Megan and Josh were sharing the green glasses. They were laughing. For the moment, all was right with the world.

  Outside the big picture windows, her small suburban corner of Lansdowne, Michigan, white with snow, was already dimming to gray. Soon, the windows would be black with night and she’d feel closed in. Damn, another day gone in a blur. One thing at a time, she reminded herself. She made a mental note to plug in the tree.

  “Come on, Mom,” Nate called as he headed into the kitchen. He’d taken off his winter hat and put on his favorite, a Little League cap emblazoned with its Giants team logo.

  Joan sighed as she followed. The drawings the kids made that morning still cluttered the kitchen table. It was easy to spot Josh’s. He was into monsters now. A giant black thing devoured a burning city skyline one building at a time. The Wiggles p
layed in the background on the CD player, a song she’d heard countless times and knew by heart. She spread some peanut butter on a slice of bread and poured a glass of milk.

  Nate crammed the sandwich into his mouth and said, “No school tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, thank God it’s Friday,” Joan said. She glanced at his hat, considering another battle to get him to take it off inside the house. He caught her looking and pulled it lower over his eyes.

  “Are we still going skating tomorrow?” he asked.

  “We’re going to Sandy’s birthday party at the park.” She noticed the unread newspaper on the counter as she put the bread away. The thrilling world of Spy Master called to her from the movie listings. It was coming out this weekend. She needed a break. If she could talk Doug into taking over with the kids for the party, she’d sneak away for a matinee showing with her friend Coral.

  “Yeah, but it’s a skating party, Mom.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  Her daughter’s voice: “Mommy! Mommy, come quick!”

  Joan raced into the living room. “What? What?”

  The kids looked at her with wide, watery eyes and pointed at the Christmas tree. She’d been ready to give up this year and get a fake, but Doug had insisted on a real one with all the trimmings. He’d had it rough growing up and always wanted his kids to have everything. It looked majestic and prosperous, heavy with ornaments and garland. All it needed were presents. Once plugged in, the house would feel warm and cheerful, like the holidays.

  Josh lay on the floor under its branches, writhing and clutching his stomach.

  Ramona

  23 hours before Herod Event

  Ramona Fox was terrified.

  The man she intended to terminate this afternoon had just entered her office. Tall, handsome, and dressed in a well-tailored gray suit, Ross Kelley looked like a CEO, though all he really did was handle employee insurance.

  As an HR manager, Ramona knew how to handle a termination. One small problem: She’d never actually fired anybody.

  She’d sat in on enough terminations to learn firsthand it was a confrontation, and she hated confrontation at work. The superstore chain’s employees generally bought into the perception that she was on their side, which allowed her to mediate their conflicts with the company.

  This time was different. Ross worked directly for her, and today would be his last day with the company.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Ramona said, her mouth dry. “Close the door and have a seat, please.”

  She considered her inability to bring him around a failure on her part, but he’d simply given up. Ross was a great guy, but most days, he just stared at his computer and did the bare minimum. It was typical behavior among people who knew they were facing termination—they drew a check for as long as they could while doing as little as possible.

  The only reason he lasted as long as he did is because you have a little crush on him, she thought, then scolded herself. That wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was personal.

  For the entire week, Ramona had mentally prepared for this meeting. She’d spent a lot of time this morning fussing over how she looked and put on her blue suit for the occasion. More nervous than if it were a date, she wanted everything to be perfect.

  Ross sat in the chair across from her wearing a curious smile. Ramona’s heart pounded so hard she wondered if he could hear it.

  Get right to it, she told herself. You know the saying: Hire slow, fire fast.

  “I’m sorry, Ross, but this isn’t working out. The company is letting you go.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Really? Why?”

  She paused, pleased with the way she’d broken the ice. Her tone sounded strong but neutral. She felt poised and confident. The meeting was off to the right start.

  “The company values—”

  Her cell phone rang.

  Only a few people had this number, including Joan Cooper, and Joan wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency. Oh God. Josh.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ramona said, her face reddening. “I, um, have to take this.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Ramona politely raised a hand to Ross and turned her chair away from him for privacy.

  “Ramona Fox,” she said.

  “Ramona, it’s Joan Cooper. I wanted to let you know Josh is pretty sick right now.”

  “His stomach?”

  “Yes, it’s as if—”

  “Is he in pain?”

  “Yes, but it’s—”

  “I’ll be right there,” Ramona said, and terminated the call.

  Minutes later, she hurried across the frozen parking lot to her car. She barely remembered what she’d said before grabbing her bag and rushing out the door.

  Sorry, you’re fired, gotta run.

  Very sensitive. You’re a model HR professional.

  “Lay off me,” she said aloud to clear her head.

  Ramona raced her Toyota to Joan’s house and parked out front. The sidewalk and driveway were neatly shoveled. Joan kept a clean and orderly home. It was one of the things that had convinced Ramona she could trust Josh to Joan’s care. He’d had acid reflux as a baby—he’d refused to eat, and this spiraled into a series of allergies, digestive issues, and food aversions. One of his biggest problems was gluten intolerance. When he ate anything made with wheat, his immune system reacted violently, damaging his small intestine and preventing it from absorbing nutrition from food. It also gave him the runs and one hell of a gut ache.

  Josh had eaten something today he shouldn’t have, Ramona was sure of it. Something she’d explicitly told Joan he shouldn’t eat. She practically ran to the front door, seeing red.

  When it came to her son, Ramona had no problem with confrontation.

  A worried Joan opened the door. Ramona was struck again by the contrast between them. While she herself was tall and thin and pale with long red hair, Joan was big and curvy, dressed in jeans and a blue and gray Lions sweatshirt. Her cheeks were flushed from chasing kids around all day.

  “He’s doing fine now,” Joan said.

  “Where is he?”

  Josh approached meekly, gazing at his feet. Ramona’s heart went out to her pale, scrawny boy with his beautiful, sensitive face. Behind him, the other kids clutched each other and watched, excited and a little scared by his getting sick.

  “Ramona, I’m so sorry,” Joan said.

  “Sorry, Mommy,” Josh echoed.

  Ramona knelt and felt his forehead to see if he had a fever. “How are you feeling?”

  “My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “Did you go to the bathroom?”

  “Uh-huh, yeah.”

  “Was it hard or runny?”

  “Runny.”

  “Was there any red in it?”

  Josh shook his head. “No.”

  He seemed fine now, but his tongue was bright red. Ramona had never seen that before. It was alarming. What did it mean?

  “Do you want to come in?” Joan asked. “I can make some coffee.”

  “I’m taking him home,” said Ramona. “Please get anything in the house that belongs to him and bring it to me. Now, please.”

  Joan blinked with surprise, reminding Ramona of how Ross had reacted to the news of his termination. “Can I ask if he’s coming back to us on Monday?”

  Ramona put on Josh’s coat. “I don’t know yet.” Joan had broken the first commandment of Josh’s care; on the other hand, Ramona didn’t have a lot of options or much time to explore them. “He has celiac disease. I told you that. It’s not some New Age yuppie thing. It’s real. He’s gluten intolerant. He can’t eat any wheat or he gets sick. What did he have?”

  Joan bowed her head in thought. “Sliced apples for a morning snack. Bologna sandwich on gluten-free bread for lunch. Later on, we had strawberry smoothie pops for the afternoon snack.”

  “He ate something, Joan. This doesn’t just happen.”

  �
��I don’t see how—”

  “I trusted you.”

  Joan flinched. The kids behind her looked scared now, sensing the additional tension between the grown-ups.

  Ramona added, “I can’t take time off like this. When I do, it’s noticed.” She hesitated; this definitely wasn’t coming out the way she wanted. “There’s a cost.”

  Now Ramona made it sound like all she cared about was her career, but it was more than that. She was on her own. There was nobody else providing for Josh. Just her. What she failed to add was that the better she did at her job, the better the life that Josh would have. He’d have better care, more fun, greater opportunities. As with everything, it all came down to money.

  And the money came from the job.

  “Okay, I’ll get his things,” Joan said quietly.

  “Thank you.” Ramona finished dressing Josh to go home. He wouldn’t look at her. He was scared too, but it was more than that. He was hiding something.

  Joan returned with Josh’s drawings. “He likes to draw monsters,” she said with a shrug.

  “Can I give Joanie a hug good-bye?” Josh said.

  “No,” said Ramona. “Mommy’s taking you home now.”

  “I am sorry, Ramona,” Joan said. “Please call me whenever you can.” She crouched in front of Josh and smiled. “Bye, Josh. Hope you feel better.”

  Ramona took his hand and pulled him to the car. She buckled him into his car seat in the back while he wept and clutched his drawings.

  “Josh, please stop crying.”

  “I don’t want Mommy to be mad at Joanie,” he wailed.

  “Okay, Josh. But first, tell me, what did you eat? I promise I won’t get mad.”

  Josh let out another sob. “I ate the play dough.”

  “What?”

  “We made it out of salt and flour and some other stuff. Joanie said it was safe. We put stuff in it to make different colors. Then we played with it.”

  “And it looked so yummy you ate some.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  Food coloring. That’s why his tongue was red.