Suffer the Children Read online

  “Of course. But why?”

  “CDC thinks the children might be afflicted with some type of disease, a sleeping sickness that imitates death but is not real death.”

  “Something like tetrodotoxin poisoning?”

  “Something like it, yeah.”

  Tetrodotoxin was a toxin found in a number of animal species, parasites, and bacteria. The toxin blocked communication between the central nervous system and other nerve cells in the body. In small doses, it was used to treat migraines and heroin withdrawal. Large doses paralyzed the diaphragm and caused respiratory failure and death.

  In certain amounts, however, the toxin left its victims conscious but in a state of near death for days, which led ethnobotanist Wade Davis, author of The Serpent and the Rainbow, to theorize tetrodotoxin was a key ingredient in voodoo ritual used to create zombies.

  “Ridiculous,” said David. “This isn’t a simulation of death; it’s real death. Their bodies are decomposing. There’s no heartbeat, no respiration—”

  “But there is some brain activity, right?”

  He considered this. Traditional Western medical practice had held that death occurred when your body stopped breathing and pumping blood. Then people invented machines that could breathe and pump blood for you. As a result, the model language in the Uniform Declaration of Death Act, which became accepted in Michigan and other states, legally defined it as “irreversible cessation of circulatory and respiratory functions, or irreversible cessation of all functions of the entire brain, including the brain stem.”

  If the children had any brain activity, people like Ben Glass could be in a lot of trouble.

  “David, I ordered the autopsy and cremation of hundreds of bodies. If the children were alive in any acceptable definition of the word, I could be considered a mass murderer.”

  David swallowed hard. “I autopsied four children. Am I a murderer too?”

  Silence, then: “You might want to lawyer up.”

  “Jesus,” said David. “Surely, people understand the children were dead in every perceivable sense. Legally dead. There was no movement of the eyes. No brain function. No circulatory or respiratory function. My conscience is clear, and I hope yours is too. Dead is dead, Ben.”

  “And yet,” said Ben. He sighed. “Listen, my friend. Legally, I think we’re in the clear. Probably. It’s an unprecedented situation. But imagine you’re a parent who’s lost a child, and then all the children come back from the dead except yours because some doctor cut him open and cremated his remains. How would you feel? Shit, David. Every death certificate has my name on it. We printed thousands. There are people who want my head on a spike.”

  The death of the children had deranged everybody, David knew. The mass die-off, the burials, the dead returning, the odd stasis that the children now exhibited between life and death; it was all too much for the human mind to bear.

  “What can I do?” he asked his friend.

  “I need to know whether the children are, in fact, returning to normal, or whether the resuscitation of brain and motor function was temporary. If they recovered some function, but that function is gone or deteriorating, we are in the clear in every way we want to be.”

  “It’s a hell of a thing to wish,” said David.

  “I’m not wishing for anything. I just need facts.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll do ten examinations and bring the results right over.”

  [“Thank God you’re on my side, David. You’re one of the few people who still have their heads screwed on straight in all this shit.”

  David hung up and called Nadine, who’d given him a ride to the site that morning because his leg hurt too much to drive. He told her he needed a lift to the hospital in about an hour. She was still visiting with Caroline and her daughter Kimberly, and sounded happy.

  As he ended the call, he noticed all the children in the back of the bus were now staring at him. He offered them a weak smile.

  “Okay, who’s next?”

  David completed his ten exams, each producing the same results, which he noted dutifully on his forms. This done, he folded the papers and put them in the breast pocket of his coat. He stepped off the bus feeling like a thief.

  Nadine had parked her Ford at the edge of the compound. She honked at him and waved. David hurried his pace. He felt eyes burning into his back, certain somebody was going to call him out for stealing critical medical information.

  Nadine unlocked the door for him. David sat next to her, sweating.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “Just my imagination, it seems.”

  The operation here was a mess. Nobody was in charge. He could have stolen the bus and driven it to Detroit, kids and all, and nobody would have noticed.

  The children might have. If I stole the bus and tried to drive out of town, I think they’d tear me to pieces.

  He remembered Jonathan Ford’s harsh whisper: Home.

  The children swarming against Sam, who stood in their way.

  Nadine started the car and drove onto the service road. She looked as tired as he felt. She wore glasses today, her eyes too raw and tired for contacts. Her shoulder-length dark hair, tied up in a bun, had frayed in all directions, and she was so pale she glowed. Frailty was an intrinsic part of her beauty, however. Since Paul died, she’d become a fallen angel. The more broken she appeared, the more attractive she became.

  But she was smiling. She looked oddly happy.

  “You’re in a good mood,” he noted.

  “I’m having the most wonderful day of my life.”

  “Good,” was all he could think to say. She was happy the children had gone home. David couldn’t decide whether the nightmare was over or a new one was beginning.

  “The phone was crazy all morning,” she said. “Lots of messages. Everyone wants you to examine their children. Standard physicals.”

  “Good. Let’s set up some office hours for tomorrow.”

  “They don’t want to come to the office.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Nadine frowned at him. “David, they’re ashamed.”

  “Why? Are the insurance companies refusing to pay?”

  “That’s not the problem. They just don’t want to take their children out of their homes. I scheduled some house calls this afternoon. I’m going to do them myself.”

  David grunted his approval. “What about Caroline’s daughter? Did you have the opportunity to examine her?”

  She smiled now. “No vitals, no mobility, but she was conscious.”

  “Her eyes moved?”

  Nadine nodded. “Her eyes didn’t just move. She responded. It’s like her body died, but her soul stayed behind.” She glanced at him, unsure how he’d react. “When little Kimmy’s eyes moved, I saw the hand of God.”

  “There’s a scientific reason. There always is. We’ll figure it out. We just need time.”

  “The reason doesn’t matter, David. Can’t you see? The process of death is reversing itself. It’s all meant to be.”

  David frowned, massaging his pulsing leg and holding his tongue. In Nadine’s world, everything happened for a reason, unpredictable yet fated. In his, everything had a rational explanation. For most of their marriage, this had worked out well for them. He’d anchored her; she’d helped him dream a little.

  Now David no longer felt like Nadine lived in his world. It seemed he lived in hers. Facts had become unreliable. It was a time of miracles. In such a world, one faced constant temptation to hand over the reins of the mind because there was no point in trying to control anything.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he said.

  “Miracles by their very definition don’t happen at random. A higher power must intervene. That means a higher power is guiding these events toward a purpose.”

  “If it is in fact a miracle.” He hoped his tone didn’t sound too cutting, but his mind raged at the idea.

  Why the hell would a higher power kill the chil
dren—a miracle—only to bring them back to life—another miracle? What purpose could this possibly serve?

  It was insane to even consider it, but these were not rational times.

  The real answer lies in science. It must.

  “My poor David,” she told him. “Even after I’m proven right, you’ll still try to find a rational explanation for it. The children are becoming normal again. I’ve seen it.”

  He regarded her with narrowed eyes. She was hiding something. “What did you see?”

  “There’s a catalyst. Something that brings them back. A loving elixir. I’ll tell you if you want, but you won’t believe me. You’ll have to see it for yourself. I’ll take you now.”

  David frowned. He’d had enough of this. “What is it then, Nadine? Because making them healthy again is going to take more than love, I can tell you that much.”

  If it took only love, Paul would be here, with him, right now.

  Nadine said nothing. He wondered if he’d gone too far. He considered apologizing.

  “Here we are,” she said.

  She slowed the car as they approached The Children’s Hospital. A large crowd filled the grounds and visitor’s parking. The staff was leaving the building. Some appeared to be demoralized, but most looked relieved to be going home. David spotted Sam, the diener he’d worked with in the autopsy ward.

  “Stop the car.” He got out and limped through the crowd. “Hey, Sam!”

  The man smiled. “Hey, doc. Good to see you.”

  “You too.” David gestured at the crowd flowing around them. “What’s going on here?”

  “Bomb threat. That’s what everybody’s saying.”

  David was about to ask why such a thing could happen, but he already knew why. For some people, The Children’s Hospital had become something like Auschwitz.

  “But I’m not sure,” Sam added. “We were told to evacuate, so I did.”

  “Where’s the medical examiner? Dr. Glass?”

  “The cops took him away.”

  “Was he under arrest?”

  “They told us it was for his protection. You know, because of . . .” He didn’t need to finish.

  David looked around. “So where’s the bomb squad?”

  Sam followed his gaze. “That’s a very good question, doc.”

  “Something stinks here. It doesn’t add up.”

  Sam laughed. “It doesn’t have to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The hospital was set up as a morgue because all the kids dropped dead. Well, now they’re back. No more dead kids, no more morgue. We’re done here. They’re going to turn it into a real hospital again.”

  David shook his head. “We need to continue collecting data on the children. We need to learn how they regained consciousness.”

  “I wish you luck with that. I really do. As for me, I’m done. If you need me, I’ll be drinking a few cold ones and then sleeping for about a week.” A shadow fell over his eyes. He rubbed his neck, where a tiny fingernail had left a livid scratch. “Trying to forget what happened.”

  The children swarming him as he blocked the doors.

  “Wait, one more—”

  “The kids are back,” the man said. “It’s over. Good-bye, doc.”

  David got back into the car and fumed as Nadine drove out of the parking lot.

  They’d taken his friend. He had to call Gloria and tell her to get a lawyer.

  No more dead kids, no more morgue Sam had said. We’re done here.

  The rising of the children didn’t scare David anymore. But he didn’t trust it.

  We’re being suckered. Herod brought the children back, and it did so for a reason. There’s a price. Something terrible is happening, but people don’t see it as terrible. Instead, they see their children’s faces. They feel love when they should feel . . .

  “What’s next?” said Nadine.

  Fear. They should feel fear.

  “Do you need to go back to the burial ground? Or do you want to make a house call with me? I could show you the miracle. You could see it for yourself.”

  “Neither,” David answered. He stared out the window.

  Nadine’s smiled slipped away. “Where would you like me to take you?”

  It’s over. Good-bye, doc.

  “Home.”

  Joan

  13 hours after Resurrection

  Joan hummed to herself as she pulled a package of meat from the freezer and set it on the counter. She wanted to cook something special for tonight. They’d have pot roast, Doug’s favorite. A celebration feast, complete with sweet potatoes and salad.

  She’d cook enough for everybody, even though the children weren’t quite eating.

  She just hoped she’d be able to get Doug to eat in the same room with them. The kids weren’t exactly great for the appetite, either.

  After dinner, they’d get the fireplace going. They’d divide up the presents she’d already wrapped and stored in a safe place in the bedroom closet.

  Christmas would come a couple weeks early this year.

  If everybody was still here in two weeks, the Coopers would celebrate it again then, too. The past four days had taught Joan not to take anything for granted. Never put anything off. The future was an empty promise. The past hazy and uncertain. The only thing you could count on as reliable and true was the moment you were living in.

  Joan peeked around the corner. The children hadn’t moved an inch since Doug left. They sat rock still on the couch, their eyes stuck on the TV. For a moment, it didn’t matter. Her heart leaped at the sight of them.

  And sank again just as fast.

  Doug didn’t understand. As crazy as the situation was, Joan wasn’t. She knew her kids weren’t the same. But they were still her kids, and she loved them. Period.

  Doug, on the other hand, believed Nate and Megan hadn’t quite come back. He thought they were stuck somewhere in between as a cruel twist of fate. Joan couldn’t accept that. Joan believed Nate and Megan would continue to get better until they returned completely to normal. Doug saw the bodies and thought he was seeing everything. Joan saw evidence of life in the movement of their eyes. Healing.

  They had to be getting better. The alternative was too horrifying to consider: trapped, unable to speak or move, in bodies that time slowly turned to dust.

  Just the thought of that made her shudder.

  Nate and Megan were alive and needed her love and care. End of story. She held on to that happy thought with all her might. Just as it, in turn, held her together.

  Last year, Megan had woken up crying with a bad fever. The thermometer read a hundred two. All night, Joan rocked her little girl to sleep in her arms between droppers of liquid Tylenol, warm sponge baths, and waking up Doug to fight over whether they should take her to the hospital. Her heart ached with worry the entire time.

  What she felt now was far, far worse.

  The phone rang. She ignored it. She didn’t want to talk about her kids and how they were doing. She didn’t want to be judged because of their condition.

  Leave us alone.

  The phone stopped ringing. She shivered.

  Nate was looking right at her from the living room.

  She thought about his strange request for the hundredth time that morning.

  Last night, Joan had woken to footsteps creaking on the floorboards outside her room. She sat up in terror. A black shape hovered over her.

  Nate, trembling.

  “What is it, Nate? Do you need a drink of water?”

  Air rattled in his chest, like a tiny motor trying to start.

  “Are you all right?”

  Froth bubbled at his lips. Next to her, Doug snored.

  “Blood,” Nate wheezed.

  “Blood?”

  “Want it.”

  “What for?”

  He didn’t answer. He’d turned into a statue again. Then she noticed his mouth was still moving, puckering like a fish on land. She brought her ear closer t
o his face to hear.

  bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood

  He’d stopped once she tucked him into bed. Joan backed out of the room and closed the door. Then lay in bed for hours, trying to figure out what it meant.

  Blood, he’d said. He said he wanted it.

  Why? And for what? It made no sense.

  Then came the other questions. Did he mean animal blood? Human blood? She’d swallowed hard before asking herself the ultimate question: My blood?

  She wasn’t about to find and kill some poor animal—the only one that was handy anyway was Major, and there was no way she would hurt him to test a weird theory. Her thawing pot roast was useless as well. Nearly all blood was drained from meat during slaughter. The red meat juice was actually water mixed with myoglobin, a protein that gave it the appearance of blood. No help there.

  But she knew just where to get some.

  I could just prick my finger a little. Offer it to him, and see what happens.

  At this point, she was willing to indulge anything.

  But that involved cutting herself intentionally. Seeing her own blood and giving it to her child. She wasn’t sure which of these ideas appalled her the most. She’d cut herself more times than she could count during all the meals she’d prepared. Nothing a Band-Aid couldn’t cure, and it’d cost her a few days of irritation at most.

  This was different. This was deliberate. Just thinking about it made her want to leap out of her skin. She didn’t even want to think about what came after that. Giving it to him.

  She picked up the steak knife and thumbed its sharp edge. Her eyes shifted from the blade to the soft flesh of her forearm. Cut along the arm and hit a vein or artery, and the blood comes right out—lots of it, in fact—but it can’t clot as easily as it would if one sliced across the wrist. Suicide for dummies. She had no intention of doing that.

  Just one little cut along her finger.

  Maybe she should have answered the phone. Maybe it was one of her friends, and she could ask them if their kids had also asked for blood.

  Yeah, that wouldn’t be too awkward. She could just picture the conversation.

  Hello, Coral? You know how our kids came back from the dead? Well, Nate said he wants blood. I was just wondering if Peter asked for the same thing. Should I give him a cup of it to drink? A transfusion? Blood bath?