Free Suffer the Children by Craig DiLouie Page A

up.”
    Doug said nothing. The number rang in his brain like a bell.
    He glanced at the door to the garage, where Joan had laid out their kids and wrapped them in plastic. A dead body could be stored for up to five days, he knew. After just a few days, it started to rot, even at very cold temperatures.
    Joan had lain in bed trembling in a state of deep shock before emerging to care for their children yesterday afternoon. She’d washed them and dressed them in their church clothes, muttering to herself the whole time. She practically hissed at Doug whenever he came near.
    Ninety thousand. This was everybody’s tragedy, not just his.
    And putting them in the ground with some dignity was the top priority.
    He said quietly, “Where are they all going to go?”
    “Public land outside of town. They’ve got digging equipment out there already. More on the way. Temporary internment. Until things get back to normal.”
    Mass graves. Otis was talking about mass graves. Doug’s kids were going to be put into a big hole, and a bulldozer would fill it up. That’s how it was done.
    Not the millionaires, though. They’d get cemeteries and flowers and all the trimmings.
    His kids wouldn’t even get a coffin.
    “It’s a mess,” Otis added. “Nobody knows who’s in charge. The State, the Feds, the County. Different departments fighting over every little thing. I can’t keep track of all the acronyms. Last night, the governor issued an emergency order. We got to bury them.”
    “And now that’s my job. While I’m grieving.”
    “The governor called out the National Guard to handle most of the lifting. But he issued a call for volunteers and a draft of all essential workers. He wants everybody, Doug. And I mean everybody.”
    “A draft, huh?” The governor could stick that up his ass.
    “We need to do our part to help lay them to rest,” Otis pleaded. “This is a national emergency. You see what’s going on around you.”
    “What does the union say about this?”
    “We negotiated a special-project labor agreement. You’ll get a premium wage.”
    “Fine, I’ll be there in a half hour,” Doug told him.
    It wasn’t about the threat of coercion or the promise of extra money.
    He wanted to get out of the house before he slammed his fist through a wall.
    The presence of his children haunted this place. Every time he entered a room, he half expected Megan to come flying at him. He kept checking the clock, irritated Nate hadn’t returned home yet. Then he’d remember them falling in the snow. Maybe if he returned to work, he could empty his mind, if only for a short while.
    He also wanted to see what would likely be the final resting place of his kids. He wanted to put them in the ground himself.
    Joan nodded when he told her, watching him pull on a hooded sweatshirt and his old work boots and L OVIN’ L ANSDOWNE cap. Not in agreement but resignation, as if she’d expected this final indignity. She looked more haggard with each passing minute.
    “I called the mortuary and got a recorded message,” she said. “They’re not taking any more kids. They’re all full up.”
    “There’s too many. They can’t handle it. We’d have to be rich to afford a mortuary now.”
    “So you’re going to bury our children with all the rest in some mass grave.”
    “They’ll be tagged and mapped, Joanie. We’ll know where they are. We can have them taken out at any time and given a proper burial once things get back to normal.” Which was a lie, he knew; things would likely never get back to normal. “I’ll bring them myself.”
    “What time?” What she meant was: How much time do I have to say good-bye?
    He couldn’t believe how strong she was.
    “I’ll put it off as long as I can. As long as you need. Okay?”
    “No,” Joan said, her voice cracking. “Nothing is okay anymore.”
    He tried to hug her. She avoided his arms and told him to go.
    He’d parked his truck in the driveway. He opened the front door and