The Seventh Day (4 page)

Furgus whines, shaking his head at me and
backing away more. He knows, even though he cannot see it, that something
terrible just happened. He sensed it.

I look back at my neighbor, ignoring the
fact I’m standing in the warm puddle and my dog is desperate for me to leave
the door. No matter how hard I try to though, my eyes don’t want to leave him.
I don't trust him, even though he was just attacked and Mr. Swanson is dead on
the grass, or unconscious. The words of the newscaster ring in my head:
the symptoms of the flu are instant onset.

My neighbor stands there, silent and
unmoving, like the man at the school. That's exactly what he reminds me of.

“Damn.”

Joey walks to the hallway. “Hey,
Lou—”

I press my finger to my lips as if she can
see my face. “Shhhhhhh.”

She gets closer, whispering, “What are you
doing?” Furgus steps forward, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her back. He’s a
hundred and sixty pounds so she doesn't stand a chance at fighting him off.
Irish wolfhounds are the largest
breed
of dog in the
world—if he wants something he usually gets his way. “Gus, don’t.” She
shoves him but he continues to pull her back into the hallway. His eyes are
wild. He knows what’s behind the door.

“It’s okay, Gus. It’s okay, boy. Shhhhhh.”
I try to sound soothing but I don't think he’s buying it. He lets go but
doesn't back off of Joey at all. They are besties, sleeping together every
night. He takes up the entire bed but she doesn't care.

“What’s happening, Lou?”

I shake my head. “We have a major problem
out there on the street. Gus is right. Go back to the living
room,
turn the TV volume off and all the lights. Sit there on the rug. I’ll be there
in a second. Take Gus with you. Make no noise, tell the other two that. Keep
trying the cell phones and house phone. We need to find some help.”

“I wanna see.” She leaves Furgus’ side and
climbs onto the bench with me. The weight on the bench shifts as she groans,
“Dude, why’s it all we—” I clasp a hand around her mouth. She makes a
face, still managing to speak through my hand, “Did you pee? Did you pee on the
bench? It smells like pee.” She wrinkles her nose.

I peer out the window, but he hasn’t moved.
He didn’t hear her. When I look back down at her, her eyes are wide. “Are you
okay?”

I shake my head. I don’t know what to do. I
put a finger to my lips and then put them on her waist. I place her hands on
the windowsill and lift her up into the window so she can see too. Mr. Swanson
is on the ground and our neighbor is standing like it’s the ending of the
Blair Witch Project.

I know I shouldn’t show her, but I need her
to understand the severity of what we are dealing with. Her jaw drops. “Is Mr.
Baumgartner okay?” I’d forgotten his name in the chaos.

“No.” I shake my head. “Mr. Swanson beat
him up, and then Mr. Swanson fell down and Mr. Baumgartner got up and started
acting crazy.”

Her voice is eerily calm, “Julia’s dad? Why
did he beat him up?”

“I don't know. They’re acting like the man
at the school.” I lower her back to my puddle of pee. “Take your socks off, go
in the living room and tell those two not to make a sound. Don’t speak and
don’t tell them what you saw. Just say a bloody man is in the yard and we have
to be quiet. Keep trying the phones and the cell service. Take Gus—he
looks worried.”

She doesn't argue, just shakes as she slips
her wet socks off. I pull my pants down, soaking up all the urine. I can’t
believe I’m such a baby. My father would be so disappointed if he saw the
pee—saw the fact I’m so weak. Maybe I am like my mom.

I stand on my pants in my damp underwear
and look back out the window. Mr. Baumgartner is gone. I look to the left and
the right, but he isn’t there. I see something below me and look down.

There, at my front door, is Mr.
Baumgartner. He’s looking up at me, twitching like a bird does when it walks. I
jump, making a noise.
A small squeak.

His face contorts as his body flies into
action. He is no longer just a docile man with blood on his face. He’s a raging
savage. He looks like an actor in a movie as he flips out, pounding on the door
and clawing at it. The chair under the handle jumps with the banging of the
door. I jump from the bench and push it so it’s against the wall across from
the front door. I slide the chair between the bench and the door. It’s a tight
fit but the pounding on the door no longer rattles it, just the whole house.
I’m scared he’s going to come through the front door. Gus runs back into the
hallway, ready to bark, but I dive at him, holding him and whispering, “It’s
okay, Gussy. It’s okay. Stay calm.”

He watches the door, not moving but not
barking either. It’s almost as if he knows barking will get us all in trouble.
When the banging stops and again the street is silent, Furgus backs up. He
gives me a look and turns and stalks back into the living room with the little
girls.

I turn and run up the stairs.

My mother is still asleep. I run past her
to their closet where Dad’s gun cabinet is locked up. I don’t know the code,
but I grab the huge brass lamp from my father’s side of the bed and smash down
on the metal lock. It makes my whole body shake and I can hear the girls
downstairs crying and screaming as the banging starts back up.

Finally, the lock breaks free. I pull out
the handgun and the shotgun. My hands hurt and shake, but I manage to load
both. I’ve shot at the range with my dad for years but I’m scared. Soda cans
and targets aren’t people.

I don’t think I can do it but I have to
try. I won’t die that way—getting beaten and chewed on. Screw that.

I run down the stairs with the weapons in
the position he always made me carry them in. I sit on the stairs and wait. I
smell like urine, in fact the whole stairwell does. I am cold, wet, and tired
but I sit with my back against the wall and my feet in the railing as he rages
on our door.

A woman screams outside.

The three girls scramble to the stairs.
They huddle against me, gripping to each other for dear life. Furgus stands at
the bottom of the stairs, leaning into us. His panting soon becomes the only
noise we hear for several moments until the door begins to rattle again.

We sit watching the door vibrate until it
stops. Then there’s a loud bang. The whole house shakes.

Tires screech and people scream.

A terrible thought fills my head—a
fear really.
What if the world is just
starting its long journey into ruin?

The noises don’t stop. They grow in level
and then reduce, only to rise again. It’s like waves of noise with no pattern
and no end.

You can’t slip off into a daydream because
of the constantly erratic nature of the noise.

I notice Lissie staring at me. Her bright
eyes dart from the guns to my face. I smile at her. “It’s okay. I know how to
shoot. Me and Joey go to the range with our dad.”

She nods but the look in her eyes doesn’t
fade. She probably has anti-gun parents. I wonder how those people are faring
right now? Because I know how we will fare.

The sky is dark but the streets are alive
with chaos. I look at the girls. “Let’s go see what the president said. They
probably have it on replay.”

They nod. I can see how exhausted they all
are—we all are. We tiptoe away from the stairs and the three of them stay
too close. I drag Furgus with us, stroking him constantly so he doesn't bark or
freak out.

I’m uncomfortable with the guns being near
them,
so I put them up on the counter and go sit on the rug.
Joey turns the volume up slightly and we huddle around the TV. The same lady is
speaking about the same images. I think the broadcast is old.

It dawns on me then I’m still in wet
underwear. I frown. “Stay here, I’ll be right back. Don’t move or touch
anything.”

I run upstairs silently and jump in the
shower fast, rinsing off as fast as I can. The bathroom lights and the hot
water shut off simultaneously. I stand there, confused for a second, as the
cold water pours down on me. It stops moments later. Even the cold water won’t
run.

I pull back the curtain, suddenly
intimidated by the cold, dark air around me.

It feels colder with the lights out and
every shadow feels like it might house something waiting to bite me. I grab a
soft fleecy towel and dry off, slipping down the silent hallway to my bedroom
and pulling on new panties and bra. I pull on a hoodie and have one leg of
sweatpants on, when I hear a gunshot.

It sounds close.
Did it happen in the house?
I left the guns downstairs like an
idiot.

Oh
God.

What
if they’re playing with the guns?

What
if Lissie grabbed them and shot someone?

What
if the noise draws the zombies?

I scramble down the stairs, dragging my
pants behind me and nearly tripping on them. My brain is numb as I round the
corner. The image makes no sense in my mind and tears instantly spring from my
eyes.

My tiny sister is holding the handgun,
shaking and crying silently.

My mother is on the floor, twitching.

I skid across the tiles on my knees,
grabbing at my mother, and immediately noticing the spot on her stomach where
the blood is spreading across her shirt, making a growing design. On her
shoulder there’s more blood but it’s older, dried, and caked.
A spot like the man at the school.
A bite mark perhaps?

The tear in her skin makes me shudder as
images of Mr. Swanson biting down fills my head. I drop my mother, backing away
quickly.

“She had red eyes and couldn’t stand up and
she said help me. She said help me like the man and she was twitching and Gus
barked and she jumped at him,” Joey says, like she is in a zombie state.

Furgus cowers in the corner, scared and
shaking as hard as the three little girls are.

I slip past my mom’s body, rushing to Joey.
She is frozen. Her trembling lip is moving nearly as fast as her rapidly rising
and falling chest. The hallway and great room are filled with the orange
emergency lights from our security system. I can see the quivering lips and heaving
chests of the small girls so I wrap my arms around them, taking the gun from my
sister. The three of them shake with sobs, silent sobs. Furgus finds his way
into the circle, nuzzling against us. He shakes like they do—we do. We
all shake and sob but we make no noise. It’s like they know that this is a
whole new world, and in it tears must come quietly.

I pull back. “We have to leave here. I will
watch her. Go upstairs and pull on as many layers as you can. Pack a bag of
clothes. I’ll pack some of the things from here. I’ll get the food and water
and supplies out to the truck. Hurry.”

Joey shakes her head. “She had red eyes,
Lou. Sh-she was sick, right? Sh-sh-she said he-help
me and
then she
opened her mouth and made a sound like I’ve never heard.
Like a mean dog.
And when Gus tried to stop her from coming
near us, she lashed out at h-h-him.”

I look at my still mother on the floor and
nod. “You did the right thing.” She did, and yet I think my heart might be
broken. It is entirely my fault. I never should have let Joey see what was on
the street. I should have protected her, but I didn’t want to be the only one who
knew. I didn't want to be responsible and now I have failed us all.

I have failed my father in every way.

I kiss Joey on the cheek. “You and Gus
saved us. Mom was gone. The virus was in her. Once it’s there, the person is
gone. Instant onset—remember what the news said?” I pat Furgus, gripping
to him for sanity.

“I didn't want her to attack, I didn't want
her to attack, Lou.” Joey cries harder, still not making as much noise as I
think she should be. Our mother is dying and we are letting her. We should be
screaming. I want to scream. I want to be sad and I can’t. I have to be scared.

I kiss Joey again, muttering, “Go and get
the stuff. We have to go now. The gunshot might have been heard by some of
them. They could be outside listening for noise.”

Julia and Lissie give me a look. “What’s
out there?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. The sick
people are attacking the not-sick people.”

“They said it was a flu. People don't
attack people from the flu.”

Joey shakes her head. “The last thing I
said was that I hate her. What if she heard me? What if she dies and thinks—“

I press her into my neck. “Shhhhhhh.” It’s
too much for a near eleven-year-old to take. She’s losing it and I think I’ve
already lost it. “I’ll take care of Mom. Go upstairs. We can talk about it in
the SUV on our way out of here.” I nod at Julia who helps Joey out of the great
room. They hug the wall, avoiding my mother’s body. I grip the handgun and walk
toward Mom. When I get close, I notice her back rise and fall. Gus growls at
her, backing away slowly. His haunches are up and his teeth
bared
.
I put a hand out for him. “It’s okay, boy. It’s okay.” He walks to me, pressing
his face into my hand. His eyes close for a second as he pants. The stress is
bad for him too. We both look at Mom.