The Seventh Day (7 page)

“Well, you girls come inside and we’ll
start the genny up.”

I shake my head. “When we hunt here in the
fall, my dad doesn’t turn on the generator. He always says in the daytime it’ll
scare the animals or draw the predators. I don't think we want to do either.”

Mr. Milson points at me. “Your dad is a
very smart man. We should listen to that advice. We don't need extra attention
at all.”

Mrs. Milson swallows hard. “Okay. Sure.
Your father would know how to survive. He’s been military for over twenty
years.”

“How bad is it down there?” The words slip
out, even though I don't actually want the answer.

She looks at the ground but Mr. Milson
replies with a quiet tone, “We saw a lot of little kids. They were scared and
running. Jack, our old neighbor attacked Bernie, his wife, right on the lawn.
He bit her and then fell dead away to the grass. She got up and acted funny and
then walked off, leaving Jack there. I went out to see if Jack was dead but he
wasn’t. He was just weak and sick and acting really odd. Didn’t seem to recall
a single thing.” He nods at his wife. “Betty brought him in and gave him some
soup and he slept for hours. When he woke up, he was groggy and disoriented,
but he seemed like he might be all right. He headed off to find Bernie, the
poor thing.”

Trying to keep up with the way his story
differed from mine brings a scowl to my suddenly numb lips. “He got up? He got
up and walked around and was fine?”

He nods. “Yeah. He was in some kind of bad
shape the day before. Said the only thing he recalled was a great white light,
like God was there. It was so bright he couldn’t stand it.”

“Did he find Bernie?”
How the hell was he
fine
after all that? Could
my mom be fine?

He shakes his head. “Not sure. We left. The
power was out and the city water shut off and there was no reason to stay. We
could hear them out there in the yard, screaming.”

“Who?”

His eyes go dark as he lowers his heavy
brow. “The ones that didn't seem to come back after the bite. Jack was the only
one we saw who seemed fine afterward.”

Blood is draining from my face. I can feel
the loss of it in my head. It makes me dizzy with confusion.

“Oh honey, do you want to stay with us?”
Mrs. Milson says, no doubt judging by the panic-stricken look on my face. I
force my eyes to hers, taking in the severity of her overly dyed, frizzy red
hair and shocking amount of red lipstick for the situation we are in. She gives
me a teary smile. “Bring the girls over here and I’ll make you a proper meal.” Neither
of us takes a single step toward the other.

I nod, taking a step back. It’s a great
feeling, knowing there are at least two other people here and they’re adults,
but it’s going to take a minute to trust their health and my safety. Especially
since I have three little people depending on my discretion.

“I’ll get the girls. I have Gus too, is
that okay?”

“God, yes. If anyone will keep us safe,
it’s that great huge hound.” She smiles like a grandma would—like my
grandma would.

Oh
snap, my grandma.

I wonder if she’s all right in
Florida—her fall and winter home away from home. My stomach sinks a
little as I crunch my way back to the house, less cautious and more disturbed.
I don't even make it back to the house, and the three of them are already in
the window waving at me. I sigh, wishing they would at least listen to me. I
wave for them to come, even though it’s getting to be dusk and the world is
considerably less safe at night, in my opinion.

The three of them come barreling out of the
front door with Furgus hot on their heels. “Are they safe?”

I nod. “Mrs. Milson wants to make you guys
a proper meal.” Gus is already running for their house, leaving us in the dust.

“Oh, thank God,” Joey shouts, running past
me to the cabin next door, following the dog completely. I almost tell her to
stop and wait for me, but I can see Mrs. Milson running toward them. She has
her hands out, taking the three of them into her arms. Furgus rubs against them
all, bounding about the yard and barking happily at Mr. Milson.

They all cry—the girls and Mrs.
Milson. Why do we do that? Why do we cry when we see someone we hardly noticed
before?

She dotes on them like they’re her
grandkids, dragging them inside and instantly offering food. I can’t help but
smile, watching them eat the snacks she’s offering as she makes dinner. Their
little mouths are moving a mile a minute, regaling Mrs. Milson with tales of
sixth grade and the adventure they’ve had so far. Furgus sniffs about, scouting
out the house for himself.

Mrs. Milson loves kids, always has. When I
was little and the cabin was ours, she made me lunch all the time. My mom hated
the cabin and never came up much, but my dad and I did. When Joey got old
enough, she came up too.

Until a year ago when Mom made him sell it.
At least it was only my mom’s brother who bought it, knowing full well what a
spoiled brat his sister was being. My Uncle Gary always knew what his sister
was like. He was the good kid and she was the diva.

I walk to Mr. Milson, taking several bags
from the back of their truck. He glances at me before passing me his
pocketknife. “Here. You never know when you’ll need it.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You’ll need it.” I don't
want to tell him that the last weapon I took was used on my mother.

He shakes his head. “I won’t. I have two.
Just take it.” He picks up some whittled arrows. My dad used to try to teach us
about whittling but I sucked, hard. Mr. Milson’s look just like my dad’s did.
He’s quite good at it. “So when did your dad say he was going to be back?”

A soft sigh escapes my lips as I look out
at the silent woods around us. “He said he was coming home the night it all
started. But he never came. We left in the middle of the night and came here.”

“Ya poor things. Must have scared the heck
out of you. I’m a grown man and I know I nearly took a stroke when we saw those
things and what was going on.”

I can still feel that fear lingering in my
belly. “We were terrified.”

“Did you catch the president’s speech? The
one about how the CDC thinks this is something called CJD and it’s some form of
mad cow for humans?”

I shake my head. “I missed it.” I don't
like to think about that moment when I should have been watching it and not
peeing on the bench at the front door.

“Well, that's what they’re calling it. And
I guess, we’re on our own. The world is gone. Europe has bombed the hell out of
itself, trying to kill off the biters. That’s what they were calling them. The
biters—they bite and die.”

“That's what I call them too.”

“It’s a fitting name.” He sighs. “They said
in Europe a fog came. They don’t know if it’s from the bombs or not. After the
fog, no transmissions were coming out of anywhere in Europe or
Asia—anywhere. The last thing the president said was that the
infrastructure was going down, but that it would be back up as soon as they
were able. He said we were to be kind to one another and remember our humanity.
He said they were looking for a cure to the CJD thing.”

I smile to stop tears from falling. “Well,
you know it’s bad then.”

He looks the same as me—a fake smile
and terror in his eyes. “Did you see that thing a couple weeks ago about the
red rain in India? I thought then that maybe we were screwed, but the
scientists said it was a particle in the rain. But I was worried for a half a
minute. You know ‘cause it’s predicted in the Bible, Revelation and all.” He
continues picking things up and making a pile to carry in. “Minus the biting of
course. I don’t recall the pestilence and plague involving eating each other.
It’s an ironic choice of plagues, for our generation. Everyone is so damned
obsessed with zombies. Maybe it is God and maybe he has a sense of humor about
these things.” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’m rambling.”

“I think this is science, not God. I don't
know much about God. I’m agnostic. My mother is a Catholic and she has never
once done a single thing from the Bible, ever. I have seen her walk past
starving people on the streets and not even bat an eyelash. To me Christians
seem like the most selfish people on the planet. They’re so worried about
getting into Heaven, they don’t think about the fact that their actions are
what get them there. Not how many times they say sorry to God.
To me anyway.
Sorry, are you a Christian?” I instantly
realize I’ve said too much. We are both rambling and not making much sense.

“I grew up Catholic, but after a while I
realized I didn't need anyone to tell me God loved me—I knew it all
along.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “I have a relationship with God that is
private. I know he’s there and he wants us to be good people. I can feel him in
the air and taste him in the water. And I believe he wants us to live the way
Jesus had, giving and helping. I think Jesus was a possibility. God sent him
here to show us our potential. Of course, we were foolish and worshipped him,
instead of just trying to be like him. He never would have been so vain as to
demand worship. Vanity is a sin after all.” He looks up at me with the kindness
in his eyes again. “I believe God wanted us to be the best we could. I believe
in Heaven and I believe I will hopefully go there when I die, because I have
truly tried as hard as I could to be like his son. If I don’t make it, because
of one sin or another, I won’t feel bad. I tried as hard as I could. That’s all
you have at the end of the day.”

It makes me smile. “I think so too.”
‘Course I leave out the fact I’m sure I haven’t tried my hardest. I could have
been a better sister. I could have been a better student. I could have been
more understanding of my mom. If it is the end of the world and God is testing
us, I’m screwed. So I guess I have to try my hardest to stay alive. That’s a
bad feeling. One I can’t cope with. I want to feel sorry for myself. I want to
ask why me. But I know I can’t let myself slip into that. That’s what my mom
would do and I need to stick with what my dad would do.

“I was only kidding anyway. I think we all
know this isn’t God. This is a man-made problem. I just can’t tell what kind.
Is it a sickness or is it actually a weapon that got away from them?”

“I think it’s a sickness but then
everything they do after they get bit is weird. Julia’s dad,” I nod toward the
house where the three little girls are laughing and chatting loudly with his
wife, “he came to the house. He talked but he looked really funny. He had a
bite and yet he was coherent. He asked for Julia but I could see he wasn't
right. So I don't think they’re zombies, but once the sickness takes them,
they’re not right. Like how a high fever would disorient someone.”

“It’s a chemical or viral warfare that's
gotten away from them. That's my vote. I think when your dad comes he’s going
to have an idea what this is.”

I nod, taking the bag into the house. The
conversation is a muddled mess of confession and speculation. “I really hope
so.” I don't care if he knows anything—I just want him to come here.

“Well, whatever it is, we need to gather
our resources and wait this out. Lucky you’re good at hunting and fishing,
Lou.”

“Better than most girls my age, I guess.” I
glance at Mr. Milson and nod. “My dad taught me a lot of things I didn’t think
would ever be more than a weekend activity he liked to do. Things I was getting
tired of, if I’m being honest.
Camping, hunting, fishing, and
hiking.
I guess we can stay up here for a while and not worry about
much.”

He shakes his head. “We’ll need to go and
get food rations, as much as we can carry. Winter is going to be here any day;
these little flurries are nothing. I think it’s going to get much worse, and
we’d do better being stuck up here for the winter than down there.”

His words make my insides crawl. “We
shouldn't go back down there yet.”
Even if I do want to see
if my mom is okay.

He nods at the cabin full of people we
love. “They can’t go down there yet. You and I can, quite easily.” He lowers
his voice even more. “What if one of us gets hurt?
Or
terribly sick.
We need antibiotics and bandages. I know we all have
enough to last a little while but we need to be able to last the winter. The
biters won’t last the winter here, maybe Washington on the coast or California,
but the rest of this side of the country will be frozen in a few weeks. Canada
is probably already frozen. Trust me, Lou, we need to do this and we need to be
fast about it. Before anyone else starts thinking it’s safe to go out and they
get all the things we need. Now I need you to think about the fact we won’t be
the only survivors, and soon the other survivors are going to be the problem we
face, not the biters.”

He’s right. I want to vomit at the idea but
he’s completely right. I look at Mrs. Milson with the girls and nod. “We go
tonight?” I ask quietly.

“We will go and be back in a few hours. I
think we can do a one-stop shop. The pharmacy is probably ransacked but the
clinics might be okay. I know where the warehouse storage spot is for the local
grocers too.” He pauses, giving me a funny look. “What else did your dad say
when you spoke to him about coming home?”