The Seventh Day (3 page)

When I get back on our street I relax a small
amount, backing into the driveway and closing the garage door again before I
turn the SUV off. It still stinks of bleach in the garage.

I run into the house, feeling safer the
moment I see the inside of the house. "Mom, I'm back. I need help with the
stuff." I almost have a bad feeling until she comes around the
corner—on the phone, and offers only a frown.

Joey gives me a look. “The TV is all the
same shows still.”

I roll my eyes. “Jo, I need a hand."
As I get the words out, I glance at the news in the background. It looks like
live footage in a city, New York maybe. The bridges are packed with people
trying to get out and there are military checkpoints. It makes me shiver
imagining it all. "Mom!" She ignores me so I shout, "MOM, THE TV!"

“I gotta go.” She turns her head, dropping
the phone as she clicks it off. Joey looks scared. "What is it?"

I turn the volume up and sit as Joey climbs
onto the couch next to me and then Mom sits next to her. We are crammed onto
the couch as the scene changes to California. Los Angeles is in chaos.

The man on the TV speaks solemnly.
"Early reports of confused people started a couple days ago, globally, in
what some are now calling a rage flu. The calm, almost still, people twitch but
remain where they are until something triggers them. Noise or
activity seem
to be the worst triggers. Whatever it is that
has made them
sick,
makes them violent instantly. As
unbelievable as it sounds, we have reports of biting and savagery. The attacks
are only human on human—no animals have been involved as far as reports
have stated. Some are saying it’s possibly the spike in temperature, which
doctors have been seeing in many patients. As of right now, we have no answers.
The CDC has asked that we postpone all work and travel until this has been
sorted out. Stay in your homes—if you or a loved one has any of the
symptoms—please stay in your homes. Bringing the sick to the hospitals is
only infecting healthy people at this point. Isolate them from your family in
another room and wait for the fever to drop. If they become violent, isolate
them from the remaining members of your family until help can arrive. Do not
try to deal with them yourself.”

The phone rings.

I pick it up, not taking my gaze from the
solemn man on the television. “Hello?”

“Uhm, Lou. It’s me. My mom and dad are in
the city,” Julia’s small voice squeaks into the phone.

“Be right there.” I drop the phone. “Going
to get Julia.” I back away, still watching the man as he speaks of the
intentions of the government, despite the collapse of thirty-three financial
institutions.

“Thanks, Lou,” Mom mutters, not even paying
attention to what I’m saying.

I back up slowly, turning when I reach the
door to the bleach-filled garage. I know my dad said not to leave, but Julia is
like another sister, and I would die if Joey
was
home
alone right now. I do the exact exit routine as before, starting the SUV before
I open the door. When I get out onto the road, the traffic has reversed in the
hour I have been in the store and the cars from my neighbors are filing back
into their driveways. They clearly heard the reports along the way to work and
have changed their minds about going into the city.

People are in a rush now. Most drive
without care of road signs or other people. I swerve to avoid at least one car;
the huge SUV I’m driving is handling like a slug with all the crap in the back.
When I pull up to Julia’s driveway, I honk the horn, glancing around the
neighborhood nervously. Everyone else on the road has the same instinct I do: avoid
other people. Julia runs out to the SUV and jumps into the front seat. She has
another little girl with her that I don’t know.

“You have to share the front seat.”

Julia is crying and the other little girl
looks like she saw a ghost.

“You guys okay?”

Julia shakes her head. “The news came on
and everyone was saying people in the cities are sick and it’s coming out to
the smaller towns now. And I can’t reach my mom or dad.”

“Yeah, but I bet your parents are on their
way home.” I back up and drive back to my place, trying to smile at the girl I
don't know. “I’m Lou.”

She nods. “I know. I’m Lissie.”

When I’ve backed the SUV back into the
garage, Julia grabs at the door handle but I hold a hand up. “Wait!” They both
jump but listen.

“We have to wait for it to be safe.” I
close the garage and turn the car off, regretting saying it. “Okay, now you can
open it, but don’t walk over there, the floor has bleach on it.” I open the
back of the vehicle. “Wanna help?”

They both grab armloads of groceries but
their hands shake and their faces pale. When they come back for more, Joey and
Mom are with them. Between the five of us, unloading is much easier than I had
anticipated and the task seems to distract us from the impossibly odd start to
the day.

The food covers the floor, counters, and
tables, making Mom look overwhelmed. “This is insane.”

“Mom, it’s going to be chaos when everyone
realizes the sickness is out here.” I shake my head. “Dad wanted this stuff.
I’m going to rinse the garage floor and start sealing the windows and doors.”

Mom and the girls all give me the same
look. I smile. “Hey, it’s just
like
a video game.” I
take the keys and lock the house when I’m in the garage. My footsteps seem loud
on the concrete as I near the door to the garage and side yard. I take several
deep breaths before I open the door, peeking out into the street and yard. No
one moves out there, not even one of the cars that had been lined up on the
road trying to get home. It’s completely still when I rush for the garden hose.

“Lou, what’s happening?”

I jump, turning to see my neighbor, Mrs.
McFarthen. I shake my head. “I don’t know. The news said a virus.”

“Yes, I saw the news.” The older lady gives
me a dubious look. “What about your dad? What does he say?”

I shake my head again. “He’s on mission. I
think in Russia.”

“He hasn’t called?”

“No. He can’t call. It’s always radio
silence with him. Mom says he should be back this week—but now I don’t
know.” I lie because I have to. My dad breaking radio silence was odd for him.

Her look softens. “If you kids need
anything, you come over.” She knows how our life is without our dad being here.
Tits on a bull is
her favorite description of Mom.

I smile. “Thanks. We will. If Dad says
anything, I’ll phone. We’re locking up the house though. We saw a man at the
school who was covered in blood and acting crazy. It sounds like the stuff in
the city. I don't want to be surprised if it’s here already—the sickness.
I suggest you do the same.”

Her jaw drops. “Oh God. You saw a man who
could be sick?”

I nod once, gripping to the cold rubber of
the hose. She turns and runs to her house and I turn on the hose. I drag it to
the front of the house where the garage door is and use the pin pad to open it
quickly. I rinse the garage floor as fast as I can.

Everything is about speed.

When all the blood and bleach are out on
our driveway, I put the hose back and turn it off. When I get inside, I close
the door and lock it. My hand shakes slightly as I press it against the cold
metal. Everything feels cold, like the sun won’t ever warm us again.

There is no way I can focus on this. I turn
and walk to the large garage door, pushing the lock so it can’t be opened
manually and go inside, locking the door behind me.

It feels weird.

Like something from a
movie.

We live in a safe neighborhood.

Our suburb is safe.

No one locks doors or hides out.

We have block parties and fireworks. We
borrow sugar and cream and help each other.

But now I have a feeling it’s every man for
himself, and I have no intention of anyone in my house getting sick, not even
that kid I don’t know.

The plywood piles are stacked and covered
with a tarp. I drag one piece of plywood to the front windows in the dining
room.

“Really, Lou? You’re going to drag that
filthy wood into my goddamned house? You’ve scratched the floor for Christ’s
sake.” My mother’s mocking tone grates on my nerves. The sweat on my brow and
the pain in my fingers makes it much worse. I ignore her and wrestle the
massive sheet up to the huge window. Sitting on the floor, it covers most of
the window. I lean it against the wall and go for my hammer and nails.

“LOU! STOP THIS!”

I
turn,
ready to
spit the nail in my teeth at her. “THIS IS WHAT HE SAID WOULD SAVE US! THIS IS
WHAT HE ASKED FOR! NOW EITHER HELP OR FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO DO!”

Her hand flies out, striking my cheek and
making me spit my nail across the room. I’ve taken way harder hits in lacrosse,
so I stand my ground, waiting for more. But her hand flies to her own mouth,
covering it in an attempt to hide her shame.

My look says it all, I am sure, but I still
have to add more. “Is that it? Can I get back to work?”

She turns and runs from the room.

I hate her, but I’m tired and I haven’t
even covered one window yet, so I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself.
Today is about following my dad’s crazy instructions.

I start hammering the nails in, pressing
the board to the wall with my body. It’s exhausting work but on the second
window in the front office, the girls come and help me.

“What happened?” My sister runs her hand
along my cheek.

“Mom doesn't like holes in her perfect
walls.”

“She hit you?” her little voice squeaks.

“It doesn't matter.” I nod at the board in
my arms. “Let’s just get this done.”

“I hate her.”

I shake my head. “Don’t. She’s scared.” I
can’t believe I’m defending her, but I don’t see any other option. Joey and the
girls have to stay strong.

When we finish I grab my cell phone and try
sending another message to my dad. My messages aren’t going through at all. The
phone is automatically trying to send them via SMS, but they don’t seem to be
delivering. I look at my service bars and realize my service isn’t working. I
check my Wi-Fi but it isn’t working either.

Lissie sighs. “The Wi-Fi cut out like ten
minutes ago. We were playing
Minecraft
and it died and Netflix won’t work either.”

“Great.” I look up at the ceiling and sigh.
“Is this it? Is this the end?”

No cell service feels like the end. It’s
eleven in the morning and I haven’t even spoken to any of my friends.

Lissie dials the number once more and hangs
up when she gets voicemail again. “I’ve phoned all their numbers. Even my
grandma.”

Julia wraps an arm around her. The three of
them are tiny. They are so small that I can hardly comprehend how they are
feeling.

I’m scared. I’m terrified.

It’s five at night and we’ve only just
finished the windows and outside gates to the backyard. Furgus, our giant
wolfhound, is in the house with his tongue out nervously. He’s the
most chill
dog anyone in the world could ask for, but today
he seems on edge. Nothing has happened, beyond the TV cutting out several times
and the Wi-Fi ending completely.

The other neighbors have been hammering all
day, just like us. Several of them came over and asked what I was doing when I
boarded up the front windows. Through the glass I shouted that it was on the
news that we should all make our houses as safe as we can in the case of
lawlessness. It seemed liked the right answer.

“Where’s Mom? I’m
getting
hungry, Lou.” Joey rubs her little belly.

I glance at the window that’s boarded up
and sigh. “Mom has been going through the garage to talk to the neighbors. I
tried telling her she needs to stay inside but she’s not listening.”

“But we’re hungry.”

“Okay.” I scan the supplies sitting in the
middle of the kitchen and step over them to get the frozen pizzas we have.
“I’ll make dinner.”

They turn and saunter back to the TV to
seek solace. “This is getting boring.” Lissie complains as they sit and turn on
a movie.

I could swat at them for complaining, but
instead I turn the oven on and read the box.

The TV doesn't play a single show, just the
news. Footage of bad things and bad people fills the screen. People talk with
images that look like war-torn Third World countries behind them. But it isn’t
a Third World country. It’s America. I recognize the White House in the
background.
It’s surrounded by guards and tanks
, and
in the distance you can see helicopters landing and taking off.

The three girls don't watch. The TV is no
longer a place of solace. Instead, they watch a downloaded movie on Joey’s iPad.
But I watch. My eyes are glued to the images that feel like a movie.

The oven beeps, making me jump.

I pull the pizzas from the oven and call to
the girls, “Come and eat. Your parents might be stuck in traffic so you should
have dinner here.” I plate their food and eat mine from the pizza pan. The hot
cheese burns my mouth, but I can’t stop from wolfing it back. All the labor and
stress has made me hungry.

I watch the TV from my spot, hovering over
the pizza. The girls take theirs and sit on the huge shag rug in front of the
TV. Joey turns the volume up and each of us is locked on the screen as a woman
with glassy eyes and a lost look shakes her head, holding a microphone. “The
last transmission we got out of Europe was a massive distress call from Scotland.
A fog had been covering areas as far as we can tell, making it hard to send and
receive transmissions. The virus, being labeled
a rage
flu, has been coursing through cities for as long as a week. Reports were
hushed as it was assumed to be viral terrorism at first. Now, as it has spread
worldwide, we are assuming it is just not the case. We don't know where the
first case of the rabies-like virus was found. Some are saying the Middle East.
The CDC is no longer making statements or taking calls. They are standing by
the final statement that came from them just ten hours ago. The recommendation
is still to stay home, isolate your sick or wounded, and ride it out. Do not
leave your homes. The hospitals have closed their doors and the clinics are all
shut down. We have reports of mass hysteria in all of the major cities where
martial law is now being enforced. If you are in a city, leave. That is the
recommendation from the military. People are being permitted to leave during
daylight hours only, after they pass through a designated checkpoint. The
symptoms of the flu are instant onset. The footage we have seen shows a person
contracts the virus within moments of contact with a sick person. The president
is scheduled to have a press conference in one hour’s time. Please stay tuned for
that. We will have safety tips and advice streaming live over the next hour as
we wait for his speech.” She smiles, but I can see she is close to tears. “God
bless you all.” The broadcast changes and it’s a streaming list of all the
things sitting in my kitchen.

Julia looks at me and then to the items on
the floor; each one is on the list of things on the TV screen. “Did you know?”

I shake my head. “No. Dad texted me a list
after we saw the man at the school.”

We stare at the list as it changes to other
advice: stay home, fill tubs with water, fill all pots and pans,
water is essential
,
water is life
.
I remember this from cadets and Girl Scouts.

Water. It is the thing that keeps everyone
alive.

The door to the garage opens, startling us
all as Mom walks in. She looks funny, distant again. I almost roll my eyes at
her dramatics but this time they’re warranted. We are actually in a moment
where being dramatic is completely called for.

She climbs the stairs, not saying a word to
any of us. I hurry to the garage, closing the door she’s left open like an
idiot. The neighborhood is still but the sound of banging is in every corner of
the street. People are doing what we have already done. I press the button for
the garage door, still noticing the scent of bleach in the air. I close the
lock on the garage door so it can’t be opened manually and lock the adjoining door
to the house when I go back inside.

I grab two pieces of pizza and walk to the
stairs, contemplating not taking them upstairs, but I know she hasn't eaten and
she tends to get meaner without food. When I get to her room, she is curled up
on her bed, sleeping. I’m pretty sure she took something, since she only came inside
five minutes before and is already out like a light. I wish I could just take
something and sleep through all of this.

But one of us has to be responsible for the
kids.

Clearly, she has no intention of being that
person.

I leave the pizza on the bedside table and
sit in the corner, watching her sleep like she is dead. She doesn't move or
even inhale loudly. The sun is setting outside, but from her window I can see
the entire street. There is no one on the roads. Many houses have no lights on at
all, like the people inside are hiding in the dark. My brain whispers that
maybe they’ve fled altogether.

The setting sun makes me feel two
things—one is uneasy. I don't like the dark, not even on a good day. The
other is contradictory to the uneasiness. I’m excited because my dad should be
here any minute. He said tonight. It is tonight. The end of the light I so
badly need makes me hopeful he will be here soon.

She stirs behind me, making me hate her
just a little bit more. She’s sleeping and I get to go watch the president’s
statement with the little girls, alone. No adult to tell me that the world will
find a way to fix itself.

When I’m halfway down the stairs, I hear
something at the front door. It makes me pause, listening as it happens again.
It might be a knock but it’s too quiet, like the person knocking is hiding from
something. Furgus strolls down the hallway softly. He doesn't growl or make a
noise. He tilts his head to the side—confused maybe. My eyes find his
glossy-yellow stare in the dim light.

My hair stands on end, but I slowly take a
stair at a time, listening for more of a clue as to who it is.

“Julia!” I hear a hoarse whisper through
the doorframe, making me instantly freeze. Furgus growls softly, stepping
closer to the door. He never growls. I don't think I’ve ever even heard him
growl.

We stand in the darkening hallway, both
frozen as we lose the light from outside. The twilight outside seems to be
fading fast into night.

The knob moves, like in a scary movie, but
the whisper comes again, “Julia?”

I hurry to the door, grabbing the bench and
dragging it to the front door. There is a small half-moon window in the top of
the door. I peer through it, down on the head of Mr. Swanson, Julia’s father. I
tap on the window but when he looks up, his eyes seem different. He sees
me and smiles,
but it’s the creepiest thing I have ever
seen. There’s blood on his neck and his eyes are red. “Is Julia here?” Furgus
growls again, pushing his massive body into mine.

I shake my head. Something about the state
of him, the bloodshot of his eyes, and the way Furgus is growling, tells me to
lie.

He scowls. “She left a message saying she
was coming here.”

I shout at the window. “She went to
Lissie’s. They left here hours ago.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Where’s
your mom?”

“Upstairs.”

He’s barely audible to me, making me wonder
if he can hear me. He smiles again. “Okay, well . . . night.”

What a
freaking odd thing to say.

I
watch him stroll down my driveway and out onto the empty street. He
sways a little and then stops.
Furgus growls, rubbing against
me again as if he’s pushing me away from the door.

“Damn, Gus. He’s stopping!” I whisper but
don't know why Julia’s dad, Mr. Swanson, makes me scared. It’s something in his
stare and the odd way he’s standing at the end of my driveway.

My breath makes a steam mark on the
half-moon window as my eyes refuse to leave the spot where his feet are
planted. Furgus whines, nudging me harder.

But I can’t look way. Julia’s dad’s right
arm twitches. He drops to his knees as his body moves like my cat’s does when
he has a hairball. My grip on the windowsill actually hurts my fingers, but I
stop noticing the pain when I see something shoot from the front of his body.
He convulses as the red liquid leaves him. He shakes like he’s a one-man
earthquake and then falls over into the bloody vomit.

My eyes are so wide they’re cramping and my
mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls. I don’t breathe or move or
think a single thing for the several seconds he is on the ground. I watch as
his feet twitch a little. His hands do too.

Slowly his fingers tiptoe, up through the
bloody vomit and lay their palms on the ground. Like a robot he pushes himself
up, jerky and twitchy and stiff. He’s like a tin man, the way he pushes himself
up to standing again. His head jerks hard to the left three times, before he stops
and stares at the house kitty-corner to mine. He doesn’t move.

I start breathing again. “Damn.”

There isn’t even a second to feel anything.
The door across the road opens and one of my neighbors comes out into the
darkness. I can see him talking to Mr. Swanson who doesn’t move. Mr. Swanson
stands perfectly still, cocking his head to the side unnaturally.

The neighbor takes another step, putting a
hand out.

I whisper like someone is there with me,
watching, “What an idiot.” Furgus whines again, grabbing at my pants and
pulling at me gently. I reach one hand down, rubbing his massive face. “Shhhh,
Gus. We don't want him to hear us.”

Mr. Swanson’s head does the three jerks
again but to the right this time. He looks over at my neighbor who is now
backing away. Mr. Swanson leaps into a run. My neighbor turns to run but is
tackled to the pavement. Mr. Swanson bites down on the man’s shoulder. His
teeth stay there like a pit bull’s would, as his fists fly at the man’s ribs
and head. He punches so fast I can’t be sure I see them all. No matter how the
neighbor moves, Mr. Swanson’s teeth don’t stop biting down. My shaking
hand grips
into Furgus’ neck fur.

When my neighbor no longer fights, Mr.
Swanson pulls back. Stringing flesh and blood drip from his face. He backs away
from the neighbor and falls to the ground.

The neighbor starts to move, almost
instantly. He twitches in the feet and hands. His body slowly finds its way,
the same as Mr. Swanson’s did—robotically. He wipes his mouth, like he’s
a regular man again and the spell has worn off.

He walks to the door to his house, looking
around the street for someone to tell about the savage attack on him. He
doesn't act like he’s wounded, just looks around like he might be confused.

I know I am.

He wanders around for a few minutes, lost.

My eyes don't want to leave him and the odd
behavior but they are desperate to see Mr. Swanson and if he’s moving.

He’s not.

I have a terrible feeling he’s dead. Hot
tears are trying to fill my eyes and block out the bad things, but I don't
blink and just let my eyes fill up. Furgus backs away from the door, leaving me
there. His growl is back.

The neighbor starts to walk. He goes to the
exact spot Mr. Swanson was before the door was opened and is suddenly frozen in
the trance his vicious attacker had been in.

My stomach is in a ball and I’m not a
hundred-percent certain I didn’t pee myself. I force my hand to leave the
windowsill when I’m pretty sure I did pee. I slowly lower my hand, scared that
my zombie neighbor might sense me moving. When my hand’s between my legs, I
sigh in disappointment. It’s wet. I look down.
Yup
—I
did. I peed my pants, right onto my mother’s leather bench. She’s going to
murder me. I don't even know how to explain how it happened.