The Seventh Day by Tara Brown writing as A.E. Watson Read Free Book Online

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.
    She’s still breathing, thank God. I drop to
my knees, rolling her over. The gunshot is in her side. Joey’s bullet only
grazed her side and the bleeding is already slowing down. She is burning hot so
I know she’s sick. The wound on her shoulder is clearly one of the bites. I
cover my mouth with my shirt and grab one of Mom’s arms to drag her to the
under-stairs storage. I push her inside and turn on the light, but it doesn’t
turn on. In the dim glow of the emergency lights, I can see her eyelids flutter
a little but she doesn’t move or make a sound. I grab a blanket off of the
couch and lay it over her and then grab a case of water to lock in there with
her, just in case. Tears are filling my eyes and my heart is racing. I don’t
want to leave her but I’m scared. What if she is becoming one of them?
    I close the door and grab a dining room
chair. I stick it under the door handle and step back. Her blood is still on
the floor; I can see it in the dim glow of the emergency lights. I hurry to the
kitchen, getting the bleach and cleaning the blood.
    My tears mix with the bleach and blood.
When it’s done, I pour the bleach right onto my hands and then wash them again.
    I pull off my shirt and grab my gun,
tucking it in the back of my pants like my dad always told me not to. I run up
the stairs and wash when I’ve got all of my clothes off. I suddenly understand
her desperation to get the blood off of her.
    The dim orange lights of the security
system make everything more intense and frightening. I change into three layers
of clothes. I pack a bag of more clothes and run back down the stairs, holding
the gun ready as I open the door to the garage. It still stinks of bleach in
there but nothing moves or breathes, apart from me.
    My breath is louder than
anything I’ve ever heard , I
swear it . It feels as if it echoes off the white walls of the still
garage.
    I want to flick on the lights, but I know
it won’t do anything. I hold up my useless cell phone and click the flashlight
app. Nothing moves. I creep down the stairs to the concrete floor and sneak
around the vehicle, checking for signs of problems.
    It’s cold in the dark, and when I get to
the wide garage door, I swear I can see my breath. I flash the light along the
whole door but it’s intact and the lock is still slid across the bars.
    I turn, hurrying through the dark to the
supplies. I start grabbing bags of groceries and water. I fill the trunk and
third-row seating completely. I even squeeze food between the bucket seats. The
girls come with their bags of clothes and tear-stained faces. They climb in
amongst the rubble, fitting themselves in between
everything else.
    “Where’s Mom?”
    I give Joey a sad look. “If Dad comes, he
might be able to help her. But I doubt it. I think she’s really sick. Your shot
never hurt her. It grazed her side a little. You should know that—she
wasn’t hurt by you. It’s the sickness. You missed, Joey. Do you understand me?
It won’t be you that hurts Mom—it will be the fever and the sickness.”
    Joey cries again. I’m not sure if it is from
relief or sadness that she shot at our mother. She climbs into the SUV and
closes the door.
    I go back into the house and hide the rest
of the food in the closet of the office that doubles as a panic room. Dad built
it like a weirdo. Military scientists aren’t known for their rationality. Most
are preppers. My dad isn’t a prepper, but he has always insisted on things he
believes are common sense. The house had been built and finished already when
we bought it, so he made his own version of a safe room with the small walk-in
closet in the office. It looks like a regular closet inside, but the wall is
not a regular wall. It’s the opening to a tiny panic room.
    It was the only thing my mother and I ever
agreed