The Seventh Day by Tara Brown writing as A.E. Watson

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