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

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