The Seventh Day Read Online Free PDF Page B

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.
    Furgus whines, shaking his head at me and
backing away more. He knows, even though he cannot see it, that something
terrible just happened. He sensed it.
    I look back at my neighbor, ignoring the
fact I’m standing in the warm puddle and my dog is desperate for me to leave
the door. No matter how hard I try to though, my eyes don’t want to leave him.
I don't trust him, even though he was just attacked and Mr. Swanson is dead on
the grass, or unconscious. The words of the newscaster ring in my head: the symptoms of the flu are instant onset.
    My neighbor stands there, silent and
unmoving, like the man at the school. That's exactly what he reminds me of.
    “Damn.”
    Joey walks to the hallway. “Hey,
Lou—”
    I press my finger to my lips as if she can
see my face. “Shhhhhhh.”
    She gets closer, whispering, “What are you
doing?” Furgus steps forward, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her back. He’s a
hundred and sixty pounds so she doesn't stand a chance at fighting him off.
Irish