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

memories, but there are only three things I remember that would
classify as good:
    1. My mother gave me the necklace around my
neck. It is a locket with a picture of our other dog, Hobbs, who died when I
was twelve. She knew I was heartbroken, and she went out and got a jeweler to
make a locket with his face carved into the heart. It had a picture of him and
me together inside of it. We got Furgus a month later and I never warmed to him
the way I did with Hobbs. I was scared maybe that he too would die and take a
piece of my heart with him.
    2. Once she lied to my dad and told him I
was sleeping at a friend’s house in Laurel, when the truth was I had snuck into
the city for a concert with my best friend, Tanya. And not just any
concert—it was the Black Eyed Peas—and my dad had said I couldn’t
go. But somehow Mom understood I needed it. Tan and I have been friends since
we were two, until Tan’s mom got a job in a city and moved away. So when Tan
invited me to the concert, I was stoked—Dad, not so much.
    3. And lastly, Mom once lied to my dad when
I accidentally shot myself like I was the kid on A Christmas Story . My dad had gotten
me an awesome bow and quiver and taught me to hunt with it. I did the thing he
told me not to do—pull back the arrow while I still had it pointed at my
foot. I begged my mother to pull the arrow from my foot and swear to my dad I
had stepped on a nail. She gagged when she pulled it out and got teary eyed
when the doctor gave me my four stitches. But she later lied for me so he
wouldn’t take it away.
    And that is it. Everything else has been an
inconvenience, an annoyance, a disturbance, and a distraction. No matter how I
feel about her, I wish she were here now. Then I wouldn’t be the adult, and I
wouldn’t be in charge.
    I would be the sassy, bratty, teenage pain
in the ass. I dish out the canned fruit and cereal bars with juice boxes.
“Joey, I have to go turn on the propane.”
    Her eyes grow wide as she sits to her dish
of canned peaches and pears. “No.”
    “What’s that mean?” The other girls give me
a look I ignore.
    “Lock the door until you hear the secret
knock.”
    Joey opens her mouth, but I leave before I
have to hear anymore. I’m not excited about it either. I grab my flashlight and
gun and slip out onto the front porch. The gravel street is silent. There isn’t
even a twig breaking or a leaf scuttling.
    There is only silence.
    It’s almost worse than a leaf dragging
across the gravel or a twig cracking. Where
are the birds? Are they sick too?
    My stomach aches but I know we need the
stove. I can’t turn on the generator for lights; it makes more noise than a
freight train. But the stove is a must.
    I take a breath, looking out at the bright
afternoon and decide if I act casually, it’s no biggie. I’ve started it a
hundred times—today is no different.
    Of course when I’m on the second step to
the ground level, my brain mentions that in fact, that is not true.
    Today is different.
    Today I am potentially an orphan and
definitely in danger of being attacked by the things everyone is becoming. The
biters.
    When my feet crunch onto the gravel, I take
another deep breath. I feel exposed, like when we are bow hunting and I’m alone
in my perch, waiting for something to come.
    Only now I am waiting for a person to
come—a person who wants to kill me for no reason other than wanting me to
be like them. I shudder as the memories of Julia’s father’s face, and Mr.
Baumgartner’s, fill my head.
    I push them away and slip behind the house
to the small door to the underside of the cabin.
    My fingers shake when I reach for the
handle, looking all around me and listening like I am alone in the forest. I
open the door slowly, peeking my face into the dimly lit space. It looks
identical to how it did the last time I was here. I take one last look around
and make a run for it, the way I always do. I treat it like an obstacle course.
The house is built on huge