commercial on TV for her parent’s mattress, where a woman jumped up and down on the bed next to a glass of red wine. The claim was that a sleeper would not be disturbed as his or her partner left the bed. As she slipped slowly out of the coverlet, she hoped the claim was true this time.
“Jennie!” Her father knocked on the door, with the sound of panic in his voice that traveled up to the second floor.
“I’m coming!” she yelled, the moment she reached the stairs. She hated to think the pounding might wake Mickey up. Considering she’d been checking the window every two minutes for the minivan, it was Murphy’s Law that he would show up the moment she was upstairs and no longer standing sentry for him.
When she got to the door, she pulled the deadbolt open and yanked the door. Her father was drooped, holding his thigh, and sweat beaded on his forehead. The look in his wide eyes made Jennie choke back a scream.
Her father had been bitten.
The sobs spilled out a s Jennie panicked. “Dad, no...no…don’t tell me that you—”
His face was as gray as his eyes. He nodded and stated the obvious. “Yes, I’ve been attacked.”
She wanted to scream in her pain. Why was this happening to her? She needed her father, and if her mother was gone, too… “What am I supposed to do?”
“Listen.” He grabbed her chin and raised it. He shoved the black shotgun in her hands. “I need you to take this.”
She shook her head. He was only a blur through her teary vision.
“Yes, Jennie. You need to take care of your brother. I know I don’t have long. I was bitten about fifteen minutes ago.” His leg was wrapped with his jacket. “You know we don’t have much time, right?”
Jennie nodded, not able to think. Panic.
“Go next door to the Cassels. They must have food and maybe even a way to get you and Mickey to one of the bases. The minivan ran out of gas just before I turned into the neighborhood.”
The car, too? No food, no car, and no parents? How was she supposed to survive? How was she supposed to take care of Mickey?
“Where’s your brother?”
“He’s upstairs. I put him in your bed for a nap.”
Dad leaned hard against the door and closed his eyes. “I’m so tired, Jennie. I’ve never felt so tired and weak in my whole life. All my joints are aching. I wonder if this is how your mother felt. It’s almost like I can feel my life draining out of this wound in my leg.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
He opened his eyes and met hers. “It’s the truth, Jennie. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. I figure I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I become one of them. You need to hurry next door with Mickey.”
An order, something to do. It was just what she needed to get her feet moving. Even though the floorboards felt more like molasses than wood, she pushed herself up the stairs as fast as she could. Mickey had kicked off his blanket, his chubby cheeks red from the heat in the upstairs room.
“Mickey, we’ve got to go.”
His eyelids cracked open a sliver and then closed again.
“Come on. We’ve got to go.”
He shook his head and grabbed to pull the blanket over himself.
“I’m serious, Mickey,” she demanded, as she pulled him to a sitting position.
Like a jellyfish, his body couldn’t hold the position and wilted back into the mattress. She pulled him up again, and this time, slung his limp body over her shoulder. He didn’t weigh much more than some of the backpacks she’d carried in school. She could handle this.
Going down the stairs with the extra baggage was difficult, but not impossible, if she kept her weight back on her heels. She gripped the rail as she went, concentrating on placing one foot after the other. Her father sat in the foyer with his back against the large, white front door. He opened his eyes when they hit the bottom step.
“Good.” He pulled on the door handle to rise up weakly. His eyes filled with tears, and he
“Jennie!” Her father knocked on the door, with the sound of panic in his voice that traveled up to the second floor.
“I’m coming!” she yelled, the moment she reached the stairs. She hated to think the pounding might wake Mickey up. Considering she’d been checking the window every two minutes for the minivan, it was Murphy’s Law that he would show up the moment she was upstairs and no longer standing sentry for him.
When she got to the door, she pulled the deadbolt open and yanked the door. Her father was drooped, holding his thigh, and sweat beaded on his forehead. The look in his wide eyes made Jennie choke back a scream.
Her father had been bitten.
The sobs spilled out a s Jennie panicked. “Dad, no...no…don’t tell me that you—”
His face was as gray as his eyes. He nodded and stated the obvious. “Yes, I’ve been attacked.”
She wanted to scream in her pain. Why was this happening to her? She needed her father, and if her mother was gone, too… “What am I supposed to do?”
“Listen.” He grabbed her chin and raised it. He shoved the black shotgun in her hands. “I need you to take this.”
She shook her head. He was only a blur through her teary vision.
“Yes, Jennie. You need to take care of your brother. I know I don’t have long. I was bitten about fifteen minutes ago.” His leg was wrapped with his jacket. “You know we don’t have much time, right?”
Jennie nodded, not able to think. Panic.
“Go next door to the Cassels. They must have food and maybe even a way to get you and Mickey to one of the bases. The minivan ran out of gas just before I turned into the neighborhood.”
The car, too? No food, no car, and no parents? How was she supposed to survive? How was she supposed to take care of Mickey?
“Where’s your brother?”
“He’s upstairs. I put him in your bed for a nap.”
Dad leaned hard against the door and closed his eyes. “I’m so tired, Jennie. I’ve never felt so tired and weak in my whole life. All my joints are aching. I wonder if this is how your mother felt. It’s almost like I can feel my life draining out of this wound in my leg.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
He opened his eyes and met hers. “It’s the truth, Jennie. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. I figure I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I become one of them. You need to hurry next door with Mickey.”
An order, something to do. It was just what she needed to get her feet moving. Even though the floorboards felt more like molasses than wood, she pushed herself up the stairs as fast as she could. Mickey had kicked off his blanket, his chubby cheeks red from the heat in the upstairs room.
“Mickey, we’ve got to go.”
His eyelids cracked open a sliver and then closed again.
“Come on. We’ve got to go.”
He shook his head and grabbed to pull the blanket over himself.
“I’m serious, Mickey,” she demanded, as she pulled him to a sitting position.
Like a jellyfish, his body couldn’t hold the position and wilted back into the mattress. She pulled him up again, and this time, slung his limp body over her shoulder. He didn’t weigh much more than some of the backpacks she’d carried in school. She could handle this.
Going down the stairs with the extra baggage was difficult, but not impossible, if she kept her weight back on her heels. She gripped the rail as she went, concentrating on placing one foot after the other. Her father sat in the foyer with his back against the large, white front door. He opened his eyes when they hit the bottom step.
“Good.” He pulled on the door handle to rise up weakly. His eyes filled with tears, and he
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