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

nothing and no one follows him out.
    “Lucky we didn't get enough food; we have
room for gas now.” He pumps gas into the truck and fills the cans in the back
of the truck too. He climbs in, giving me a weird look. “Feels funny not
paying.”
    I don't comment. Funny isn’t a word I would
use to describe a single moment of this trip. Of this life.
    We drive across the railroad tracks, closer
to downtown. He pulls over before we get too close and turns the truck off. We
sit in silence, not awkward but tense silence. The kind where
you can feel the friction sparkling on your skin. I shiver, scanning the
area for movement but there is none. No one is near us, or if they are, they’re
hiding. Biters don't hide.
    He points. “One block that way is the
pharmacy I go to. It’s as close as I want to get to downtown.”
    I nod, not sure what I’m agreeing to just
yet.
    “You are gonna tiptoe along the sidewalk.
It’s one block. Just in case I can’t get in from the back. I’ll distract them
in the back so you can sneak in the front if that's the case.”
    My jaw drops, that's pretty much my version
of a response. He rolls his eyes. “You run faster than I do, kid, and you see
better. And I might have a dizzy spell so this is the plan. You run to the
pharmacy, Drakes—you now it?”
    I nod again, even less certain of what I’m
agreeing to.
    “Well good, you run to Drakes and I will be
there to open the front door for you if I can get in the back. If not, you
smash and grab.”
    My eyes narrow. “Why do I get the distinct impression I am bait?”
    “You are if I need you to run to draw them
away from me once we’re inside, or if they follow me in the back. If the
streets are full of them, you run as hard as you can. They won’t catch you. I
know that. So if the streets full, you run and make noise and draw them away.
If there are none I’ll meet you at the door. This is my version of a running
backup plan.” He says it so matter-of-factly I can hardly stand it. “You are
bait and you need to be quick about it if things go bad. We can’t live without
some antibiotics. That's simple science.”
    My response is a gulp but my hand slips to
the handle. He’s right on all accounts. I can run faster, hide easier, see
better, avoid dizzy spells, and we will die without the medicine. Simple cuts
and wounds could be deadly without meds. I shiver again as I open the door and
step out into the frosty dawn that is approaching. The sun is rising, bringing
us a whole new day of hell on earth.
    Gripping my jacket to me tightly, I cross
in front of the truck as he starts the huge vehicle back up and slowly drives
by me, leaving me to make the block.
    The memory of my coach teaching us to
tiptoe run, landing on the soft part of the foot, fills my head. Using that
technique I move silently through the empty streets. There isn’t a sound,
beyond the distant hum of the engine, my heartbeat, and the creeping of the
morning fog in the cool breeze.
    On the crest of the small hill I pause,
listening for them.
    Nothing moves. Even the truck is gone or
just silent. I slip past a couple rundown houses and a place that used to be a
bakery once upon a time and tiptoe down the hill to the street where the old
pharmacy is.
    There is something in the cool wind,
loneliness I suppose. A solitary piece of paper blows past me, scuttling along
the road and startling me. I watch it drag and flip along the lonely pavement,
wondering if this is what it feels like to witness tumbleweed in an old western
movie.
    I pause at the bottom of the hill. I’m at a
crossroads, with the pharmacy across from me on the old frontage street that
used to be busy, again once upon a time. Now this is the dingy side of town
where no one really comes—except the old timers like Mr. Milson who have
been using this pharmacy since Jesus was in short pants ,
as my dad always says.
    My eyes catch movement in the dark shadows
along the sidewalk next to the pharmacy. Slowly, I