He picked up the electronic Yahtzee game, but it would not turn on: no battery power. He had left it on the day before. Alex knew he had to find something to occupy his mind or he’d go crazy thinking about the noises.
There were a couple of magazines, a newspaper, and a lot of mail on the coffee table and the floor around it. None of it appealed to Alex, so he decided to try Mark’s room to see if there were any good magazines up there. Before he left the living room, however, he decided he should look outside so he could make a bit of a plan for the day. He took a few deep breaths, gave himself a good shake, and braced himself for the worst. He pulled back the curtain—though he hid behind it with his eyes closed, just in case. When nothing immediately hit the window, he opened his eyes and looked out.
There was no one there.
Bits of the car remained, black and crumpled, strewn much farther down the street than they had been the day before. The rain must have washed any blood away in the night. He was very glad for that.
Maybe they don’t like the rain, he thought. He hoped it would keep raining until he got to the school, and until they found a cure, or whatever, for the disease.
The empty street brought back some confidence in his former plan: to get to the school and his dad as soon as possible. He’d wait an hour to see if the rain stopped, but then leave.
Mark’s magazines weren’t great, but Alex found a deck of cards. He played a few rounds of Solitaire, checking outside between each game, having learned his lesson. He had made up his mind that if the coast was clear on the next check, he’d head out. But then he heard Shadow scratching at the door. He got up to check on her. She must be getting restless.
She was lying on the floor next to him.
Where’s the scratching coming from?
He heard it again, and it was definitely not Shadow. It also wasn’t coming from the front or back doors. Shadow followed behind him as he looked for the source, sniffing as they went.
Alex looked out the front window: still nothing. Same with the backyard.
Where’s the scratching coming from?
The basement.
The door to the basement was closed. He remembered that whenever he had slept over, Mark’s family put Buster down there. He thought it was odd, considering that Shadow was just as big and she could sleep wherever she wanted with no problems. They must have put Buster down there before they left, and he’s been trapped down there ever since. Poor thing was probably starving.
Alex went to the door. Sure enough, the scratching was coming from behind it. Shadow growled as Alex reached for the knob—this confirmed that it was Buster; despite being friendly to people, the two dogs did not get along with each other. He opened the door. “Hey, buddy,” Alex greeted his friend’s dog.
It wasn’t his friend’s dog.
It was his friend. And his friend’s father.
They half-lunged, half-toppled out of the basement, pushing the door open. It hit Alex and sent him sprawling. Dazed, he saw stars for a moment, only snapping out of it when he felt one of them crawling on his legs. It was Mark, with the same eyes as Mr. Watts. Behind, Mark’s dad was also trying to get on top of him. Same eyes. Both of them were bloody. Mark was covered in it and his dad had a deep, seeping wound on his neck.
Alex tried kicking away from them, especially from Mark, now trying to get at his neck, but Mark had him pinned down. If his dad piled on, he’d have no chance.
Mark drooled that same pink froth that Mr. Watts had, and both Wilsons made the gurgling growls. Mark’s face was just inches away from Alex’s own, when a louder growl erupted and a blur of motion filled his vision.
Shadow, coming to his rescue, jumped over Alex, crashing into the other two and pushing them back! Alex scrambled to his feet.
“Shadow!” he called, but she, snapping and growling, wouldn’t back down from the diseased Wilsons. They growled back at her, lashing out. Mark swung very close and she caught his hand in her mouth and bit hard. Alex heard bones crunching. Drops of blood welled around her teeth and splattered as Mark tried to push his hand farther in, not pull it free. No other reaction. No sign of pain. Just persistently trying to get at the dog and at Alex.
“Come on, Shadow! Let’s go!” Alex yelled, turning, hoping the dog would follow.
She didn’t.
Mark’s dad did.
In two stumbling steps, he was on Alex, swinging over his son’s head to try to grab him. Shadow let go of Mark’s hand and jumped at the larger attacker, knocking him backwards down the stairs. She’s winning this fight!
Alex looked at Mark. His hand was mangled, his thumb and pinky finger hanging on by ripped tendons. He didn’t seem to care as he lunged at Alex again. Just in time, Shadow jumped. Mark, quicker than his father, grabbed onto the dog as she landed, and the two of them tumbled down the stairs.
“Shadow! No!” Alex screamed into the dim basement. He heard sickening animal sounds, both from his dog and from the Wilsons. “Shadow! Come on!” He couldn’t see what was happening.
Suddenly Mark was back on the stairs, shambling up towards him. He was slower than before, and Alex could see that one of his legs was bent the wrong way, but he wasn’t any less determined. Alex tried to see past him—to see his dog. He couldn’t.
“Shadow! Come on! We have to go! Shadow!”
The only sound now came from what was once Mark on the stairs, getting closer. When Mark’s hand—what was left of
