by Urban, Ami
“The children!” My hands flew to my cheeks.
“It’s okay,” Jack said. “They’re locked in your office.”
Just as he finished his sentence, a battering ram emerged from the trunk of one of the SUV’s. My heart squeezed into a tight ball. They couldn’t take my family. Jack’s fingers curled around my wrist, tugging me away from the window.
Crashes and shouting echoed downstairs. As we passed the stairs, the doors crashed open and men began running up. Somehow, they didn’t see us. And I heard Lexi’s scream pierce the air as Jack pulled me into a room.
July 7 – Jack Reynolds
I shoved my wife and friend into an empty room on the second floor, tucking the .22 in the seat of my jeans. Then, I spun around and quietly shut the door to the supply closet. Then, I turned and pressed a finger against my lips. Voices and footsteps thundered closer to us.
“Oh, God. Rex. Lexi. Cyrus.” Lisa began to shake as Brendon took her into his arms. He reassured her they’d be okay. I had no doubt about that. Cyrus was a good kid and Lexi was smart as hell.
The voices grew louder. I motioned for us to find better hiding spots. Brendon handed Lisa off to me and shoved himself in a corner under the janitor’s sink. I pulled my wife close to my chest and opened a locker on the other side of the room. We stuffed ourselves inside just as the door to the closet squeaked open.
Lisa buried her face in my chest as I held her close. One hand was curled tight around her waist while the other was poised on the stock of the gun. I could feel her heart beating hard against me, so I squeezed her tighter into me.
“Found the phone,” someone mumbled. The door to the closet opened slightly, then closed a bit as whoever was there spoke.
“Shit. It’s destroyed.”
“They can’t be far, right?”
The door clicked closed as the voices faded away. Lisa began sobbing quietly into my shirt. I hugged her close, letting go of the gun. Brushing a hand against her back, I let us out of the locker. She collapsed in my arms the second we were on the concrete floor. Brendon scooched out of his hiding place as I comforted her.
“It’s okay, Babe. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Okay, whoever is reading this, I’m going to level with you. I’m sitting here in this dark closet with a wife who just can’t seem to catch a break and a singing surgeon bleeding from his head.
I look at him and ask, “Ok, so what the fuck does this dog vaccine thing mean?”
He just shakes his head, sighs and replies, “It means they used cheap ingredients to mass produce the vaccine quickly.”
Lisa wipes her beautiful eyes and looks at me. “Defensor also isn’t effective in humans. The entire epidemic could start again.”
“Whoa… That’s heavy…” I pause, taking in the weight of her statement. “So, was the dog vaccine the reason he was still bleeding?” I ask.
Lisa and Brendon look at each other, something weird fires between them. “Gentamicin has been known to cause thrombocytopenia,” Lisa says. “It makes sense. But we have to examine that brain tissue to see if there are still traces of the virus there. And if it is, we need to warn a lot of people.”
Brendon looks nervous. He starts looking around the dark room. “We should tell someone now.”
I laugh. “Who? The CDC?”
They both give me the same disapproving yet understanding glare. I’m right and they know it. But there’s one thing they don’t know.
“I’ve got their classified documents,” I say, dropping the backpack at my feet. “They can’t hide anymore. They can’t erase you anymore. Not if we have these. Now we can get the word out.”
“How?” Lisa comes to me.
I smile. “We’ll find a way.”
And we’re going to. You hear us, CDC and whoever the fuck else is after us? We’re coming for you. Yep, all that government jargon at the beginning? That was to throw you off. But now that you made it to the end, I just want you to know that we’re getting our kids back. And if you hurt them, you’ll have to answer to one and a half billion angry survivors. And my gun.
Your move.
APPENDIX A
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Brendon Rutherford would like to acknowledge the following individuals for their support in creating and funding this fake as hell report. Sit back. It’s a long list…
Singer/Songwriters: Whitney Houston, George Jones, Alfred Yankovic, Gerard Way, Robert Smith, Axl Rose, Stevie Wonder, Alanis Morrissette, David Bowie, Kenny Loggins, Frank Turner and Bette Middler.
Musical bands: The Irish Rovers, The Bangles, Dead Kennedys, Panic! At The Disco, The Script, Bloodhound Gang.
I would like to Mr. Stephen King for inspiring a wealth of characters that won’t leave me alone. That includes you, Jack.
In memoriam of Miss Alexandra (Lexi) [REDACTED] for her continued dedication and support of this and many other projects.
APPENDIX B
BIOGRAPHIES
Ami Urban began her career in writing at the tender age of eight. Her very first story was a whopping one-pager about a T-Rex with no friends. No one assumed she’d go on to write novels full of plot holes, misnomers and enough pop-culture references to power the entire Internet. While partially true, it didn’t stop her from compiling reports for THE RABID: Addendum.
What was originally misdiagnosed as Multiple Personality Disorder wound its way into a rich tapestry of half-assed characters and bad jokes. If you’ve made it this far, dear readers, then congratulations. You’ve reached the unfinish(ed) line, if you will. So, why are you still here?
Jack and Lisa will return. When? No one knows. But probably soon.
“Ooh! A fourth wall break inside a fourth wall break! That’s like…sixteen walls!” -Ryan Reynolds, Deadpool
If you’re really dead-set on reading more of Ami Urban’s rantings, here are a few more piles of garbage she’s penned:
The Rabid
The Death of Me
The Death of My First Assignment
Healer
