Micheal woke up to a missing wife. A missing pregnant wife at that. He had called her name and checked every room in the house. Abby was not here. Either that, or she was hiding very well. Michael checked the garage. There was an automobile parked in it. His automobile. Wherever Abby was, she wasn't driving. He opened the garage door and looked out.
Behind him, there is a clunk.
The trash can tipped and rolled at Michael. He would have asked himself, "What the ****?" But he couldn't. He didn't have time. He would have lost his mind to see Abby with her throat missing and jaw slacked, with her preggo belly flattened out smooth as she lay bloody behind boxes and trash cans. But he didn't. He just hollered out loud and collapsed. The last thing he felt was teeth and fingernails going through the back of his scalp and neck. Then, blackness. Michael was as dead as Abby. A barefoot mashing his skull and brains onto the pavement like he was a cockroach was the last moment of his life.
Jonas Halifat, Michael's neighbor, saw the whole thing from his from yard. He was still holding a bag of trash in his shocked white hand, staring with his schocked eyes, when his shocked face was shredded like paper by one of the ugliest hands you can imagine. His blood was already spilled from the sidewalk to the street before his pulse completely stopped.
The scene is becoming more and more familiar throughout the city. Micheal and Abby's doctor is cowering with his own wife in a basement bathroom. The door between them and death is splintering like a wet toothpick. Death is kicking a hole and coming through.
Police officers are abandoning their posts, though not immediately. Across the city, cops unload their clips into every hostile body they can point a gun at. When nothing good comes of this, the officers are overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy.
Pharmacists are locking pharmacy doors and swallowing Xanax. They've been told that Xanax fixes everything. Children are being drug around by their arms; their parents hoping to find a safe place to drag them. The Xanax fixes nothing. The parents find no safe place. Rip, smash, gut, repeat. The scene is becoming very familiar.
Abby would be pleased to know, Andrew never had to live through doomsday.