My Wife Is a Government Official… She Told Me Something Terrible Got Out

Just as I get up from my desk, I get a text.

It's from my wife and slightly troubling. Call me. It reads, "I glance about the office, watching my co-workers head toward the main conference room for the all-hands meeting."

And this isn't just a normal morning meeting. Jordy has something big to announce. He's been hinting at it for a while. Heading into the big meeting, a call after. A text back.

My phone buzzes immediately. Call me now. All caps. Shit. Hey Lisa.

“What are my co-workers' pauses as she passes my desk?”

Yeah Rick, what's up? Can you let Jordy know I'll be a hair late? My wife is texting me that I need to call her now. Is it an all-caps text? Yeah.

Better call her fast. I'll let Jordy know. Thanks.

She pouts my arm and hurries to the conference room.

I can see through the conference room windows that she's heading straight for Jordy. Turning, I head in the opposite direction toward the break room. With everyone in the meeting, I should have some privacy.

But when I get in there, Wes is standing by the coffee maker, waiting for a new pot to finish brewing. I snooze, I lose. He chuckles, then frowns.

You good Rick? I hold up my phone. Need to call my wife, but I'll go do it in the restroom. Nah man, this coffee is about done. Here.

He grabs the pot and pours his cup even though it isn't finished fully brewing. There, all good. I don't even need green or sugar. Black man, all the way. He pauses.

Okay, that came out wrong. I laugh as he walks out of the break room. Then I dial my wife.

She picks up on the first ring.

Hey babe, what's up? They were wrong Rick. I searched my mind for who the day she's talking about could be. Also, what they might be wrong about. I come up empty.

Gonna need a little more context than that babe. I hear her breathing. It's rapid, anxious. Babe, are you okay? You're not having a panic attack, are you?

I look out the break room door, thinking about how fast I can get to my desk, grab my keys, and sprint downstairs to the parking garage. If I leave right now, even with the late morning traffic, I can get to her and say, what? Twenty minutes?

Fifteen if I ignore several traffic laws. You all tight, I'm on my way. No, no, don't. I'm fine. She laughs.

Well, not fine. Far from fine. Way, way across the universe from fine. But I'm not having a panic attack, not yet.

“Babe, do I need to say that you're scaring the shit out of me?”

Please tell me what's going on. I can't. Not her with a phone. But they were wrong. And we are royally screwed, Rick.

Royally screwed. Who is they? Tell me something at least. I need you to pick up the kids. Then I need you to go to Costco and load up the truck with everything you can.

Case of water, TP, canned food, stuff that will last. I hear laughter filtered through the office from the conference room. Followed by enthusiastic clapping. Shit. I am missing everything.

Rick, Rick, are you listening to me? Go get the kids. Out of the truck with everything you can then get home. Be efficient, be smart. I will tell you everything when I get home later.

Later. Babe, you can't duck this crap on me and say it will be home later. Not cool. I need more than that. I can't give you more than that.

Now without jeopardizing our family safety, do you understand, Rick? This is bigger than us. Bigger than my department. Bigger than everyone.

“Please please please do as I ask and get the kids.”

And load up the truck. Got it. I take a deep breath inside. But you will tell me everything when you get home. Yes.

Now go get the kids. Please. On it. Oh. And Rick.

Don't say a word to anyone about this. Not your co-workers. Not anyone. Save the kids or sick, or there's some issue at the school. And they haven't early released day.

I don't care. Just do not say anything about what I told you. Not hard to do, babe. You haven't told me shit. I love you.

I'll see you later. Love you too. The line goes dead. And I stand there in the break room. Staring at my phone for what feels like forever.

Then there's more laughter from the conference room. Which breaks my spell. I hurried to my desk, grab all my stuff, and walk quickly to the conference room window. Jordy sees me and waves me in.

I hold up my phone and shake my head. He frowns. Says something to everyone. Which they laugh at. Then strides to the conference room door.

You're a little pale.

Everything okay with the family?

I swallow hard.

“I guess being a little pale might help right now.”

Uh, no. My wife got a call from the kid's school. Both of them were violently ill. Coming out both ends, if you know what I mean. I'm going to pick them up and then get them settled at home. Come and back today.

Sort of a big day. No. I work from home. Probably best. Just in case.

I have what the kids have. Jordy visibly cringes and leans back away from me. Oh shit, yeah. Good call. I don't have kids.

So my immune system isn't what yours is. I'd probably be out in an entire week. And we can't afford that now. Can we? Not now.

Nope. Not now. Go get those kiddos settled. Then log in. We'll talk later.

Later. Ellie's promise echoes through my head. Thanks, Jordy. Talk to you as soon as I can. I turned him race to the elevators.

On the way down,

“I run through my conversation with Ellie.”

Not that it was much of a conversation. They were wrong, Rick. Which day is she talking about? My wife does work for the State Department. She's not an official employee.

More of a special consultant with very, very high access. It's a stressful as hell job. But he keeps her here in DC full time. Instead of off traveling the globe. Putting out fires at various consulates.

Of course, I'm not kidding myself and never have.

My wife works for the CIA. She can't say it directly, but I know. There have been signs. Being embedded in the State Department as a special consultant is a bit of a giveaway.

I want to get to my pickup truck. I plug in the school address. See that there's an accident on the beltway and decide to take the surface streets to false church Virginia where we live.

The app says 15 minutes, not bad. Maybe I should use the surface streets more often. I wind my way through DC and over to Northern Virginia.

“Checking for signs of an emergency as I go.”

But there's no increased police presence. No signs of the national guard setting a roadblocks or a coordinating off specific areas. As far as I can tell, it's business as usual. The school resource officer gives me a stern look

as I roll up to the entrance of the school and park at the curb. I know, I know.

I hold up my hands as I get out of my pickup truck.

But I'm in a super hurry and need to grab the kids. Can I please just park here this time? Five minutes, I promise. The SRO looks me up and down, then slumps his shoulders. Find Mr. Sessions, but just this once.

Thank you. I'll be right back. I must look completely frazzled because the school secretary doesn't even question me when I say I need to check out both of my kids. She calls their rooms and they are in the office in two minutes.

Both, wanting to know what's going on. I hush them and hurry them to the car. Six minutes, Mr. Sessions. You're lucky I'm a good guy. I know.

Thank you. We are out of there and headed to Costco as both kids start peppering me with questions. I don't know. My voice is a little too sharp, a little too forced. And the kids shut up immediately.

Sorry. Mom says we need to hurry and that's all she said. She'll tell us more when she gets home. When is that? Bonnie, my daughter and eldest and ten years old,

crosses her arms. She's been pushing things more lately, making me not look forward to the teen years. Although, as Ellie has reminded me, I'll have it easy.

The father-daughter dynamic is nowhere near as hellish as the mother-daughter dynamic once those hormones kick in. Ellie said that she and her mother used to get in knocked down, dragged out screaming fights almost every day when she was in middle in high school.

Great. Looking forward to referring that. Dad, I asked you a question. I snap out of my thoughts and look in the rear view mirror at my son, Eddie.

Only a year younger than Bonnie. He looks like he's three grades behind. At nine, his growth spurt hasn't hit yet. He's still one of the smallest in his class. I keep telling him that I was the same way

until sophomore year of high school. When I had a massive growth spurt and ended up just over six feet tall. Needless to say, Eddie doesn't care about my story. He just wants to be taller now, not in a few years.

What did you ask, pal? Can we get just chocolate chip muffins this time? I don't want the variety pack. I hate banana nut. I love banana nut.

No, you don't. You just see that because that's dad's favorite

I don't bother to correct them. My favorite flavor isn't banana nut.

“That just happens to be the flavor left over”

after everyone snags their favorite flavor. In fact, I really despise banana nut. Glancing in the rear view mirror, I marvel at how, even though I just yanked them from school, I didn't give them much of a reason.

They can manage to sit and chat and bicker and just be kids.

Their resilience is amazing.

I wish I had the same. At the moment, my guts are twisted up tighter than a beaver's butthole. Ellie has me completely freaked out. Which isn't helped by the Costco parking lot scene

when we arrive. Jesus. Even at this time of the morning, Costco is packed. I find a supporting spot. Get the kids unloaded.

Then grab one of the pallet cards from the row of them and the parking lot returned cage. Damn, Dad. What are we getting? Mom only ever uses a card.

We're loading up. Don't say damn.

Inside is the usual madhouse.

“But there feels like more tension than usual.”

Shoppers are hurrying to and fro, which is normal. What is a normal is how some have stopped and are staring at their phones. I hear snippets of conversation. For a plane to gone down, how is that possible?

My sister says there's some sort of sickness I'll waste. Did you see that? The car crashed right into that house. Didn't break or nothing. Dad, what's going on?

I don't know sweetheart. You know how the internet can be? Bonnie doesn't buy my crap explanation. No, I don't even buy my crap explanation. God, I wish Ellie had given me more to go on.

This not knowing is excruciating. We fill two pallet cards worth of goods,

which means the kids have to push the second card.

Arguing the whole time about who gets to steer. I ignore the argument and focus on loading the truck. Then loading the kids. The whole ride home. The kids jabber about videos on YouTube and their favorite streamers.

Once more in their little bubbles. They thoughtfully built wardrobe really comes down to pieces that mix well. Last, and don't make you feel like you overpaid. And that's exactly why I've been loving quince lately. They make up everyday essentials using premium fabrics and thoughtful design.

Without the luxury markup. I picked up one of their linen shirts and immediately noticed the quality. Light, comfortable, and not flimsy like cheaper linen. The shoes were the same deal. Clean look, super comfortable.

And they feel like something that should cost a lot more. They work directly with top factories. Cut out the middlemen and focus on premium materials that actually last. No flashy branding, just well made a barrel that gets the job done. Right now, go to quince.com/dns for free shipping and 365 day returns.

That's a full year to build your wardrobe and love it. And you will. Now available in Canada too. Don't keep settling for clothes that don't last. Go to qu-i-n-c-e.com/dns for free shipping and 365 day returns.

That's quince.com/dns. But what I want to do is not to study the most expensive stuff. The master-by-tack laptop is soft-handed. It's a master-sister. You can say that you can buy the back.

You have a house for a house. But you don't have it. No. It's a house for a house. You just do it with a house.

And if you work then you will have a house. -Catchin'. -That's right. -Safe. -How is it? -I'm going to rent a house. -Now it costs a house. Need help, Dad?

I smile at my son as I park in our driveway. No. Go on inside. I got this. Eddie is about to ask me another question. But Bonnie must sense that I'm beyond tense. So she just yanks her brother out of the truck

and dushers him inside while I start to unload. Hey neighbor, you planning for a siege! My next door neighbor, Alan. A retired Navy captain waves as he walks across the lawn. Everything I'm pulling out of the truck.

I stop unloading and hold up a hand to ward him off. He pauses before stepping onto my driveway. Oh, Rick. Anything I need to know?

“Is that anything to do with those planes going down?”

Or the fires rage in through Detroit? Shit. I hadn't heard about Detroit. What the hell is happening? I don't know what's going on. I really don't. But you might want to put in some provisions.

Maybe take Tina with you for an extra pair of hands. Tina's visiting her sister in Boca! Just me! Bacheloring it up for the next week! Have you talked to her lately?

I tried to smile, but failed.

Alan studies me for a moment.

“The nods and reaches past me to grab a case of water.”

Let me help you get this inside. No, no, I got it. I take the case of water from him. You might want to go shopping sooner rather than lighter. Alan studies me again the nods.

The Navy and him knows things aren't right. Be safe! You too. I don't even know what we're being safe from. This is madness.

I finish unloading the truck and check on the kids. A text comes in from Ellie. I'm leaving the office now. Be home soon. Please lock the doors and do not interact with anyone. Jesus, that's not a text you want to get.

I restrain myself and don't text back other than. Okay, see you soon.

What the hell is going on?

Should I not have talked to Alan? Hey, dad. Bonnie calls to me from another room. And the town and her voice pulls me from my thoughts. Yes, sweetheart?

What does this mean?

“I follow her voice and find her in the sitting room.”

All curled up on the small couch with a blanket, tucked around her. Of course, she has her tablet with her and is frowning at the screen. What's up, Sugarbot?

Don't call me that. She only says it half heartedly. Then she shows me her tablet. What does this mean? I was watching a live stream from India and it just quit.

Then this message came up. I decide not to ask why she is watching a live stream from India and take the tablet from her. The message reads, "Regional access is no longer available. We are sorry for the inconvenience."

I don't know.

I've never seen this before.

There must be something up with India's internet. It's a developed country, but it has its issues. It might be a country wide-outage. Bonnie takes the tablet back from me, frowning. Well, that doesn't help at all.

Thanks. Sorry to disappoint you, Sugarbot. Dad, stop it! I walked through the house to check on Eddie. I find him in the breakfast knuck, sitting on the bench.

His knees tucked up to his chest as he types on his tablet. Who are you talking to, pal? Max. Cool. How's Max doing?

Wait. Max should be at school.

“How are you chatting with him when there's no devices allowed at school?”

He's not at school. He's home while his parents pack. A chill runs up my spine. Pack? Are they going on a trip?

I don't know. Max says his mom pulled him from school this morning too, but his parents won't say why. Max's dad is a civilian liaison for the joint chiefs of staff. We're talking serious White House access. And he had his wife pull Max from school, so they could pack up and go.

Where? Why? I give Eddie a quick pat on the head, then slip out the back door onto the deck. I pull out my phone and call Ellie. What's wrong?

The kids okay? Kids are fine. We're to doubt, but fine. I swallow and look around to make sure I'm not being watched. Even though we have 15 foot tall,

food you're lining, our entire yard for privacy. Eddie just said that Max's parents are backing up and leaving town. Their silence on the other end. I almost ask if she's there, but she clears her throat. Alright, good to know.

It's confirmed then. Babe, what is confirmed? Break, hang up the phone, I'm three blocks away. Ellie, you have to tell me something. Hang up the phone, I'm almost home.

Then she disconnects, forcing me to do what she says. I took my phone in my pocket and look about the backyard. The swing set, I still need to fix. It's a small playhouse that has a leak in the roof, which I still need to fix too.

The lawn, which is shaggy enough for one last mo before the cold weather sets in. I stare at all of it and can only think that maybe we should be packing up to leave too. I shake off the thought. Ellie said to put in supplies. So whatever is happening, she thinks we can write it out.

I have to trust her on this. I'm about to head inside, but I hear the garage door open. Stepping off the deck, I walk over to the back door and didn't to the garage. Ellie turns her, sit down off and just stares at me through the windshield. I see tears forming in her eyes.

Then she shakes her head, wipes at her face and gets out. Pushing the button so the garage door closes behind her. I start to ask her what is going on, but she puts her fingers to her lips. I know what that means. Without a word, Ellie goes to my toolbox, lifts the tray,

and grabs out a small box from the very bottom.

waving the box up and down back and forth.

She gives me a thumbs up, then heads inside and scans the entire house from top to bottom. Only giving the kids a perfunctory greeting until she's finished with her task. We are clean. The kids and I stand in the hallway staring at her. She stares back and then starts sobbing.

We are instantly a hugging and huddling family while we wait for her sobs to melow out. Sorry. Sorry. She wipes her eyes. Then she hugs the kids again and kisses them on top of their heads. You two go outside and play.

Well, dad and I talk, okay? Then her eyes go wide and she shakes her head. No, do not go outside. In fact, outside is off limits for a while. Why don't you go put a movie on instead? The kids are too freaked out to argue.

Bonnie looks back at us as they leave,

and I try to give her a reassuring smile.

Before I can ask anything, Ellie puts me into our shared home office and closes the door.

“You remember that tech startup out in California”

that announced they have discovered how to fight plastic pollution. All the plastic trash along roadways that huge island of plastic in the ocean, all that? Yeah, sure. It was a pretty big deal for a few months. Then it just went away.

It didn't just go away, Rick. The EPA went into investigate and found some alarming data. The alarming. Oh. Ellie rubs her forehead over and over in that stressed way that she does.

I grab her shoulders and pull her in for a hug. Talk to me, babe. Tell me what's happening. Ellie chokes back sobs. Then pushes back for me so she can stare me directly in the face.

It got out. What did? The bacteria. I wait for her to explain. Not that I need a ton of information.

“If my wife is freaked out because some bacteria is in the wild.”

Well, that says everything. Ellie walks away and starts pacing. Babe, tell me what is happening. Ellie shivers. I go to wrap my arms around her, but she shakes her head, keeping me back.

She gasses and looks up at the ceiling. I can see the tears starting to form again. But someone screwed up. It's not contained. The NSA blames the EPA.

The EPA blames the NSA. My department got involved and tried to play peacemaker, which was a waste of time. We should have been in California hunting down every last bacteria cell. Babe, you said it got out. You mean that bacteria from the textile startup?

Back out out? Ellie nods. She shivers again. Then she pulls out her phone, starts up a video and hands it to me. You may want to sit down.

“I'm so sorry you have to see this, but I need you to understand.”

I don't sit down. Ellie begins to pace again. The video is dark and obviously from a body cam. I watch as someone walks into an ornate lobby and then stops. There's a security desk in the middle of the lobby, but I don't see a guard manning it.

What I do see is a jacket sleeve draped across the desk. As the person with the body cam gets closer, I see stains on the sleeve. I also see stains running down the front of the desk. Then the body cam gets even closer. And I can see that the stains aren't fully liquid.

I have to turn away and take a breath. Someone says something in the video, but I can't hear what it is. This shouldn't have happened. This should have contained it. I think about responding.

But a quick glance tells me that my wife is in her own world of worry and anxiety. I look back at the video and the body cam has moved on to the elevators. A glove hand that is obviously part of a hazmat suit reaches out and pushes a button. The elevator opens instantly. And I have to look away again.

The second we were alerted to the bacteria that whole place should have been quarantined.

I let Ellie few as I stare at what's on the video. It's not good. There in the elevator on the floor are three sets of clothes. That's easy to see. What's not so easy is to see the people in the clothes.

Not because the video is dark. But because the people no longer look like people. They are just melted husks. I can see teeth. I can see hair.

I can see some bones. But I can't see fully intact bodies. I gag and try to hand the phone back to Ellie. She shakes her head and pushes it back to me. Do you need to see it all Rick?

So you know what we're dealing with? This is how we survive. Like being as prepared as possible.

I don't know if I can. Watch it for the kids Rick. Watch it. So they don't have to.

“Giving my wife a harsh look that she doesn't deserve.”

I choked down the gorge trying to climb up my throat and keep watching the video. Two hazmat suited people push past the one with the body cam and immediately start collecting samples from the mess in the elevator. The body cam backs out of the elevator and heads toward the stairs. It's no better in the stairwell.

So many bodies. The body cam person shouts and more hazmat suited personnel arrive.

The body cam person works their way around the mess and up to the second floor

where they open the landing door and step into a hallway. Up and down the hallway lie more sets of foul clothing. I hear a choking noise. Then the view is only of the hallway carpet as the body cam person bends over. I hear whispering.

Like the person is trying to psych themselves up. Then they stand and slowly make their way down the hallway to a set of offices. The least they could have done is tell us what was found. Tell us right then. I'm not sure if she's talking about the startup, the EPA, the NSA or who.

But I've had enough. And I shut off the phone and handed to Ellie. She studies me a moment. Nods. Then takes it.

What do you know? Microplastics. What? Microplastics. They are everywhere.

In everything. People, plants, animals. The water supply. The soil. Everything.

“She takes a deep breath and leans against the edge of her desk.”

The bacteria works so well.

So fast that the resulting runoff from the process is quite caustic. But in a vast ocean environment, or even in an urban landfill, an hour is nothing. The caustic runoff soon becomes neutral as it's exposed to oxygen. An hour. Its danger is only for an hour.

I get what she's saying immediately. If the bacteria gets inside a person and that bacteria eats the microplastics, then even an hour of whatever the caustic runoff is will be a death sentence. Dear Lord. Ellie Nods then says,

"Not just people, Rick. Any living thing with microplastics in it." She sobs. Then immediately reigns it in. I look toward the office door.

Thinking of the kids. Ellie follows my eyes. And I know she's thinking the same thing. So what do we do? Just nothing we can do.

We can't hide from this. We have to wait it out. Can we do that? Wait it out?

Ellie's answer is a sad drug.

My phone buzzes and I look at it. It's Alan. He's home.

“And his asking me to help unload his car.”

He just got back from Costco. Why did he go to Costco? Rick? Did you tell him something? I didn't tell him shit.

Because I didn't know shit. But he saw me with all of our supplies and asked why. I told him he may want to put in some provisions. He helped me unload the truck. And now he wants me to help him.

Not happening. Babe. Alan. Tina is out of town and he needs some help. He's not a young man anymore.

No. We don't go outside. We don't interact with anyone. Not even our neighbors. It's not safe.

These are hard and fast rules, okay? But that video was from California. You can't already be here, can it? Ellie doesn't answer. Which is answer enough.

Jesus Christ. My phone buzzes again with Alan asking if I'm on my way to help. I sigh and text back that I'm in the middle of something and can't help right now. Sorry. After a minute, our doorbell rings.

Ellie's eyes go wide. Tina answered that. Wasn't going to. The doorbell rings again. I'm sure it's Alan.

You know how we can be. I'll tell him that there's a fluba going around and we probably have it. The doorbell rings once more. And realization hits us both at the same time. The kids?

We sprint from the office and race down the hallway to the front door. Just as our son Eddie walks up and opens it. Revealing Alan, standing on our porch. Hey there, session's family. I could really use a hand if you don't mind.

Sorry to be a pest, but I tweaked my back at Costco. Ellie reaches the front door and slams it in Alan's face. Mom, that was rude. Go find your sister. We need to have a family meeting.

Rick? Ellie? What's going on? I press up against the door and look out the four small windows at the top. Hey Alan, my apologies.

Looks like we may be contagious with a nasty fluba. Ellie might have overreacted.

Oh, I hope you didn't infect me when we talked earlier.

Me too, man.

“Alan stands there on our porch for a moment.”

Then he turns and walks away, waving a hand over his shoulder, knowing I'm watching him. Get better sessions. He's halfway down our walkway when something falls from the sky and lands in front of him.

He stares at it.

Then looks up at the sky.

Something else falls and he dodges to the side. He looks down at it and I see his whole body tense. Then more and more somethings fall. And Alan grees back to our porch. He starts banging on the door.

Rick, Ellie, let me in. Screw that blue bud.

“There's something bad happening out here.”

I look him directly in the eye and shake my head.

Then I double-check that the door is locked. Rick, come on. Let me in. I glanced past him and stare at my walkway. I realize what's falling from the sky.

Birds. Dead and mostly dissolved birds. Dear God, babe, if it's in the birds, then it's everywhere.

“I turn away from Alan, ignoring his constant pounding and pleas.”

Ellie's eyes are wide and she only nods. Mom, dad, I found Bonnie. The town and his voice instantly sets our parental radar on fire. We race to the kitchen where Eddie is standing. He's tense and his shoulders are up to his ears as he stands there, pointing at the back door.

A back door where Bonnie is standing with something in her arms. One of our cats. What's wrong with scratchy? He's acting all sick. Can we take him to the vet?

My wife and I stare in horror as the small animals body clutched tightly in our daughter's arms begins to fall apart. Ellie falls to the floor and grabs Eddie in her arms and starts bawling. I lean against the kitchen island and stare at the creature that used to me out in my ear at four in the morning, begging to be fed even though the food dish was full. What do we do, babe?

Ellie gets her sobs under control and looks up at me. Eddie's head resting on her shoulder. Nothing. It's already inside. I don't know if she means it's already inside the house or already inside us.

I suppose in the end we're dead either way. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed this story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.