“Ladies and gentlemen, we are facing an epidemic the country has never seen before. We ask that you stay indoors and only go to the stores when absolutely necessary. It seems that not everyone is taking the quarantine seriously. Wash your hands, stay away from your neighbors, and be cautious about what you eat. There have been disturbing new reports of tainted—” The newscast illuminated the living room in a pale spotlight.

It wasn’t fear that gripped the couple but a growing sense of public unease, that at any minute society could collapse and they would need to fend for themselves. She stared blankly at her husband while wondering if he still had the shotgun and where he had left the shells.

“I hear they’re limiting the people who can go into the store.” Margaret broke the silence. “My friend Linda knew someone who got infected. She hasn’t heard from them since.”

Jerry snorted, ignoring his wife from his recliner. “There sure are some crazy people out there. Can you believe they still go to the store? Buying up all the food, getting sick, touching people. Everyone’s touching everything, spreading their germs around. It’s all just a scam anyways.”

The old woman looked at him, she couldn’t help but smile. Even separated from the world she felt content. They were safe. They were together, alone.

Of course they were worried, but they felt protected in their remote farmhouse. They saw the bodies on the daily news, of people’s homes being surrounded in yellow tents. Workers in hazmat’s suits would remove the family’s property and place them on the lawn. To Margaret the tents looked like those termite fumigation tents. She furled her brow at her husband.

“Ah, it’s all nonsense.” He scoffed. “The scientists are starting to believe the whack-jobs. Can you believe they’re saying people’s insides are turning to mush? And that there’s some new infestation of gut worm? How gullible do they think we are? Speaking of, we still have that supply of noodles from a year ago?”

“Yes.” Her eyes darted to the kitchen. She had been nervous since their supply had run out the last time. And she had always been nervous about lying. “I haven’t gone to the store in a while.”

“Good. We don’t want to be around those nut-tards.”

Margaret knew when her husband was hungry. He became cranky. While the news continued to play and while Jerry ranted about government conspiracies she moved to the kitchen. When a nation experienced strife there were always outlandish theories. Conservatives blamed the liberals. Liberals blamed the conservatives. There were even talks that scientists were poisoning the food. It all seemed laughable. She wasn’t afraid of nonsense, just nonsensical people.

She quietly listened from the other room, her attention drifting in and out of the news. “We are receiving reports that the President is going to speak.” – “My fellow Americans, we have reason to believe that food products have been contaminated with the foreign chemical known as subsisto manducans. Our nation —an impossible —We will do—Set up along the — Sanitized food and rations will be disturb—There are rumors—There is in fact—lifeform this planet has ever seen—Originating from an asteroid.”

“Bah!” shouted Jerry, “TV. Off!” The living room went silent.

She read the label on the can of Betty’s Spaghetti. It had been expired for months. Margaret turned to the pantry. Inside she found her recent stockpile of store-bought cans, ketchup, bottled water, paper towels, and baby wipes.

Jerry walked into the kitchen and she quickly closed the pantry. Before she could place the new can on the counter, he had grabbed it and started using the can opener. “I haven’t eaten for two hours.” He dipped his finger in to taste it.

Before too long he was drinking the can without a second thought. “I’m starving!” He croaked. “This is damn good.”

She bitterly grabbed a spoon and another can. Shortly thereafter the can was empty and Jerry was emptying another one. There was something cathartic about the gorging. Something that felt like a release of tension. They dulled the quiet emptiness with mouthfuls of spaghetti and messy faces while standing in the kitchen.

The next thing she remembered was rolling over in bed and looking at the clock. It read 12PM. They had slept through the night. She was confused and weak. Her husband was snoring. She could still taste the spaghetti and felt the dried paste on her chin.

Looking down she felt bloated and rubbed her swollen stomach. She couldn’t decide what was more disturbing, the loss of time, the extreme nausea, or the loss of food they most likely consumed. In the bathroom mirror she could see yellow crust on her lips and cheeks. They must’ve been ravenous.

Her abdomen lurched. The words of her husband echoed in her head, “an infestation of gut worm.” Her mouth salivated. Opening the toilet, she quickly heaved, spitting up multicolored bile. Something pressed in her esophagus. Back in the mirror her throat swelled and a gooey substance collected on her tongue. It came out in strands of wet cobwebs.

Before she could retch again a slimy tentacle made its way out. They came from the back of her throat and slithered over her teeth. Beady eyes stared back from the base of her tongue, gazing at its host like a spider. She finally knew what was plaguing them and felt sorry for doubting. Worming tendrils branched across her mouth while a face came from the back of her throat. Globules poured from over her lips while the parasite split her jaw. She closed her eyes and shed a tear for the pain.