Zombie Soap

Three

Eric

Chaos.

It was the only word that came to mind as Eric surveyed the freaky scene playing out in front of him. This wasn't your Black Friday, free-for-all melee where people beat the shit out of each other to get hot deals and strangle each other with hand towels. This wasn't even Afghanistan, where he was consistently shot at. Either of those scenarios he could handle.

This... was a cannibalistic bloodbath mixed with vomit and other things he didn't care to identify.

His morning had started like any other. He woke up, showered, found Loki's teeth marks in a discarded bar of soap, and went to work. He arrived to the news that half the bank staff had called out with some kind of flu, leaving them short-staffed for the people rushing in to empty their checking accounts. As the branch manager, it was his job to step up and fill in and handle the long line of impatient customers.

It wasn't until a quarter til nine that shit hit the fan and got weird. The teller beside him whimpered, complaining of stomach cramps and a sudden headache. A slick sheen of sweat coated her forehead, soaking her dark hair as her gray eyes transformed into a milky, translucent color as if she had allergies and pinkeye. She hadn't looked like that when she came in, and the only sign Eric had that his colleague didn't feel well was her hands gripping her stomach.

Eric turned to her and said, "I've got this, Meredith. Finish with your customer and go home."

She didn't make it two steps before she crumpled with a scream. Her eyes rolled back, and foaming saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth, staining her blue silk blouse. Eric covered his mouth and tried not to chuck up his breakfast. It wasn't her fault; he knew it, but the sight combined with the smell made his head spin and his stomach churn.

Bringing his undershirt over his nose, he dropped to his knees and turned Meredith to her side. He'd only treated a seizure once overseas, and he'd never heard of drool smelling like death. The only thing he could think of was an untreated infection, but even that didn't turn saliva yellow.

As Meredith's body twisted and jerked like a marionette on a string, Eric moved to unbutton his dress shirt and place it under her head when someone in the lobby screamed. Bolting to his feet, he looked over the counter to see what was happening when a middle-aged woman in a coral pantsuit and pearl necklace squealed, wiping green and yellow goo from her jacket. The young man beside her heaved, spewing vomit on her and everything else around him. Several people jumped out of the way, ducking beneath the black divider tape to put some distance between them and the puking kid.

Eric could count on one hand how often time had slowed to a stop. Once was during his deployment, when he'd shot a suicide bomber approaching the main gate, and the other was now.

He swiveled his neck from left to right to take in his surroundings. Several people shook in place as visible sweat dripped from their foreheads, and soon, they tumbled like a pile of dominos. And whether it was because of the man in line, or they were sick too, they also threw up, covering the floor in putrid slime.

Eric pulled out his phone and texted Jeannie. If this many people were ill, they'd be flooding her office, and doctors were always the first to get sick. The thought of losing her to this weird super flu pierced his heart. He'd already lost his ex-wife. He couldn't lose her too.

'Jean Bean, are you okay??? People are throwing up and collapsing here at the bank. I'm coming over, but whatever you do, DON'T GO OUTSIDE.'

The text at the bottom remained stuck on the word 'sending,' and he could only hope it went through.