Zombie Soap

Four

Monica

There was being trapped between a rock and a hard place, and then there was being trapped between zombies and an even harder place.

Monica was certain she'd prefer the former. At least the rocks weren't trying to eat her.

She'd barely stepped out of her car and walked into the drugstore when the vomiting and seizures started. People had been getting sick lately from a bad batch of soap product, but Monica wasn't sure why it was all happening right then. Not unless someone had ended up in the hospital, causing a domino effect until they passed it on to everyone else. Either that or the shipment of soap came in recently, making people sick all at once.

Monica typed out a quick text to Jeannie, wondering if her best friend knew anything about this super virus. ''Jeannie, something's not right. I'm used to seeing sick people, but I've never seen anything like this. I'm afraid to open the pharmacy.'

She was about to send another message when everyone from the customers to the shift manager dropped like a stack of cards, jerking and twisting in a cacophony of screams and gurgles.

She didn't know who to treat first, and calling 911 only yielded her a busy signal.

Monica's eyes watered from the stench of vomit mixed with infection, like when a painful boil finally popped, draining out both the smell and fluid. Having studied medical science, she'd seen it all until now. Whatever affected these people was sudden, fatal, and highly contagious.

What the hell was in the soap?

Suddenly, her ex-boyfriend's weird soap addiction wasn't so funny anymore. Taylor would probably smugly tell her, "I told you so," and still make her buy her own while educating her on the finer points of high-end bath products.

That wouldn't help her if she didn't make it out of the store in one piece.

She looked up from her phone and dropped it into her purse with a gasp. Everyone who had fallen to the ground was back on their feet, moaning and snapping their teeth. For a moment, they seemed disoriented, stumbling as if they were intoxicated before slowly turning their heads toward her, watching her with cloudy white eyes.

Trying not to make any sudden moves, a glance over her shoulder told her she wasn't leaving through the front door. Just outside the doors was a horde of hungry cannibals, also making their way toward the entrance.

Someone whimpered a few feet away. Everyone's attention landed on the poor pimply bastard behind the register. He pushed his thick glasses up his slick, sweaty nose and did the one thing no one should ever do in a horror movie: he ran.

Predictably, the zombies forgot about her and chased after the poor kid. She wanted to call out and advise him of his ill-attempt to run, but one, he'd already caught their attention, and two, she still needed to get the hell out herself.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the grisly scene before her. The kid made it to the employees' office and flung open the door, only for the hydraulic hinges to slowly hiss shut. The first zombie was already through the lounge before the kid could lock himself in, and Monica cringed at his shrieking and the tearing of flesh as the cannibals enjoyed their meal.

Trembling and ignoring her churning stomach, she slowly inched back, not once taking her eyes off the distracted man-eaters. A low growl behind her followed by hot, rancid breath near her neck stopped her in her tracks.

She shuddered.

Racking her brain for everything she'd ever seen in horror movies or played in first person shooter games with Eric, she couldn't remember which tactic to use. Should she run for it or turn? Either way, she was screwed.