Zombie Soap

Two

Jeannie

'An unknown virus linked to a factory in Colorado has now spread to fifteen states. Those in perfect health are appearing in emergency rooms across the country, overwhelming hospital staff and doctors with symptoms of sudden fever and seizures. There have been several cases reported of the patients flat-lining for several minutes before reviving and attacking their health care providers and loved ones.'

'Anyone displaying symptoms of sudden fever or seizures should seek help immediately and undergo quarantine.'

'Tropical Tidings Incorporated has issued a mass recall on its off-brand soap, citing a contaminated batch...'

Jeannie shut off the TV with a snort and tossed her remote on the couch. A generic soap virus? Taylor would get a kick out of that. Next, there would be a radioactive chemical in the product, and the world would exhibit the superpower of being smelly or clean, depending on their preference.

A few years ago, there had been that drug fad for bath salts, and some man had gone into a cannibalistic frenzy, taking off someone's face in an alley. The synthetic cathinone had other side effects, but everyone had freaked out, convinced the zombie apocalypse was upon them.

Then there was that ridiculous Tide Pod challenge that overtook YouTube, sending equally stupid kids to the ER after ingesting them.

This was no different. Unless these people were eating the soap, there was no reason for them to be sick.

She could imagine laughing with Taylor over it. He frequently accompanied her to Bath & Bodyworks to sample the seasonal scents, and they'd spend hours spritzing body spray onto the test strips or testing the lotion samples. Monica was usually too busy to go, and Taylor had the nose of a bloodhound when it involved expensive bath soap. As silly as it was, he'd had a falling out with Monica over her buying him an off-brand product, but Jeannie couldn't completely blame him. If someone bought her something that gross, she'd be pissed too — just not enough to kick them out.

Jeannie padded across her cramped living room and took a seat at the small bar connected to her kitchen. The apartment wasn't much bigger than a shoebox, but it was efficient. Though not as costly as some places, rent in Phoenix and its sub-cities was still expensive. As long as there was a dishwasher and laundry room, she was happy.

She picked up her steaming mug of coffee and inhaled, allowing its heavenly hazelnut aroma to wake her up. There was something soothing about the smell of coffee—when properly prepared, she could savor it before it reached her tongue. It was like wine tasting, but of a non-alcoholic variety and much better. She needed at least two cups to start her day.

Most people hated Mondays, but for her, it was Tuesdays that sucked. Mondays were always busy and made the day go faster. Tuesdays were the spillover days with extra helpings of overall bitchiness. It was as if the world was severely PMSing, determined to share its misery with her. When Wednesdays came around, she'd sigh in relief that she'd survived the previous day.

Her phone buzzed, vibrating against the countertop beside her. She opened the screen to check the first message, pausing when several incoming messages flooded her notifications, one after another.

"The heck?"

She set down her cup and tapped the first message, giving up on silencing her notifications as they continued to pour in. The first was from her office, where she worked as a primary care physician.

'Jeannie, we're opening early. There are a lot of sick people lined up at the door. We need you here ASAP.'

She shook her head and moved on to the next notification. The receptionist was dramatic any time there was a line longer than two people, forcing her to put down her phone. Jeannie wondered more than once who she was sleeping with to maintain her job. That woman couldn't handle the most basic task, and that was even if she only focused on one.