Zombie Soap

Five

Taylor

Bzzt! Bzzt!

Taylor rolled over and groped for his phone on the nightstand, struggling to keep his eyes open in the morning's bright sunlight. Even with blackout curtains, the sun magically peeked through some weird crevice as early as 5:00 am. There was no such thing as blocking light in a desert.

The phone vibrated again, rattling so hard it bumped into the water bottle next to it.

Squinting through one open eye, Taylor closed his hand over the device and held the bright screen near his face, trying to read the tiny text.

'The entire online network crashed at the hospital. Can you assist?'

Taylor blinked a few times and rubbed his face. He groaned when he saw the time. 8:30. He should have been at work thirty minutes ago.

He hit the green call icon on the screen and turned on his speaker, settling as deep as he could into his pillow. Despite the late August month rolling into September, Phoenix was still hot enough to cook eggs on a sidewalk. His house was chilled to the temperature of an icebox, allowing him to curl into his favorite blanket, which was just the right weight and texture. He was so relaxed; he decided he could feign sickness and no one would be the wiser.

His team lead, Mikey, picked up on the first ring. "Taylor! Thanks for calling me back! We could really use your help here."

Taylor groaned, hoping he sounded sick enough to get away with not coming in. "Is there anyone else you can call for extra hours? I think my dinner didn't agree with me."

Mikey paused before asking, "Do you have that super-flu too?"

Taylor stiffened. "What super-flu? I just need to take a crap."

He didn't know a single man who couldn't relate to that and wondered why food poisoning suddenly equated to a disease. It was like asking a woman if she was pregnant for something as minor as a headache.

Mikey didn't sound convinced. "Everyone's been calling out for two days. The hospital got so many patients overnight that the systems crashed an hour ago. The news is saying there was something off in the Tropical Tidings soap brand."

A loud, deep laugh erupted from the pit of Taylor's stomach. "Well, there you go. I definitely don't have that super-flu. I wouldn't touch generic soap if someone paid me a million dollars."

A super-flu virus from soap? That was new. At least he could finally stick it to everyone who'd made fun of him over the years for his high-maintenance preferences.

Mikey grumbled on the other end. "I know you're my boss, and it's probably not my place to say you don't sound very sick, but we really need your help. This virus isn't a joke."

Way to lie on the guilt trip, Taylor thought to himself. If there was anything he hated almost as much as generic soap, it was being around sick people. One sneeze would send him into bed for three days. If his mother had been there, she'd have reminded him to do the right thing and help others. Growing up, he'd spent much of his childhood across the globe on humanitarian missions as a reminder of his blessings. He had nothing against helping people; he just hated getting sick.

He sighed and shoved his blanket away, already bemoaning his lost sleep. "Yeah, you're right. I'm getting up. Give me thirty minutes to get ready."

Mikey didn't respond. Just as Taylor finished speaking, screams echoed in the background. Mikey swore, and all Taylor could hear was rustling and the slamming of a door, followed by another string of curses. When he finally addressed Taylor, his voice sounded far away, as if he'd left his phone on the other end of the room. "Don't come to work. Pack your stuff and get the hell out of Phoenix!"