Zombie Soap

Six

Jayson

Every zombie apocalypse had its own set of rules. Zombieland had dozens of them, including keeping up with cardio. World War Z introduced sprinters. Resident Evil was full of the biggest jump scares in history. In the Walking Dead, everyone already carried the disease. Books just made up their own shit.

Zombies caused by soap was absurd. Who knew Taylor would end up being the Soap Prophet? Jayson just liked to mess with him. There was no way any of them would live this down.

Jayson slammed a magazine into his Heckler & Koch .45 and inspected the chamber. He worried about giving Taylor a weapon, but it would save his life in a pinch if Jayson missed with his semiautomatic. He really hoped he didn't miss.

He'd just finished loading the back seat of the cab with every firearm he owned and spare ammunition just as Taylor walked into the garage. He arched a dark eyebrow. "Uh... I'm not sure how I feel about this..."

Jayson met his friend's uncertain blue eyes. "Look, with you driving, you're going to need a weapon. We've already seen what Loki was capable of. Imagine people trying to tear your face off."

Taylor cringed and wrinkled his nose. "I'd rather not..."

He tried a different tactic. "What about survival? What about Monica?"

Taylor's mouth curved downward as he shifted back and forth from one foot to the other, like he always did when he was distressed. Jayson knew he'd struck a chord when his friend started running his fingers up and down the length of his forearms.

He didn't make eye contact as he murmured, "You're right. I just... hate violence. I know they're dead and trying to eat our brains, but they were people once. It just doesn't feel right."

Jayson sighed and carefully placed the .45 in Taylor's hand. His friend recoiled and clenched his jaw, but clung to the grip. "Keep it next to you at all times. If a Soapie gets near you, aim for the head and pull the trigger. No hesitation."

Taylor nodded and flicked his eyes toward the contents in the back. "Besides the scary arsenal, what's with the empty duffel bag?"

Jayson looked at the olive military duffel bag, worn from his time in the Army. His stenciled name and last four of his social were barely discernable after countless washes. The familiar bag was comforting in his unknown world of chaos.

"Monica said she was trapped in a pharmacy. Besides food and water, you never know what medications we'll need. I want to have everything we need before we leave. Once we're out of Phoenix, we're on our own."

"What about Eric and Jeannie? Reception is still spotty. Shouldn't we wait for them?"

"Of course, but we can only wait twenty-four hours. We're already compromised with Loki's remains scattered across your room."

The look in Taylor's eyes made Jayson feel like such an asshole. Even he had misgivings about potentially leaving his friends behind-part of the Soldier's Creed was to never leave a fallen comrade. The thought of leaving his friends behind to die sickened him, yet another part of the Soldier's Creed was to always place the mission first. Their mission was to rescue Monica, get supplies, and survive.

It was a crummy situation all around.

Taylor sucked in a sharp breath. He had to be one of the most loyal people Jayson knew, and he'd do anything for his friends. What worried Jayson was the mental toll this would take on him. He was innocent and good, but he also had no survival skills or the ability to adapt well to change.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket and handed them to Taylor. "Let's go. Just focus on driving. I'll get us through the rest, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled, not sounding entirely convinced.