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!"

Taylor's heart raced at the sudden change in Mikey's tone. His lead had never given in to panic the entire time they'd known each other. Mikey actually sounded frightened as he grunted as if he was fighting something off.

"What's going on?" When he didn't respond, Taylor shouted into the receiver. "Mikey!"

"Get the hell–ARGGGGGGH!"

Taylor shuddered. Mikey's screams were abruptly cut off by the sounds of moans, gurgles and what sounded like something being shredded. Was the virus causing mass hysteria? People could do horrific things out of fear. The line remained open and screaming continued as gunshots added to the chaos.

"Mikey?" he whispered.

Mikey didn't respond.

Now wide-awake, Taylor ended the call and dialed 911, cursing when he received a busy signal. If he'd woken up on time, he might have been able to help. Instead, he'd selfishly chosen to remain in bed and play sick.

He jumped up, preparing to shower when he heard screeching in the next room. Did ferrets scream? He couldn't be sure, but that sound wasn't normal. Loki sounded like he was dying, especially when the screeching stopped and Jayson started sobbing. What the hell was going on?

Taylor removed the blanket stuffed along the edges of his door. Loki had a horrible habit of squeezing under it and peeing in random corners of his room. That ferret was the Devil incarnate, but Jayson loved it, and who was he to tell his best friend he couldn't have an animal? He and Eric had both seen horrors overseas, and while Taylor personally couldn't relate, he understood the need to have an emotional anchor.

He was just about to knock on Jayson's door when his roommate barrelled out of the room, nearly knocking Taylor over. His sandy hair was disheveled and the body odor was enough to make Taylor gag. Instead of his usual shit-eating grin, Jayson's eyes were hysterical as he tried to slam the door to his room. A blur of tan fur bolted out, and Taylor cringed as the door squished Loki against the frame. Even more disturbing was that Loki didn't seem to notice what should have broken his ribs. White film glossed over the animal's eyes, and yellow-tinged foam dripped from his mouth. He hissed and snapped his teeth as the door bounced against his body.

Jayson jumped backward and ran toward the garage with a snarling Loki on his heels.

"Don't just stand there!" he called over his shoulder. "Lock yourself in your room and don't let him bite you!"

Taylor blinked. Jayson loved that animal, and Loki loved him back. Instead of affection, his expression was full of hunger, as if his master was a foreign delicacy, prepared just for him.

"What's going on?"

"HIDE, DUMBASS!"

Taylor's eyebrows met his hairline. In the five years they'd been housemates, Jayson had never once raised his voice at anyone. He and Jayson had only ever argued once, and that was when Taylor callously dumped Monica over the soap blunder. Even then, Jayson had remained calm while he berated him for being insensitive and too afraid to commit.

Taylor hated to admit he was overly sensitive. Jayson and Eric knew it, and they both had an annoying habit of treating him with kid gloves. Even Monica was kind to him, and he'd seen her tear Jayson to shreds when she was displeased.

He had no time to be offended as the door to the garage slammed shut and Loki crashed face-first into it. He shook himself off and turned to face Taylor with his fur raised to the sky and hunger in his dead eyes.

Ohhhhh shit. Loki's shoulders rippled as he crouched. Taylor slowly backed away, unable to take his eyes off the ferret's bared teeth. Maybe he should have rethought his decision to allow Jayson to bring him home.

Loki hissed and sank lower, preparing to spring. Taylor needed to move unless he wanted to share the rabid animal's fate.

He tried to remember how to address this scenario. The closest he'd ever come to wildlife was when he was a child; he'd been on a mission in Africa with his parents, but he'd observed everything from the confines of the Jeep. He didn't count the San Diego Zoo either, considering all the animals lived behind a thick wall of glass.

Taylor's heart hammered wildly and cold sweat beaded along his forehead as he stood paralyzed in place. If he ran, Loki would pounce. If he remained in place, he was still dead meat.

Loki's body folded in on itself like a tightly wound coil. Taylor's eyes flickered toward his room with the door still ajar when Loki leaped, sending Taylor sprinting for his room. He had no time to shut the door; only enough to scramble onto his bed with Loki's teeth barely missing his heel.

He stumbled on the uneven surface of the squishy mattress and lumpy comforter, desperately looking for something to beat Loki back with as he clawed at the sheets and climbed up the bed.

Taylor backed away and lost his footing, falling backward and landing hard on his back. Knowing his time was up, he closed his eyes, waiting for Loki to eat his face.

A deafening bang pierced the air, and Taylor slammed his hands over his ears while curling into a ball. When the expected pain didn't come, Taylor opened his eyes, meeting Jayson's stricken expression behind the barrel of his pistol.

Loki, or what was left of him, laid motionless at Taylor's feet. Chunks of his face littered the floor with bits of flesh and copious amounts of blood splattered across the bed and Taylor's shirt.

Jayson slowly lowered the gun and held out his hand to Taylor. Tears brimmed his friend's red eyes and his jaw twitched, but he somehow maintained his composure as he asked in a tight voice, "Are you okay?"

Taylor nodded and took his hand, unsure if he should say anything or hug him in gratitude and sympathy. Taylor didn't even like Loki, and his heart broke.

He was a bad person. First, he'd ditched work and now his roommate had killed his own animal to save his sorry ass. Granted, it wasn't his fault Loki had gotten sick, but it didn't make him feel better to know he was the reason for anyone's pain.

Jayson blinked, sending fat tears splashing down his cheeks. He sniffed and turned away, most likely not wanting Taylor to see him cry.

"I'm so sorry–"

His roommate's shoulders stiffened, and Taylor watched Jayson's hand tightly clench the gun at his side until his knuckles turned white. His shoulders slowly rose and fell with deep breaths before Jayson relaxed and said, "It's not your fault."

"But–"

Jayson whirled around and silenced him with hardened, emerald eyes. "Don't. I would have had to do it anyway. Go shower and meet me out in the living room. I need to check something."

He took two steps before stopping and tossing over his shoulder, "Not that this applies to you, but stay away from Eric's soap. Loki didn't get sick until he got into it."

Something clicked inside Taylor's brain at the mention of generic soap. Hadn't Mikey just told him there was a super soap virus going around? Taylor opened his mouth to speak, but Jayson had already left the room.

***

Taylor couldn't remember a time he'd ever showered in under ten minutes. Images of Loki's scattered remains danced across his vision, even when he focused on the gray slate and watched the steam fill the room.

Dead animals and people already creeped him out. Now there was a dead, rabid ferret not even fifty feet away. There was no way he'd ever be able to sleep in his bed again.

He scrubbed himself until his skin was red and raw, still not feeling clean. All the soap in the world wouldn't wash away the morning's horrific scene. He could only wonder how Jayson was holding up.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and snatched a random set of clothes out of his closet, taking care not to step in anything or look at the body. Once he'd tiptoed out of the room, he shut the door and pretended he hadn't just blown Loki to bits. If he couldn't see it, it wasn't there.

Jayson sat on the couch, also freshly showered, with his phone in hand. The TV played on mute, depicting images of mass hysteria across the country.

Jayson shook his head and slapped his hand on his thigh. "It's the fucking zombie apocalypse, and it's all because of generic soap."

The moment the words left his mouth, Jayson laughed. The sound was somewhere between a strangled cat and a sob, but it lightened the mood enough for Jayson to smile.

Taylor joined in with a breathless laugh of his own. "This seems like a horrible time to tell the world, 'we told you so.'"

Jayson's phone buzzed several times, and the color drained from his face as he read the incoming texts.

Taylor sat on the couch, vaguely aware he was still half-naked in only a towel. "What's up?"

Jayson handed him the phone. Taylor stared at Monica's message.

'I don't know if these are going through or if you and Taylor are even okay, but I just wanted to say how sorry I am for being a bitch to you.

Everyone's sick from some virus. I made it into the pharmacy, but now I'm trapped with no way out.

I'd call my parents, but I'm too afraid to find out if they were affected. Even if they aren't, I don't want to worry them over something they can't control.

The emergency lines are down. Jeannie and Taylor didn't answer their phones. I hope they didn't go to work. I hope you're all okay...

You'll probably think I'm weird or crazy, but I had to send this to someone. If you're still alive, get out of Phoenix and avoid any populated area. Keep our friends alive. You're good at that. Keep Taylor out of trouble. 🤣

I don't know what else to say. Stay alive? Don't use generic soap? Oh, and PLEASE don't tell Taylor I was wrong. If I'm going to die here in this cage, I'd like to hold on to my dignity.'

Taylor set the phone down on the table and locked eyes with Jayson. They'd all had their differences, but the thought of Monica, alone and scared, triggered the need to go to her.

"We have to go get her."

Jayson nodded. "Yes, we do, but you can't go with no clothes."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Taylor snorted. "I could, but I hear zombies are all about brains instead of brawn."

Jayson threw back his head and chortled. "Get dressed while I load up the truck. You're driving."

"And what are you doing?"

Jayson motioned toward his gun. "Playing Shoot-a-Soapie."

Taylor rolled his eyes. They weren't even ten minutes into the zombie apocalypse, and Jayson had already named them.

Taylor was peeved he hadn't thought of it first.