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.

The growling intensified, and if she didn't move her ass, she was going to end up like the kid behind the counter.

She spun to her left and took off toward the makeup aisle, which was unfortunately not toward any exits. It just happened to be the only aisle unoccupied by her hungry company. Even worse was that while her predator chased her, she thought of every woman in every horror movie who always ran up the stairs instead of out the doors.

Then she did something even more stupid: she looked at her pursuer. He was twice her diminutive size, clad only in green plaid pajamas, and a dingy, vomit-stained t-shirt. Strands of wispy white hair stuck out in several directions from his balding head. If it wasn't for the hunger in his undead eyes, he'd remind her of that senile grandpa people tried to avoid at family reunions.

His lips curled back into a snarl as he charged forward with impossible speed.

Monica bolted down the aisle with her arm stretched out, flinging random items off the shelf and sending it to the floor with a clatter. The cosmetics did little to deter him, and broken plastic crunched under his slippered feet.

A symphony of moans filled the front of the store, clashing horribly with the overhead speaker, playing Ke$ha's Die Young. She'd have cursed and laughed at the irony if a horde of new zombies hadn't just spilled through the front entrance, all heading her way. There was nothing like dying to dance music.

Shit, shit, shit!

She rounded the corner, grabbing on to the edge of the shelf to stop herself from crashing into the perfume case on the side wall. Instead of crisscrossing through aisles like those old comedy shows, she sprinted toward the back where the chemicals were. Making a break for the pharmacy wouldn't do her any good. It was probably where all the sick people were waiting before their transformation. The backroom might be a good hiding place, assuming no one was in there.

Were Tuesdays truck day? God, she hoped not.

Her legs burned, and her chest ached from her unplanned cardio workout. She avoided the gym the way a cat ran from water. Now she was regretting not becoming Eric's workout buddy. She could practically hear him clucking his tongue at her as she panted, already out of breath.

Monica passed one aisle, focusing on the swinging doors in the back. She pushed past the second row, drowning out the snarls behind her, and pretending that stupid, upbeat song wasn't telling her to "spend the night like we're gonna die young."

She stopped short after the third when the backroom door swung open. For a split second, she wondered if it would be easier to just let the undead have her. She was trapped in a tiny ass building with no way out, prolonging the inevitable. The most primal need to survive stopped her, pushing her to keep looking for a way out.

Then, an unexpected stroke of luck occurred. Instead of more undead corpses, a middle-aged vendor with a beer belly and headphones stepped out, wheeling his little handcart of goodies over the threshold of the zombie playground.

"Run," she wheezed, clutching the stitch in her side. "Oh, you stupid bastard, look up and run!"

The problem was that he didn't hear her. He didn't appear to notice anything until the horde behind her changed course and closed in on him. He let out a blood-curdling scream, loud enough to be heard from ten blocks over, and disappeared behind the swinging doors with the cannibals in pursuit.

Unable to offer any help besides a prayer to the Powers That Be, Monica slipped down the aisle with a scoff. What were the odds she'd end up in the freaking soap section?

Somehow, Taylor and Jayson would approve.

She made her way toward the center walkway, pausing long enough to peek around the end cap. The groans all came from the backroom she'd almost foolishly run into like an amateur, pierced by more screams.

A crash behind her made her jump, and she whipped around to face a zombie that had tripped over a stray bottle of detergent that had fallen during the stampede. An idea formed, something her Soap Boys would be crazy enough to try. If their antics hadn't killed anyone yet, surely luck would smile upon her this one time.

She plucked a random bottle of body wash from the shelf and threw it against the wall beside the zombie. There was something satisfying about watching it burst, sending the zombie into a confused frenzy as she looked for the source of the distraction.

Monica sidled to the other side, keeping an eye out for any unwanted visitors as the zombie stumbled down the lane, sniffing the air. Whether the woman was admiring the overwhelming soap scents or looking for her, she couldn't tell. She pushed against the shelf, wincing at the metallic shuddering as it rocked.

"Damn it, come on," she muttered, giving the rickety fixture another shove.

Instead of moving the shelf, the zombie rammed into it with the force of a sledgehammer, sending contents raining down on her. The monster charged again, and the metal stands groaned against the abuse, leaning precariously in her direction.

"Oh, no you don't," she said, bracing her feet against the frayed carpeting that went out of fashion in the late nineties. Her flats slipped against the worn threads, but she held her ground and shoved the shelf in the other direction. The shelf finally gave way, falling with a loud crash against the other shelves across the store, crushing her attacker.

Metal on metal echoed against the walls, followed first by silence, and then by shuffling beneath the shelf.

Well, it was worth a try.

The backroom door swung open again as her undead friends rushed toward the mayhem. Monica took her opportunity to rush toward the pharmacy waiting area, where she spotted one of the pharmacy technicians behind the grate, watching her in wide-eyed horror.

"Corey, open the door!" she whisper-yelled.

"I can't, I blocked it off."

Shit. It was what she would have done, though.

"Then open the grate so I can slide through."

He shook his head. "How do I know you weren't bitten?"

Jesus, were they really having this conversation? Monica didn't have time for this.

She nearly threatened to chop his damn cock off and feed it to the zombies, but then he really wouldn't let her inside. Instead, she hissed through clenched teeth, "I'd be writhing in pain right now if I was. Then I'd be coming after you for breakfast. Now hurry up!"

Corey inched open the metal cage when the groans and snapping teeth grew louder. Shit! He wasn't moving fast enough.

Monica forced open the grate and slid across the counter on her belly and shoved her purse onto the floor. She'd forgotten all about it until now.

"Seriously! You brought your freaking purse? No wonder women always die first. Now get your flat ass in here already!"

Every muscle in Monica's body screamed from overexertion. Crawling through an enclosed space was so much harder than it looked, especially when a person was barely tall enough to reach the high counter. At 4'11, the whole world was a big place.

Corey roughly pulled her through, where she ungracefully collided with the hard floor on her hands and knees. The metal bars came down with a clang just before several bodies slammed against it, forcing the cage up enough for the first set of arms to slide through.

Corey jumped back with a curse. "Frack, they're strong! Get up and help me close this!"

Monica's knees throbbed and her legs felt like jello from running, but she shakily stood up and slammed the bars down on some old woman's bony wrist. The woman didn't so much as flinch as she renewed her attack with hunger in her eyes and a white earbud cable dangling from her mouth.

Monica grabbed the closest thing next to her, a receipt printer, and bashed it against the woman's hand repeatedly until it retracted. Corey shoved the bars down and held it with shaking arms as Monica clicked all the locks back in place.

The cage rattled but held strong. Now that she was safe for the moment, Monica took a moment to look around and gasp for air. Just as Corey had said, he'd barricaded the door with one of the metal shelves. Bottles of pills littered the floor, and another hastily constructed barrier blocked the drive-through window.

Exhausted, sweaty, and officially scared shitless, Monica sank to the floor. She reached for her phone that had tumbled out of her purse and unlocked the screen.

Corey sat beside her, brushing a stray brown curl away from his eyes. He didn't show his own fear other than the tremors that rocked his body beside hers. Though the banging behind them continued, the pharmacy was the only room built to prevent an actual break-in.

Monica dialed 911 again, but only received a busy signal. Not that it would do much good. Even if someone answered, it wasn't as if there were enough resources to fight off the zombie apocalypse. She and Corey might be safe behind the pharmacy bars, but they were still trapped with no way out.