'Til Death Do Us (A)Part: Love (and Sex) In the Zombie Apocalypse

     It started in a lab, as these things always do.

     A worn out assistant, working the eleventh straight day of the graveyard shift; his thoughts were already on the four-day break ahead of him, the beer in his fridge, the girl waiting to enjoy one last weekend at her parents’ summer house before the weather gave way. He was thinking of sand, and salt, and sex, and so he missed the mold.

     Such a small thing, in a batch large enough to fill 200,000 vaccines; he might have missed it anyway. Swirling, dispersing, as the temperature in the vat rose and it began, rapidly, to grow. The heat should have killed it – was designed to do so – but this time, it didn’t. That wasn’t his fault; sometimes, as we know, shit happens.

     The vat emptied into a second machine, this one designed to check for any problems before dispensing into vials. It detected the foreign substance and sent the error warning to his computer. By that point, he was drowsing; he input the override with eyes mostly closed and dropped back into his chair. Later, he wouldn’t remember doing it. Would, in fact, deny that there had been a warning at all. He would be fired, the batch recalled.

     By then, it would be too late.

     For now, he slept. And the vials filled.