Heat Zombies

The heat had started turning people into zombies. The worst was when they would transform while driving. Suddenly a car up ahead would start swerving side to side, slamming up against the cars to either side, then sliding to a stop after a 180. Then the zombie would crawl out of the car and start shuffling down the highway. You’d have to swerve yourself to miss them, with barely enough time to check your mirrors.

Or the road crews, just standing there, staring at you as you drove by, no doubt contemplating the sapidity of your brains. You’d realize they had made the transition, you’d see the vacant eyes and the drool and the discolored skin. Your heart would leap into your throat and you’d want to step on the gas, but you couldn’t. You were forced to a crawl as traffic squeezed through the coned-off lane.

As you walked from your car to the office, you would notice your own skin starting to yellow, or in some places become green, the little heat-zombie bruises forming, attempting to take over. You’d escape into the climate-controlled lobby just in time, and the marks would fade.

Later you would hear groaning through your noise-canceling headphones. The heat had gotten a coworker. They shuffle past you. “Turn up the AC, the cold will force them outside!” Bob would yell through his Cheeto-stuffed cheeks. You’d look over and notice it was Mary from accounting. You’d remember crushing on her a little bit during your first weeks at the company. A bit of drool would fall from her lips and you’d turn back to your monitor and turn up the volume on Spotify.

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