A Smoshy Apocolypse

Years and years of research have all lead up to this moment. This one moment that will soon put the nail in the coffin of humanity.
A small, white, lab rat lays on his bedding of soft wood shavings and cotton fluff, and pants frantically.
As warm breath beats against the plastic of the cage it creates a fog haze. Four men, in their middle and late 20's, crowd at the cage, one person to each side. They push the middles of their glasses up in anticipation. Waiting, ever so patiently, for the diagnosis.
Their hair, something forgotten among their research, falls rather long against their shoulders, and smells something similar to cheeze puffs and oily skin.

The wound where the needle punctured the rats skin is now a black, crimson color. The veins surrounding it look worse than just infected. The flesh looks dead. The rats eyes are a darker red now, looking like tiny over ripe tomatoes.
The rats heart rate is becoming slower now, it's tiny chest only rising and falling every other second. The rats lids close, only revealing a slit of it's eyes left. The four scientist watch in amazement, like they've done what seems to be a hundred times already. All the other experiments have been failures, either resulting in immediate death, slow and painful death, or death by explosion. The death by explosion was particularly exciting, on the count of how they infused microwaves in a capsule.
Every attempt ended the same way. Disappointment and starting over from scratch. As the scientist thought over each and every reason why it wouldn't work, a light bulb went off. The one detail that deserves a good face palm was staring them right in the face.
The whole time they'd been using human DNA on the rat... When they should have been using RAT DNA on the rat. They put together one of their more pleasing viruses that had the effect most desired to a tolerable degree.
They set the virus out and waited an hour. They then got a fresh rat, #289, and injected him with the virus.
It has now been 36 hours. The time estimated for the virus to take total effect.
The rat seems to be dying a slow, painful death as it's weak squeaks escape it's barely open jaws. In a sick way, one by one, smiles ease onto the faces of the scientists.

"It's working..." came the low whisper of Gregory, one of the scientists. His thick rimmed glasses gleamed with the reflection of the rat, it's form morphing into something gruesome. The rats body starts to turn a sickly green, black color. It's skin looked to be sagging, like it had aged a decade.
One scientist, Eric, frowned. "Why's it doing that...?"
The skin seemed to be melting off. Like they'd turned the heat up to a thousand.
The head scientist, Dean, rubbed at his chin. "This virus seems defective." he growls, agitated, and sets an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand.
One scientist, Ben, shakes his head. "Just...Just give it a little longer. We don't know for sure." He got down on his knees to look more closely at the plastic cage. The cage had smudges and stains from failed experiments. The scientists used to wash it out after every experiment, but, here recently they've gotten tired of preforming the same task over and over again, so, like with their own hygiene, it's become forgotten.

Dean sighs, "Fine. If something new develops, wake me." Dean then turns from the others and leaves the room filled with machines, wires and thousand of chemicals. "...You're going to sleep?" Gregory asks, a little confused.
Dean stared at his fellow scientists. "Yes. I'm tired. What of it?"
"I don't know, I thought maybe you'd want to stay to see-" "It's ok, I'm just really exhausted. Please, before I get cranky, let me sleep." And with that, Dean left to his room in the abandoned office building that they created their science lab.
As he closed the door behind him he took off his coat and tossed it aside. He walked down the barely candle lit hallway to the corner office that was designated to be his personal quarters. Doing anything that involved experimenting with animals they couldn't do in their own homes, or college laboratory. Much less turning them into zombies.
Dean sighed as he took a seat in the tattered 80's office chair and kicked off his boots. He grabbed the tiny container of eye drops and almost poured them on his eyes. He would only get a short rest, not wanting to fall asleep while doing his 'other' work. Work he'd been doing ever sense they found a break through in their 56th virus batch. Dean, being the smartest of the bunch, knew exactly what needed to be done, and decided to take the 'actual' work somewhere else.

Dean lay across his stiff army cot for a good twenty minutes until he said, "Screw it." and got up anyway. His appetite for his work was unsatisfiable. He went over to a darkened corner of the office room and lifted up empty boxes and papers. A large square hole, sat,in the floor, leading to the floor below this one. Dean stepped down, making sure his feet caught the ladder waiting below.
The office he stepped into was completely empty except for blood splatters and broken glass. He quickly passed through the room and down the hallway. He swung the heavy door to the fire escape stairs open and quickly began to descend. The walls he walked beside were also covered in haphazard splats of human fluids. As he descended, the temperature increased. The boiler room wasn't exactly his first choice, but according to his independent studies, the temperature of the virus must stay at a hot and humid 95.

Dean also threw aside his constricting, stained t-shirt. He had a strong feeling that today was the day. As he came upon the metal double doors, he took a deep breath and burst through them.
Instantly, his hands burned as they touched the hot doors. The air was scolding and sluggish.The room he called' the hot box' showed more signs of abuse and torture than the rest of the building. Dean grabbed a pair of ventilated goggles from a near by table.

He approached a giant table that had un-lit cages set on them, with tubes and devices hanging off of them. He walked down the table, flipping individual light switches as he went. The dark room became illuminated, showing a dark display of grotesque little lumps of rotting and tattered hair and flesh. As each light turned on, a low growl emanated from the containers.
Dean chuckled, "Daddy's home." he said to the creatures. All the deformed mutants seemed to react to his voice, but that's only because they have the instinct to feed on anything that talks. The creatures all moved and limped to the edge of the cage, scratching to get to the source.

Dean stretched his arms as he went to his 'venom' storage unit. He slipped on the pair of heat resistant gloves and clamps. The storage unit he made for the virus was constructed from an old stove and several microwave units. It stayed on all day and night, to make sure the temp. stayed even.
He opened the door, a slow breeze of heat wafting over him. His chest glistened with new sweat as he slowly pulled out vials of the virus. Today he was going to do something extreme.

He slowly set each vial into an incubator, then turned it to 'high'. They had to sit in there for no longer than 30 minutes, then he'd have to take them out again. His incubator was defective, it always over heated at the 25 minute mark. He then stepped back over to his creatures. The once living hamsters were now hardly noticeable as mammals. The now undead hamsters were his pride and joy. Dean had accomplished the impossible.
He created zombies.

Yea, little ham-ham zombies, but still. He was proud of his achievement and was not willing to share it with those idiots up stairs. Today, though, he was going to get rid of those nerds once and for all. And, test his virus in the process.
Yes, he was going to infect them with his latest zombie virus.
His insides were burning not only from the heat, but from his own excitement. The only other thing he gets such a great pleasure from is all those times he drugged and dragged those homeless people down here to preform varies 'experiments'.
Yes, it started out as something as a hobby, but for Dean, it was a dream. A goal of his. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

Just then, he hears faint yells. It's the nerds, and they're calling for him. Dean was smiling ear to ear. His plan was beginning to unfold. He emerged from his boiler dungeon and walked up a few stairs. "I'm down here!" he yelled up.
The trio apparently heard and quickly made their way down stairs.
"Wait, is this...blood?!" he heard Greg question. He chuckled to himself.
The others stopped in their tracks.

Dean liked how it all seemed like a CSI episode. Finding clues and suspicions growing.
The trio were on the move again, now even faster than last time.
As they stepped to the floor of the boiler room, Dean smiled at them all.
"Dean...what's going on...?" Eric asked, concern flooding his voice.
Dean looked into the eyes of his frightened lackeys and gestured with his hand to follow him.
As he opened the door to his metaphorical hell, his pets looked at each other then followed along hesitantly.
As they stepped into Dean's liar, their mouths dropped.
"Wh-what the hell is all this, Dean?!" cried Greg.
Ben raced over to the cages."The rats! They've transformed!" he screamed.
"Hamsters, Ben. Hamsters."Dean corrected coyly.
"What the fuck, Dean?!" Eric rushed Dean, shoving his shoulders.
"When were you going to tell us about this?!"
"Um, I'm pretty sure I just did." Dean counters.
Eric grumbles, furious, slamming his hands to his temples.

As the nerds were preoccupied with Dean's secret, he quickly grabbed several needles from a near by table and started to creep towards his colleagues.
Dean was about to inject enough knock out drug to take out a horse into each of them.
But, as he counted up the nerds, he realized one was missing. He'd only turned around for a second, where'd he go?!
Dean quickly turned, only to be smacked right in the face with a metal tray.

************************************************************************************************************

Greg let out a deep sigh as he let the, now dented, metal sheet fall from his hands.
He had a feeling Dean was going to plan something tricky like this. He hadn't trusted him sense college. Not after he stole his girl friend and spent all his trust-fund money.

Eric and Ben stared, shock written on their faces, at Gregory.
"Greg..." That's all Ben could muster to say as he noticed blood seeping from the fallen Dean's scalp.
Greg knelt down and lifted the needles from Dean's hands.
"He was going to drug us, and probably turn us into the worlds first zombies."He stated flatly.
Greg threw down the needles and made his way to the cages.
"...We have to get rid of them..." He says.

Ben sighs.
"But...But-" "Eric...," Greg cut him off, "We've proven that zombies can exist. Now it's time to stop." Greg states with authority to the younger scientists.
Their heads fall forward.

Greg lets out a huff. "Now we have to clean all this out."

*************************************************************************************************************

It had been at least an hour sense Dean had been knocked out. The first sense to come back was touch. The pain radiating from his face was unbearable, but he knew he had to keep quiet, as to not alert his nerds. Dean surveyed his condition.
His hands and legs were tied up behind his back while he laid on his side. They had shoved what tasted like paper towels in his mouth and put duct tape over it, creating a nice seal.

Dean felt like cursing, hating how much of a failure he felt like at the moment. He'd probably get sent to jail, and if he tried to clear his name, or rat out the others, he'd probably get sent to a loony bin.
'Great!' he thought, 'Now I can sit next to a big black guy called Papa while I get raped in the showers...'

As Dean watched his former colleagues trash his beloved lab he also notices a smell.
It was a familiar smell. One he'd only smelt once before. He knew it wasn't from the hamsters or from any of the horrible chemicals. But it was alarming to smell it again.
Then, as he thought, he remembered what it was.

'My virus...'
This one thought sent Dean in a spastic frenzy, thrashing and flopping on the floor, trying to scream to his colleagues to get their attention.

Of course, they all drop what their doing and come running.
Dean tries his best to come up with a way to make them at least take the tape off his mouth, but all they do is glare at him, hate in their eyes.
Dean growls, knowing that if these idiots didn't undo him now, they'd all be dead anyway.

In a small effort to get them to understand what he needs, he kicks the wall, sending him a small ways across the floor in the direction of the incubator.
His efforts were only rewarded with more glares and even a kick to the stomach.
Dean lay, abdomen and face in pain, staring at the incubator.
Any minute now, and their all infected. The glass vials containing the virus were sure to burst, sending the toxic virus through the air, and turning anyone in a 10 mile radius into the undead.

Dean slowly gained his strength again, this time, shimmying his body closer and closer to the incubator. His last hope was to unplug the thing, but he didn't see how he could, his hands being tied up and all. He wriggled his body anyway, trying desperately to make his way to his broken piece of machinery.
Once he finally made it to the incubator, he searched for some way to dislodge the plug.
He then saw a rusty crow bar he had thrown in the back a few months ago. He wriggled over to it, slipping it in front of him so he could wriggle back with it.

As Ben threw glass containers of who knew what into the safety disposable bin he also noticed Dean. He was messing with what looked like a really old microwave slash fridge.
He was using his chin to hold it up to the wall and was trying...to do something.

He quickly walked over, just in time to see a plug thud to the floor. Once it did, Dean lost his frantic urgency and his whole body fell over, his chest heaving.
Ben's head cocked to the side. What did he just unplug?
Ben stepped around a table and searched for the plug near the wall. He grabbed it up and followed the cable. There were several spots in the cord that were held together with electrical tape. He finally got to what looked to be a broken, busted up oven. He slowly opened the burned looking handle, but quickly retracted his hand, blowing on the scorch skin.

Ben frowned to the piece of machinery. What the hell was it?
He ran over to the others, "Come look at this guys, I just saw Dean unplug it." They all followed him back over to the incubator.
Greg made a semi circle around the machine, inspecting it. He then went and grabbed a pair of chemical tongs.
"What ever it is, it's been warming something." Greg stats, opeing the door with the tongs.
The inside revealed about a dozen test tubes with caps on them. Each test tube contained a red liquid.
Greg made a face.
"What's wrong?" asked Eric.
"...This syrum is red. Ours was blue. We were so off." He looks away in dismay.
The other three took this opprotunity to close in on the incubator, taking a look.
Eric, as he is looking on, notices something, "Um, are the caps sopposed to be lopsided like that?"
This sudden statment brings Dean out of his haze.
'....Their open?'
He leans up, getting on his knees, looking into the corner of the machine.
Dean's eyes get wide, he can see a fine mist that is seeping through the unsealed part of the test tube.

Dean loses it, thrashing and squirming, trying to get to the door, trying to get out of the infected room. The others only stare at his odd behavior.
But then Greg seems to click.
"...We're being infected..."
Eric and Ben shoot a their heads to Greg, "What?!"
"...I..." Greg can barely stand. He knows theres nothing they can do now. He thinks rapidly about his options, but, even if he manages to kill them all and including himself (To avoid futher infecton.) it wouldn't do any good, because the virus is already air born.

Greg falls to his knees.
"We're dead..."
He flately states. Eric and Ben look to each other.
"I'm outa here!" shouts Ben. He then quickly bolts out of the room, making a break for it with Eric close behind.

Dean, who is still trying to squirm away, is some what in denial of his fate.
'ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! NO! NO! I CAN ESCAPE IT! Yea, I just need to make it out!'
But before Dean could make his way through the open double doors, they shut right in front of him.

Dean stares at the metal, wishing that there was only some kind of defect in his virus. But it was a false hope.
He lays on his side, his cheek on the cold concrete ground of his precious underground lab.
The virus is so thick with it's toxins that even a small inhale can infect anyone.
The four scientists would slowly be turned into the undead, and thanks to the cowards who just ran out, it would only be quicker that the entire world would meet the same fate...