Zombies Hate Fast Food

It was just another dead-slow Wednesday night at Burger Barn.

Nina was scraping crusted milkshake mix out of the machine, Marcus was in the walk-in freezer pretending to “check inventory” while scrolling his phone, and Tyler, the manager, was leaning on the counter eating fries one at a time.

The ice cream machine, naturally, was still broken.

Then came the thump on the front glass.

Nina glanced up. Nothing—just the empty parking lot.

Thump.

Tyler sighed. “Probably raccoons again.”

Marcus emerged from the freezer just in time to see the third thump. And then—oh God—faces.

Half-rotted, drooling faces pressed against the window, pale eyes staring in. Fingers clawed at the glass, leaving streaks like greasy fingerprints—only darker.

“Uh…” Nina’s voice cracked. “Tyler? We’ve got… visitors.”

Outside, a dozen zombies stood shoulder to shoulder, moaning.

Marcus blinked. “Well. The apocalypse finally hits, and we’re working night shift. Just my luck.”

Tyler tried to sound calm. “Maybe if we ignore them, they’ll—”

More zombies shuffled up. The glass began to groan under the pressure.

They moved fast—well, for employees on minimum wage. Chairs went against the doors. Sauce boxes stacked waist-high. The inflatable burger mascot was dragged from storage and jammed in front of the main entrance.

The zombies didn’t stop.

“Why here?” Nina asked, shoving another box into place. “Don’t zombies eat fresh meat?”

Marcus gestured at the freezer full of grayish burger patties. “If they’re after fresh, they picked the wrong place.”

Tyler smirked. “Guess we’re safe then.”

They weren’t.

The first moan came from the drive-thru.

A zombie face mashed up against the little sliding window, smearing who-knows-what all over the glass. Its teeth chattered against the pane.

Nina hesitated, then spoke into the mic: “Uh… hi, welcome to Burger Barn, can I take your—”

The zombie let out a wet scream and tried to climb in.

Marcus slammed the window shut so hard the headset crackled.

The noise outside changed—a sort of wet crunch.

Peeking out, they saw one zombie with an old bag of onion rings it had pulled from the trash bin. It took a big bite… then immediately gagged.

It spat the food onto the pavement, moaned in disgust, and slapped the glowing Burger Barn sign.

Soon, the rest were scavenging through the trash. Every taste got the same result—retching, spitting, and confused growls.

And then… silence.

One by one, the zombies shuffled away, heads drooping like kids who’d just been told the carnival was closed.

Marcus stared out the window. “Did we just… repel zombies? With our food?”

Nina laughed. “Guess we’re too processed for the undead.”

Tyler’s expression changed. “Wait. If zombies hate our food… this could be our thing.”

The next night, they hung a massive banner:

ZOMBIE-FREE ZONE – ALL YOU CAN EAT

At first, only a few survivors stopped by. Word spread quickly: Burger Barn was the safest place in town.

Weeks passed. Zombies never came near.

Business boomed. People came not for the burgers—everyone agreed they were awful—but for the security.

The parking lot filled with tents. Survivors bartered supplies for fries. Marcus charged kids two bucks to “tour the freezer.” Nina ran a black-market dessert stand using scavenged candy bars.

Through it all, the ice cream machine remained broken.

And sometimes, very late, if the wind was just right, Tyler swore he could hear a groan on the breeze. Not a hungry one—more like a whisper of pure regret:

"Never again, man. Never again."