Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 19: _ Help Us

~Renata’s POV~

I stand frantically in front of the door to the apartment of the girl I saw by the window, begging to let us in.

The door doesn’t open.

I bang my fist against it again, harder this time. "Let us in!" My voice is raw, my throat burning from all the screaming. "Please! He’s dying!"

Still, there is no answer.

"I know you’re in there! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!"

I press my forehead against the wood, panting. Pretty Boy’s blood is soaking into my shirt, hot and thick. It smells so delicious... like steak on a sizzling summer grill.

My stomach growls, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. I’m so hungry, and the scent of his blood is making my mouth water. I try to shake off the feeling, telling myself I’m not a monster.

I’m here to save him, not eat him, but it’s hard to resist the urge.

His breathing is ragged and too shallow. He will die anytime soon if he doesn’t get help. Fuck.

And behind me, I hear a gruff moan.

I whip around. The corridor is a sea of decay. Dozens of zombies shuffle forward, their sunken eyes fixed on us.

Their mouths are hanging open, black worms writhing between their teeth. Some drag themselves on half-eaten limbs. Others stumble on broken legs, bones jutting through rotting skin.

My heart slams hard against my ribs. Oh, Pretty Boy is in grave danger.

I press my back to the door, gripping him tighter. "Come on, come on. Come on, don’t do this! He’s bleeding out!"

I am about to kick the door with all my might when the first zombie attacks. I twist, almost not dodging as its filthy fingers swipe through the air but it doesn’t get me... him.

Phew! 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Another one reaches for Pretty Boy’s dangling arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

I snap my leg up, kicking the thing square in the chest. It crumbles backward into the others, knocking them over like rotted dominoes. But they don’t stay down for long. They never do.

But that buys me a second. Just one.

Because more are coming.

Shadows emerge from alleyways, from broken-down buildings, from beneath abandoned cars. The street below me stirs with the dead as a chorus of moans and dragging feet fills the air.

And worst of all?

They smell Pretty Boy.

His blood is everywhere. Dripping from my arms. Smeared on my jacket. Leaving a beautiful, delicious, perfect trail for them to follow.

I want to scream. Instead, I slam my fist against the door again. "LISTEN TO ME, YOU SELFISH BITCH! OPEN THIS DOOR OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL BREAK IT DOWN—AND WHEN I DO, WE’LL ALL DIE."

That should do it. If not, well... guess I’m fighting my way out of this mess.

A skeletal hand grabs my ankle. Another snatches a fistful of my sleeve.

I snarl, wrenching away and slamming my elbow into a rotting skull. It cracks, sending black goo splattering across the pavement.

The stench makes my stomach churn. I twist, pivot, and smash another zombie in the jaw with my boot. My entire body is on fire, every one of my muscles screaming.

One of them almost gets Pretty Boy. Its teeth snap inches from his neck.

I whip my knife free and stab it straight in the temple. It lets out a wet gurgle and collapses, twitching. But more are coming.

I can’t fight them all. Not like this.

I let out a sound that can be called a part scream, part growl, and part pure desperation. "FOR FUCK’S SAKE, OPEN THE..."

Out of the blue, the door jerks open without warning.

I nearly fall backward, but then I see her.

Not the girl from the window.

This one is taller and sharper, her brown skin is streaked with dirt and her eyes are gleaming with annoyance and reluctant pity.

She holds a machete in one hand, tension palpable in her muscles.

"Move."

She swings the blade so fast I barely get a grip. It slices through the air so cleanly and separates a zombie’s head from its shoulders. The body crumples, twitching.

"Get inside!" she snaps, shoving me forward.

I don’t need to be told twice.

I stumble through the doorway, dragging Pretty Boy with me. His blood splatters across the floor, staining the faded tiles. The moment we’re in, the girl slams the door shut, locking it.

Panting, I adjust my grip on Pretty Boy. My arms are shaking. My entire body is shaking.

But we are under a roof. Safe... For now.

And then I see her; the girl from the window.

She’s standing with a pale face and trembling hands.

And she’s holding a gun.

At me.

The other girl—the one who opened the door, lifts a pistol too.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

But of course, this is the normal reception for a stranger in the apocalypse.

I swallow, raising my hands, and keeping my voice calm despite the fact that my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest. "Look, I don’t want trouble..."

The girl from the window narrows her eyes. "Then you shouldn’t have brought it here."

"Trust me, I had no choice." I shift Pretty Boy’s weight, nodding toward him. "He’s badly hurt. He needs help."

"This isn’t a hospital," she snaps.

"I know. But I didn’t have a better option."

The girl from the window is a brunette with sharp eyes and a scowl that could kill the laugh out of anyone despite her innocent facial features. "Yeah? And what does that have to do with us?"

Their apartment is small, cluttered, and smells like dust and mildew. There’s a couch shoved against the far wall, stacks of canned food on a metal shelf, and a lamp flickering in the corner.

It is not a hospital.

I know that.

I still don’t have a better option.

"Please," I say. "I know this isn’t a hospital. But I need to stop the bleeding."

The second girl; the one who actually opened the door, tilts her head. "Not our problem."

The brunette smirks. "We don’t do third parties."

I grit my teeth. "Are you two alone?"

I hope they are. More people only means more trouble to deal with.