Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 24: _ A Zombie Guide to Survival

A zombie that comes at me because of the sound I am making is missing half its face, its jaw dangling from a few stubborn tendons. Lovely. I grab its head and twist. Hard. There’s a sickening crack, and it drops like a sack of expired meat.

The next one pounces with clawed hands, but I sidestep, grab its arm, and wrench it clean off. A disgusting squelch follows, and black, rancid blood splatters across the floor.

"Ew. Oh, that is so nasty."

I use the severed arm as a club and bash the next zombie with it. It’s not the most dignified way to fight, but hey, desperate times.

The problem is, they don’t stop coming. Even with me tearing through them like an undead hurricane, they just keep shuffling forward, mindless and unrelenting. And worse... there are noises coming from the girls’ room.

Oh, no.

CRASH.

I freeze. That sound isn’t coming from here.

It is coming from the girls’ room.

Oh, hell no.

The banging, the shrill scream, and the unmistakable sound of splintering wood—those idiots are getting their doors broken down too.

I curse under my breath. If the zombies split their attention between us, things are going to get ugly fast.

Dammit. What do I do?

I have two options:

Deal with the groaning, sloshing meat sacks currently breaking into my room.

Investigate whatever new fresh hell was unfolding next door.

A normal person will call for backup. But I am not a normal person—I am a highly advanced zombie with a tragic lack of food, a questionable moral compass, and a burning hatred for anything that disturbs my already shitty night.

So, naturally, I choose violence and throw down the zombie’s arm.

The first zombies keep reaching for the bathroom door like a hungry toddler reaching for cookies. My fingers tighten around the rusted crowbar I have armed myself with earlier. I am not at full strength—hell, I am running on fumes—but I can still wreck some undead ass as long as I can.

I swing it...

The crowbar slams into the side of its skull with a sickening crack. Rotten flesh gives way like overripe fruit, and the zombie staggers, but the bastard doesn’t go down. Instead, its head lolls to the side, its neck partially broken, but it still keeps coming.

"Persistent little shit, aren’t you?" I mutter, wrenching the crowbar free.

I took another swing. This time, I didn’t aim for the head. No, I take its goddamn legs out. The zombie crumples like a sack of spoiled meat, its hands still reaching for the bathroom door and its fingers twitching like an addict in withdrawal.

Not my problem. Next.

I turn just in time to duck another rotting hand swiping for my throat. My reflexes are slower than they should have been—I can feel the hunger eating at me, turning my limbs sluggish. My stomach twists, not in nausea, but in a different kind of craving.

I need food.

And not just any food.

Meat.

Warm, human, alive meat.

And Here Comes The System’s Unwanted Suggestion! [Ding!]

The blue interface of my ever-so-helpful system flashes before my eyes.

[New Task: Feed to restore strength.]

[Target Identified: The humans in the girls’ room.]

I nearly choke. "Excuse me?"

[Fresh flesh available. Highly nutritious. Consumption will accelerate healing and increase strength.]

"You did not just suggest I eat the girls," I hiss, eyes bulging.

[Failure to feed may result in critical energy depletion.]

I groan, swinging the crowbar into another zombie’s ribcage. "I don’t care if I’m running on zero bars, I’m not eating them! The same people who gave me painkillers earlier?!" 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

[ They are currently preoccupied. Their sacrifice will strengthen you. ]

"Sacrifice my ass! Try again, asshole."

[Their deaths are inevitable. Maximizing host’s survival rate is priority.]

"No, shut up, go die, I don’t care."

That momentary distraction comes with a cost. A zombie rams into me before I can process my own rage, sending me sprawling to the ground. My head smacks the cold floor, and for a horrifying second, my limbs don’t respond fast enough.

Then the stomping starts.

I don’t know what it is with zombies and stepping on people, but these idiots are relentless. Their rotting feet stomp on my back, my arms, my legs, like I’m some kind of inconvenient speed bump in their race to eat Pretty Boy.

If I had lungs that actually worked, I’d be wheezing. Instead, all I can do is curse and claw my way up. My body is sluggish, weak, starving, desperate—but I refuse to go down like this.

The only good thing right now is that the noise of the girls screaming is drawing them away.

One by one, the zombies stroll toward the fresh meal next door, finally giving me breathing room.

Phew!

I drag myself to my feet, wobbling slightly. My head is spinning, my vision swims, and the hunger is unbearable. I need food, but I sure as hell won’t eat the two girls who saved me and Pretty Boy just because the system thinks it’s a smart idea.

But that means I need to find something... or someone—else.

I promised myself that I wouldn’t eat humans anymore, but at this rate, I can feel that I might decay soon if I don’t feel. Not to mention the system’s threat.

If I go back to looking like a six-month corpse, the girls will shoot me themselves.

I stagger toward the hallway, leaving Pretty Boy locked up for now. Hopefully, he won’t suddenly wake up and decide to go on a heroic rescue mission because that would be peak stupidity.

I walk out of the door, hearing Yara and Bea screaming at me for help, but if only they know I am a bigger threat to them than the zombies.

The corridor is eerily quiet. Most of the zombies have been lured into the girls’ room, leaving only a few stragglers; broken ones, limping ones, the ones who are too slow or too dumb to keep up with the crowd.

I walk past them, and they don’t even twitch in my direction. They’re like malfunctioning wind-up toys, aimlessly waddling without purpose.

The hunger eats at me like a living thing.

I sniff the air, trying to locate something tantalizing enough.

I smell rot, death, mold.... All the usual. But beneath all that, there it is...

Blood.

Fresh blood.

I inhale deeply, following the scent down the hallway. My fingers curl and uncurl at my sides, my instincts sharpening. The scent isn’t just fresh—it’s warm. That means a human. A living, breathing, still-pumping-with-blood human.

And I need to find them before my legs give out as I am already staggering and so bloody. The zombies have left quite a number of bruises on me with their stompings.

I can not die but also can not heal rapidly, so I need to be really careful if I want to maintain my appearance or don’t want the system giving me outrageous tasks to fix it.

Okay, let’s keep searching and get this hunger over with.

I turn the corner and there, hidden behind an overturned bookshelf, is a man.

He’s pressed against the wall, shaking. His clothes are stained with dirt and sweat. He’s holding a weapon... some kind of metal rod—but it’s clear from the way his hands tremble that he’s terrified.

He doesn’t see me right away.

I take a slow step forward, and the floor creaks beneath me.