Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 30: _ Your Friends are Dead

If he’s not your boyfriend, does that mean I can have him?" 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

I choke. "What? No—what?"

"I mean, you’re clearly not interested," she presses, flicking a look between us. "And I don’t see a ring on his finger, so technically..."

"Technically, you’re insane and run after every good-looking guy." Yara groans.

Yeah, I remember their argument about how Bea slept with Yara’s boyfriend. Is she trying to do the same with Pretty Boy after just a single glance?

She’s got to be kidding me.

Pretty Boy makes a noise that is part cough and part laugh. It snatches my attention and I turn toward him to find him smirking.

That asshole.

I shouldn’t be annoyed. Why would I be annoyed? It’s not like I care. It’s not like I feel anything except the very normal, very platonic urge to kick him in the shin and throw him back into the hallway where he belongs.

Instead, I scowl. "If he doesn’t die first," I mutter.

And just because I’m petty, I brush past Bea before she can reach him, slinging Pretty Boy’s arm over my shoulders and practically dragging him inside.

He lets me.

And I hate that he lets me.

Pretty Boy leans against me like a very large, very warm corpse, and I do not like it.

For one, he is heavy. If he lost a bit more blood, maybe I wouldn’t feel like my spine was slowly being ground into powder.

For another, I can feel his pulse.

It beats against my side, strong and steady, taunting me.

I grit my teeth and keep moving. "Seriously, how are you still making a girl swoon when you look like you got run over by a truck?"

"I have a good bone structure," he murmurs.

Bea, followed behind us, swooning just as I had predicted. I roll my eyes so hard I almost give myself whiplash.

We reach the couch, and I shove him onto it with less care than I probably should.

He grunts.

"Okay, sit. Stay." I clap my hands. "Good boy."

"Woof," he deadpans, head lolling against the couch.

Bea giggles like a schoolgirl.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Bea, go get water."

"Why me?"

"Because if you keep looking at him like that, I’m going to puke, and we don’t have enough soap to clean it up."

Bea huffs, but finally, she turns away and marches off.

I sigh. One problem down. Now onto the bigger one.

Pretty Boy smells like food.

I don’t like it.

I really don’t like it.

******

Bea’s gone to fetch water, but the tension in the room thickens like soup left on the stove for too long. The scent of blood was nonending, winding itself around my senses and sinking into my bones.

Yara’s foot is a disaster, Pretty Boy looks like he’s two seconds from keeling over, and, worst of all, my hunger doesn’t stop, preying at the edges of my self-control.

I take a deep breath. How about we solve one thing at a time? Almost all the doors to this apartment are broken down. Not to mention it’s no longer safe for the humans to keep on staying here with so many dead zombie bodies littered on the floor.

We might need to move on soon.

"Alright," I say, pushing my sleeves up like I actually have a plan. "If we don’t clean those wounds soon, you two are going to have a very fun time dying of infection."

Yara scoffs, her head lolling against the wall. "Don’t see how that’s my problem, considering I’m probably going to die anyway."

I shoot her a glare. "Okay, let’s not be dramatic."

"Oh, I’m sorry," she snaps, her voice rising. "Did you miss the part where I got my toes bitten off? And where we’re running low on supplies? And how we’re basically stuck in a half-collapsed house surrounded by flesh-eating monsters?"

She waves her arms in the air like a crazed storyteller recounting some epic tragedy.

"Seriously," she continues, breathing hard. "I survived this long; dodged zombies, fought raiders, made it through food shortages... just so I could die because some half-rotted bastard thought my toes looked tasty? What kind of sick joke is that?"

I sincerely understand her pain. However, she and Yara are one of the five percent in an apocalypse who are extremely lucky.

Imagine hiding out in an apartment for a year and a half while just going out to scout for supplies once in a while without getting into trouble that takes your life?

Meanwhile, although the men with them had recently just disappeared—which I assume they are dead, they’ve managed to hold out for this long.

That is a huge load of luck right there. It’s only a matter of time before it ends anyway and this is the time for it.

Some of us have had it rough. We’ve had to survive on the streets, find bases, try to build our own way of protection, and kill anyone who poses a threat to our little world.

Some of us, despite all, got betrayed and are turned into an intelligent zombie with a system against their will. Some of us are... me.

Pretty Boy shifts, wincing as he straightens up. "You’re not going to die."

Yara turns her glare on him now. "Oh, really? And you’re an expert on that, are you?"

Pretty Boy’s face is pale, and there’s still dried blood crusting his temple, but somehow, he manages to look like he belongs on a goddamn movie poster. The bastard.

"Some of us have had it rough too," he says, voice quieter now. "We keep going. Even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when it feels pointless. That’s just what we do."

He sighs, shutting his eyes as if he’s trying to keep himself from wincing out in pain. He’s in pain... I can tell.

"I used to move with a group. And now... now, I need to find them."

His group. My stomach knots. I have eaten two out of them, watched another become a zombie, and don’t know where Lucas is.

Would he still be grateful to me for saving his life if he found out I ate two of his friends? That I fought him and the others because I needed to defend myself and they weren’t letting up?

I can’t tell him that but I can at least, give him what I can out of the truth.

I clear my throat. "Most of them might already be dead."

I’m sorry.