Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 38: _ Supplies… Or Maybe Not

Further down the road, a pair of zombies are standing side by side, motionless, like two bored security guards who forgot what they were supposed to be guarding. I walk up to them, slapping a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Alright, gentlemen, what’s the move here? Are we loitering? Waiting for the apocalypse to start? Oh, wait..." I gasp mockingly. "It already did!"

But as always, they were nonchalant as hell. Not even a twitch. I wave a hand in front of one of their faces. The dull, rotting eyes don’t even blink.

I was suddenly glad for the system for making me what I was. I couldn’t imagine being as dumb as these things.

"Seriously? Not even a little jump scare?" I sigh, shaking my head. "You guys need hobbies."

This? This is my reality now. The only ones who don’t want to me dead are the ones who can’t even hold a proper conversation.

I step away, rolling my shoulders. The streets are still mostly clear, but I know it won’t stay that way for long. I need to focus. Pharmacy first. Store second. If I can find anything useful.

The night is fading fast, and soon, the world will wake up. Humans will emerge from whatever holes they’re hiding in, terrified and desperate. And me?

I’ll keep pretending.

Pretending to be one of them. Pretending to breathe, to blink, to care.

Because that’s all I have now; a mask.

I leave my two loitering zombie "bodyguards" behind and move down the empty street, shaking my head at their uselessness. If this is my new kind, then I’m the only one carrying the brain cell.

The night air continues to be thick with the usual scent of decay; rotting flesh, stagnant water, and the stench of death. All the streets I walk are lined with overturned cars, shattered glass, and the occasional corpse, half-eaten and forgotten. Some of them twitch as I pass, but I ignore them. They’re either too broken to reanimate or just taking a really long nap.

I need supplies.

For Pretty Boy and Yara. Not for me. I don’t need food. I don’t need medicine. But they do. And unfortunately for me, playing the role of a semi-decent human means I have to care.

Pharmacy first.

The closest one is just a few blocks away, located between a burnt-out café and a store with mannequins that have seen better days. I step over a bloated corpse outside the entrance, its mouth freezing in a perpetual scream, and push through the shattered glass door.

The inside is trashed.

Shelves are overturned, pill bottles scattered everywhere, their labels peeled off or faded beyond recognition. Someone must have raided this place already, which isn’t surprising. The apocalypse isn’t exactly prime business for pharmacies.

I crouch down, sifting through the wreckage.

Empty. Empty. Expired. Some random bottle of diet pills... definitely not helpful.

I growl under my breath. "Come on, give me something."

A half-crushed box catches my eye, wedged under a broken shelf. I pull it out and—bingo. Antibiotics. It’s not much, but enough to maybe keep Pretty Boy from keeling over from whatever infection he’s brewing. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

I dig through the rest of the mess, pocketing a few bandages, some alcohol wipes, and a lone syringe that might be useful. When I stand, I realize I’m really pushing my luck.

The sky is brighter now, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon. That means the living are waking up, and I really don’t feel like dealing with a bunch of panicked, trigger-happy humans before my morning existential crisis.

Next stop: food.

The corner store is in slightly better shape. There’s less destruction, which means there’s probably less to find, but at this point, I’ll take anything.

I sweep through the aisles, stepping over spilled cereal and broken jars of mystery condiments. The fridges are long dead, their contents turned into unidentifiable sludge, but the canned goods aisle is still semi-intact.

I found a single can of beans.

Some questionable crackers.

A can of peaches... whoa score.

A box of what I think is powdered milk, but the label is so damaged it might just be white sand.

I gather it all up, stuffing it into my bag... which is just some poor guy’s discarded backpack, but let’s not get into that. It’s barely enough to stretch a couple of meals, but it’s better than nothing.

At least Yara and Pretty Boy won’t catch an infection, and Bea won’t starve. Not yet, anyway.

.

.

By the time I make it back, the apartment building is alive... or, more accurately, undead.

The zombies I released from the top floor have started trickling downward, shambling through the hallways like lost tourists.

Most of them are still up there, groaning and wandering aimlessly, but a few have started spreading out, their rotted fingers dragging along the walls, leaving streaks of something I don’t want to identify.

I move quickly. I don’t have time to play hide-and-seek with the corpses.

The halls feel wrong. It’s too open, too exposed. Every door is broken, jagged wood splintering outward, leaving no barriers between me and whatever might be lurking inside.

I hate it.

The apartment where I left my newfound strays is just ahead, and I don’t like how quiet it is. I step inside and let my eyes immediately scan for movement.

And, of course, because my luck is fantastic, there’s already a zombie in the room.

It’s hunched over with its back to me, but it’s close. Too close. A few feet from the bathroom door, where I locked my friends.

Well. Friends is a strong word. I don’t even think I should ever consider anyone my friend in this apocalyptic world after everything I’ve been through.

After all the betrayals.

The zombie’s head jerks at the sound of my footsteps, its slack jaw trembling as it lets out a low and hungry groan.

"Oh, hell no."

D-did it get them?!