Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 40: _ Into The Woods

~Garth’s Point Of View~

We keep moving, trudging forward like the undead we’re trying to avoid. The exhaustion weighs on us like chains. At this point, every step I take sends a dull, aching throb through my legs.

My arms are sore from swinging my knife too many times, and my stomach growls with hunger, but stopping isn’t an option. Stopping means death.

"We need to rest," Trish announces in a sharp and decisive voice.

I rub a hand down my face, feeling the dirt and sweat mix into a fine paste on my skin. "No argument there."

"I third that," Benji says, like he wasn’t already half-dead on his feet. He grins anyway, because that’s what he does. Grins like we aren’t one bad decision away from dying. "Preferably somewhere that doesn’t have ’guaranteed death’ written all over it."

Vic snorts. "That doesn’t exist."

"We could make one," Dom suggests. His voice is serious, but the words are stupid.

Typical of Dom.

"Yeah, genius," Trish mutters, shoving a sweaty strand of hair off her forehead. "Let’s just kick down a door, stab whoever’s inside, and take over."

Dom nods like this is a real plan. "Exactly."

"That’s the dumbest..." Trish begins, but I cut her off.

Sometimes, Trish can’t stand Vic and Dom’s dumbness, but the two brothers are just who they are. Although they tend to come in handy.

"We can’t afford that kind of fight," I say firmly. "We’re weak, drained, and out of ammo. You want to go door-to-door, knocking like some post-apocalyptic salesmen, hoping we don’t get ripped apart?"

Vic mutters something under his breath that sounds like "party pooper."

Trish exhales, shifting the weight of her backpack. "Then we head for the woods. Find a clearing. The zombies are slower in the trees."

Benji, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, grins. "Yeah, but what about black worms?"

Silence then descends upon us.

Even Vic and Dom stop their usual nonsense to exchange a glance.

The black worms. Those slimy little nightmares that germinate from the soil. Tiny at first, wriggling like harmless. Then they grow... fast. Long, thick, coiling around anything warm-blooded. The infection is worse than a zombie bite.

Anyway, the zombie bite is made up of them, but when they crawl into you straight from the soil, those are the deadliest.

"What if they crawl into our ears while we sleep?" Dom mutters, scratching at his ear as he can already feel them wriggling inside.

"What if we wake up infected?" Vic adds, looking genuinely disturbed for the first time all day.

"That’s why we take preventive measures," I say, already digging into my bag.

Benji’s eyebrows lift. "You came prepared?"

"Of course, I did." I pull out small packets wrapped in plastic. "Sealed bandages, earplugs, goggles... everything we need to protect ourselves."

Trish gives me a look that seems like admiration and frustration. "You could’ve mentioned this earlier."

I shrug. "Didn’t want to waste my breath arguing."

We distribute the supplies, covering every vulnerable inch of our skin. It’s a poor man’s version of hazmat gear, but it’ll do.

Then we make a detour toward the woods.

The air changes the second we step beneath the canopy of trees. It is filled with the scent of wet earth and decay. Twigs snap underfoot, and something rustles in the undergrowth, just beyond our line of sight.

We keep our knives ready.

Zombies are slower in the woods, sure, but they’re also quieter and more unpredictable.

Benji, our scout, moves ahead with his grin unfazed by the looming darkness. "Clear so far," he calls back.

Then something jumps from the shadows.

It’s a rotting corpse that has half its face missing. It comes barreling toward Benji straight.

Benji ducks, pivoting so fast it looks like a practiced dance move. His knife flashes in the dim light, sinking into the zombie’s skull with a sickening crunch. The body crumples and is finally lifeless.

"Nice," Trish says, impressed despite being a badass herself.

Benji winks. "I try."

We press on, taking down a few more stragglers with well-placed blade work. Thick, black, and reeking blood drips from our weapons.

Eventually, we find a clearing.

It’s not ideal. But then again, nothing ever is, but it’s good enough. It’s a wide-open space with no immediate signs of threats. A fallen tree offers partial shelter, and the ground is firm, free of worm-infested soil patches.

"We’ll sleep in shifts," I say. "Two awake at all times. Keep your knives close."

Trish drops her pack with a relieved sigh. "Finally."

Vic and Dom flop onto the ground like they’ve been shot.

Benji chuckles, wiping his blade clean. "Welcome to another thrilling night in the apocalypse."

And just like that, we settle in, hoping the night doesn’t kill us before the morning comes.

.

.

The first shift is mine.

I sit with my back against the fallen tree, knife balanced on my knee, and listening to the night. The others are already dozing off, except for Trish, who’s staying up with me. We’re the only ones who take this kind of thing seriously.

Benji is out cold, his face slack, and one arm flopped over his chest like he passed out while in thought. Vic and Dom are curled up near each other, their snores blending into the sounds of the wind through the trees.

Trish, who is barely visible in the dim moonlight exhales beside me. "You think we’ll wake up without any new holes in our bodies?"

"Let’s hope," I mutter, adjusting my grip on the knife. "Not in the mood to lose anyone tonight."

She doesn’t say anything for a while, just picks at a scratch on her arm. Then, quietly, "You always think about that, don’t you?"

I glance at her. "What?"

"Losing people."

I don’t answer. Because yeah, I do. All the damn time. It’s why I’m the one carrying the extra supplies, why I make sure we have backup plans, and why I stay up even when it’s not my shift. Someone has to.

She huffs, shifting to get more comfortable. "You’re gonna give yourself an ulcer one of these days."

"I’ll put it on my apocalypse to-do list."

She snorts, shaking her head. "Seriously Garth. At least, for Maggie."

Maggie... my beautiful, rebellious daughter. I wonder how she’ll fare alone if I end up dead from this mission. I had promised Daisy I’d take care of our daughter before she breathed her last.

I am still in my thoughts when a branch snaps somewhere in the distance. Both of us go immediately still.

The wind starts to carry a foul stench. My grip on the knife tightens. Trish reaches for her own blade.

As if on cue, another snap comes.

It’s faint, but it’s there. Something is moving.

I nudge Benji with the toe of my boot. He jolts awake instantly, eyes darting around. I hold up a hand... listen.

The sound comes again, closer this time.

Oh, God. There’s absolutely no rest in the apocalypse.