Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 52: _ My Heart

~Renata’s Point Of View~

With the new zombies now in the room with us, Bea whimpers as she turns to me. "You got this? Oh sure, why don’t you just..."

I step forward and flick my wrist while speaking under my breath to ensure they don’t hear me. "System. Rusted dagger."

[Equipping: Rusted Dagger.]

The air sizzles, and the blade materializes in my hand. The grip is rough, and worn down from use, but I’ve grown used to it. I give it a little twirl, then attack, ensuring my friends don’t see my little system trick.

The first zombie doesn’t stand a chance when I reach for it. I drive the blade straight through its skull, pushing up hard until I feel the resistance give way. Bone cracks, and the thing spasms, fingers twitching before it collapses.

[Kill confirmed. Remaining count: 53.]

The system pings.

The second jumps at me, mouth open like it thinks it’s gonna get a bite out of me. I sidestep smoothly, grabbing it by the back of its rotting head and slamming its face into the wall. The impact is loud, and wet crunch followed by a splatter of something I really don’t want to think about resounded.

It slumps. Cool.

[Kill confirmed. Remaining count: 52.]

The third one gets a little too close—too eager, too hungry. Its hands claw at my jacket, its breath hot and rancid against my cheek. I twist sharply, yanking my dagger free from the first corpse and plunging it straight into the last zombie’s temple. It lets out a shuddering groan before dropping like a sack of rotten potatoes.

[Kill confirmed. Remaining count: 51.]

I exhale, flicking the blood off my blade. "Well. That was fun."

In comes silence.

When I turn back, Bea’s mouth is hanging open. Yara looks... impressed? Or Shocked? Maybe both. León just groans, muttering something under his breath that sounds like What the hell...

I step over the bodies, tucking the dagger away. "Any other complaints?"

Bea swallows hard. "W-what... what the hell was that?"

"Me saving your ass." I stretch lazily. "You’re welcome, by the way."

"That was not normal," she insists, voice high-pitched with hysteria. "You... you just took them down like—like—like some kind of..."

"A badass?" I offer helpfully.

Yara shakes her head, crossing her arms. "That was insane. You didn’t even hesitate."

"I don’t have the luxury of hesitation," I reply, shrugging. "Neither do you."

"Wait, wait, wait... we know, but how the hell did you do that?" Bea’s voice is almost as shrill as a tea kettle left too long on the stove.

Yara doesn’t look any calmer, her eyes darting from me to the blood-slicked floor like it’s gonna open up and swallow us whole.

León, who is still pale and half out of it, mutters, "That was... not your regular zombie slaying."

No one moves or breathes. They’re all staring like I just sprouted wings and danced the tango with death.

I sigh dramatically, because, of course, this would happen. I save their lives... again, and somehow I’m the problem.

"Alright," I say, lifting a brow as I step over the twitching corpse of what used to be someone’s grandpa. "So are we doing this now? Are we having the interrogation hour, or are we going to, I don’t know, recuperate and figure out how not to die in the next ten minutes?"

Bea opens her mouth to argue, because of course she does, but León beats her to it z

His voice is soft, raspy, and strained as he turns to me. "Urh... Renata... can you—please. Help me with my leg?"

I gulp. There’s something about how soft he speaks. How he looks into me like he thinks I’m the only qualified person to touch him.

His voice hits differently. He’s not whiny or accusatory. He’s just tired. Pained. Human.

Come on, Renata. Don’t let a Pretty Boy’s charm get to you again.

I shove the feeling aside and kneel beside him, finally getting a close look at the mess he’s been pressing a jacket sleeve against.

The wound’s angry, red swollen, and wrapped in a hasty dressing that’s soaked through with blood. The skin around it pulses with heat, and the smell? Not great.

I can’t believe this is the same wound I’ve spent so much time and energy dressing up before.

"Well, crap," I mutter, pulling open the medical pouch I salvaged earlier. "You really went all in, huh? Was this a performance injury? You trying to die dramatically?"

León chuckles softly, wincing immediately after. "Wanted to make an impression."

He could have just sat his ass in the bathroom and waited for the zombies to pass. Well, I don’t blame him. He didn’t know that someone was looking out for him.

Imagine waking up to screams, a dressed wound, and in a bathroom with zombies queuing at its door.

Yeah, that must suck. So I can’t really blame him. He’s brave for even fighting for his life despite his condition.

"Mission accomplished," I say, tearing open a pack of antiseptic wipes. "Just not sure it’s the kind that wins you fan mail."

The second the alcohol touches his skin, León lets out a strangled hiss and jerks instinctively. I press his leg down with one arm and keep going.

Oh, gosh. He’s going to attract more zombies!

"Sorry, sorry," he mutters through clenched teeth. "That stings like hell."

"I know," I say sweetly, though I really don’t. "Now hold still before I decide to put you out of your misery."

Yara finally shakes herself out of shock and limps over to where Bea is still frozen. "Come on. Help me with the bandages. You’re not completely useless."

"Excuse me? I..."

"Bea." Yara’s tone is sharp enough to cut glass. "Please."

Bea glares but bends to help, grumbling under her breath like we’ve forced her into unpaid labor.

As I wrap León’s wound properly, I slip two painkillers into his hand. "Swallow these. No, I don’t care if you have water. Be a man."

He obeys without comment, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. I can see the tension in his jaw and the stiffness in his shoulders. He’s hurting badly and somehow, that breaks my heart.

But he’s still here. I’ll make sure he’s always here.

I murmur, tapping his cheek. "Hey. Don’t go dying on me after all I’ve been through to get you here."

One would think I’m saying this because of all the stress I’ve been through. However, I want him to live because if he dies, I think my heart would hurt so much, it might get hard to breathe.

Oh, wait... I’m a zombie and don’t need to breathe. Right.