Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 53: _ Finding a New Room

Pretty Boy’s lips twitch at my last words. "No promises." He says.

"Good. I’d hate to have to explain to your ghost why I left your dumbass alive this long."

Bea and Yara finally get Yara’s feet wrapped, and honestly? It doesn’t look half bad. Yara’s pale, lips pressed tight, but she gives me a nod that says she’ll live.

"Cool," I say, standing and dusting off my pants. "Now, if we’re done playing nurse, maybe we can finally come up with a plan before something else crashes through the damn broken doors."

Right on cue, that thick, rotten smell slinks in.

Oh, God. Not again.

And then comes the sound: a wet slap of flesh against the tile.

Another groan comes and it’s closer this time.

"Oh, come on," I groan. "Give me one hour. Just one. Apocalypse rules clearly state you gotta give survivors a breather after a dramatic fight scene!"

But the zombies? They don’t care about timing.

They stagger in, one by one, each more hideous than the last. I reach for my dagger.

But someone else beats me to it.

It’s Bea.

She steps forward, brandishing a pipe like it owes her money. Huh? What is she doing?

She’s shaking, a little... okay, maybe a lot—but there’s this look in her eye. Not bravery exactly. More like she’s too fed up to care about being scared.

Or she’s trying to prove a point. To whom? Me? Is she actually competing with me?

The first zombie charges toward her.

Bea swings like her life depends on it... which it does and hits it. There’s a sickening crunching sound. The zombie stumbles back, staggering into the wall.

Bea blinks. Like she’s just surprised she survived that first hit.

"Again!" I yell.

She doesn’t hesitate. The second swing caves in what’s left of the creature’s skull.

The others watch in silence as Bea... freaking Bea—takes down two more in a barrage of panic and rage, her pipe wet with zombie insides.

When she’s done, she drops the weapon, panting. Her hands are shaking so badly, that I half-expect her to drop to the floor and sob.

Instead, she turns to us and says, "That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done."

"But effective," I point out.

"And horrible."

"Still, pretty badass."

She glares. "Just shut up."

"Come make me."

We wait a few more minutes in tense silence. There are no more moans or shufflings. I can only hear the slow and sometimes, heaviness of our own heartbeats and the soft groans of pain from León and Yara.

"We need to move," Yara says eventually.

"Agreed," I nod. "But not just yet."

They look at me, questioning.

"I’ll scout ahead. Find a room in this dump that still has doors, or at least four walls and fewer corpses. Somewhere you two," I nod at the injured pair, "can rest up without getting eaten."

"I’m coming with," Bea says, already stepping forward.

I put up a hand. "Nope. You did good, Slayer Barbie. But you’re staying here."

"I’m fine."

"You’re twitching like a chihuahua on espresso."

She narrows her eyes. "I hate you."

"Perfect. Now stay."

León shifts slightly, lifting his head. "Please be careful."

Something tugs at me then. He just asks me to be careful like he’s looking out for me. Maybe he is.

Why?

I want to beam at him but I roll my eyes instead. "Always."

And then I slip out the door, dagger ready, breath slow, and ears sharp.

.

.

The hallway greets me like a smoker’s cough. It is musty, stale, and tinged with that unique brand of corpse rot that’s now permanently burned into my sinuses. I breathe through my mouth and tiptoe forward, dagger in hand, eyes flitting like I expect the wallpaper to lunge at me. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

I’m heading for the second floor. There was a room I spotted earlier that looked... survivable. Windows intact. No obvious blood geysers.

In other words, paradise.

And if the apocalypse has taught me anything, it’s this: when something looks good, you bolt at it like it owes you money before the universe has a chance to change its mind.

The stairs creak like I’m tiptoeing on a chorus of haunted grandmas. I take them two at a time, wincing at every groan of wood. Every sound echoes up and down like an intercom announcement that screams, "Fresh meat, floor two!"

It’s not that I fear that. What I fear is some survivor stumbling on me and me having to eat them. I plan on keeping my hunger in check until the system announces energy depletion.

As soon as I hit the second floor, the smell hits me.

Dear God.

It’s like something died, then marinated in expired cream cheese, then died again just for fun. My tongue tries to evacuate my mouth. I press it to the roof of my mouth and pray for temporary anosmia.

And then I see them.

Three zombies. Just standing there. Not groaning. Not moving. Just loitering like they’re waiting for a rave that never started.

[System Notification: Remaining kills to mission completion — 50]

That mechanical voice purrs in my head like an overly polite demon.

The zombies don’t notice me. Which would be great... if I wasn’t me.

Because here’s the thing: I could just walk past. I should just walk past since I have other pressing things to do. While I’m here, there’s a chance the zombies might stagger into the room and give the others a hard time.

I know Bea is trying to act like a badass and probably show me that I’m not the only one who can effortlessly kill zombies, but she’s human.

Not to mention, a lazy ass one. It’s only a matter of time before her fear and exhaustion give in and she gets endangered.

But I’m at forty-nine kills remaining.

And the sweet, sweet ring of forty-eight calls to me like forbidden chocolate.

I inhale through my nose. Regret it. Then charge.