Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 54: _ Zombie Killing Spree

The first zombie blinks, opens its mouth in that dead-silent moan, and gets a dagger right through the temple.

Whoop!

So fucking soft and juicy, like slicing into a warm cantaloupe.

The system pings.

[Remaining kill count: 49]

The zombie crumples instantly with no resistance. Like it recognized what I was, and just... gave up.

I yank the blade free and step over its collapsing body like a disappointed coworker.

The second shuffles forward in that lazy, lurching way with no real malice and just instinct. As they always fucking DO!

I sidestep with zero urgency and bury my blade in its eye socket. It’s so super crunchy and unsettling and satisfying.

[48]

The third one pauses as I approach. Its head tilts. One would have thought it was in recognition like it could tell I am the boss of the boss.

But probably no.

It grabs me anyway—cold fingers curling around my arm like uncooked chicken, curious rather than violent. I twist, spin, and slam my blade into its throat.

A stab to the throat is merely pointless, but it wobbles, so I finish with a stab to the forehead.

[47]

I wipe the blade on my thigh. It doesn’t help. My pants are already Jackson Pollock’s crime scene phase.

More show up as I move toward the room I clocked in earlier. Two dragging themselves like they’re late to their own funeral. One is stuck under a vending machine, still full.

Wanna know the cruelest part of the apocalypse for me It’s seeing a perfectly untouched Snickers and knowing you don’t even eat anymore.

At least, not the usual human type of eating. I eat other things. Other super crunchy things.

Another one is chewing on a doorknob like a teething toddler. It’s no threat to me and it irks me to see its hunger that has no direction.

I put them all down.

[46]

[45]

[44]

[43]

I work fast, clean, and efficient. It’s not survival—it’s housekeeping.

Then one drops from the ceiling like an undead chandelier. I scream. Not because I’m scared—it’s reflex. I haven’t needed to scream in days. But the jump scare gets me anyway.

It snarls weakly, limbs twitching mid-fall like a corpse-themed surprise party.

[42]

I stab up on instinct, catching it in the gut. It twitches and flops, already falling apart before it hits the floor.

Another one shuffles from the shadows, mouth yawning like it wants to yawn but forgot how. I go for the eye, but the blade lodges in its cheekbone. Like trying to carve a frozen steak with a butter knife. It takes two tries.

[41]

One more sneaks up behind me. It groans wetly into my ear like some creep in a nightclub.

I elbow it. Hard. Something in my shoulder pops. I mutter a curse and stab backward without looking.

[40]

The system pings.

[Remaining kills: 40]

Okay, babies! A milestone.

I should get a badge. Or at least a sticker. "Congrats, Corpse Princess! You’re halfway to your first murder perk!"

Then comes number fifty-one.

Big guy.

Security uniform. Name tag hanging on by a thread: ROGER.

Roger is not like the others.

Roger was built for something. He’s taller, broader, and More... intentional. Like a tank, someone forgot to park.

He sees me and doesn’t groan. He doesn’t tilt his head or pause.

He just charges.

A whiff of surprise lights through me. For a second, I wonder; does he know I’m different? Did the mask slip?

I duck because at first, they hear the noises I make and come for the noise rather than me. Still, I don’t want their disgusting hands on me, so I still dodge.

Roger smashes into a locker. Metal folds like a soda can. His jaw unhinges mid-impact. Literally. It dangles from his face like a monstrous party streamer.

I move fast, but not fast enough. He grabs me. Lifts me like I’m a bag of trash he’s about to dispose of when I stab him in the neck. Half of my intention is to hurt, half out of pure insult. He roars, lifts me higher, and throws me across the hallway like he’s dunking a zombie basketball.

My back hits the wall with a wet thud. My head bounces.

The world tilts. I swear I see a goat. Oh, there’s no goat.

What sort of a zombie is this?!

I groan, spit black blood I don’t remember making, and haul myself upright.

Roger is leaking green goo now. One eye hangs loose like a melted grape. He’s slower thankfully and sloppier.

I stagger toward him.

"Stay down, Roger," I rasp. "Or I swear, I’ll report you to HR."

He growls. I stab him. In the eye again. Then the other one just to be fair.

Then once in the forehead for good measure.

[39]

He drops like a sack of meat. I stand there, chest heaving out of habit, head throbbing, and legs shaky.

Some of the zombies are sort of mutating... I don’t know. Fuck. Humans have a lot on their plates now.

"I was supposed to stop at forty," I mutter.

The system pings in all its perkiness and uselessness.

[Remaining kills: 39]

I glare at the ceiling. "I hate you." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

The hallway answers with a sarcastic wheeze from a busted vent. I flip it off.

I push on.

The floor is quieter now and more eerie if I must say. There are no more groans.

At least, that’s what I thought until I heard more staggering steps.

Three more zombies drift through the shadows.

One crawls on bone stumps where hands used to be. Fucking damn!

I don’t hesitate because... okay, time is running out. I step on its skull like I’m cracking open a rotten pumpkin.

[38]

Another one tries to sneak out of a side room, arms extended. I slam the door on its head. Once. Twice. A third time until it’s soup.

[37]

The last one slumps in a corner like it just gave up halfway through existing. No fight. No defense.

A mercy kill.

[36]

Then... finally.

The door.

Room 204.

The door is still ajar and it’s intact and untouched. It’s a miracle in this rotting tomb of a building.

I don’t see blood smears. I step inside, the blade loose in my hand.

There are no lunging corpses either. No groaning nightmares. Just one blood smear across the desk; thick, dark, and dry.

But the bed?

It’s so fucking clean.

There’s water in the corner sink. There is a mini-fridge too. What the heck?!

It feels... illegal.

I laugh shortly at first until it grows sharp and manic. "Did I just win the undead lottery?"

I walk over, and test the bed like it might vanish if I touch it.

Bloody hell, it’s still there!