Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 57: _ Taken

I dive to the side as Hugh blasts one walker in the gut. Guts spatter across the wall like someone flung spaghetti sauce from a bucket. Robbie swings his bat wildly and clips a zombie’s jaw clean off. It flaps for a moment like a loose hinge before falling with a plop.

The third zombie jumps at me.

I shriek just for show and play the helpless girl.

"Oh my God, help me!"

The creature grabs my arm. Its breath stinks like moldy chicken and burnt rubber. I twist, just enough to make it look like I’m struggling, then kick its knee sideways. It crumples. I stomp its head with a wet crack, face scrunched like I just stepped in something vile.

Which, to be fair, I did.

By the time I look up, Hugh is reloading and Robbie is panting.

I let my shoulders shake. "I-is it over?"

Hugh glares at me but nods.

"C’mon," Robbie says, licking his cracked lips. "Back home. Let’s make her useful first. Might be she can cook, yeah?"

Hugh elbows him. "Don’t give the cannibal ideas."

They shove me ahead, out of the hallway, past the bleeding walls and twitching limbs. My boots squelch in blood. My lungs fill with the stench of gunpowder and decay. I play the part; flinching, stumbling, wide-eyed.

But in my mind?

I’m taking notes.

They march me through the building with all the subtlety of two drunk elephants in a church. Robbie’s got a hand on my arm like I’m going to bolt, while Hugh’s shotgun keeps finding excuses to accidentally nudge my ribs.

I stumble through the smeared entrails and broken tiles, careful to keep my breathing shallow. The hallway still reeks of metal and old meat, like someone cooked a liver with vinegar and left it on the stove for a week. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Keep movin’," Hugh grunts, glancing over his shoulder.

"I’m moving," I snap, then quickly soften it. "I mean... yes, sorry, sir. Please don’t kill me."

Robbie cackles behind me. "You’re a cheeky one. I like that. You got fight in ya."

Oh, buddy. If you only knew.

We make it to the busted lobby, past the half-collapsed vending machine I may or may not have tried to punch earlier, and finally to the front doors... what’s left of them. One glass pane has been completely shattered, the other fogged and streaked with brown. Blood or barbecue sauce. Hard to tell these days.

My friends would already have taken a bet about how I had ditched them.

The street beyond is a war zone. Cars are upended, windows smashed, trash fluttering like sad confetti in the wind.

The smell hits me first as always. It’s stale urine, rot, and smoke. Then come the sounds: distant groans, scrambling feet, the growl of something that used to be human but gave that up around the same time it lost its sanity.

Hugh peeks out and does a quick sweep.

"Alright. Five buildings down. Then right across. Ours is the one with the blue curtains," he mutters.

I almost can’t believe my ears. Curtains in the apocalypse?

"Nice of you to keep things cozy," I mumble, and get a jab to the ribs for my trouble.

We step outside like we’re late to church and already regretting it. Hugh leads with his shotgun raised. Robbie’s at my back with his bat also ready. And me? I’m just the harmless girl between them, keeping her eyes open and mouth shut.

We barely make it ten steps before the first zombie comes into view. He’s missing most of his skin, his face hanging like overcooked lasagna, one eye dangling like a drunk party guest.

"Got him," Hugh says calmly, and BLAM! Lasagna face becomes marinara mist.

"Jesus," I hiss.

"Quiet now," Robbie hisses back. "Noise draws ’em."

"Sure. Tell that to your cannon." I whisper.

More groans rise around us. I see them: silhouettes crawling from alleyways, clawing out of broken car windows, and stumbling from abandoned shops. One of them still has a birthday hat skewered to its scalp.

It’s a bloody parade, and I’m the float in the middle.

"Eyes sharp!" Hugh calls. "Quick n’ clean, yeah?"

We move fast. Hugh fires, reloads, and fires again. Robbie is surprisingly nimble, dancing around the corpses and swinging that bat like he’s in a punk rock orchestra. The bat connects with a skull: crack, wet, sick, and oddly musical.

I fake a trip, drop to my knees, and "accidentally" elbow a crawler in the face hard enough to cave it in. I try to make it look like flailing panic. I even add a scream.

Robbie drags me up by the arm. "Bloody hell, woman. You tryin’ to die?"

"Not particularly," I gasp. "You guys are the ones taking me on a scenic tour of Hell."

He snorts. "Just keep close."

I don’t have a choice.

We move through the street, past twisted bikes and burned-out mopeds, stepping over limbs like we’re in some monstrous hopscotch.

At one point, Hugh nearly gets grabbed by a zombie dangling from a fire escape, and it’s only by sheer luck and a butt-first fall into a pile of garbage that he gets away.

"Don’t say a word," he growls, picking a diaper off his shoulder.

I press my lips tight. It’s not from obedience, but because I’m laughing too hard internally to breathe.

We push forward, boots smacking the wet pavement, and I try not to look at the splattered things we leave behind. One of them twinges just a finger. But it’s enough to send a spike of adrenaline down my spine.

"Faster," Hugh growls.

"Yes, drill sergeant," I mutter under my breath.

I swear he hears it because his eyes narrow like he’s deciding which rib of mine to break first. Robbie, meanwhile, is humming.

The man has brain confetti on his shoes and he’s acting like it’s just a stroll through the park.

A park crawling with flesh-eating corpses.

More groans echo across the street. I see movement... shadows writhing behind the shell of a bakery. Something thumps against the window. Then another. Then the glass cracks.

Hugh swears. "They heard us."

"Because someone brought a goddamn shotgun to a stealth mission!" I snap, dodging a tire.

He ignores me which is probably the healthiest choice.

We pass a broken-down ice cream truck, its cartoon decals smeared in red. I catch sight of a half-eaten mascot lying face-down near the curb which I’m sure is what’s left of a human arm wrapped around a plush cone.

"Two blocks," Hugh barks. "You, girl, move."

"I have a name," I say.

Robbie leans in. "Yeah? What is it?"

I flash a sweet smile. "Your problem if you touch me again."

He laughs like I told him the best joke he’s ever heard. "You’re funny. You’re gonna do great with us. We might even fuck your cannibal ass."