Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 68: _ Five-Star Living

Yara is staring at me now like I’ve grown wings, or maybe horns. Her mouth trembles. I meet her eyes and nod once.

"I told you I had a plan," I say.

Scar-Lip glances around, clearly rethinking his entire afternoon. "You think this is gonna work?" he asks. "We have friends, a base. You think they’ll just let you walk out?"

"I don’t plan to walk. I plan to run. After I make sure you can’t follow." I shrug.

He laughs bitterly. "You’ll never make it out of the city. We have patrols. Allies. Word’ll spread."

"Let it," I say. "By the time anyone finds us, we’ll be ghosts."

He thinks he’s had me distracted and tries to get smart by lunging.

I expect it, pivoting as his shoulder brushes mine. I slam the butt of the pistol into his jaw. He stumbles. I kick his leg out from under him and he goes down hard.

I press the muzzle against his temple. "That was dumb."

He spits blood onto the floor, glaring up at me. "You don’t have the guts."

"Try me."

Yara gasps something that sounds like my name, but I ignore her.

Scar-Lip doesn’t blink. He’s a bastard to the end. "You think you’re better than us? Just another freak. A craze apocalypse-ridden woman who has lost her humanity to the state of the world pretending to be normal."

I have lost my humanity, alright. But not in the way he’s thinking. Anyway, I don’t have the time to explain shit to him.

"I’m not pretending. You just never saw what humanity really looks like. Spoiler—it’s ugly."

His lip curls in disgust. "You’re gonna die screaming."

My eyes go round. "Maybe. But not today."

Then I pull the trigger. The shot echoes like thunder. He jerks once before he goes still.

For a second, no one breathes. Even the rotters downstairs seem to pause.

Then I turn to the others. "Anyone else got something smart to say?"

No one answers. Wise choice.

There’s a ringing in my ears from the shot, sharp and high-pitched like the world’s angriest kettle. Scar-Lip slumps sideways, blood blooming beneath his head in a grotesque halo.

His final snarl is still frozen on his face, eyes open like he’s still trying to get the last word in.

Too bad. I won.

I lower the pistol slowly. My arms are trembling but it’s not from fear. It’s Adrenaline. It’s burning through my veins like someone poured fire in my bloodstream. I breathe.

Once. Twice. The silence feels wrong, like a balloon stretched to its limit, waiting to pop.

"Anyone else got something smart to say?" I ask again, turning to the others. My voice is flat, steel-laced, even though I’m shaking a little inside.

"Since no one does, I believe we can sign a truce now?"

No one answers.

But one guy who is Tall and broad who is trying too hard to look tough with a bat studded with nails? Shifts his weight. He’s twitchy. Nervous, I think.

And dumb.

He clears his throat. "You—you better finish the job, freak," he mutters, spitting on the ground like punctuation.

"’Cause if you don’t, we’ll hunt you down. We’ll make sure you scream before you die. You and every rat you hide with."

Charming. Just when I try to be good and give them a chance, he does this. Now, tell me, is Renata the bad guy? Am I?

I raise the gun again calmly. Too calm. Like I’ve done this a hundred times. Maybe I have. Ever since the apocalypse, that’s all I’ve been doing.

"So... no to the ’we shake hands and part as civilized murderers’ plan?"

Yara steps forward, limping slightly, her injured toe is now wrapped in a blood-stained strip of cloth. After all the stress I went through to get that bandage, she still loses it?!

"Please," she says, her voice shaking. "Please, just go. Nobody else has to die. Just... go, and we won’t follow."

There’s a moment of hesitation.

Then Dumbass Two steps in, sneering. "You think she’s gonna let us live? After this? You see what she did to Scar-Lip?" He jabs a finger toward the corpse. "You think she’s stable?"

He’s got a point. I don’t feel stable. I feel like an earthquake.

"I’m giving you a chance. You walk away, now. You don’t follow. You don’t talk. You forget my face. You do all that—and you live."

Two of them look at each other. Then they bolt.

Which is smart, of course.

The others hesitate a second too long and I wonder if they are thinking of retaliating because that’s a bad choice, really.

I fire twice. One drops screaming, clutching a shoulder that’s no longer a shoulder. The other takes it to the throat. The gurgling sound he makes as he collapses will haunt someone. Probably not me.

"Jesus, Renata!" Bea’s voice cuts through the haze. "Do you have to shoot everyone?"

I turn, slowly, and level the pistol at her out of reflex. She goes rigid, hands up and eyes wide. Her bottom lip trembles like she’s about to cry, but she doesn’t. Of course, she doesn’t. That would be too easy.

"Do you have something smart to say?" I ask.

Her mouth twists. "Yeah. I trusted you."

"Could’ve fooled me."

She takes a step closer. "I didn’t tell them where you were. I didn’t..."

"But you deceived me into a trap," I cut in. "You’re the reason they died today, Bea."

"I was trying to keep us safe!"

I bark a laugh. "You mean you. You were trying to keep you safe."

Her nostrils flare. "You think you’re better than me because you’re willing to pull the trigger? You think you’re a hero in all this?"

I gnash my teeth. Then I holster the pistol and walk up to her, until we’re chest-to-chest and I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, the sweat clinging to her brow, and the tiny twitch in her jaw.

"No," I say softly. "I’m not the hero. I’m the reason people need one."

The silence that follows is heavy. Bea’s jaw clenches like she wants to slap me, or kiss me, or both. Probably the first.

And then Yara, brave little broken-toe Yara, steps between us.

"Enough!" she barks, glaring at both of us. "This isn’t the time for a pissing contest. You can fight later, after we’re not standing in a blood-stained hallway, surrounded by corpses and rotters sniffing around downstairs."

My mouth twitches. "You’re feisty for someone with a toe that looks like a smashed tomato."

"Shut up and help me walk, Reaper Barbie."

Bea chuckles at that despite the beef between us. Or maybe that’s her motivation for laughing when I get called a Reaper Barbie.

I sigh. "Fine. Let’s move."

I take point, leading them through the narrow halls of what used to be an apartment complex. Rot creeps up the wallpaper like ivy, and the smell of mildew and old sweat hits my nose with every step.

Somewhere behind us, something groans. It’s either the pipes or a dying man. It’s very hard to tell.

"I found a place," I say after a moment, keeping my voice low. "Me and Leon. Room 206. Still habitable. Barricaded. Supplies. No bodies."

Bea perks up a little. "No bodies? Luxury."

"I spoil you."

We hit the second floor. The stairs creak like they’re debating collapsing just for the drama of it. Yara nearly falls twice. Bea has to help her, which is ironic, considering she probably betrayed me ten minutes ago and now she’s someone’s crutch.

Room 206 is at the far end. The hallway is lined with abandoned shoes and broken picture frames. Someone drew a smiley face in blood on one door. No one cares

I stop in front of the barricaded door where I left Pretty Boy.

Pretty Boy who kissed me. Whom I kissed back. Shit.

I knock once. Then lean in and say, "Requiem."

At first, there’s a pause. Then the sound of shifting wood. A clatter. Footsteps.

The door opens a little and Leon’s face appears in the gap. He looks tired and dangerous, like a wolf after a long winter. His eyes land on me, then Yara, and then Bea.

For some reason, meeting his gaze makes my throat dry.

His eyes flick past me to the girls behind, then back to me. "Well, I’ll be damned," he mutters, dragging the door open wider. "All that shooting, I figured it had to be you."

"You figured right," I say, stepping in.

Yara limps past me like a deflated balloon, wiping blood from her nose. "I’m tired," she mutters. "Let us in before I collapse and crush someone."

Leon waves her in with a crooked grin. "Welcome to Casa del Apocalypse. Mind the bodies... we don’t have any."

Yara shuffles in and immediately beelines for the nearest wall, sliding down it like her legs have clocked out for the day. Bea follows, more cautious as her eyes scan Leon up and down.

"You’re looking better. Didn’t your injury start bleeding again yesterday?"

Leon shrugs, winces, then grins. "Still did. Hurt like hell. But I bounce back quick."

"Right," she mutters, crossing her arms. "Must be nice to be so resilient."

He chuckles and throws her a look that’s half challenge, and half smug. "Maybe if you and Yara had waited as Renata told you to, you wouldn’t all look like you got dragged backward through a sewage pipe."

Bea stiffen before shooting him a spiteful glare.

Yara cackles weakly. "He’s not wrong."

I chuckle, dropping down to rest my undead bones. The apartment is dark but dry, with boarded windows and a faint citrus scent from one of those car air fresheners someone tied to a doorknob.

A blessed change from mildew and rot. The floors creak, but not dangerously.

Honestly, this is five-star living right now.

Leon shuts the door and I call after him. "Hey!"

He turns before I remove the key from my pocket and throw it his way. Like a fucking professional, he catches it and latches the lock with a few motions.

And then, he turns to me again. "So, what are you?" he asks. "A superwoman or something?"