Apocalypse: King of Zombies - Chapter 100

Chapter 100: Are you kidding me?
“Ah, so it’s a typhoon. No wonder it’s been raining nonstop,” Ethan muttered to himself.

Santa Monica was already two-thirds underwater, and the aftermath was starting to affect Los Angeles too. The flooding would inevitably trigger migrations—mutant beasts, zombies, survivors, and even the Black Hand Legion might all head this way to escape the disaster.

That mutated squid? It probably got here because of the storm surge, swimming upstream into Ethan’s territory.

“Guess it’s time to stock up on seafood. Omega-3 is good for the brain, you know!” Ethan shouted down to the three lords below his building.

Bulldozer’s eyes widened. Eating seafood makes you smarter? No wonder he’d been feeling sharper lately…

“Laura, you should eat more of it,” he added.

Thwack!

Laura didn’t bother with words. Her sharp claws stabbed into Bulldozer’s side, making her displeasure crystal clear.

Meanwhile, a group of zombies swarmed the squid’s corpse, tearing it apart and feasting on its flesh.

Amid the rain, the sound of ripping flesh and cracking bones echoed. Blue-black blood oozed out, mixing with the downpour and filling the air with a nauseating stench.

Ding-dong!

Ethan’s phone buzzed. Someone had sent him a message.

He shut the window, turned around, and pulled out his phone. It was a text from Mia. Short and to the point.

“Need to pass through.”

“Got toll money?” Ethan replied casually, not bothering to ask for details.

“Yeah, plenty,” Mia shot back.

“Oh?” Ethan smirked. This broke girl suddenly acting generous? “Alright, come on over.”

The truth was, Mia needed to pass through because of the storm surge. Santa Monica was almost entirely submerged, including the city’s main shelter. Survivors had no choice but to relocate to other shelters, and Los Angeles was the closest option.

But the influx of refugees was overwhelming. The already struggling shelters were now completely out of resources. People were eating anything they could find—grass, bark, whatever was left.

Fortunately, Santa Monica’s shelter still had some supplies. Mia had been tasked with transferring them to Los Angeles.

Her journey, however, was nothing short of a nightmare. It was like Frodo’s trek to Mordor, except instead of a ring, she was hauling food and medicine. Zombies and mutant beasts were constant threats, but the real danger came from the Black Hand Legion.

Desperate and ruthless, the Legion had descended into outright savagery. They’d heard about the supply transfer and weren’t about to let it slip through their fingers. A large group of them had been chasing Mia and her team relentlessly.

Now, on the outskirts of Ethan’s territory, along a narrow road between the city and the countryside, Mia and her group were moving as fast as they could. Their faces were tense, and they kept glancing over their shoulders.

“Hurry up! I think they’re catching up again!”

“Damn it!”

The group gritted their teeth, their expressions grim. They were carrying heavy loads—bags of food, medicine, antibiotics—some even pushing makeshift iron carts piled high with supplies.

Most of them were injured. Some limped along, pale and exhausted, running on nothing but sheer willpower.

Even Mia wasn’t unscathed. Her clothes were torn, her sleeves shredded by blades, and her arms were wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.

Beside her, Sean trudged along. His sharp eyes still gleamed with intelligence, but his face was drawn with fatigue. His stomach growled loudly. “I’m starving… again.”

“I’ve got some seafood left. Want some?” Mia offered.

“Seafood?” Sean’s eyes lit up. Back in Santa Monica, they’d managed to catch a few clean crabs and mantis shrimp. The taste had been incredible, a rare luxury in these times.

But the catch had been small, and most sea creatures were infected by the virus.

“Where is it? Hurry up and give it to me,” Sean said eagerly.

Mia reached into her pocket and pulled out something long and green—a strip of seaweed.

“Here. Enjoy.”

“…”

Sean stared at her, speechless. His sharp gaze turned into a deadpan glare, as if to say, Are you kidding me?

But now wasn’t the time to be picky. Sean took the seaweed from Mia and stuffed it into his mouth without hesitation, swallowing it whole.

To his surprise… it didn’t taste half bad. If only there were some dipping sauce, it might’ve even been enjoyable.

“Come on! Just a little more, everyone. We’re almost at Los Angeles!” Chris shouted from the back, rallying the group. As a seasoned “mover,” he had plenty of experience and naturally joined this critical mission.

Alongside him were Brandon, a few Awakeners from the Santa Monica shelter, and some survivors they had rescued along the way.

The group had started with 53 people. Now, only 20 remained. Some had been killed by zombies, mutant beasts, or the Black Hand Legion. Others had simply collapsed from exhaustion, unable to go on.

In the apocalypse, when someone fell behind, no one stopped to wait or help. Doing so would only drag the group down and put everyone at greater risk. Anyone who couldn’t keep up was left behind—no exceptions.

Well, almost no exceptions.

Earlier, there had been a mother and her young son in the group. When the boy collapsed from exhaustion, the mother couldn’t bear to abandon him. She chose to leave the group and stay behind with her child.

Their fate was obvious. Unless a miracle occurred, they were almost certainly no longer alive in this brutal world.

Thud!

Suddenly, another sound of someone collapsing came from within the group. A middle-aged man in his fifties stumbled and fell face-first to the ground, unable to go on.

“Dad! Get up! Just a little more, we’re almost there!” A woman beside him cried out in panic.

“Grandpa… get up… Grandpa…” A little girl, no older than three, clung to the man’s sleeve, her words barely coherent as she sobbed and shook him.

It was clear this was a family—three generations traveling together.

Truthfully, they shouldn’t have made it this far. They’d only survived thanks to Mia, Chris, and the others, who had gone out of their way to help them. The little girl had often been allowed to ride on a wheelbarrow, pushed along by the group.

In this harsh apocalypse, children were a rare sight. Seeing this little girl gave Chris and the others a glimmer of hope for humanity’s future.

After so much bloodshed and death, the child’s innocence was like a refreshing spring, cleansing their weary souls and giving them a reason to keep going.

Most people in the group didn’t mind the special care given to the child.

And those who did? Well, they didn’t dare say it out loud.

“What do we do now?” Brandon asked, scratching his head. They were already at the edge of the city. He didn’t want to leave another companion behind—it felt like such a waste.

Chris glanced at the man on the ground and said, “Maybe I can put him on my cart. I can still manage.”

“Uncle Chris, you’re such a good guy…” Brandon’s eyes grew misty with emotion.

But Mia turned her head, her gaze calm and cold.

“Leave him.”

“What?” Chris and Brandon both froze, stunned by her response.

Before they could argue, something strange happened. The middle-aged man on the ground began coughing violently, blood spurting from his mouth in thick clots. Beneath his skin, something seemed to writhe and squirm, as if alive.

His body convulsed uncontrollably, and then… he started to rise.