The Last Queen of the Apocalypse novel Chapter 12

Chapter 12 A High–end Sports car

Iris accelerated, weaving through the growing chaos.

The road ahead grew increasingly impassable–abandoned cars, overturned vehicles, and panicking crowds blocking her path at every turn.

Up ahead, several cars had flipped at an intersection, blocking most of the road. As Iris maneuvered around the wreckage, she saw zombies swarming the vehicles, tearing at the drivers and passengers trapped inside.

Screams echoed through the air, mixing with the guttural moans of the infected.

The roar of her engine drew the zombies‘ attention. They turned as one, cloudy eyes locking onto her car, and stumbled toward it -hungry, relentless, unyielding.

All moving living things were their targets.

Chaos consumed every intersection and street corner.

Iris frowned, confusion giving way to realization.

Why so many zombies here?

Zn she saw it—a large red cross glinting in the distance.

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< Chapter 12 A High–end Sports car

Shit. A hospital.

That explained the overwhelming horde.

Hospitals were ground zero for outbreaks–packed with vulnerable people, perfect for the virus to spread.

Iris plowed through a group of a dozen zombies, their bodies crumpling under her tires as she sped past the intersection.

Once she cleared the hospital zone, she’d be safer–for now.

From multiple entrances on the left side of the crossroads, hordes of zombies poured out in a relentless tide. Spotting Iris‘ car barreling toward them against the flow, they swarmed forward, their guttural moans piercing the air.

A female zombie in a blood–soaked nurse’s uniform was the fastest. She smashed through the railing on the left in a single, feral leap, launching herself straight at Iris‘ vehicle.

A massive, bloodstained palm print slammed against the windshield.

The zombie threw back her head, revealing a gaping, gore–drenched maw, and let out a bone–chilling roar before lunging at the glass, gnawing frantically. At this close range, every horrific detail of her mangled face was visible to Iris.

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Her nose had been completely torn off, leaving nothing but a raw, bleeding cavity. The eyelid skin around her right eye was gone entirely, her eyeball hanging loose from the socket as if about to fall out at any moment. Half of her mouth was torn open to the bone, while the other half still glistened with the shimmery lip gloss she’d applied that morning.

Frustration mounted as the nurse zombie’s repeated bites failed to penetrate the glass.

She opened her mangled jaw wider, the muscles stretching so violently that her already split face tore open even further. With another feral snarl, she hurled herself at the windshield, determined to shatter it.

Tires screamed as Iris slammed on the brakes.

In a flawless, deadly maneuver, she spun the car 360 degrees in place, flinging the zombie off the windshield and shaking off the horde closing in from both sides.

Zombies held no fear for her. She’d killed too many to count.

Her foot pressed down hard on the gas once more. The engine roared to life, and the car surged forward at full speed, breaking free of the hospital zone.

Just as Iris neared the edge of the hospital area, a deafening

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crash erupted ahead.

A massive 22–wheeler had lost control, slamming into several cars at the next intersection–directly in her path.

No way to swerve, no way to stop.

The world spun as Iris‘ car skidded to a jarring halt.

Her head slammed into the airbag, the force knocking the wind out of her and leaving her dizzy, disoriented.

At the crossroads, the overturned truck crushed seven or eight cars beneath its weight, blocking the road completely.

Iris‘ car had come to rest just four inches from the truck’s massive raised tires–a narrow, heart–stopping escape.

Shaking off the dizziness, Iris punched the deflating airbag and twisted the key–nothing. She tried again, the engine silent.

“F**k!”

The car was dead.

She’d never bothered with a better vehicle time had been short, money tight, and after ten years in the apocalypse, cars had become more trouble than they were worth.

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Fuel was a scarce commodity in the later stages, too valuable to waste on transportation when it could be used for heating, cooking, or generators.

Iris was used to walking for short distances, using modified bicycles for medium trips, and avoiding long journeys entirely.

Wandering aimlessly in the apocalypse was a death wish.

So she’d never considered a car a necessary investment–now, that oversight had come back to bite her.

The guttural moans of zombies grew closer, their shuffling footsteps echoing through the chaos.

Iris rubbed her temples, regaining her composure. She scanned her surroundings through the windshield, unbuckled her seatbelt, and pushed open the car door–shovel already in hand, ready to fight.

Knives were useless against zombies.

Their blades were too thin, too narrow, and easily got stuck in rotting flesh.

But a shovel? It was perfect–heavy, blunt, deadly.

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