Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Ethan and Mia had made up their minds—they'd head out together tomorrow. But before that, there were still a few things to take care of.

Right now, Ethan's crew was scattered around the outskirts of San Diego, constantly getting into small skirmishes. If he left without tying up loose ends, things could get messy.

Still, since Nightbane had scheduled the final showdown for two months from now, it was clear he wasn't looking to start an all-out war just yet. That gave Ethan some breathing room.

Even so, he needed to give his guys a heads-up.

...

That night, the moon hung high in a sky scattered with stars. A soft breeze drifted through the air—it was one of those rare, clear nights.

Big Ears, Shrimpy, Locomotive, and Mist—four zombies—were creeping through the open fields on the edge of San Diego. They moved cautiously, eyes darting around, because tonight, they had a mission: find Bighead and settle the score for that time he sicced his dog on them.

"If I catch that bastard, he's done for," Big Ears growled.

Locomotive, walking beside him, was just as pissed. "He had the nerve to set a dog on us? I'm the damn king of San Bernardino! When have I ever been humiliated like that?"

"Relax, Locomotive. We'll find him tonight, no doubt," Big Ears said, dropping to the ground and pressing one oversized ear to the dirt. His hind legs stiffened as he moved, listening intently to every sound around them.

He wasn't just good at sensing danger—he was practically a zombie bloodhound.

And Bighead, being one of the fringe Zombie Kings of San Diego, had to be lurking somewhere around here.

Shrimpy and the others followed close behind as Big Ears led the way.

They crossed open fields, slipped into wooded areas, and kept circling, scanning for any sign of Bighead.

They had the guts to do this because other Zombie Kings like Bulldozer and Laura were also roaming nearby. If things went south, backup wasn't far away.

Along the way, Big Ears picked up all kinds of sounds—zombies, mutant beasts, the usual chaos.

But then, faintly, he caught the sound of barking.

"Got him!" Big Ears stood up straight, eyes gleaming.

Shrimpy's eyes lit up too. "Where?"

"This way. Follow me!" Big Ears took off in the direction of the noise.

About thirty minutes later, the barking grew louder.

The four zombies crouched at the edge of a wooded area, hiding in the tall grass, eyes locked on the open field ahead.

Sure enough, a few zombie figures came into view, and right beside them was a dog. Leading the group was a zombie with a ridiculously oversized head—comically disproportionate and downright ugly.

"That's him, alright," Shrimpy muttered.

"Shhh—" Big Ears quickly motioned for silence.

The dog's senses were sharp—keen hearing, even sharper nose. One wrong move and they'd blow their cover.

The four of them went dead quiet, eyes fixed on the scene ahead.

They soon realized Bighead and his crew were in full sprint, clearly chasing something.

Cluck-cluck-cluck!

A wild chicken's frantic squawking echoed through the night. Under the moonlight, a small dark shape flapped desperately, trying to escape.

Big Ears couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Seriously? Every damn day it's either chasing chickens or walking the dog."

Up ahead, Bighead was hyped, charging after the chicken like it was the highlight of his week.

But the chicken wasn't slow either—it darted and weaved like a pro.

"Buddy, get it!" Bighead shouted.

The husky bolted forward, barking like mad. With a powerful leap, it snatched the flailing chicken right out of the air, clamping down with precision.

Smooth. Efficient.

"Nice work, Buddy."

Bighead yanked the chicken from the dog's jaws, bit through its neck in one clean snap, and started sucking down the blood like it was fine wine. He looked downright blissful.

But he didn't hog it all—after a few gulps, he handed it off to his elite zombie crew, letting them take turns feeding.

After all, his horde had taken a serious beating. First, Travis and his people had wiped out a chunk of them. Then Ethan's Domain of the Dead steamrolled what was left. Now, Bighead's forces were barely hanging on.

"Hmph! Those damn Zombie Kings from L.A. piss me off just thinking about them!" Bighead snarled, his voice full of venom.

"Totally, boss," one of his zombie underlings nodded eagerly, trying to match his anger.

Bighead kept ranting, "And those four zombies from the other night—had the nerve to throw rocks at my head! My head! I hate it when anyone messes with my head!"

"Don't worry, boss. We'll get our revenge. Sooner or later."

"Damn right we will," Bighead grunted, rubbing his face absentmindedly. The bruises from the rock attack had faded a lot over the past few days, but the memory still stung.

They almost ruined my perfect face...

...

Back in the tall grass, Shrimpy was watching the chicken feast with wide, hungry eyes, smacking his lips like a starving dog.

"Seriously? Can you not be so pathetic?" Big Ears shot him a disgusted look, even as he wiped away the waterfall of drool dripping from his own mouth.

He turned back to the scene ahead.

Bighead had just finished off the chicken and looked like he was about to move on, probably hunting for his next snack.

Big Ears figured this was the moment.

He crouched low and started flashing hand signals to the others like he was leading a special ops team—quick, sharp gestures, one after another.

Shrimpy blinked, confused. "Uh… Big Ears? What the hell does that mean?"

"Ugh, idiot!" Big Ears slapped his forehead, exasperated. "It means it's go time! First we do this, then that—just like we planned, remember?"

"Ohhh, right, right!" Shrimpy nodded like he totally got it now.

Then, without hesitation, he stood up right there in the grass and casually strolled out into the open, clearly volunteering to be the bait.

He didn't get far before the enemy noticed.

"Woof! Woof woof woof!" Buddy, the husky, had been sniffing around for prey and instantly caught Shrimpy's scent. He barked like crazy, alerting the whole group.

Bighead snapped his head around, eyes narrowing.

Under the moonlight, he spotted a lone zombie standing out in the open. The face looked familiar—too familiar.

"Wait a sec… isn't that the guy who threw a rock at my head?"

"Yup, that's him, Head Boss. I remember him too," one of his elite zombies confirmed.

Up ahead, Shrimpy was putting on a show, full of swagger.

"Come on, come on! Catch me if you can! You wanna get me? Good luck, loser!"

"Oh, hell no!" Bighead's rage flared instantly. Seeing that smug little bastard again, acting all cocky, was like pouring gasoline on a fire.

"Still got the balls to taunt me?! Boys, get him!"

The zombies let out a collective snarl and charged forward like a pack of wolves.

Shrimpy saw the dozen or so elite zombies barreling toward him, all teeth and fury, and didn't waste a second.

"Time to run."

He spun around and bolted, legs pumping like pistons. In a blink, he was a blur, tearing across the field with supernatural speed.

"Damn, he's fast!" Bighead and his crew were stunned—they couldn't even get close.

"Buddy! Go bite his ass!"

"Woof woof!"

The husky barked twice, then kicked into overdrive. Four legs beat two any day, and Buddy was a black streak tearing through the night.

Shrimpy glanced back, saw the dog gaining fast, but didn't panic.

"Just who I was hoping for…"

...