Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 78: _ Is Benji Alive?

Trish squats down and starts tying her boots with vicious energy. "We’re not even supposed to be chasing any stash, Garth. That wasn’t our mission. Lucas’s group’s hidey-hole was just a shortcut. Remember that? A little side quest, not a big mission. We had a final fallback location. That city is east of the ridge. That’s where we’re meant to go if all else fails."

The cave narrows. Not physically, but in my chest. Like the walls are inching closer and pressing my ribs in.

I talk slowly now. "I hear you. But we can’t ignore the fact that Benji is the most resourceful bastard we know. If anyone knows how to stay alive, it’s him. Hell, he’s probably playing house with those cannibal kids in some underground subway, roasting rat meat and naming the bones."

"Garth." Trish stands and faces me. "I get it. You want to go back. You want to hug your daughter and pretend the world still spins normally. I want that too. But we already lost two of us. I’m not losing another. Not today."

At that, Dom gets quiet. He’s staring at the cave wall unwaveringly. I see his throat bob.

Vic.

He hasn’t said the name since yesterday, but it’s there. Still bloody. Still raw.

Dom’s voice is low when he speaks next. "He died screaming, you know. We were all there. We saw him suffer first from that goddamn trap and then, we saw the relief in his eyes when we released him only for that monetary joy to be overridden by the sheer horror of the zombies getting to him."

I still remember his last words; I love you, losers.

Dom goes on. "This... this wet sound in his lungs like he was breathing through oatmeal. And I just... I just couldn’t do anything."

"This is not your fault, Dom." I point out. "We all lost Vic. He puts himself above himself and wanted us to leave him behind because he knew there was no way we’d survive that horde and that... thing if we were intent on saving him."

Trish nods like her heart is cracking down the center. "Exactly. That’s why we don’t leave people behind."

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. My hand fists around the edge of my torn sleeve. "I’m not trying to abandon Benji."

"But you are prioritizing," Trish says gently. "And I get it. Supplies. Your kid. I get it. But those of us out here? We matter too."

I clench my jaw. My fingers twitch around the edge of my jacket. "You’re right. Benji is one of us but if anyone can hold out, it’s Benji."

Trish raises an eyebrow. "There’s no guarantee he will this time out there with a bunch of kids all on his own."

I shrug. "It’s true. And if he did make it... it’d mean a hell of a lot to him when we find him and show him we’ve got the supplies. That we can finally go home. That all that risk wasn’t for nothing."

There’s a long pause.

Trish slowly exhales. "And what if he can’t hold out? What if by the time we’re done chasing this kid and fighting off who-knows-what, Benji’s gone? What then?"

I want to scream. Or punch something. Preferably something that wouldn’t bruise my knuckles. I settle for pacing in small, tight circles, chewing over every word like it’s a grenade I have to disarm with my teeth.

Dom groans into his hands. "Can we please just vote like normal people? Before my brain eats itself."

Trish glances at me. "You know the drill."

"No," I say, sharply. "There’s no use voting. Not this time."

Dom stares at me like I just grew a second head. "What do you mean ’no use’?"

"What if that thing... the thing that controlled the zombies back at the cannibal base—is still out there? What if it’s hunting? Watching? Every second we waste arguing is a second we could be running straight into its claws."

Trish tilts her head. "And going after Lucas doesn’t risk that?"

I rub my eyes. "Everything’s a risk. There’s no clean path. No easy win. Moreover, going after Benji means going in the same direction it was last seen."

Trish sighs. "Fine. Then let’s vote anyway. Even if it’s messy."

She raises her hand. "I vote we go after Benji."

Dom raises him too, almost sheepishly. "Yeah. Me too."

That’s it. Two to one.

I look down at the floor. The cave’s cold seeps into my boots like guilt into my bones.

Trish steps closer. Her voice softens. "I’m sorry, Garth. I know you’re worried about your kid. I know you want to get home. But when it comes to this mission? The people who came for it matter most to me. We’ve already lost two."

Dom winces. It’s subtle, but it’s there. It’s a twitch in his mouth.

Vic.

I catch Dom’s eyes and for a second, neither of us says anything.

I remember the way Vic had grinned, teeth all crooked and too white. I remember the sound when those zombies tore into his neck. That horrible, wet pop.

My chest tightens. "I get it."

Do I?

I do. Even if it burns.

"We’ll go after Benji," I say finally, the words scraping out. "We find him. Then we figure out what next."

Trish nods. "Thank you."

Dom exhales a breath he’d probably been holding for five minutes.

I shoulder what’s left of my bag and glance out of the cave. The world outside is pale blue and bone-dry, dust is in the air like powder from a crushed bone.

"We move in five," I say. "Fast. Quiet. And for the love of all that’s holy, let’s try not to die."

"Not dying is my second favorite hobby," Trish says, slinging her rusted butter knife of a shiv like it’s a sacred sword. "Right after arguing."

Dom kicks a small rock and mutters, "My hobby’s complaining."

"No kidding," I mutter.

We step out of the cave, and the cold air kisses my face like a slap from an indifferent god. Every part of me aches, from my feet to the thoughts in my head. But we move.

Dust puffs up from under our boots, the terrain cracked like old skin. A few black birds circle above like they know something we don’t.

And they probably do.

The path back to where we last saw Benji isn’t marked. Just vague memories, half-chewed landmarks, and the occasional splatter of gore that tells us, "Hey, a guy might’ve died here."

It’s comforting. In a way. As we walk, my mind races. What if we’re too late? What if we do find Benji—but he’s changed? Bitten? Turned?

No. No, I can’t think like that.

Benji’s the kind of guy who duct tapes his boots when the soles wear out. Who talks to himself like he’s his own sidekick. He can survive this.

He will.