Apocalypse: King of Zombies Chapter 1192: How Do You Evacuate a Million?

Deep within the Clearford City compound mansion…

As the entire settlement shifted into a state of high alert, Chris and his companions finally grasped the weight of General Cross's final decision.

"It appears the General is prepared to fight until the very end," Chris remarked with a deep exhale.

"That makes sense," Mia countered. "Trying to evacuate a million residents from this location? That is virtually impossible."

Chris pivoted to face the group. "What is our next move?"

Every eye remained fixed on him, awaiting his command.

"If the locals are choosing to stand their ground, we cannot simply remain passive," Chris declared. "We join the fray."

He glanced toward Skinny Pete. "Recall Goldie and the others immediately."

"Understood."

Someone hesitated, casting a glance toward the backyard. "What about the white-furred apes?"

"They are coming along," Chris replied firmly. "They are lethal assets in combat."

"I understand, but Captain Ethan is not here. I lack the confidence that we can convince them to move."

Chris dismissed the concern with a wave. "That is easy. Promise them two roasted Bloodfang Wolves for every white-furred ape after the fighting ceases. They will be moving so quickly to keep up that they will practically trip over themselves."

He hesitated for a second before adding with a wink, "We will make the promise now. As for the payment? That is a complication for Captain Ethan to resolve."

"..."

Within moments, Chris and his team departed the mansion, guiding the white-furred apes toward the outer defenses of the compound.

The moment they materialized, every eye turned to watch. The crowd scrambled to create a path for them.

It was a necessity. The very presence of those white-furred apes was suffocating—they resembled living, breathing barricades of muscle and fur.

"Chris, you arrived!" Director Vaughn hustled over to greet their arrival.

"We could never pass up an opportunity like this," Chris replied with a smirk.

Director Vaughn chuckled, a flicker of hope piercing his exhaustion. "That is exactly what I would expect from the Fallen Star Squad. Your presence here is incredibly reassuring."

"Do not pin all your hopes on us alone," Chris said, looking somewhat helpless. "In a conflict of this magnitude, our personal contributions are less meaningful than you suspect."

"That may be," Director Vaughn sighed. "But your mere presence bolsters morale. That is victory in itself."

Chris regained his composure, his expression sharpening. "Do not worry. Whatever comes, the Fallen Star Squad will fight to our last breath."

"My gratitude."

The mass of people surged forward, pushing toward the Silverstone River.

Resting only three miles from the compound, the Silverstone River bisected the majority of Clearford City.

To penetrate the compound, the zombie army would have to traverse this water barrier.

The military had already leveled every bridge crossing the riverbed.

At roughly ninety feet wide, the river provided little obstacle to zombies above Tier 7, but those of a lower rank would be forced to swim.

That was the strategy.

It transformed the river into a critical bottleneck—the primary defensive line where they could bleed the horde dry.

By the time the Fallen Star Squad arrived, the banks were teeming with soldiers, positioning heavy weaponry and fortifying their positions.

This topography was their singular strategic advantage.

They had to extract every ounce of efficiency from this position, for once the fighting shifted to close-quarters, the reality would turn devastatingly grim.

When it came to tactical planning, the military clearly outclassed Chris's team. Even in a desperate, crumbling situation, they were capable of forging an airtight plan to squeeze every scrap of utility from the terrain.

Miles away on the far side…

Ethan sat perched upon the back of his Peregrine Falcon, Flint, his brow furrowed in frustration.

He had thoroughly scoured every inch of the seven-mile radius, yet the Zombie King remained hidden.

He had scanned the surging horde repeatedly until his eyes strained from the exertion, but there was nothing—not a single trace.

It defied logic.

Every piece of evidence suggested the Zombie King was observing the battlefield. Without that oversight, it could never coordinate the horde with such precision.

If it could see them, it could not be distant. Yet Ethan had checked seven miles out with zero success. It was impossible for that beast to be sitting leagues away and still command the battlefield as if it were standing in the front row.

Even disregarding the interference of terrain and buildings, Ethan's [True Sight] could not pinpoint a singular target from such a distance—never mind a cunning zombie.

"Where are you hiding?" Ethan muttered to himself, mentally retracing his steps, searching for any detail he might have overlooked.

Above the massive zombie horde…

Big Mike and Garrick lay slumped over the backs of Nugget and Pebble, listlessly consuming crystal cores.

The sustained output of their abilities had left their minds utterly scorched.

While crystal cores could replenish mental reserves, they did little for physical and mental exhaustion. At this stage, merely keeping their eyelids parted felt like staring into a blur of chaotic debris.

"Garrick, are you still breathing?"

"Barely. Give me five minutes and I will return to pulverizing these things."

Big Mike barked a laugh. "You uttered those same words thirty minutes ago. You rested for ten and fought for thirty."

"So? I am still standing, am I not?"

"True, though I have logged more kills than you."

Garrick scoffed. "Keep fantasizing, friend."

In this stretch alone, Big Mike had eliminated nearly three hundred thousand zombies. Garrick simply could not compete—AoE talents were monstrously overpowered in a scenario like this.

"Why has the Captain failed to track the Zombie King?" Garrick whispered. "Those monsters are on the verge of reaching Clearford's walls."

"No idea," Big Mike answered. "If that thing can evade the Captain, it earns the right to be proud, at least before it dies."

"I suppose so..."

Big Mike suddenly pointed toward the horizon. "Holy hell. Look over there—are those people from the compound actually deploying?"

Garrick squinted. "They are. General Cross has more nerve than I thought."

"It looks like they plan to utilize the river to slow the advance."

"A solid plan in theory," Big Mike said, his lips curling into a grin. "But several million zombies? A river will not stop that. They will simply fill the bed with their own corpses."

"Perhaps," Garrick admitted. "But it buys them precious time. They are betting everything on our Captain finding the King."

Big Mike offered a curt nod. "Then we will rest a bit more, then join the fray when it reaches them."

"Agreed."

Across the river banks…

"They have arrived."

Colonel Mitchell stared into the distance—the undulating sea of zombies stretching to the edge of the world—and his expression turned grave.

The others followed his gaze.

For a tense moment, silence swallowed the entire defensive line.

Ignoring tiers and special abilities, the sheer weight of numbers was enough to shatter the resolve of any soldier.

"So many of them..." Henry whispered.

"Indeed," Sean replied, his voice strained. "If we are pinned down by this quantity... not even we might survive."

Henry glanced at his comrade. "Not if Nugget and the others hold the line."

"...A fair point."

At the front of the line, Colonel Mitchell raised his radio.

"All artillery batteries, stand ready."

Mortar squads and howitzer teams moved with mechanical precision, loading ordnance with practiced haste.

"Fire!"

A split second later, dozens of shells screamed into the stratosphere.

Boom—boom—BOOM!

Deafening thunder rippled across the horde. Fire and debris erupted as the projectiles detonated into the dense mass.

Thousands of zombies vanished, obliterated into ash and scattered gore.

The unexpected barrage threw the horde into a state of panic. Their advance ground to a stuttering halt.

"Maintain pressure!" Colonel Mitchell’s voice boomed over the chaos. "Keep up the bombardment!"

The crews worked with frantic speed, reloading and firing once more.

Boom—boom—boom!

Shell after shell tore into the horde, creating brilliant, violent petals of flames. For a flicker of time, the intensity of the assault seemed to sear the terror right out of the soldiers' spirits.

Watching entire segments of the horde vanish under the artillery, the faces of several soldiers began to light up with grim determination.

Only Colonel Mitchell remained stony-faced, his expression as heavy as a leaden sky.