Apocalypse: King of Zombies Chapter 1205: The Call to Atlas City

On that very night, the Fallen Star Squad came together once more, summoning the Great Chefs to prepare an opulent feast.

“Miles, we’re leaving Fallen Star City tomorrow for Atlas City,” Ethan declared, fixing his gaze upon him.

“Mm.” Miles gave a nod, showing no hint of surprise.

“Atlas City isn’t like other places. You guys are strong, but you still need to be careful. If you need backup, Fallen Star City’s twenty thousand Tier 9 Enhanced can move out at any time.”

Ethan chuckled. “It’s not that serious. You just focus on growing Fallen Star City. Don’t worry about us.”

Next, he retrieved a satellite phone from his spatial storage ring and passed it over to Miles.

“Keep this. There’s only one right now. When I get to Atlas City, I’ll find another one. That way we can stay in contact anytime.”

“That’s perfect.” Miles accepted it, his satisfaction evident.

After some further conversation, the group retired to their respective quarters.

Ethan instructed Skinny Pete to relay orders to the white-furred ape leader: secure the compound and ensure the rest of the white-furred apes stayed strictly in line—absolutely no incidents.

Such was the advantage of Skinny Pete’s Beast Control over the leader. The ape leader executed Skinny Pete’s commands precisely.

This explained Ethan’s decision to postpone their exit until the leader fell under control.

Failing that, should the squad depart and the white-furred apes rampage unchecked… Fallen Star City itself would suffer the consequences.

At dawn the following day, five enormous flying mounts rose from Fallen Star City, vanishing toward the horizon.

Residents of Fallen Star City observed their ascent, faces etched with envy.

They understood this signaled their Base Commander leading the Fallen Star Squad forth once again—to stir up momentous events.

Amid the apocalypse, the liberty to travel freely… such privilege belonged solely to the Fallen Star Squad.

If only we could join them one day, the crowd silently wished with quiet yearning.

Atlas City…

As the Atlas Federation’s capital, its former grandeur required no elaboration.

Post-apocalypse, a metropolis exceeding twenty million inhabitants inevitably turned into a hellscape.

Yet Atlas City reacted with astonishing speed. Federal troops locked down the city in merely two days post-outbreak, purged the urban zombies, swiftly set up a compound, and initiated rescue efforts.

Bolstered by vast soldier ranks and formidable armaments, the city’s sectors fell under control in short order.

Federal leaders demonstrated remarkable competence. The compound expanded steadily, operations conducted with strict discipline and order.

Nevertheless, Atlas City’s internal politics remained a chaotic web. With the president missing, selecting a successor proved impossible.

The five mighty families gripped power firmly. Each held vital high-level positions. Every clan pushed their favored nominee—yet rejected all rivals.

Ultimately, the five families forged a pact: shared governance of Atlas City’s compound—mutual collaboration laced with vigilant oversight.

Currently, within the Atlas City compound’s conference hall, over a dozen figures clustered around a massive sand table, murmuring urgently.

The display featured a vast Atlas Federation map, depicting counties, cities, and towns with meticulous accuracy.

At present, multicolored flags dotted the sand table densely.

“Everyone,” the soldier in uniform announced, “through ongoing monitoring and review of incoming satellite feeds, we’ve largely pinpointed all active compounds across the Atlas Federation.”

“However, unknown disruptions cloud the satellite visuals. Clarity suffers; we possess only approximate positions—exact conditions at each compound remain unknown.”

“Alright.” The middle-aged suited gentleman replied evenly. “Proceed.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier inclined his head, then indicated the red flags upon the sand table.

“Red flags denote super-large compounds—over one million residents. From observations, aside from Atlas City, four others exist: Clearford City, Nova City, Goldcrest City, and Silverlake City.”

“All government-founded, and contact has been established with each.”

His finger shifted to the blue flags.

“Blue signifies large compounds—below one million yet above five hundred thousand. Eighteen in total presently. Sixteen government-built, contacted successfully. Two remain out of reach.”

Next came the green flags.

“Green marks mid-sized compounds—under five hundred thousand but exceeding one hundred thousand. Over fifty identified. Contact achieved with more than thirty. Over twenty still inaccessible.”

The white flags followed.

“White indicates small compounds—fewer than one hundred thousand. Abundant, numbering one to two hundred. Mostly in minor cities and towns, largely uncontacted.”

“Mm.” The suited man nodded briefly, then instructed, “Expedite connections with those compounds. No need for our personnel exclusively. Utilize proximate government compounds already linked to dispatch envoys.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Distribute one satellite phone per compound.”

“Understood!”

“Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir!”

The soldier rendered a crisp salute and exited the conference room.

As the door closed, a different middle-aged man inquired, “Whitaker… advancing to the subsequent phase?”

“Yeah. More or less.” Charles Whitaker responded evenly. “Crystal-core fusion tech has reached Tier 9. Yet our crystal core reserves fall far short. Mass-producing Tier 9 Enhanced remains impossible. Crystal cores must be collected from all compounds.”

“General Kane bears the blame,” a voice grumbled resentfully. “He purged too aggressively early on. Zombies barely evolved before he nearly eradicated them!”

“Blame me?” the man retorted sharply. “Had I not acted swiftly, your survival today would be doubtful!”

“Enough.” Charles intervened, halting the brewing dispute. “Contacting all compounds remains paramount.”

His gaze circled the table. “Whitaker, what’s your strategy for these compounds?”

Silence descended briefly, thick and tense.

It haunted their sleepless nights recently.

Numerous scouts dispatched to assess various compounds in recent weeks returned with disheartening intelligence.

Smaller outposts aside—even numerous government-founded ones drifted beyond their authority.

They anticipated some defiance.

Not to this extent.

In apocalyptic times, human greed didn’t diminish—it surged wildly.

“In my view, crush them militarily,” declared Dominic Hale, Hale family envoy. “Does the apocalypse grant license for anarchy?”

“Force suits zombies,” Maxwell Kane, Kane family spokesman, countered with a scowl. “Not fellow survivors. Atlas Federation holds under a hundred million alive now—yet you propose firing upon them?”

“For defiant compounds ignoring directives, dispatch superior-Tier Enhanced to assume command,” proposed Benjamin Caldwell, Caldwell family delegate. “No compound dares defy the federal government outright.”

“They erected their bastions through toil,” another retorted. “Think seizure comes at whim? Far from simple.”

“Must we dominate them?” interjected Gabriel Mercer, Mercer family rep. “Allow independent growth?”

“Unfeasible.” Charles Whitaker’s tone sharpened. “That scatters the federation into disjointed grains. Certain compounds devolve to savagery. Reclamation is essential.”

He halted, then decided.

“Initiate contact with every compound. Summon representatives to Atlas City for summit.”

“Distant locales pose travel risks,” noted one. “Some may perish en route. Others harbor schemes, refusing attendance.”

“No issue,” Charles assured. “Ensure delivery of the directive.”

He continued, “Inform them to deliver surplus low-Tier crystal cores for exchange here in Atlas City for high-Tier ones. Assure them of a tour to the special spatial world upon arrival.”

Confidently, his eyes scanned the assembly.

“They won’t resist the temptation.”

“Alright,” the group concurred. “Consider it done.”