Apocalypse: King of Zombies Chapter 5 Follower

Ding—

A sudden buzz from Ethan's phone interrupted the silence, as a Facebook alert flashed across the display. He reached for it and discovered the text was sent by Lola.

"Hey babe! Are you okay, Ethan? Zombies are swarming all over the place, and I'm terrified. I'm genuinely concerned about you. Are you hanging on?"

Ethan's fingers danced over the screen while he responded, "Yeah, I'm still kicking."

Lola fired off additional texts right away upon reading his answer: "I'm stuck in my dorm room, and my food supplies are running low. You've stocked up a bunch, haven't you? Could you swing by with some and rescue me?"

An odd smirk formed on Ethan's face.

Having transformed into a zombie already, that expression appeared particularly chilling.

"Hold on tight. I'll head over shortly," he replied via text.

For Ethan, Lola represented more than a damsel in distress—she served as "fresh supplies" he'd kept in reserve.

Naturally, he intended to seek her out, though the time wasn't quite yet.

Dangers lurked beyond his door. Despite devouring ample flesh and surpassing ordinary human strength by a wide margin, he preferred to bide his time for a few more days. He aimed to grow even mightier, ensuring no mishaps occurred.

Lola remained blissfully unaware that a zombie was on the other end of their conversation.

"Babe, you must come rescue me. I'm counting on you! Love you~~~" Lola dispatched her last message.

Ethan offered no response.

He was aware that Lola wasn't truly by herself at that moment.

Inside her dorm, she engaged in frenzied intimacy with five other men.

Two latched onto her breasts with their mouths, one thrust upward into her from beneath, another toyed with her rear, and Lola serviced the man positioned before her with her mouth.

Nevertheless, she dared to address him as "babe" and dispatch those insincere texts.

A chilling chuckle escaped Ethan's lips as he kept browsing the remaining notifications on his device.

The local community chat overflowed with desperate pleas for aid.

"Folks next door, a zombie's in the corridor, hammering at my entrance. How should I handle this?"

"Barricade it! Keep that zombie from forcing its way inside!"

"My provisions are nearly gone. I won't last much longer!"

"Stay composed, everyone! Those zombies lack real power. I just took down one with a shot! Anyone who's slain a zombie, chime in. We should team up and venture out to gather resources…"

Ethan gazed at the incoming texts, deep in contemplation.

Though he'd become a zombie, he harbored no desire to assault his fellow residents. Human flesh lacked appeal in taste, and it yielded far less vitality than beef. With his abundant reserves, there was zero urgency to pursue live targets.

That said, should any fool dare provoke him, Ethan would gladly demonstrate the depths of savagery.

His mind raced ahead to future strategies. Humans might organize against zombies, yet the undead could form alliances too.

A formidable zombie sovereign might command legions of thousands, orchestrating assaults and pursuing quarry with precision.

Ethan resolved to enlist some zombie underlings.

Not for predation, mind you. He merely sought sentinels to protect his domain, preventing any intrusions on his tranquility.

Ethan snatched his keys and stepped outside.

Muffled snarls reverberated along the passage, indicating undead prowlers in the vicinity. He had no plans to stray distant—merely to secure a handful of servants within the structure.

His criteria remained modest. Provided they appeared reasonably neat, they'd suffice…

Ethan entered the staircase area. Upon dropping a single level, a dim silhouette emerged around the bend.

"Raaaargh—"

A female voice issued a guttural rumble.

She too had zombified, yet rather than lunging at Ethan, trepidation flickered in her gaze.

Instinctively, she perceived Ethan's superiority, akin to a wolf facing a tiger. This innate hierarchy restrained her from abrupt actions.

Ethan knew who she was.

His neighbor from below, once a skilled high jumper in her human days.

Endless practice had forged her elongated, robust limbs. Zombie or not, her agility endured, matching a normal person's speed.

And this prior to consuming any flesh.

"Zombies seem to preserve certain qualities from their living selves."

Ethan deemed the young woman promising. With adequate guidance, she might evolve into a nimble, rapid zombie commander.

Clad in a rose-colored tee and denim pants, her locks secured in a tail. Even undead, she maintained a fairly pristine and orderly appearance.

"She'll work fine," Ethan concluded.

From his pocket, he withdrew a chilled steak and flung it her way offhandedly. The she-zombie fixated on the aroma of flesh immediately. She sank to her knees, ripped the wrapper, and consumed it with voracious hunger.

Once the steak was gone, her stare reflected not merely dread, but traces of longing and deference as well.

"Follow me, and more meat awaits," Ethan conveyed via a psychic impulse.

Possessing elevated zombie status, he wielded the power to dominate lesser undead thusly.

The female appeared to comprehend. She emitted several subdued snarls prior to gradually lowering her head.

Such a motion signified yielding in zombie society.

In this manner, Ethan gained his initial subordinate.

Accompanied by the she-zombie, he roamed the corridor further. Soon enough, they met two additional undead boasting solid prospects.

One had served as a WWE grappler during life—enormous, brawny, the ideal brute-force zombie specimen.

The second lacked prominent bodily strengths. In mortality, he'd been a prodigious doctoral scholar, securing a Nobel accolade pre-apocalypse.

Ethan selected him for the residual shrewdness in his eyes. He displayed greater cognizance than typical zombies. Should undead wits parallel canines, this scholarly zombie equated to a border collie without doubt.

Beyond these pair, no further zombies piqued Ethan's interest.

He guided his trio of fresh enlistees toward his residence entry, appraising them. Though endowed with aptitude, their present fighting prowess fell short against armed mortals.

"If only you lot could wield armaments…" Ethan pondered inwardly.

An inspiration flashed upon him abruptly. Undead weren't inherently unable to handle tools—they simply required instruction.

With a swift motion of his hand, Ethan extracted three kukri blades from his spatial storage ring and hurled them to the ground.

The resounding clash of metal against surface swiftly drew the zombies' focus, though they merely gawked at the weapons, evidently perplexed on their application.

Ethan issued a telepathic directive, compelling them to seize the blades.

Instant compliance followed from the zombies. The grappler undead especially clutched the edge barehanded.

"Shhhk!"

The keen blade gashed his hand, crimson spilling to the tiles. Yet as zombies endure minimal agony, he showed no response. Rather, he regarded Ethan with evident pride, showcasing his compliance.

"Idiot!" Ethan groaned, massaging his brow. "Are you intending to strike foes with the hilt?"

Conversely, the doctoral zombie proved far more astute. Adhering to Ethan's cues, he clasped the handle correctly and brandished it through several arcs in the atmosphere, rapidly discerning its function.

Ethan felt satisfied. He promptly commanded the remaining duo to emulate the doctor's method.

Guided by the display, the grappler and she-zombie mastered proper gripping shortly thereafter.

It became evident—zombies proved trainable.

However, solely a dominant zombie overlord possessed the prerogative to instruct them.

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