Chapter 6: The First Stronghold
The return of the four scouting minions marked a turning point.
For the first time since the apocalypse began, Zealot possessed reliable information about the world beyond his apartment building.
The news wasn't encouraging.
Cities were still overrun.
Governments appeared absent.
Military forces had either withdrawn or collapsed.
Survivor groups existed, but they were scattered and struggling.
The old world was gone.
Completely gone.
Yet instead of despair, Zealot felt opportunity.
For ordinary people, the apocalypse represented chaos.
For him, it represented an empty board waiting to be claimed.
Before expanding outward, however, he needed a secure foundation.
A headquarters.
A fortress.
A territory that belonged entirely to him.
His eyes drifted toward the apartment building surrounding him.
Twelve floors.
Nearly one hundred apartments.
Solid construction.
Limited entrances.
Excellent visibility.
The structure was practically a ready-made fortress.
If he could secure the entire building, his survival prospects would increase dramatically.
The decision was easy.
The apartment complex would become his first stronghold.
***
The operation began the following morning.
Zealot assembled his five minions inside the lobby.
Several crimson crystals rested in a small container beside him.
Over the past week, he had discovered that his body continuously produced them.
The process was slow but consistent.
Every day added to his stockpile.
Enough to steadily increase the size of his forces.
The first objective was simple.
Clear every floor.
Any zombie discovered would either become a minion or be destroyed.
Every apartment would be searched.
Every resource cataloged.
Every threat eliminated.
The campaign began on the first floor.
The results were better than expected.
Many apartments were empty.
Their owners had either fled or died elsewhere.
Others contained infected residents trapped inside.
Whenever a zombie was found, Zealot's minions subdued it.
Once restrained, a crystal was implanted.
Minutes later, another servant joined the growing army.
By the end of the first day, his force had expanded from five minions to eleven.
The following day increased the number to fifteen.
Then nineteen.
Then twenty-three.
Each additional minion accelerated future operations.
The larger the workforce became, the faster new zombies could be captured.
A self-reinforcing cycle.
A growing hive.
By the end of the week, every floor of the apartment building had been searched.
Every infected resident had been accounted for.
Every accessible apartment had been opened.
Standing in the lobby, Zealot surveyed the results.
Thirty-one minions.
An entire building under his control.
A smile appeared on his face.
His first territory had been secured.
***
The resource inventory exceeded his expectations.
Many residents had stockpiled supplies before disappearing.
Food.
Water.
Medicine.
Tools.
Camping equipment.
Power banks.
Batteries.
Cooking supplies.
Even firearms.
Though ammunition was limited.
Zealot ordered everything collected and centralized.
Several apartments on the lower floors became storage facilities.
Others became workshops.
One apartment was converted into a medical station.
Another became a command center.
For the first time since the apocalypse began, the building showed signs of organization.
Purpose.
Structure.
Control.
The difference was astonishing.
A week earlier it had been a tomb.
Now it resembled the beginnings of a functioning settlement.
Unfortunately, new problems quickly emerged.
The greatest was food.
Specifically meat.
***
One evening, Zealot noticed something strange.
Several minions had gathered around the corpse of a recently killed zombie.
At first he assumed they were feeding.
Then he realized otherwise.
The zombies weren't interested in rotten flesh.
They were staring at a dead rat nearby.
The moment one of the minions consumed the animal, a faint change occurred.
Its muscles strengthened slightly.
Its movements became smoother.
Zealot immediately paid attention.
Over the next several days he conducted experiments.
Birds.
Rats.
Stray cats.
Any animal he could obtain.
The results were consistent.
Animal flesh strengthened zombies.
The improvements were modest.
But undeniably real.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Further testing revealed something even more surprising.
The enhancement crystals produced by his body were vastly superior.
A single crystal generated improvements that would require enormous amounts of meat to replicate.
The crystals were more efficient.
More powerful.
More predictable.
Still, meat remained useful.
Especially for ordinary minions.
This discovery led to another realization.
If zombies benefited from consuming animals...
Then maintaining livestock could become valuable in the future.
The idea was filed away for later consideration.
***
The apartment complex itself wasn't enough.
Soon Zealot expanded outward.
The surrounding streets became his next objective.
Every morning groups of minions left the building.
Every evening they returned.
Block by block.
Street by street.
The area surrounding the apartment complex gradually fell under his control.
Most zombies encountered were converted.
Others were destroyed.
The process was methodical.
Relentless.
Efficient.
Unlike human survivors, his forces never became tired.
Never lost morale.
Never questioned orders.
The territory expanded steadily.
One block became two.
Two became four.
Four became eight.
With every passing day, Zealot's influence increased.
Through his minions' eyes, he constantly monitored the area.
Nothing entered without his knowledge.
Nothing left without being observed.
An invisible web slowly spread across the neighborhood.
A web controlled entirely by him.
***
The first encounter with survivors occurred three weeks later.
Zealot was observing through one of his scouting minions when he spotted them.
Six people.
Armed with improvised weapons.
Moving cautiously through nearby streets.
Searching for supplies.
The sight immediately captured his attention.
Living humans.
The first he had seen since the apocalypse began.
For several minutes he watched them.
The group appeared exhausted.
Hungry.
Desperate.
Yet still organized.
One of them pointed toward his apartment complex.
Apparently considering it as a destination.
Zealot frowned.
That was a problem.
The building contained his supplies.
His operations.
His growing army.
Allowing strangers inside would introduce risks.
Questions.
Complications.
At the same time, directly attacking survivors felt unnecessary.
Perhaps even dangerous.
Humanity was already suffering enough.
After several moments of thought, a solution emerged.
Simple.
Elegant.
Deceptive.
Using a nearby minion, Zealot located an abandoned hardware store.
Several warning signs remained inside.
Among them were signs indicating hazardous chemicals.
Contamination zones.
Biohazard warnings.
An idea formed immediately.
Within hours, multiple signs appeared around the neighborhood.
DANGER.
CHEMICAL RELEASE.
EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY.
CONTAMINATION ZONE.
DO NOT ENTER.
The survivor group noticed them almost immediately.
Confusion spread through the group.
Arguments followed.
Eventually caution won.
They left.
Exactly as Zealot intended.
Watching them disappear through a minion's eyes, he nodded in satisfaction.
No violence.
No witnesses.
No risks.
The territory remained secure.
***
That evening Zealot stood on the rooftop.
The setting sun painted the city orange.
Below him, dozens of minions moved throughout the surrounding streets.
Patrolling.
Gathering supplies.
Maintaining order.
The scene felt surreal.
A month ago he had been an ordinary businessman worried about arriving late to work.
Now he commanded an undead workforce.
An undead army.
A hidden territory within a fallen city.
The transformation was almost unbelievable.
Yet this was only the beginning.
His stronghold had been established.
His territory was growing.
His army was expanding.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, greater opportunities awaited discovery.
The Zombie Sovereign had finally taken his first step toward building a kingdom.