Chapter 100 The Half–Zombie Turncoat
Chapter 100 The Half–Zombie Turncoat
<i>Thud</i><i>! </i>
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In the farthest corner of the pigsty, a man in a baseball cap twisted and dodged with remarkable agility, tumbling out in a clumsy mix of rolls and crawls.
As soon as he emerged, he shed a grin at Theresa. “So, you’re a space–based ability user after <b>all</b><b>!</b>”
Theresa frowned deeply as she stared at the man in front of her. She recognized him. He was the one who used to trail behind everyone else in Logan’s squad.
What had stood out to her most back then was that he didn’t feel like an ordinary person–or even an ability user.
“Who are you, really?” she asked coldly.
The man in the cap raised both hands in a gesture of peace. “I mean no harm. I’m here to join you!”
“Join me?” Theresa’s voice was wary.
“That’s right! I think you’re strong–your whole team is. Only someone like you is worthy of someone like me.”
“And what do you bring to the table?” she asked.
Hearing that, the man whipped off his cap, revealing one eye covered with a ck patch.
Theresa’s eyes lit up as soon as she saw the familiar look.
Then, he pulled off the eyepatch entirely–beneath it was a dull, gray–white eye. A zombie’s eye.
“Quentin Kerr!” Theresa gasped.
Quentin raised an eyebrow. “How do you know my name?”
Theresa’s mind reeled. She had survived ten years in the apocalypse. Of course, she knew the legends- the infamous survivors who’d be myths in the Eastern region.
Only ten major figures had risen to prominence in that first decade–each one a powerhouse who ruled over entire camps.
And one of them was Quentin–the only known half–zombie.
He <b>was </b>infected with the zombie virus but had never fully turned. A bizarre gic quirk made him immune to zombie attacks. He could walk among hordes unbothered, a ghost drifting through chaos, but it wasn’t his ability that made him notorious–it was the chaos he left behind.
Cunning, greedy, and wildly unpredictable, Quentin was infamous for betrayal. He floated from <b>one </b><b>camp </b>to another, exploiting them all. Once he gathered enough intel, he’d either sell it to a rival camp <b>or </b><b>lead </b><b>a </b>surprise assault himself.
If the next camp was weak, he’d tip off the previous one and start the <b>cycle </b>all <b>over </b><b>again</b>.
Chapter 100 The Half–Zombie Turncoat
In the apocalypse, zombies weren’t the only threat–humans were often far worse.
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And Quentin had single–handedly taken down several small settlements and even a mid–sized <b>camp</b>, walking away with half their supplies. He’d gorge himself on the spoils before moving on to his <b>next </b><b>target</b>.
Why didn’t he just live off the zombic–infested cities, scavenging untouched supplies? Because Quentin wasn’t that kind of man. He thrived on vice–gambling, women, and debauchery. He was a con man <b>at </b>heart, driven by greed and lust, incapable of a solitary life.
Wherever he went, someone paid the price.
Theresa’s own camp had once been in his sights. Luckily, it had been too remote to interest him much. At the time, she hadn’t noticed him, but long after he’d left, the camp’s radio station broadcast the truth about the man they had unknowingly hosted.
That was when everyone realized who they’d let in.
Since then, she’d heard endless tales of his wild, wandering life, especially in the camp’s little tavern.
But his story didn’t have a happy ending. In year eight of the apocalypse, he tried to stir conflict <b>between </b>the powerful Hope Camp and the equally fierce Kl Camp. Hope Camp caught him and locked him in ab.
Rumor had it they dissected him for research–hoping to find a cure for the virus hidden in his blood.
Theresa had never heard from or about him again–until now.
She never expected to meet this legendary scourge of the apocalypse face–to–face.
“Beautifuldy,” Quentin said with a smile, “I’ll let you in on a secret. I’ve been infected, but I never mutated. I can walk through a sea of zombies untouched. Not one of them will bite me. So, what do you
think someone like me is worth having on your team?” say<i>? </i>Don’t you
His mismatched eyes–one human, one zombified–gleamed with warmth and sincerity. It would have fooled anyone else, but not Theresa. Not someone who had lived through ten years
of hell.
What–a-waste it would be not to recruit someone like him, but she knew exactly who he was.
Theresa stared at Quentin, her expression torn.