The Undead and Unstoppable Apocalyptic Queen novel Chapter 647

**Kept Woman 647**
**Chapter 647: Two Minutes**

As the plan unfolded in the air, a spark ignited in Theresa’s tense gaze, illuminating her features with a fierce determination.

In her mind, the concept raced through her thoughts in the blink of an eye, dissecting every angle, every possible outcome. Yet, one glaring concern surfaced.

“But when we construct the makeshift bridge, you’ll need to hold the zombies back,” Dominic reminded her, his voice steady yet laced with urgency.

“Not an issue,” Theresa replied, her voice unwavering, as if the very idea of hesitation was foreign to her.

With a swift motion, she donned her mask, the fabric hugging her face like a second skin, and flung the door open. Without a moment’s pause, she leapt out into the chaos.

The toxic fog loomed ominously ahead, creeping closer with every second, its noxious tendrils set to envelop them in a mere two minutes.

“Two minutes!”

“Understood!” Dominic shouted back, urgency propelling him and Louisa, along with the others, out of the truck like a well-oiled machine.

They hurriedly seized steel plates from the vehicle alongside various materials from their surroundings, working together to assemble a temporary bridge.

“Quentin, lend a hand!”

“On it, Beautiful!” Quentin called out, his voice ringing with enthusiasm as he dashed to join the fray.

Next, Orren emerged from the truck, his heart racing at the sight of everyone laboring with such fervor. Without a second thought, he sprinted over to offer his assistance.

While the others scrambled to build the bridge, Theresa stood firm behind the truck, her eyes locked onto the relentless wave of zombies surging toward them—an unending tide of decay, rolling in like a dark, malevolent ocean.

The air was thick with guttural growls and roars, a cacophony of death as the zombies stumbled forward, their heads grotesquely twisted, limbs dragging lifelessly behind them, their clothing in tatters that barely clung to their forms.

Among them were men and women, old and young alike—some still clad in business suits, others in gym attire, dresses, and even pajamas. Each corpse bore the remnants of their former lives, but the humanity that once defined them had long since evaporated.

Their faces were ghastly, mouths gaping open in a silent scream, jaws stretched wide in an insatiable hunger. The only instinct that remained was a primal urge: to feed.

To them, the scent of living humans was intoxicating, a heady aroma that drove them wild with desire. They craved a bite of warm flesh, a taste of sweet blood—and if fortune favored them with a fresh organ, it would send them into a frenzy of delight.

With steely resolve, Theresa raised her blade, glinting under the faint light.

Without warning, the first zombie lunged at her, a grotesque figure that seemed to embody the very essence of horror.

In one fluid motion, steel flashed through the air. With a precise strike, the zombie’s head was severed cleanly from its body, flying away like a dark projectile.

Another swing followed, and then another. The arcs of her blade were so rapid they blurred into a shimmering wall of light, an impenetrable barrier against the encroaching horde.

No zombie breached her defenses.

She stood there like an unyielding fortress, a lone warrior holding back an army of the damned.

With Theresa safeguarding their rear, the others could focus on their task, free from the paralyzing grip of fear.

Orren, hammering planks into place with fervor, dared to glance up. The doubts that had plagued him about the nature of these zombies faded into irrelevance. At this moment, it was clear: survival was all that mattered.

He had never witnessed anyone fight with such ferocity.

She was not merely strong—she was a force of nature, unstoppable in her resolve.

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