Day 21.
We left at dawn.
The delegation was larger than I'd planned—Rachel, Morgan, Drake, Min-Tong, and myself representing the living. Vanguard and two of his lieutenants representing the dead. Harold stayed behind to manage the compound. Max coordinated defenses.
The journey took us south through territory I'd last seen at the head of an army.
Everything was different now.
------------------------------
The corruption was truly fading.
Roads that had been impassable two weeks ago were now merely damaged. Buildings that had fused with organic matter were separating, leaving behind structures that were broken but recognizable. Even the zombies we encountered—feral ones, not part of Vanguard's alliance—seemed less aggressive. More confused.
"They sense the change," Vanguard observed as we passed a group of wanderers who watched us but didn't attack. "The entity's influence shaped their behavior. Without it, they are... lost."
"Will they ever be like you? Aware?"
"Unknown. We were claimed. Structured. Given purpose. They were simply animated and left to wander." He paused. "Perhaps, with time. Perhaps not. The dead are not as predictable as the living assume."
I filed that away.
Another problem for another day.
------------------------------
The PNRI had established their summit location at a former convention center in Olympia.
We saw it from miles away—not because of the building itself, but because of what surrounded it. Tents. Vehicles. People. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, moving with the organized purpose of a functioning society.
"Holy shit," Drake breathed.
He wasn't wrong.
I'd known intellectually that ten thousand survivors meant something. But seeing it—actually seeing the scope of what they'd built—was different.
This wasn't a compound.
This was a city.
------------------------------
The guards at the perimeter were professional.
They saw Vanguard and his lieutenants, and their weapons came up immediately. But they didn't fire. Didn't panic. Just waited, alert and ready, as their commander approached.
"You're the Seattle delegation."
"We are."
The commander—a woman in her forties with military bearing and calculating eyes—studied our group. Her gaze lingered on Vanguard. On the dead flesh. On the milky eyes that tracked her with disconcerting intelligence.
"The zombies come too?"
"They're part of the delegation."
"Director Harrison said you might do this." She didn't smile, but something in her posture relaxed fractionally. "Follow me. Keep them close. Some of our people are... adjustable to unusual situations. Others aren't."
We followed.
------------------------------
The convention center had been transformed.
What had once been a space for trade shows and corporate events was now a functioning government center. Generators hummed. Communications equipment occupied entire halls. Maps covered every wall, marked with territories, resources, survivor locations.
And people.
So many people.
Military. Civilian. Scientists in lab coats. Workers in practical clothing. Children—actual children, playing in a supervised area near what had been the food court.
I hadn't seen children in weeks.
Min-Tong's hand found mine.
"It's real," she whispered. "They actually built something."
"Yeah."
"We could too. With their help. Wei, we could—"
"Let's see what they want first."
But I understood her excitement.
This was hope made tangible.
------------------------------
Director Harrison was waiting in what had been the main ballroom.
She was older than I'd expected—seventies at least, with white hair pulled back severely and eyes that had seen more than anyone should have to see. She sat at a long table with a dozen others—military commanders, civilian leaders, people who clearly held power in this new order.
"Wei Chen," she said as we entered. "The Zombie King."
"Former Zombie King."
"Yes. We heard about your sacrifice." Her expression was unreadable. "Burning ten thousand years of accumulated power to trap the entity permanently. Quite a decision."
"It was necessary."
"So they say." She gestured to seats across the table. "Please. Sit. We have much to discuss."
We arranged ourselves—humans on one side, Vanguard and his lieutenants standing behind us. The PNRI representatives watched the zombies with expressions ranging from fascination to barely-concealed fear.
Harrison ignored the tension.
"I'll be direct. The entity's defeat changes everything. For months, we've been fighting a losing battle—containing outbreaks, protecting survivors, watching our numbers dwindle. Now..." She spread her hands. "Now there's actually a future to plan for."
"And you want us to be part of that future."
"We want everyone to be part of it. The Seattle compound, the Tacoma survivors, every group from here to Alaska." Her eyes sharpened. "But we need to understand what we're dealing with. Specifically—your alliance with the dead."
Here it was.
The moment I'd been dreading.
"Ask your questions."
------------------------------
The interrogation lasted two hours.
They wanted to know everything. How I'd controlled the zombies. How they'd been freed. What Vanguard's capabilities were. What the terms of our alliance included. Whether the dead could be trusted.
Vanguard answered some questions himself.
"We are not slaves," he said at one point, his voice carrying across the silent room. "We were. Under Wei Chen's control, we had no choice. Now we do. We choose to protect the living because it is... correct. Because the alternative is pointless existence."
"How do we know you won't turn on us?"
"You do not. Just as we do not know humans will not betray us." His milky eyes swept the table. "Trust is built through action. We offer ours. Whether you accept is your decision."
The room was very quiet.
------------------------------
Finally, Harrison spoke again.
"We have a proposal."
I'd been waiting for this.
"Go on."
"The PNRI is not equipped to handle fifteen thousand intelligent zombies. Our people are terrified of the dead—understandably. Forcing integration would cause more problems than it solved."
"You want us to leave."
"No." Her eyes met mine. "I want you to expand."
I blinked.
"Explain."
"The Seattle compound controls territory. Has a functioning zombie alliance. Understands how to work with the dead in ways we can't imagine." She pulled out a map—a much larger version of the one Morgan had been using. "We want you to become the dead-territory specialists. Handle the areas where feral zombies are too dense for normal survivors. Clear the worst infection zones. Establish protocols for future reclamations."
I stared at the map.
She was offering us half of Washington State.
"And in return?"
"Resources. Supplies. Military support when needed. Full integration into the PNRI trade network." Harrison leaned forward. "We don't want to fight you, Wei Chen. We want to use you—in the best possible way. Let us handle the living. Let your alliance handle the dead. Together, we might actually rebuild something worth having."
------------------------------
We stepped outside to discuss.
The delegation gathered in a quiet courtyard, away from watching eyes.
"It's a good deal," Rachel said immediately. "Better than I expected. Half of Washington, plus supplies and support? That's more than we could have taken by force even when you had your power."
"They're isolating us," Max countered through the radio—we'd patched him in for this conversation. "Pushing us to the margins. The dangerous territory. They get the easy rebuilding while we clear the hard areas."
"And earn their gratitude in the process," Morgan added. "This isn't charity. It's investment. They're betting that a working zombie alliance is more valuable than trying to destroy it."
I looked at Vanguard.
"What do you think?"
"The terms are acceptable." His voice was thoughtful. "Territory for the living who work with us. Purpose for those under my command. Recognition from the larger human collective." He paused. "It is more than we expected. Perhaps more than we deserve."
"You deserve to exist," Min-Tong said firmly. "Same as anyone else."
"The living do not agree."
"Some do. That's a start."
I turned back to the building.
Somewhere in there, Director Harrison was waiting for an answer. An answer that would shape the future of this region. Maybe the future of everything.
"We accept," I said. "But we add one condition."
"What?"
"Representation. If the PNRI is going to be the governing body for this region, we need a seat at the table. Human and zombie representatives. Equal voice."
Silence.
"You think they'll agree to that?" Drake asked.
"I think they need us more than they're letting on. The entity may be gone, but the world is still broken. They don't have enough people to reclaim everything. They need allies." I smiled. "And right now, we're the only ones who can give them what they need."
------------------------------
Harrison agreed.
Not easily. Not without argument. But when the votes were counted and the deals were made, the Seattle Compound—and its zombie alliance—had a seat at the PNRI council.
The first dead being to hold political office in human history took his place that afternoon.
Vanguard sat at the table, surrounded by living representatives who couldn't quite believe what they were seeing. His milky eyes watched everything. Learned everything.
Adapted.
I stood at the back of the room, Min-Tong beside me.
"You did it," she whispered. "You actually did it."
"We did it."
"No. This was you. The sacrifice. The choice. The willingness to work with anyone who would work with you." She squeezed my hand. "The Zombie King couldn't have done this. Only Wei could."
I watched Vanguard cast his first vote.
Watched the future take shape.
------------------------------
That night, as the delegation prepared to return to Seattle, I stood on the convention center roof and looked north.
Toward the compound. Toward the territory that was now officially ours. Toward the thousands of zombies who would be counting on me to lead them—not through power, but through choice.
The world was still broken.
Still dangerous.
Still filled with threats I couldn't predict and challenges I couldn't imagine.
But it was also open.
For the first time in ten thousand years, the future wasn't predetermined. Wasn't controlled by ancient entities or cyclical fate. It was ours to build.
Whatever we made of it.
------------------------------
END OF VOLUME 1
------------------------------
Ghost found me on the roof, as she always did.
She wasn't magically connected to me anymore. Couldn't speak in my mind or share my senses. She was just a cat.
But she was my cat.
"Ready to go home?" I asked.
She meowed.
I scooped her up, tucked her against my chest, and walked toward the stairs.
Whatever came next—the territory to claim, the zombies to organize, the alliances to forge, the world to rebuild—I'd face it.
Not as the Zombie King.
Not as a vessel for ancient power.
Just as Wei Chen.
A man who'd made a choice.
And would keep making choices, every day, until there were no more choices left to make.
------------------------------
I was halfway down the stairs when Ghost stiffened in my arms.
Her fur bristled. Her claws extended, pricking through my jacket. And she made a sound I'd never heard from her before—a low, keening whine that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
She was staring north.
Toward Seattle.
Toward home.
"Ghost? What—"
The whine stopped. She relaxed, becoming an ordinary cat again, and looked up at me with eyes that held no answers.
But something in my gut had gone cold.
Something was waiting for us at the compound.
Something new.