Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 118:

Chapter 118: 118:

Zara sat cross-legged on the floor of their quarters, facing Leo as he balanced on his little feet, babbling excitedly. His curls were a tangled mess from the towel, his cheeks flushed with the enthusiasm only a three-year-old could muster.

The warm light from the overhead lamp cast long shadows, but Zara’s mind was elsewhere, spinning over what Leo had been saying.

"Bigger," he said again, stretching his arms as wide as they could go. "And, and, and—brighter."

Zara nodded. "I know, baby. You told me that before."

Leo frowned, brows scrunching, like he was trying to pull something from the depths of his toddler vocabulary. His tiny hands made erratic gestures, fingers curling and unfurling. "It’s... hum-hummy now."

"Hummy?" Zara echoed, leaning in.

He nodded seriously, his little face earnest. "Like... like when the walls talk."

A cold shiver worked its way up her spine. She fought to keep her expression neutral, but her pulse picked up speed.

"Hummy how, Leo?" she pressed, soft but firm.

He twisted his lips in frustration, clearly struggling to explain. "Like when Daddy’s car sleeps! When it goes mmmm and shakes!"

He shook his little arms for emphasis, his tiny fingers wiggling like they could mimic the vibrations. "Not scary! Just... wake-wake."

Zara exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. A faint hum, like an engine at rest. Leo’s space was changing, and not just in size.

Was it... alive in some way? No, that didn’t make sense. But what if it wasn’t just a static storage dimension? What if it reacted to them?

Her fingers curled against her knees.

She needed to test this.

But first—

She glanced at the small pile of notes on her desk. The latest one had appeared sometime while she was getting Leo ready for bed the other day, tucked neatly under her pillow.

They’re not dead. They’re changing.

Her frustration spiked. Who was doing this? Who kept slipping these notes into their quarters, leaving just enough breadcrumbs to make them paranoid but never enough to give them answers?

Leo yawned and climbed into her lap, curling against her chest, his little fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeve. His trust in her was absolute. She kissed his forehead, smoothing his curls.

"Are you sleepy baby?" She asked softly.

Leo shook his head with a pout. Then yawned again. Zara’s lip twitched, toddlers and stubbornness went hand in hand.

"Ok, you want mommy to read you a story?"

"Mmm," he nodded excitedly, suddenly peeking up again. Eyes cleared of sleep.

This boy, she thought exasperatedly as she ruffled his hair.

He pulled out a book from his pace and held it up to her. "Here!"

Zara looked at the book and smiled. It was one of the first Damon had gotten Leo when the child started scribbling on surfaces, trying to "do like mommy," referring to her researching.

"You want mommy to teach you how to write again?"

He nodded excitedly, eyes glowing.

"Okay," she said finally, keeping her voice calm. "Remember to not use your space like that outside baby. And don’t go near the door for now, alright?"

Leo nodded, then reached out, his small hand pressing against her cheek. "Mommy worried?"

She forced a smile. "No, baby. I’m just thinking. But you’re my brave boy, right?"

Leo puffed out his chest. "Uh-huh!"

"That’s my boy."

But inside, her mind was racing. She needed to know more about his powers.

She needed to get into the lab. She needed more information.

And she needed it fast. This was her last free day before she had to go back to the farms.

Maybe she should pay Sam a "visit" at the med bay.

*****

Winter squinted as their truck made its way through the crumbling concrete. To think he had been tasked with leading his own crew so soon.

Bale has just taken one look at him clasped his shoulder. "He will be in charge of team Alpha 10. Any objection?"

There were none, everyone just wanted to get this done with quickly.

"Great cuz I wouldn’t have given a fuck otherwise. Follow instructions, come back alive." And then he rushed over to his own squad.

Now, the truck rumbled to a halt, tires crunching softly against the damp, uneven ground. The mist was so thick now that even the high beams barely cut through it. The swirling gray mass clung to the world, unnatural in its density.

Inside, Winter sat tensely in the lead vehicle, his oxygen mask tight against his face. The filtered air had the usual chemical bite, but it was better than breathing in the unknown.

"Two clicks from last known coordinates," Jones muttered from the passenger seat, checking his nav-screen. "Still no sign of them."

No bodies. No distress signals. Just radio silence.

Winter tapped his fingers against his thigh, eyes scanning the shifting mist beyond the glass. He hated this—the waiting. The feeling of walking into something blind.

The truck jolted over uneven ground, and then the radio crackled.

"Captain," came Harris’s voice from the second truck. "We’re seeing... something."

Winter’s gut clenched. "Define ’something,’ Harris."

Static. Then—

"Blood."

That was enough.

"Stop the trucks," Winter ordered.

The convoy came to a lurching halt. "We walk from here," he ordered.

Winter was the first one out, rifle at the ready as his boots crunched against damp, uneven soil. The mist was thick enough to be suffocating, curling around them in lazy tendrils.

The team silently moved out, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The air was eerily still, save for the occasional whisper of mist curling around their bodies. Every step forward felt like pressing into an unseen force, the fog pushing back, resisting them.

"Stay close," Winter murmured into his comms. "Eyes sharp."

They spread out just enough to cover ground but not lose sight of one another. The deeper they went, the stronger the metallic scent in the air became.

"Blood," a lady muttered from his left.

Winter stopped, raising a fist. The squad froze, scanning the area.

Harris hadn’t been wrong—there was blood. Long, erratic smears on the dirt.

Discarded gear. A helmet. A torn glove.

But no bodies.

Winter motioned for the team to fan out, stepping forward cautiously. The silence was unnatural, the kind that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Where the hell are they?" A man whispered.

Something crunched in the mist.

The entire squad turned, weapons raised.

Silence.

Then, the sound of breathing.

But not theirs.

Winter’s grip tightened on his rifle. His voice was low but firm.

"Who’s there?"

The mist swirled.

Then, just beyond visibility—something moved.