Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 122:

Chapter 122: 122:

One night, Zara was putting Leo to bed when he tugged on her sleeve.

She looked down. "What is it?"

Leo hesitated. Then he whispered "There was someone outside."

Zara’s stomach dropped.

She turned toward the small window by the bed. The curtains were drawn, but she still stepped forward, heart racing.

She pulled them open.

Nothing.

Only the darkened walkway outside.

She tried to keep her voice calm. "What did you see, baby?"

Leo curled into the blankets. "It was tall."

Zara swallowed hard.

She double-checked the locks before lying beside him, keeping an arm around him.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

And when it finally did...

It was filled with nightmares.

Outside the base, Winter’s team had made it a little past the perimeter when they stumbled upon something horrific.

A mutilated soldier lay sprawled in the dirt, his body barely holding together—skin blackened, veins dark and pulsing with something unnatural.

Blood. Too much blood.

Winter knelt beside him, checking for a pulse. "Still alive. Barely."

The man’s lips trembled. His eyes—glassy with terror.

Winter leaned closer. "Who did this?"

The soldier choked.

Then, with his last breath—

"...not human..."

His body went limp.

Winter stood, tension thick in his stance. He lifted his radio.

"Get a cleanup crew down here. Now."

The radio crackled. "What happened?"

Winter exhaled. "...We have a problem."

*****

Two weeks later...

Time passed in fragmented days and restless nights.

Zara barely noticed the changes in herself until she caught her reflection in a metal panel on the lab wall—dark circles under her eyes, sharper angles to her face, a weariness that wasn’t just physical.

The nightmares hadn’t stopped.

Most nights, she woke drenched in sweat, heart pounding from images she couldn’t fully remember. Faces blurred by mist. Whispers in the dark. Hands reaching for Leo.

She missed Winter.

More than she was willing to admit.

His absence left an emptiness she felt every time she looked at Leo when he asked. Every time she tried to sleep with the nightmares. Every time she thought about what the base was hiding.

And it was hiding a lot.

Leo, at least, had one bright spot.

His name was Kai—a small, curly-haired boy who had decided, without question, that Leo was his best friend.

Kai followed him everywhere, chattering endlessly about the tiniest things—what color the sky had been that morning (gray, like every day), how many crackers he’d eaten for lunch, which soldiers had the scariest guns.

Leo tolerated him with quiet patience.

Sometimes, when she came to get Leo, she’d watch for a bit. His shoulders tensed when Kai got too close, and Zara could see that something in him still hesitated to trust.

But then there were moments—tiny, precious moments—when Kai would say something ridiculous, and Leo would smile.

A real, genuine, three-year-old smile.

Zara lived for those moments.

She wanted him to be normal, as normal as possible in this godforsaken place.

That was the only thing that mattered. That was why she had to get to the bottom of what this thing in the sky was and how to get it the hell out of here, along with all the madness it had brought with it.

She turned away, but a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision made her freeze.

Someone was watching her.

A figure in a lab coat disappeared around the corner.

Zara frowned. She had felt it for days now—eyes on her, footsteps behind her in empty hallways. But every time she turned to look, there was nothing.

She clenched her jaw and walked away.

*****

The lab was silent when she found the files.

She had been reviewing mist analysis data when a folder appeared on her workstation.

It hadn’t been there minutes ago. Someone had placed it deliberately where she would see it.

Zara’s pulse quickened. This was a test. It had to be. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t do the most obvious thing.

She glanced around the lab. The others were busy, hunched over their terminals, deep in their own work.

Slowly, she flipped it open.

The first few pages were dry, overly technical. Dimensional Rift Studies—a project labeled classified and abandoned.

But as she read further, the language became messier.

Experiment 017B: Subject exposure to Rift-generated mist resulted in full necrotic transformation within 3 hours. Cognitive function lost.

Experiment 019D: Subject did not display immediate necrosis. Retained mobility and speech capabilities. Increased aggression.

Experiment 020F: Partial transformation. Subject remained aware. Vocalized extreme pain.

Experiment 021A: Subject’s transformation incomplete. Heart continued beating. Communication attempted but nonsensical.

Experiment 03702Z: Subject killed and revived within 15 minutes of mist exposure. Cognitive functions remained intact but altered.

Experiment 07023Z Subject exposed for 30 seconds, controlled inhalation. No visible reaction. Monitored for 12 hours. Subject remains stable. Released from observation.

"What?" She hissed, fist clenching. How could they release such a person?

Her eyes scrolled further down the paper and she found the notes scribbled in the margin: "He changed days later. Slower infection? Adaptive response?"

The fuck?

Experiment 03337 Subject exposed for 10 seconds in controlled chamber. Immediate neurological failure. Tissue liquefaction. Death in 42 seconds.

Another note at the bottom. "Younger subjects fail faster. Why?"

What makes the difference?

Why do some turn mindless, while others... adapt?

Zara’s throat tightened.

Who were they experimenting on? How many?

Her mind went to the rumours of the disappearing base members and her heart trembled. They wouldn’t really kidnap and force people into doing this right?

And then there was the orb.

More files referenced it—some called it a rift, others an anomaly. Some believed it was a gateway, others a signal.

But all of them agreed on one thing:

The mist came from it.

Zara leaned back, staring at the file. Who left this for her?

And what the hell were they hoping she’d do with it?

*****

Harker wasn’t looking for anything in particular when he passed by the security station—just killing time before his next meeting with the scientists.

Then he heard it.

"...Captain Winter’s team hasn’t checked in yet."

Harker slowed his steps.

"Think they ran into trouble?" another voice asked.

"Dunno, but from what I heard in his first mission, if anyone can handle the outside, it’s him."

Harker’s fingers twitched.

Winter?

The name was common enough, but Captain Winter?

That was too much of a coincidence.

"Which guy is he again?" someone else asked.

"The tall one, dark hair, scars down his arm—kinda broody but competent."

The description was a punch to the gut.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Winter was dead.

Or at least, he was supposed to be.

Harker’s jaw ticked. The last time he saw Winter, the bastard had been losing his goddamn base.

But if Winter was here, alive, still leading teams—

The engineers kept talking, oblivious.

"He’s the one that came in with that rogue survivor weeks back, right? The woman who recently got into the labs?"

"Yeah, her. Don’t know her name."

Winter was here.

And Zara had been with him this whole time.

A slow, dangerous smile crept over Harker’s lips.

So that’s why she’d been so cold to him.

She was already taken.

His body burned with something ugly. Winter always got in his way. Always.

And now he had Zara, too?

His hands clenched.

Not for long.

*****

Zara barely looked up when Harker approached, focused on her notes.

"Harker," she muttered, flipping a page. "Unless you’ve suddenly decided to contribute to the research, I don’t have time."

He ignored that.

"How long have you been fucking him?"

Zara froze.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

Harker leaned against the table, looming. His smirk was gone.

"Winter," he said flatly. "You and him. How long?"

Zara’s heartbeat skipped.

How did he know winter? And who did he think he was to be asking such questions?

She masked her reaction with irritation. "That’s none of your business."

Harker tilted his head, watching her intently.

Her reaction was confirmation enough.

His fingers tapped the metal table. "Did he tell you about me?"

Zara’s frown deepened. "What?"

"Did. He. Tell. You." Harker’s voice was soft, but there was something underneath that made the hair on the back of her neck rise.

Zara folded her arms. "Why would he?"

Harker let out a slow breath, then he grinned, sharp and humorless. "No reason," he murmured.

Zara watched him carefully. She didn’t know what was running through that head of his. How did he know she was with winter? What was he planning now?

She leaned forward slightly, voice low. "Whatever history you two have, keep me out of it."

For a long moment, Harker just stared at her.

Then he laughed, drawing the attention of some researchers close by.

"You really don’t know, do you?"

Zara’s patience snapped. "Know what?"

Harker pushed away from the table. "Ask him."

She didn’t like the way he said that.

Didn’t like the way his entire demeanor had shifted.

And she especially didn’t like the way he was looking at her now.

With one last smirk, Harker turned and walked away.

Zara watched him go, stomach twisting.

She didn’t know what the hell had just happened—

Zara exhaled, watching his retreating back.

He was going to be a problem.

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