Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 123:

Chapter 123: 123:

The low rumble of the truck’s engine cut off, leaving only the soft ticking of cooling metal.

The team had been out here for days—too long. Supplies were running low, and patience was even lower. The further they strayed from the base, the more the mist felt wrong.

Winter rubbed a hand down his face, trying to push down the exhaustion. "Alright," he muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Let’s see what fresh nightmare we’ve wandered into this time."

"Bet it’s worse than the last one," Callum murmured, reaching for his rifle.

"How comforting," Rhys snorted, double-checking his sidearm. He stepped out first, boots crunching against cracked pavement. The others followed suit.

Around them, the abandoned perimeter stretched in eerie silence—decaying buildings loomed, their empty windows dark like watchful eyes. The mist was thinner here, but it still clung to the ground in wispy tendrils, as if reluctant to leave.

"It’s been days," Rhys muttered, hopping out and adjusting his rifle strap. "Feels like we’ve gone too deep."

Winter didn’t argue. They’d pushed further than intended, searching for any trace of Squad 6, but what they had found so far was... underwhelming.

They moved cautiously toward the latest signal ping—inside the remains of what had once been a service station. The shattered glass doors gaped open, revealing the dark interior.

And inside, they found them.

Three men. Still alive.

Winter’s stomach tightened. They weren’t infected. No visible bites, no blackened veins, no feverish twitching. Their gear was untouched, their uniforms unscathed. They bore only minor injuries—bruises, and a few cuts.

And yet, they lay unconscious, perfectly arranged, as if placed there deliberately.

It didn’t make sense.

"Why the hell are they all in one place?" Callum muttered. "Unharmed, fully equipped, just waiting for us to find them?"

No one had an answer.

"This doesn’t make sense," Maddox whispered, kneeling beside one of them. He pressed two fingers against the man’s throat.

"Pulse is strong. Breathing’s steady."

Rhys glanced warily at the mist swirling outside. "So why the hell were they just left here?"

Winter crouched beside the second soldier, carefully checking his eyes. Pupils normal. No reaction.

"We have to move them," he said. "Fast."

But as he reached for his radio, something shifted.

A sound, too soft to be ignored. Like claws brushing against metal.

"...That wasn’t a zombie," Dev whispered.

No. It wasn’t.

Winter’s grip on his rifle tightened. "We’ve got company. Look sharp, guys," he murmured.

Then—

A blur exploded from the mist. Fast. Wrong. Too tall. Too smooth.

The thing lunged.

Winter barely had time to throw himself back as clawed fingers slashed through the space where his head had been. He landed hard, rolling to his feet, his rifle snapping up.

The thing towered over them—humanoid, but stretched. Its skin was pale, slick, almost translucent. No eyes. Just a grinning, elongated mouth, filled with rows of thin, needle-like teeth.

Maddox cursed and fired.

The bullets flew, but the thing simply dodged.It moved too fluidly, its limbs bending at impossible angles as it rushed him.

Rhys grabbed one of the unconscious soldiers and started dragging him back.

"Winter, we have to go—now!"

The creature hissed.

And then, it moved again.

Faster than any thing should.

Winter fired.

The bullet slammed into its chest, tearing through flesh. But the thing barely staggered. It tilted its head at the impact, then screeched—a high, unnatural sound that sent ice down Winter’s spine.

"Shit—there’s more!" Callum yelled.

The mist shifted. Dark shapes moved within it. When had the mist risen to this level? It was barely to their ankles when they got here.

Winter’s mind went into full combat mode.

"Fall back! Cover the wounded! We are NOT dying here!"

The group moved as one—firing, slashing, but it wasn’t enough.

Knives barely cut deep enough before the creatures retaliated. Bullets punched through them, but they didn’t fall—they only stumbled, then kept coming.

The squad tightened their grip on their weapons, forming a protective ring around the unconscious men. Shadows slithered through the fog—circling. Watching.

Dev fired into the mist. A strangled hiss answered, followed by the sickening crunch of a body hitting the ground.

One down. But how many more?

The first creature rushed forward again.

"Light it up!" Winter barked.

Gunfire erupted, muzzle flashes cutting through the fog.

The bullets slowed it, tearing chunks from its body, but it kept coming. Blood—thick, black, reeking—splattered the ground, but it didn’t seem to care.

Then another leaped from the mist.

It crashed into Private Rhys, knocking him flat.

He screamed as claws ripped across his chest. Blood sprayed, painting the pavement in wet streaks.

"Get it off him!" Jasper roared, slamming his knife into the thing’s neck.

The creature shrieked, twisting unnaturally.

Winter moved, firing point-blank into its skull. The bullet tore through, and the thing finally collapsed.

Rhys coughed—wet, choking. Blood bubbled from his lips. His chest was a ruin of flesh and bone.

He wasn’t going to make it.

"Shit," Jasper hissed. "We have to—"

Something grabbed his leg.

Another lunged from the mist—this one bigger.

Before anyone could react, it ripped Jasper away.

His scream cut short.

Winter caught a glimpse of him disappearing into the fog—then nothing.

"Fall back!"

The remaining soldiers moved, dragging the unconscious men toward the truck.

One of the creatures pounced—Winter swung his rifle like a club, smashing its head aside.

"GO!"

Callum threw open the truck’s back door, shoving the limp bodies inside.

The creatures rushed them.

Dev emptied an entire clip into one, screaming as it kept crawling toward him.

Winter yanked him back. "Leave it! Get in the damn truck!"

Another leaped onto the vehicle, claws raking metal.

Winter fired his last shot into its mouth.

It jerked, then slumped, twitching.

He jumped in, slamming the door.

Callum hit the gas—tyres screeched against the cracked pavement as they sped into the mist.

Winter’s breath came hard. His hands shook.

The creatures didn’t chase.

They just... watched.

This wasn’t a normal mission.

And those—weren’t zombies.

So what the hell were they? And what exactly was going on in this apocalypse?

*****

The truck rattled over uneven terrain, its headlights barely cutting through the mist. Inside, the men were silent—shaken, processing. The smell of blood and sweat thickened the air, death clinging to their gear.

Then, finally—

"Fuck this."

Dev’s voice was sharp, furious. He slammed a fresh mag into his rifle, hands trembling. "What the hell were those things?! That wasn’t a fucking zombie!"

"No shit." Callum hissed through clenched teeth, cradling his shattered arm. The makeshift sling barely held it in place. "They moved too fast. They were thinking."

"More than thinking," Maddox muttered, wiping blood off his neck—his or someone else’s, he didn’t know. "They set up. They left those men alive, fully equipped. Like they were baiting us."

That thought settled over them like a lead weight.

Winter tightened his grip on the wheel.

"We should’ve seen them coming," Maddox said. His voice was hoarse, bitter. He leaned back, pressing against the metal interior of the truck, eyes closed. "We should’ve heard them, or fucking known."

"How the hell could we?" Dev shot back, voice tight with anger. "We were looking for survivors. Not some... freak experiment that hunts in the mist."

"That’s the thing," Callum said, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "They didn’t hunt us. They didn’t even chase us when we got in the truck." He lifted his head, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion dragging him down. "Why?"

That question had been clawing at Winter’s brain since they’d sped away.

Zombies never hesitated. If you made noise, if you moved, they followed. They always followed. These things? They watched. Studied. They attacked with precision. And then... they let them go.

The truck hit a bump. Someone hissed in pain.

"Doesn’t matter," Dev said, jaw clenching. "We can’t fight those things—not like this." He gestured to the bullet-riddled corpses in the back. "We hit them with everything. They didn’t go down."

"They still bled." Maddox pointed out.

"Yeah?" Callum let out a hollow laugh. "And how many bullets did we waste trying to do that? We’re running low. You wanna throw rocks at them next?"

Silence.

Winter’s mind raced.

Zara.

She’d mentioned something before—something about creatures, something that wasn’t zombie or human lurking near the base.

Was it this? Had it already gotten in? The thought made his chest tighten.

He needed to tell someone—someone high up. Someone who’d actually listen. Evelyn, Bale maybe. Anyone who wouldn’t just shrug it off.

"We need a plan." Dev’s voice pulled him back.

"A plan?" Callum let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? You got one? ’Cause I don’t think ’shoot more’ is gonna cut it."

"Then we find what does," Dev snapped. "We figure out what these things are and how to kill them."

"Research team’s gonna love this," Maddox muttered.

Winter stared at the road, watching the mist thin as they neared the outskirts of the danger zone. The wall loomed in the distance, black silhouettes against a sickly grey sky.

"Zombies don’t learn," he said finally.

The others fell silent.

That was the real problem, wasn’t it? These creatures weren’t just fast, weren’t just strong.

And if they were smart enough to set a trap... what else were they capable of?

The truck jostled again as Callum shifted, grimacing. "Doesn’t matter why. We’re still breathing, and we still need to get the hell out of here before we run into more."

Dev huffed. "So what do we do? Go back, tell command we found nightmare fuel and expect them to take it seriously?"

"We have to try," Winter said firmly. "If these things are spreading, if they’re getting smarter—someone needs to know."

"And if they don’t listen?" Jasper asked, voice quiet.

Winter exhaled slowly.

"First, we get back." His voice was steady, but the weight of command settled on his shoulders. "We tell the right people. Before anything else happens."

Before it was too late.