Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 126

Chapter 126: 126

The moment it happened, Zara barely had time to process it. One second, she was cradling Leo against her chest, the thick, unnatural mist curling around them like reaching fingers. The next, the world lurched—no, folded—around her, her vision warping into something unrecognizable.

It was like being yanked through a rip in space, the very air bending and compressing around her body. Disoriented, she stumbled, nearly losing her footing as the weight of the sudden shift made her head spin.

Then—stillness.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, heart hammering in her ribs as she struggled to orient herself. The scent of blood and burning flesh was gone, replaced by the familiar, stale scent of dust, metal, and old paper.

This was wrong.

She tightened her grip on Leo, hands trembling as she slowly opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings.

Stacks of supplies surrounded them.

Zara swallowed hard. It wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible.

She recognized things in this room from her old house and many places they had looted.

Was this?

She looked at Leo with wide eyes. "Baby? Are we in your spa- happy place?"

Leo was still strapped to her chest, his small hands fisted into her jacket. He was shaking but very much conscious. Wide, fearful brown eyes met hers.

"You—" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "You pulled us here?"

Leo gave a small, trembling nod, sniffling. "I didn’t mean to," he whispered. "I just—I was scared. And then we were here."

Zara exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her temple. Her mind reeled, struggling to piece together the impossible. She had thought she had an understanding of what his space looked like, but this?

This was something else!

Her gaze flickered around the room. Every corner was crammed with essentials—water bottles, canned food, medical supplies, ammunition. Things she thought she’d never see again.

Then she saw it.

The door.

The one Leo had described.

A single, unmarked steel door at the far end of the room.

Zara’s pulse quickened as she took an unsteady step forward.

She reached out.

Before her fingers could brush the surface, the entire space shook.

Leo whimpered, clutching her tighter. "No, no, no—"

The air twisted violently around them. The room blurred, bending in on itself.

Then—

They were spat out.

The world slammed back into focus, and Zara barely managed to land on her feet. Her boots scraped against debris-covered concrete as chaos roared back into her ears—gunfire, screams, the sickening sound of flesh tearing.

The mist was still there, waiting for them.

Zara barely had time to tighten her arms around Leo before something lunged.

Fuck!

*****

Winter surged forward through the chaos, rifle raised, his finger tight on the trigger. The infected lunged from the shifting mist, their forms flickering in and out of sight as the eerie fog swallowed the base.

He fired off precise shots—one to the head, another to the chest, making sure they stayed down. But the mist twisted unnaturally, curling around the bodies, tendrils of it sinking into their flesh.

A dead soldier twitched, his fingers spasming. Then his head snapped up, hollow black eyes locking onto Winter.

"Shit."

The thing moved. Faster than before. The moment Winter pulled the trigger, it dodged.

He fired again, and this time, the bullet connected, blasting the infected’s skull apart.

The body crumpled, but Winter didn’t waste time watching it fall. He pushed forward, dodging debris and stepping over lifeless bodies—some of which twitched as if ready to rise again.

His comm buzzed. "Winter! We need to hold the perimeter, but these things keep getting back up! They’re mutating!"

He ignored the voice. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

People were being herded into reinforced rooms, their screams and frantic voices echoing through the base. Soldiers barked orders, shoving survivors behind secured doors, but Winter didn’t slow to help. What if she wasn’t in one of those rooms? What if he assumed she was safe, and he was wrong?

His grip tightened on his rifle. Not taking that chance.

A guttural snarl made him twist on instinct, raising his weapon just as an infected soldier lunged from the side. He barely got a shot off before the thing slammed into him, knocking him off balance.

His back hit the cold metal wall, breath knocked from his lungs.

The thing screeched, jaw unhinging wider than it should, mist pooling in its throat like something alive.

Winter jammed his elbow into its throat, forcing space between them, and shoved his knife up through its jaw. The infected spasmed violently, then fell limp. He shoved the body off and moved on.

He rounded the next corner cautiously, stepping over another fallen body. It twitched. Winter’s breath hitched, but the thing didn’t move further. Stay down.

A burst of gunfire rang from ahead. The mist churned, swallowing the noise.

Then—movement.

Winter barely ducked in time as something swung at him from the ceiling. The infected had crawled up the walls. Its arms stretched unnaturally, elongated by the mutation. Its fingers—now claws—raked the air just inches from his face.

He dove backward, firing. The bullets tore through its torso, but it didn’t stop. It landed in front of him, hissing, tendrils of mist curling from its mouth.

Winter cursed and switched to his knife. The infected lunged—he sidestepped, driving the blade up into its ribs. It spasmed violently but still clawed at him, trying to tear into him.

With a grunt, Winter used its momentum to shove it against the wall and wrenched the blade out—then rammed it into the side of its head.

The thing slumped. Winter let out a sharp breath and kept moving.

Further down, the mist thickened. His boots squelched through half-dried blood as he manoeuvred around collapsed debris. Then—movement.

A man stumbled out of the fog, clutching his stomach, half-conscious.

"Hey!" Winter called, moving forward cautiously. "You injured?"

The man groaned but didn’t respond. Winter took another step closer—then froze.

The veins on the man’s neck were black, pulsing like something was moving inside them.

Winter’s stomach twisted.

"Shit, no—"

The man seized violently. His body spasmed, his back arching unnaturally. Then—his eyes snapped open.

Pitch black. No white.

Winter barely got his gun up before the man lunged. His movements were erratic, but too fast—like his body wasn’t meant to move that way.

Winter fired. A shot to the chest. It barely staggered him.

Another shot. Another.

Nothing.

Winter gritted his teeth and aimed higher. Headshot. The body crumpled instantly.

He exhaled harshly, heart hammering. But the horror of it stayed with him.

These weren’t just the dead rising. The mist was changing them.

And Zara was somewhere in this.

He checked the bodies as he passed, fear twisting his gut every time he turned one over.

Not her. Not her. Please, not her.

Then—

A scream. A child’s scream.

Winter’s blood ran cold.

He ran.

The hallway was a nightmare. Shattered furniture, smeared blood, signs of a struggle. He skidded to a halt at the entrance of the daycare, heart in his throat.

No bodies. No children lying motionless. But—

A small, half-buried toy in a pool of blood.

Another scream. Then—a crash.

Winter moved.

He burst into the back room, rifle raised—

And saw Zara

Zara and Leo.

They hadn’t been able to make it to a safe space on time?

Zara was locked in a fight with something.

It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even just infected.

Its skin was half-peeled, revealing shifting mist beneath—like the fog had merged with it. Its fingers were elongated into claws, dripping with dark ichor.

What was most concerning was the fact that Leo was strapped to her chest, in close range of that thing.

Zara—bloodied, desperate—was barely dodging the thing’s swings.

Winter didn’t hesitate.

He fired.

The creature jerked as bullets tore through its back. It twisted unnaturally, its head rotating too far as it locked eyes with him.

Then it moved.

Winter barely had time to react before it lunged.

His gun was wrenched to the side, claws raking across his vest. He staggered back, cursing, and switched to his knife. The thing was fast, erratic, and Zara was still recovering.

He couldn’t let it get past him.

Winter ducked low, slashing upward. The knife caught its arm, black ichor spraying from the wound. It shrieked, mist spilling from its mouth.

He shoved forward, tackling it to the ground. The thing thrashed violently. Its misty form flickered.

Then—Zara was there.

She drove her own blade straight into its throat.

The creature screeched, convulsing, before collapsing into a pile of dissipating mist.

Silence.

Winter panted, knife still tight in his grip, staring down at the twitching corpse.

Zara looked up at him, eyes filled with shock and fear. Blood streaked her face, her hands still gripping her knife.

"You—" Her voice was hoarse. "You came."

Winter didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at her. Took her in. Alive.

Then—

"Of course I did."