Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 145

Chapter 145: 145

The cold air brushed against Winter’s skin as he stirred awake. His arm reached out instinctively, expecting Zara’s warmth beside him, but the bed was empty.

No, not empty.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, finding her small frame curled at the very edge, back turned to him, knees drawn up as if she were making herself smaller. Zara never slept like this. She was always close, seeking his warmth as much as he sought hers.

Last night’s argument settled over him like a lead blanket.

"I wanted to be sure."

He exhaled sharply. He’d been a fool. The words had come out too sharp, too final, cutting into the fragile balance between them. The moment he’d said them, he wanted to take them back. He hadn’t meant to make her feel like an afterthought.

He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling. He was angry, frustrated—not at her, but at himself, at how his past still dictated his choices. But instead of explaining, he had deflected.

And now, she was pulling away.

His hand moved before he could think, reaching toward her shoulder. His fingertips hovered just over her skin. Then he hesitated.

Would she even want to hear it now?

A sharp knock shattered the silence.

Before Zara could stir, Winter was already on his feet. His muscles tensed as the door cracked open, a soldier stepping in without permission.

Winter moved instantly, a solid barrier between the intruder and the room. His presence was commanding, cold.

"Step back," Winter said.

The soldier hesitated. His gaze flickered past Winter, but whatever he was looking for, he wasn’t getting a glimpse. Not with Winter standing in his way.

Zara was still asleep, her oversized shirt—his shirt—had ridden up slightly, her shorts barely visible beneath the folds of fabric. Winter wasn’t about to let some random officer take in that sight.

"I don’t appreciate people stepping into my space without permission," Winter said, voice edged with warning.

The soldier straightened. "I have orders—"

Winter stepped closer, forcing the man to retreat a half step. "You can take those orders and shove them until I say otherwise. If you—or anyone else—opens that door without being called for again, the last thing you’ll see is a bullet leaving my rifle barrel."

The soldier stiffened, but there was hesitation in his eyes. "You could be arrested for that. Solitary confinement for threatening an officer—"

Winter loomed over him, his voice dropping to a lethal murmur. "It’s not a threat. It’s a promise. I have a family in here. I won’t let anything walk in as it pleases."

The soldier swallowed hard, his bravado cracking under the sheer force of Winter’s presence. His eyes flickered past Winter’s shoulder, as if realizing for the first time that there was someone else in the room. A woman. A child.

He stepped back. "Report to Barracks 17 in ten minutes. Your time is already counting."

Then he all but fled.

Winter let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair. That was reckless. He shouldn’t have snapped like that. It could have gone wrong in so many ways.

The sound of shifting blankets made him turn.

Zara was awake.

She sat up, watching him, her expression unreadable. Her eyes held no anger, but no warmth either. Just silence.

For the first time in a long time, Winter didn’t know what to say. He hated it. Hated how unfamiliar this was—this awkwardness, this uncertainty. It wasn’t him.

He took a step forward.

Zara ignored him.

She swung her legs off the bed, crossing the room without a word. Leo stirred in his cot, his small face scrunching in confusion.

Zara scooped him up. "Morning, sweetheart," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Hello Mommy," Leo mumbled, yawning. Then he looked at winter. "Uncle."

"Hey Kiddo, you sleep good?" he asked.

"Yeah," Leo nodded, rubbing his eyes with his chubby fist.

Zara still wasn’t looking at him.

Winter hesitated. "I have to go."

A noncommittal hum was all he got in response.

"I don’t know when I’ll be back," he added. "They didn’t say what job they’re giving me this time."

Zara nodded, adjusting Leo against her hip. She still didn’t look at him.

His fingers curled into fists. "Are you going out, too?"

"Yeah." She shifted Leo, balancing him in one arm while reaching for the pile of clothes near the bed.

"Where are you leaving him while you’re out?"

"Don’t worry about it."

Clipped. Distant.

She turned, gathering their clothes. Winter’s jaw tightened.

"Zara—"

She stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Winter exhaled sharply, pacing the room.

How had he gotten here?

Once, he made decisions without hesitation. Now, he was standing in a dimly lit room, frustrated over an argument he never should have let happen, with a woman he loved but had just hurt, and a child who wasn’t his by blood but was his in every way that mattered.

He stopped pacing, looking toward the closed bathroom door.

Yeah.

He’d really gotten himself into something, hadn’t he?

*****

After a few minutes of waiting outside, debating whether to knock or not, he decided he’d just have a bath at the barracks.

Winter slung his gear over his shoulder, casting one last glance at the bathroom door. The sound of running water filled the room, but Zara still hadn’t come out. His jaw tightened.

He’d give her time to calm down. He had other pressing matters to deal with.

Stepping outside, the morning air hit him like a blade, sharp and frigid. His breath curled in the cold as he made his way toward Barracks 17, scanning the sky for any leaks in the dome.

The sudden drop in temperature wasn’t normal.

Why did it feel like winter had arrived overnight?

The base was alive with movement—soldiers rushing between buildings, civilians hurrying to their posts. But something was off. More so than usual. Winter felt it in the way people avoided eye contact, in the clipped, hurried conversations happening around him.

By the time he reached the barracks, tension had settled thick in his chest.

His gaze swept the room, and he immediately stiffened. Commander Bale was here. Unexpected. Bale had led the last rescue mission outside the base, and Winter had lost track of him after the attack.

So, he survived. Good. Bale was one of the few Winter tolerated in this hellhole. One of the few who still seemed to be fighting for humanity.

And then there were the others.

Near the back, a cluster of familiar faces stood in quiet conversation—soldiers he’d worked with before. Survivors. Some still bore fresh injuries, hastily patched up since their last encounter. He recognized Lieutenant Harlow, the one who had been in the safe room with them.

And then there was him.

Of all the people to survive, of course, he did.

He stood off to the side, posture deceptively relaxed, eyes flicking between speakers, absorbing.

Winter didn’t like the fact that the bastard was in a high military position. He was bad news.

As if sensing his thoughts, the man smirked at him.

"Sergeant Winter," Bale said. "You made quite an impression this morning."

Winter didn’t need to ask what he meant.

"Your officer stepped into my space without permission," he replied evenly. "I made sure he won’t do it again."

Harlow gave a short laugh, but Bale didn’t look amused.

"You threatened to shoot a man in your doorway," the commander said.

Winter held his gaze. "I have a family in that room."

Silence stretched.

Bale exhaled. "Consider this your only warning, Sergeant."

Winter nodded once. That was about as much punishment as he expected.

Bale let it drop, shifting to the real reason they were here.

"Let’s get to business."

A map was unrolled on the central table, soldiers gathering closer.

"We’ve gone through the wreckage," Bale started, voice grim. "The creatures that tore through the base? Some were already inside. The others came when your group rushed back in to help."

Winter’s jaw tightened.

Zara had been right.

Murmurs rose around him.

Bale nodded. "We believe the ones from outside were reinforcements. The first wave was already waiting for us. They knew the layout, the weak points. They hit fast—too fast for it to be random."

Winter’s stomach tightened.

He glanced around. Most soldiers looked grim. But not surprised.

The world had already gone to hell. They just wanted to know how to survive it.

Except one.

Winter saw it—the barely-there tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something sharp in his expression when Bale mentioned the creatures being inside.

Suspicion twisted in Winter’s gut.

Harlow mumbled, oblivious. "If they were already inside, that means one thing—someone let them in."

"That’s what it seems like."

Bale rubbed a hand over his jaw. "This isn’t just about the creatures anymore. We have infiltrators. People benefiting from this madness."

Winter barely listened, his focus narrowing on the bastard across the room.

The man had a damn good poker face. But Winter had spent years watching for the little tells—the ones people didn’t even realize they gave away.

And right now?

He saw them.

Something was very, very wrong.

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