Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 167

Chapter 167: 167

The air reeked of blood and rot.

Zara sprinted through the base, heart pounding.

Gunfire and screams echoed around her, but she didn’t stop. The walls dripped with fresh gore, the floor slick beneath her boots. Emergency lights flickered, bathing everything in hellish red.

Then she saw him.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, completely at ease. A smirk curved his lips when he saw her.

"You should’ve come with me," he said smoothly.

Zara narrowed her eyes. "Fuck off."

His smirk widened, but there was something dangerous in his expression now. "Come on, Zara. Couldn’t you take the out when I gave it to you? Instead, you chose him?" He scoffed, pushing off the wall. "You should have ditched Winter when you had the chance."

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And gone with you? Delusional."

His face darkened. "I would have taken care of you. Better than he ever could." His voice dropped, rough with something ugly. "Maybe all you needed was someone to fuck you right."

Zara scoffed. "You’re pathetic."

His lip curled. "Careful, bitch."

She stepped closer, tilting her head. "Or what? Gonna try?"

His fists clenched—

Then the doors burst open.

A blast of cold air rushed in, thick with the stench of decay. The figures moved in jerky, unnatural unison, their bodies glowing faintly beneath peeling flesh.

Their milky eyes locked onto her.

It was those things again!

Clawed hands latched onto her arms, her shoulders, her waist. Cold fingers tangled in her hair, yanking her back.

A voice, many voices, whispered in her ears, overlapping in a discordant, hungry chorus.

"Lungs."

Her pulse stuttered.

"We need lungs."

She struggled, kicking, clawing, fighting. But there were too many. Hands gripped her legs, her ribs, her throat. The world spun as she was forced to the floor, their weight pressing down, suffocating.

A sharp, searing pain tore through her abdomen.

She screamed.

"Zara—Zara!"

Her vision blurred—shadows still clung to the edges of her mind, the phantom pain in her stomach making her breath come in sharp, shallow gasps.

She fought against the hold, but the voice broke through this time, rough and real.

"It’s me! It’s just me."

Winter.

She struggled to focus. His face loomed above her, eyes wide, filled with concern. His hands were firm but careful as they held her wrists, stopping her from hurting herself—or him.

He was saying something, voice low, firm, but she couldn’t process it over the rush of her own pulse in her ears.

Her stomach hurt. She clawed at it, fingers grasping at the fabric of her shirt as if she expected to find a gaping wound.

Nothing. No blood. No open flesh.

Just a dream.

Her chest heaved.

Her body tensed—then stilled, the last remnants of the nightmare bleeding away as her senses adjusted to reality. She was in bed. The mattress beneath her was solid, warm. The air smelled of damp wood and dust, of sweat and something faintly metallic.

Winter was above her, his grip steady but careful, his sharp eyes scanning her face, her body—searching for something.

Not far from them, a soft thump drew her attention.

Leo sat on the floor, his wide, startled eyes locked on her, one of his small hands still clutching a toy. He wasn’t crying, but his lip wobbled like he might.

Fuck.

Zara swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe. She met Winter’s gaze, his grip still steady on her wrists. His fingers twitched slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he should let go yet.

"You with me?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. A short, jerky motion. Her hands finally dropped away from her stomach, fingers curling against the sheets instead.

Winter exhaled, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Zara licked her lips, throat raw. She barely recognized her own voice when she whispered, "I’m fine."

Winter didn’t look convinced. Neither did Leo, who clutched one of his stuffed animals a little too tightly, his tiny face scrunched in concern.

Zara let out a shuddering breath, her hands clenching around the sheets.

"You’re okay," Winter murmured, his voice quieter now, but still firm. "You’re here. It was just a dream."

Zara swallowed again, throat raw. Her stomach still ached, a ghost of the wound that had never been there.

Her fingers twitched—then slowly, hesitantly, she reached for him.

Winter understood. He always did.

Without another word, he shifted, pulling her against his chest. His heartbeat thudded against her ear, steady and alive.

Real.

Her hands ached to reach for Leo, but she was still shaking.

Leo sniffled from the floor, rubbing his eyes with a tiny fist. Winter sighed and leaned over, scooping the toddler up with one arm before settling him between them on the bed. Leo immediately clung to Zara’s side, small fingers curling into her sleeve.

Zara’s breath hitched. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him everything was okay, but the nightmare still clung to her skin like sweat, her heart still racing too fast.

Winter’s hand brushed against her back, firm and steady. "He’s okay," he murmured, his voice low. "You’re okay."

Then, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple—soft, lingering. A quiet reassurance.

The warmth of it steadied her. Zara exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against Leo’s small back.

Then, finally, she found her voice.

"I’m sorry, baby," she whispered, her fingers stroking through his dark curls. "Did Mommy scare you?"

Leo shook his head, his little fingers still curled tightly in her sleeve. His bottom lip wobbled, but his expression was determined. "I’m not scared," he declared, puffing up his tiny chest. "I was gonna protect you."

Zara’s breath hitched.

God, her baby.

Her throat tightened as she cupped his cheek, brushing away the moisture clinging to his lashes. "Of course you were," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You’re so brave."

Leo nodded solemnly, snuggling closer, his small arms wrapping around her waist. Zara swallowed the lump in her throat, holding him just as tightly.

They sat in silence for a while, just breathing through the experience.

Then, finally, Winter broke the silence.

"What was it?" he asked softly. "A vision?"

Zara hesitated before shaking her head.

"No," she murmured. "Just a nightmare." She swallowed. "About the day the base was breached."

Winter’s hand on her back tensed slightly. His fingers traced soothing circles, but she could feel the way his muscles tightened beneath his shirt.

Zara exhaled, pressing her forehead against winter’s shoulder. "I... I was running through the base. And then..." Her voice faltered. A memory surfaced—not from the dream, but from reality.

Her breath hitched.

Zara lifted her head and looked at Winter, eyes wide. He was watching her, patient, waiting.

"Winter," she said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you... do you know someone named Harker?"

Winter stilled.

It was immediate, his entire body locking up like a spring coiled too tight. His sharp blue eyes darkened, a flicker of rage cutting through them.

Zara barely had time to process it before his hands were on her shoulders—too tight. The force of it made her flinch, a sharp sting shooting through her arms.

"How," he said, voice low, measured, dangerous, "do you know that name?"

His eyes held a barely restrained fury that sent a shiver down her spine.

His fingers clenched reflexively, and she winced.

"Winter my arm hurts," she hissed. The moment she did, his grip loosened just slightly, like he hadn’t realized how hard he was holding her.

She licked her lips. "He was in the main base," she admitted. "I don’t know if he was a soldier, but he knew you. He—" She exhaled sharply. "He mentioned you."

Winter’s jaw ticked. "What did he say?"

Zara exhaled, frustration curling in her gut. "I didn’t get a chance to tell you before," she admitted, her voice tight. "You were outside the base when it happened, and when you came back, it was just one thing after another..."

She clenched her jaw, guilt settling heavy in her chest. "I should have told you," she muttered, shaking her head. "How could I have forgotten? I should have—"

Winter’s fingers pressed against her chin, tilting her face toward his.

"Stop that," he said firmly. "It’s not your fault."

Winter’s arms went to her shoulders again, only this time they were rubbing soothingly. "What did he say?" he repeated, voice like steel. "Did he do anything to you?"

She scoffed. "Please. I didn’t even give him the time of day to try anything." Her lips curled in disgust. "He was just a creepy sicko who kept making passes at me. Kept saying I should leave you."

Winter’s entire expression darkened.

Zara shuddered, memories of the way Harker had looked at her making her stomach twist. "But it wasn’t just that," she muttered. "He unsettled me. Something about him just felt... wrong." She hesitated. "Especially with his ability."

Winter’s fists clenched. His breath came out slow, controlled—but barely.

"I think," he said after a long pause, voice low and deadly, "Harker was working with Adrian."

Zara’s stomach dropped.

She stared at him. "What?"

Winter exhaled sharply, jaw tight. "That explains how there were zombies inside the base," he muttered. "Harker’s ability—he could control the mist, manipulate it in ways that no one else could. If he was taking orders from Adrian, then he could have turned people into those things on his command."

Zara felt sick. Her fingers curled into the sheets.

"That’s disgusting," she whispered.

Winter’s eyes darkened. He reached up, running a hand through his hair, his breathing heavy, uneven.

"If we ever cross paths again," he muttered, voice like ice, "I’ll end him."

Zara didn’t doubt it.