Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 169

Chapter 169: 169

Winter chuckled, rubbing the spot where Zara had smacked him. "That hurt."

"It was supposed to." She crossed her arms, giving him an unimpressed glare. "Don’t go saying weird shit like that."

"Oh, come on," he teased, leaning back against the wall. "Leo’s cute. You’re passable and I dare say I’m a catch," Yara snorted in disbelief at his words.

Winter’s lips twitched. He was relieved to see that her mind had been taken off that nightmare of hers and she had calmed down.

The apocalypse had given all of them demons to fight in their sleep; some were just louder than the others.

"I notice I don’t hear a no though?" He caught the pillow she threw at him and smirked.

"Alright, alright! I’ll stop." He held up his hands in surrender, grinning.

"I need to go," he said, voice quieter this time. The mood changed immediately.

Her expression hardened. "Where are you going?"

"Just meeting with the guys. We need more intel if we’re going to get out of here alive."

Zara shifted, looking down at Leo, who was playing with one of the few toys they’d managed to scavenge. Her fingers twitched slightly—Winter knew she wanted to protest

"I’ll be back soon."

Zara frowned but nodded. "Be careful."

Winter ruffled Leo’s curls, earning a tiny giggle before stepping away. He glanced back once, catching the way Zara held her son just a little closer before he disappeared into the dimly lit corridors of the base.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat, metal, and the mixed drones of people talking.

The guards were on high alert lately, stationed at key entry points, their gazes sharp and untrusting.

He kept his head down, walking with purpose but not too quickly—looking like he had somewhere to be, but nowhere suspicious. A few nods were exchanged with passing soldiers, a muttered greeting here and there.

The storage building was on the edge of the compound, past the tightly monitored barracks but before the outer perimeter where things got dangerous. It was a low-priority structure, meaning fewer guards patrolled it. The inside was mostly crates and supplies stacked high, the dust thick from lack of use.

A rustle near the back.

"Winter."

Mike.

Winter stepped forward, spotting him near a stack of old medical kits. Sam and Richard were already there, both tense, watching the entrance even as Winter approached.

"Relax. If anyone followed me, they’d be dead already."

Richard let out a short laugh, but it lacked humour. "You joke, but that’s the reality now, isn’t it?"

"Unfortunately." Winter leaned against a crate. "Alright, let’s talk. What do we know?"

"Same old. Same old." Mike exhaled sharply, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "I heard some of the older guys talking about fixing a vehicle that was used outside the main base recently.

Richard didn’t waste time. "We’ve been watching the movements of the zombies near the perimeter. It’s getting worse."

Winter pulled up a crate and sat. "Define ’worse.’"

Richard’s jaw tightened. "There’s a pattern. The slower ones? They’re still around, but we’ve seen the new type more now. Faster. Stronger. Smarter."

Winter frowned. "Smarter?"

Richard nodded. "We saw one yesterday set a trap for a patrol unit. It waited—waited—for them to walk into a dead-end before attacking."

A chill ran down Winter’s spine. Zombies were supposed to be mindless, driven by hunger and instinct. Not capable of tactics.

"That’s not the worst part," Sam added, voice low. "I’ve been digging into the virus mutations, especially in ability users, after what happened last time." Winter’s fists clenched as he remembered. "The ones who get infected... they’re changing."

Winter tensed. "Changing how?"

"They don’t just turn into mindless monsters like the others. Some of them retain their abilities—even after turning."

Mike pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flipped through it. "I’ve been tracking different encounters with infected. The majority are still slow, brain-dead husks. But the ones that have been exposed to ability users? They’re the ones mutating."

Winter stiffened. "Explain."

Sam took over. "The virus is reacting differently in people with abilities. It’s almost like it’s... merging with their enhancements instead of just rotting them from the inside out. We’ve seen cases where ability users turned into something worse—still zombified, but stronger, faster, more in control than they should be."

Mike added, "There was a guy—telekinetic before he got bit. Even after turning, he could still lift objects, still manipulate his surroundings."

Richard’s eyes darkened. "One of the infected we spotted regenerated a missing limb in seconds."

Silence.

"Shit," Winter exhaled.

Mike nodded. "Yeah. Shit. And it’s not random, either. The ability users are mutating in specific ways—it’s like the virus is enhancing them instead of destroying them."

Winter clenched his fists. This wasn’t just a random outbreak. This was controlled. Weaponized.

Someone was playing god.

Sam took a breath. "I think the government’s been doing this on purpose."

Winter’s head snapped up. "The government?"

Sam met his gaze. "They’ve been experimenting on people, using the virus to create something new—something they can control. Super soldiers."

A sick feeling churned in Winter’s gut. "You think they infected ability users on purpose?"

"I don’t think." Sam’s voice was grim. "I know."

"They’re keeping it quiet," Mike continued. "Feeding the public some bullshit about ’containment efforts’ while they test this on real people. And when someone gets too far gone? They dispose of them like garbage." Winter felt the familiar burn of anger simmer in his gut. It wasn’t surprising—the government had always treated ability users like tools, not people. But this? This was another level of cruelty. "Then we need to get out of here," he muttered. Mike nodded. "We’ve been thinking the same thing. The problem is, security’s tight. Too many guards, and not enough blind spots. If we make a move without a solid plan, we’ll be dead before we reach the fences." Sam hesitated before speaking again. "One more thing." Winter glanced at him. "What?" "Subject 17." The air seemed to grow heavier at the name. "I’ve heard whispers about it," Richard admitted. "Not a lot. Just that it’s something top-secret, something Harker was involved in." Winter’s expression darkened. "I know more than whispers." He let the weight of his words sink in before continuing. "It was one of their most classified projects. Harker was in deep—helping design whatever it was." Mike looked uneasy. "And what was it?" Winter’s jaw clenched. "Something we don’t want to meet." Silence stretched between them. "Even more reason to get out," Sam said finally. Winter exhaled sharply. "We need more intel before we make a move. If this is as bad as you think, we can’t afford to screw up." He stood. "I’ll keep looking into Subject 17. If we can figure out what Harker was working on, we might get an edge." The others exchanged glances. "Fine," Mike said. "But don’t take too long. This place is rotting from the inside—and if we wait too long, we’ll all be buried with it."

Winter’s mind raced. Zara. Leo. Everyone in this base. How many of them were lab rats in someone else’s experiment?

"We need to get out of here," Sam muttered. "Before we end up on a fucking dissection table."

Mike nodded grimly. "We’ve been thinking the same thing. But security’s tight. Too many guards, not enough blind spots. If we make a move without a solid plan, we’ll be dead before we even reach the fences."

Winter took a steady breath. "And how exactly do you plan on walking out of a military-controlled base without getting shot?"

Mike leaned forward slightly, voice low. "We cause a distraction. Something big. Big enough to pull security away from the main exits—maybe even tamper with the surveillance grid."

Richard gave a slow nod. "Exactly. Chaos is our best friend. We don’t need to overpower them—we just need to confuse them long enough to slip through the cracks."

"And those cracks are...?" Winter prompted.

Richard tapped his fingers against a dusty crate. "We’ve been mapping out routines, watching for weak spots. There’s a chance the base still has underground tunnels—old service passages that were sealed after the first outbreak. If we can find them and open a route..."

"We get out without setting off every alarm in the place," Mike finished.

Winter exhaled, processing. The plan was shaky—reliant on outdated infrastructure, surveillance manipulation, and pure luck. But it was the best lead they had.

"We need more intel before making a move," he said finally. "If this situation is as bad as we think—if the virus is evolving and Subject 17 is real—we can’t afford to screw this up."

"We know," Richard said. "That’s why we’re taking our time. No heroics. Just precise, quiet work."

Winter nodded slowly. "Keep gathering intel. Find those tunnels. I’ll work on the distraction."

Mike gave him a small, grim smile. "This might actually work."

Winter didn’t smile back. His mind was already a few steps ahead. "It has to."

"Let’s get out of here before we get noticed."

Winter nodded once before slipping back out into the night, mind buzzing with everything he’d just learned.

He had a feeling their time in this base was running out.

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