Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 170

Chapter 170: 170

The hallway felt colder this far from the barracks—abandoned, almost. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting pale shadows that danced along the cracked concrete floor.

Winter moved quietly, his boots soft against the ground, every step a practised balance of speed and caution.

He reached the back room of what used to be an admin building—its door long since ripped off, replaced with a patched-up metal sheet held together by scrap and prayer. He knocked twice, then once more.

A pause.

Then the door creaked open just enough to reveal a cautious set of eyes—Miles. He opened it wider once he saw who it was.

"You’re late," he muttered, stepping aside. His voice was low, but the tension in it was obvious. "We thought something happened."

Winter stepped inside without a word, brushing past him. The air was thick—musty, metallic, tinged with oil and the faint staleness of blood soaked into old floors. The low light cast shadows across the peeling walls and water-stained ceiling.

Inside, Marcus stood near the back window, arms folded, eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. The way he was watching Winter said plenty.

Ima was perched on a battered desk, legs crossed, a knife twirling between her fingers like a twitch of muscle memory. Her gaze snapped to Winter the moment he entered, expression unreadable but far from relaxed.

"Hope it wasn’t too hard to find this place?" she asked, voice casual, but her eyes weren’t playing.

Winter offered a dry smile, shaking off his coat. "Wasn’t. Just... had to make a stop first."

"A stop?" Marcus echoed, his voice cool. "You went off alone?"

"I wasn’t alone," Winter said.

That made Ima’s knife pause mid-spin.

Miles shut the door with a quiet click and looked between them. "With who?"

Winter glanced at the group. Their posture had shifted. Alert. On edge. These weren’t just allies—they were the closest thing he had to family left—and he’d made them worry.

"I met some people," he said carefully. "Mike, Sam, Richard. Ran into them earlier. We got to talking and... it was worth the risk."

"Wait," Ima said slowly, uncrossing her legs. "You went somewhere with them?"

"Back at the warehouse," Winter replied, scanning the room. "Didn’t want to draw too much attention. This needed to be quiet."

"They’re not just strangers," Winter replied. "We traveled together to this part of the base. I didn’t bring them here—don’t worry—but I’ve spent enough time with them to know they want out as much as we do."

"That doesn’t mean they’re safe," Marcus said, frowning. "You trust them already?"

"I trust them enough not to shoot me in the back," Winter said. "And for now, that’s more than we can say for half the people walking these halls."

Miles exhaled, quietly. "They part of the old teams?"

"No," Winter said. "But they’ve been surviving long enough on their own to know how things work around here. And they’ve seen things—confirmed things we’ve been guessing at."

Ima narrowed her eyes. "So they’re more than just bodies. They’ve got intel."

"Exactly," Winter said. "That’s why I needed to talk to them before coming here. They’ve seen signs of Subject 17. Weird behaviour in the infected. One of them is in medtech.

Marcus turned just enough to glance over his shoulder. "So talk."

Winter didn’t waste time. "Subject 17. It’s real. And Harker was in on it deep."

That earned their full attention. Ima’s knife stopped mid-spin.

"What the hell do you mean ’in on it’?" she asked, voice low and sharp.

Miles blinked. "What do you mean Harker? I thought that dude died?"

Marcus pushed off the wall, his arms uncrossing slowly. "That’s not possible. He’s dead."

"We saw the base go up in flames," Miles added. "There was no way anyone walked out of that. Not him."

Winter held up a hand. "I didn’t see him myself. Zara did."

Ima narrowed her eyes. "Zara wouldn’t know Harker. Why would she—?"

"He introduced himself," Winter interrupted. "By name. She told me. I believe her."

Marcus’s jaw clenched. "If that bastard’s alive, and here, that changes everything."

Winter nodded. "Yeah. It does."

"I knew he was a cockroach, but surviving that? Of course," Ima muttered, hopping off the desk. Her voice turned bitter. "Of course he made it. Slippery, smug son of a bitch always had a backup plan."

Winter leaned against the far wall. "He was part of the original design. Back at the southern base. They brought in ability users—volunteers at first, then not so much. Tested how the virus interacted with abilities, how it could be twisted."

Marcus frowned. "Twisted how?"

"Controlled. Directed. Enhanced."

Ima’s mouth curled bitterly. "Of course he was. That bastard always had that messiah complex. Thought he could fix the world by breaking it first."

Miles rubbed the back of his neck. "Jesus... if that’s true, then this place—it’s not a research base. It’s a goddamn test field."

Winter looked around the room, at faces that had survived hell with him.

"We need to move fast. Find out what Harker’s really doing here. Before he decides we’re useful too."

Miles shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "He was charming, back then. Smart. We followed him ’cause we thought he actually gave a damn."

"He didn’t," Ima cut in coldly. "He used us. Same way he’s using the base now."

Winter nodded. "He’s not just riding out the apocalypse—he’s trying to rewrite it. I think Subject 17 is part of that. Whatever it is... it’s the endgame."

Marcus exhaled slowly. "So what do we do?"

"We pool our intel," Winter said. "Both groups. I know things you don’t. You know parts of this base I haven’t even touched. We want to survive, we need each other."

Ima’s eyes narrowed. "And what makes you think your little crew won’t sell us out when things get tight?"

"Because I vouched for you," Winter said firmly. "And because your survival depends on us as much as ours does on you. None of us are walking out alone."

There was a long beat of silence. Then Ima slid off the desk, knife slipping back into its sheath.

"I hate this," she muttered. "But I hate being cornered more."

"That a yes?" Winter asked.

"It’s a maybe. I’ll work with you—but if anyone so much as looks like they’re screwing us over, I’ll gut them myself."

Marcus nodded once, but he didn’t look thrilled. Miles offered a more conciliatory shrug. "We’ve made worse deals."

Winter relaxed slightly. One step forward.

"Ima," he continued, "you mentioned contacts outside."

She smirked. "Still got a few favors left in the underground. Smugglers, mercs, shady types. If we can get outside the perimeter, they can move us through the burn zones without drawing heat."

"Can you reach them?"

"I’ll try. But we’ll need to give them something in return. These people don’t work for free."

"We’ll find something," Winter promised.

Marcus’s tone turned more cautious. "Even if you get them on our side, we still need to get out. The base is crawling with guards, drones, dogs. We need a distraction big enough to scatter command."

Winter nodded. "I’m working on that with the others. Surveillance, guard routines, potential weak spots. We’ll strike once we find the right crack in their armor."

"Preferably one we survive," Miles muttered.

"Agreed." Winter crossed his arms, expression grim. "Until then, keep your heads down. No sudden moves. No whispering in corners. We play this quiet until the pieces are in place."

Ima tilted her head. "You said your guys saw changes in the infected?"

Winter’s eyes flickered. "Yeah. And you’re not going to like it."

Miles leaned forward. "Some of them are mutating," he said, like it was a theory he’d barely dared to voice aloud until now. "I’ve seen it. Not just faster reflexes or better instincts—some of them are retaining memories. Abilities."

Winter’s jaw clenched. "That tracks. One of our guys saw a telekinetic who kept his powers post-turn. Another infected regrew a missing arm."

"Shit," Marcus whispered. "That means it’s not just random. It’s targeted."

Ima’s face went hard. "It’s planned."

"They’re using ability users as test cases," Winter said. "Finding ways to make the virus stick—and evolve with them. Subject 17 might be the final form of that."

"An apex weapon," Miles muttered.

"Exactly."

No one spoke for a moment. The weight of it pressed down on them, too thick to ignore.

Winter pushed off the wall. "We divide the work. You keep digging into the zombies—track the mutations, get samples if you can. We’ll focus on finding an exit strategy and triggering the right kind of chaos."

Marcus looked up. "And if this Subject 17 gets released?"

Winter met his gaze. "Then all of this—every bit of planning—might not matter."

He paused.

"But I’m not letting it get that far."

The others stared at him, wary but resolute. They didn’t trust each other fully. Not yet. But they were past the point of fighting alone.

Winter turned toward the door. "We meet again in two days. Same time, different place. Stay sharp."

And with that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving behind a silence thick with dread—and something else.

Hope.

Fragile, but growing.

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