Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 172

Chapter 172: 172

The air was cold.

Winter woke before the artificial lights buzzed to life overhead. He hadn’t slept, not really. Just brief flashes of shallow dreams broken by the distant churn of machines. He lay still on the thin mattress, watching the faint rise and fall of Zara’s chest beside him. The shadows moved slowly across her face, softening the sharp edges of her fatigue.

Winter sat up slowly, careful not to disturb either of them. His body ached with the familiar stiffness of tension. He glanced down at Zara—her dark lashes trembled against her cheek, lost in some dream.

For a moment, he simply watched her, committing every line of her face to memory, every soft breath. Then he bent over and pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger just a second longer than necessary.

She stirred, but didn’t wake.

He slipped from the bed, his movements practiced and noiseless. The floor was cold, as always, the edges of winter never quite gone in this concrete tomb they called a base. Winter crossed to Leo’s cot and crouched down, gently brushing the boy’s curly hair from his face. The child made a sleepy murmur, mouth moving as if still caught mid-sentence in some dream.

But Winter’s hand froze halfway through tucking the blanket.

Boots slapping metal. Muffled shouts. Machinery. Something that didn’t belong to morning routine.

He stiffened. His hand slid instinctively to the holster at his belt—empty. He hadn’t worn it to bed. Still, he stood and moved quickly to the door.

Outside the hallway was dim, bathed in red emergency lights. Just a precaution—power-saving protocol for dawn hours—but the color made everything feel more urgent.

He jogged silently down the corridor, toward the muffled noise, toward the metallic tang of adrenaline that clung to the air.

Two soldiers rushed past him, almost knocking into his shoulder. He turned and caught one by the arm.

"Hey. What the hell’s going on?"

The soldier glanced at him with a mixture of irritation and wariness. "Orders. Move."

"I’m not asking as a civvy," Winter snapped. "I was with the 19th Vanguard. You want me to pull rank, I will."

That gave the soldier pause. He hesitated, then leaned in, lowering his voice. "A patrol came in—sector B, outer perimeter. They spotted an infected. But it wasn’t like the others."

Winter’s eyes narrowed. "How?"

"It ran. Fast. Dodged fire. Like it knew what a gun was. It wasn’t just brainless—it thought."

Winter sighed, "Were they sure of what they saw?"

The soldier shrugged, voice tight with unease. "Tell that to the guy it gutted before it disappeared."

Winter released him. The soldier hurried off.

They’re evolving again. Faster this time. He ground his teeth. He hated how he wasn’t surprised. We’ve never had as much time as we thought.

Returning briefly to the room, he scribbled a note in shorthand and left it by Zara’s pillow.

Gone to meet Bale. Back soon. Stay inside. Kiss Leo for me.

Then he was gone.

*****

The barracks smelled like oil and rust. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows down the stairwell.

Winter slipped through the maintenance door, knocking twice in a coded rhythm. It creaked open to reveal Bale—lean, grey-eyed, wearing his usual threadbare jacket like a badge of quiet rebellion.

"Morning," Bale muttered, stepping aside. "You look like hell."

"Didn’t sleep."

"Lucky you. Harlow hasn’t slept in three days."

"Four," came a voice from across the cluttered office.

Harlow was half-under a table, tangled in wires and parts of a dismantled radio console. His blonde hair stuck out in chaotic tufts, goggles perched on his forehead.

Winter closed the door behind him. "You both heard about the runner?"

"Yeah." Bale pulled out a faded map and flattened it over a crate. "And if they’re smart enough to dodge bullets, we’re on borrowed time."

He jabbed a finger at a faded red circle. "This is the only route left. Old maintenance tunnels beneath the research wing. Fire hit it last year—sealed off, heavy damage. They say it’s still unstable."

Winter scanned the route. "And it leads out?"

"If you don’t mind the occasional ceiling collapse, yeah."

"Lovely," Harlow muttered. He crawled out from under the table, wiping his hands on a grimy rag. "But that’s not the only problem."

Bale raised an eyebrow. "Tell him."

"I’ve been monitoring access logs," Harlow said, pulling up a display on an ancient terminal. "Someone’s been remotely poking around the sealed lab. Last night, someone even got in."

Winter straightened. "Inside the sealed wing?"

"Just digital access," Harlow replied. "But they wiped the logs after. Whoever it was knew what they were doing."

Bale crossed his arms. "Could be one of Harker’s men. Could be worse."

"Worse?"

"Could mean he already knows we’re planning something," Bale said darkly.

Winter’s jaw tightened. "We move fast. I want to scout it tonight."

"Alone?" Bale asked. "You sure you don’t have someone to bring in?"

Zara’s face flashed through Winter’s mind. Her calm, her strength, her ability to hold herself together even when everything was burning around her. But also her closeness to Leo.

"I have someone," he said. "But I don’t want her involved. Not yet."

Harlow looked up, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You always this noble, or just suicidal?"

Bale chuckled. "Better question—how are you still alive, Harlow?"

Harlow smirked. "Oh, you know. I keep morale up by terrifying the newbies on wall duty. They think I’m half-ghost. Some kind of mutant tech-witch."

"You do have the look."

"I take that as a compliment."

*****

Back in the residential quarters, Zara awoke to silence.

Her hand reached across the mattress instinctively, touching only empty sheets. Cold. Winter was gone.

She sat up, eyes scanning the dim room. Leo stirred in his cot, but didn’t wake.

She pulled herself off the bed and checked the bath, no one. Did he really leave without telling her again?

She went to check on Leo and he was still fast asleep.

She brushed his curls gently, then noticed the folded paper by her pillow.

Reading it once was enough. Her chest tightened.

Back soon.

But she knew better. Back soon never meant anything good.

She dressed quickly and pressed a kiss to Leo’s head. "Baby, wake up for a sec." she cooed.

Leo grumbled, squirming in bed for a bit before blinking at her. "Mommy?"

"Hey baby, mommy has to go out. Can you stay on your own?"

Leo frowned.

"Be good," she whispered. "Stay hidden. I’ll be back before you know it."

The halls were quiet as she slipped through them, moving with ease. She made her way toward the medical wing, ducking her head when she passed anyone in uniform. To them, she was a refugee. A mother. Harmless.

Good.

The hum of conversation made her freeze.

She ducked behind a tall cabinet just as two figures entered. One was Adrian—military liaison, Harker’s personal parasite. The other was a woman in scrubs.

"You’re sure the compatibility’s holding?" Adrian asked.

"Yes, sir. Subject 17’s cells responded strongly to the hybrid serum. No signs of rejection."

Zara’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Subject 17.

Winter had mentioned about a subject 17 running amok in the base.

She didn’t breathe as the conversation continued. Adrian mentioned moving the boy.

Ah! So they had found the subject? And it was the child?

Zara didn’t breathe as the conversation unfolded in the adjacent medbay office. She pressed herself against the cool metal wall, heart hammering like a fist inside her chest.

Adrian’s voice was calm, too calm. That bureaucratic chill that always meant something ugly was being wrapped in clean words.

"Subject 17 is stable. Moving them tonight. The longer we wait, the higher the risk of contamination," he said.

The tech responded with clear nerves. "But it’s too early. The genetic data hasn’t finished sequencing. The injection could—"

"Doesn’t matter. Harker wants progress. Not caution."

Zara felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

They moved off, leaving behind a scattered folder of printouts on the desk.

She hesitated only a second, then darted in, snatching the pages with trembling hands. Her eyes scanned the headers.

"Genetic Binding Compatibility: Trial 17 – Notes on Subject Resistance." "Behavioral Deviations in Subjects with Mixed Inheritance." "Accelerated Neurological Adaptation Timeline."

No names. No photos. Just numbers, charts, and medical jargon—but enough to understand: Subject 17 was young, likely no older than twenty, and they were trying to force something into him. Something unnatural. And it had worked.

Or it hadn’t, and they were going to try again.

She shoved the papers into her coat and left fast, heart in her throat the entire walk back.

By the time Winter returned—long past midnight—Zara was curled on the cot, Leo sleeping in her lap, one tiny hand fisted into her shirt. The room was dim, the generator’s soft thrum in the walls the only sound.

The moment Winter stepped inside, her eyes snapped open.

He stopped in the doorway, looking more worn than usual, his coat damp with sweat and something close to soot.

She didn’t say a word at first. Just stared.

He closed the door behind him, slow.

"What happened?" he asked gently, already sensing that something was up.

She sat up straighter, shifting Leo into the crook of her arm. "Where were you?" she asked instead, knowing that he would be pissed when he heard that she went out.

"Went to the barracks," he replied. "Met with Bale and Harlow, had to discuss one things with them."

She nodded absently, like she hadn’t really heard him. Her gaze flicked to the folder on the small table beside the bed. Her hands flexed once, then stilled.

"So what did you do?"

"I found something," she said finally, her voice almost too calm.

Winter’s brows pulled together. "What kind of something?"

Zara reached over and picked up the folder. She hesitated, holding it between them for a heartbeat too long before finally placing it into his hands.

"I went to the medical wing," she admitted. "Told them I was looking for old satellite data—something about the orb. It was an excuse."

"Zara—"

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