Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 175

Chapter 175: 175

The night was cold, thick with silence and suspicion. Winter moved fast, his coat flapping behind him as he kept to the edges of the crumbling stone walls.

The lamps had been dimmed across the sector—some blown out completely during the recent unrest. It gave him cover but added to the unease.

He didn’t want to drag Sam into this. Not yet. Not when this had the potential to spiral violently. Sam had always been more healer and informant than fighter, and Mike—just nineteen—was still wet behind the ears. This needed someone solid, someone dependable.

Richard.

He checked his watch: 11:06 p.m. The clock was ticking.

He took a detour through a back alley, pressing against shadowed walls, feet silent on the gravel. Ahead, two figures in black military jackets lingered under a dim lamp. Winter slipped his access card from his coat and approached.

"Orders?" the first asked, rifle resting on his shoulder.

"Logistics reroute," Winter said smoothly. "Need to confirm asset transit. Section Five clearance."

The second man narrowed his eyes, but after a beat, nodded. "Make it quick. Commander Bale just called for a city-wide net."

Winter grunted in acknowledgement and moved on, heart pounding beneath layers of fabric.

Winter ducked into an alleyway, slipping into shadow. The hush of night was broken only by the distant crackle of patrol comms and the rhythmic crunch of boots against damp concrete. He slid through a narrow gap between two rust-stained maintenance shacks, his shoulder brushing cold metal as he emerged in front of a reinforced door nestled in the side of a forgotten storage compound.

He rapped three times—sharp and deliberate—paused, then knocked twice more.

No response.

Jaw tight, he waited. A minute passed. Then two.

Still nothing.

His pulse kicked harder. Wrong place?

No. He was sure. He’d been here before.

Something tugged at his instinct, a whisper in his gut. He turned on his heel, sprinted across the back lot and vaulted a crumbling fence, landing on the other side with a muted grunt. Navigating through the darkened industrial stretch, he didn’t slow until he reached the third floor of a squat apartment block clinging to the edge of the outer district.

There, he rapped twice in a distinct rhythm, sharp knuckles against old wood echoing through the stairwell.

A pause. The soft shuffle of footsteps.

Then the door opened.

Richard opened the door seconds later, his broad frame silhouetted in candlelight, rifle in hand. "Winter?"

"No time," Winter said. "Get your gear."

"What’s going on?"

"We’ve been played. From the inside. I need you."

Richard didn’t hesitate. He turned, grabbed his jacket, a sidearm, and his military access card from the table. "Lead the way."

They moved through the sector like ghosts, presenting their credentials only when guards stopped them—two soldiers making rounds, silent and clean. Winter briefed Richard in fragments as they moved, skimming rooftops and navigating side streets.

"My source at the top called for us. We’ve been had. Subject 17 has already been found and might be moved tonight."

"What?"

"My exact reaction. We have four hours to work." Winter said with a frown.

"Jesus," Richard muttered. "Where are we headed now?"

"I’m taking you to get some people first. The others I had mentioned earlier. We’re pulling in the few we can trust before this gets out of hand."

Richard nodded. "You think your source at the top will back this?"

Winter paused at a street corner and glanced around before answering. "He already is. Quietly. But he can’t be seen on this."

"Makes sense." Richard nodded.

They fell into deep silence as they made their way through the residential area. The garage below Ima’s old housing block still smelled like motor oil and damp concrete

The place was quiet. Too quiet.

Winter tapped the hilt of his blade twice on the window before sliding it open. He was halfway through when Marcus appeared in the hallway, gun drawn.

"Stand down," Winter hissed. "It’s me."

Marcus stared at him. "The hell are you doing—"

"No time. We need you. Now."

By the time they reached Miles and Ima, the air around them had changed. Tension had replaced hesitation. Faces tightened. Their boots made hard, purposeful sounds as they crossed the compound toward the old barracks—one of the last untouched buildings.

Winter led the way in, Richard watching their six. Inside, Marcus and Miles were playing cards under a dim work light. Ima was reclined in a folding chair, eyes half-shut, a tablet balanced on her lap.

"Hope you brought snacks," Marcus said, then paused when he saw Winter’s face. "Or... not."

Winter tossed the printout on the table. "They’re moving Seventeen. Tonight."

Ima snapped upright. Miles leaned over the paper, frown deepening.

"That can’t be right," Ima said.

"It’s not just right. It’s happening. Convoy leaves at 01:50, uses the maintenance tunnel under Sector 9. Black site to unknown destination. No return manifest."

"That’s a ghost route," Miles said.

"It’s not just right. It’s happening. Convoy leaves at 01:50, uses the maintenance tunnel under Sector 9. Black site to unknown destination. No return manifest."

"That’s a ghost route," Miles said. "We used those for diplomatic evacs, not... monsters."

"They’re calling it ’the asset,’" Winter said. "It’s alive. Modified. Maybe viral. Maybe something worse. They’re not securing it—they’re delivering it."

Marcus’s mouth twisted. "To who?"

"Don’t know yet. That’s what we’re going to find out."

Ima stood, already grabbing her bag. "We hitting it?"

"We’re planning. Now. Meet us at the barracks."

*****

The barracks briefing room buzzed with tension. A hollow metal table sat at the centre, strewn with old maps, hastily printed convoy schedules, and a few scattered weapons. Harlow stood over them, muttering to himself as he highlighted key intersections.

Bale turned as Winter and the others arrived. The man looked ten years older than he had yesterday. He didn’t smile. "This is your team?"

"Most of it."

Bale nodded. "Then listen carefully. I can’t be part of this. I’m too visible. If I vanish tonight, this whole thing will collapse before it starts. But I’ve arranged a chain of command."

He stepped aside, and a man emerged from the shadows. Broad-shouldered, in full uniform, eyes like twin razors. He didn’t offer a handshake. Didn’t even blink.

"This is Commander Dain," Bale said. "He answers to no one but me. If I trust him with my life, you can trust him with yours."

Dain’s voice was low. "We don’t have time for introductions. Sit."

They obeyed.

He unrolled a newer map of Sector 9, marking the tunnel route in red.

"We believe the real convoy will bypass checkpoints through this channel here." He tapped the tunnel. "The decoy will go public, loud and obvious. Our target will move between 01:50 and 02:15. If we miss them, we miss everything."

Winter leaned in. "We have eyes?"

"Sargeant Nile will be on thermal. You" he nodded at Marcus. "will be on visual recon at the tunnel exit. Identify the target, confirm passenger count."

Dain turned to Ima and Harlow. "You’ll jam the signal net once the convoy enters the tunnel. We need six minutes of dead air. No backups, no SOS."

"And infiltration?" Ima asked.

"Winter and Richard. You’ll breach the access shaft near the service corridor. Quiet entry, tag the handler convoy. If we’re lucky, we pull the handler with it."

"What if Subject Seventeen is inside?" Winter asked.

"Then you don’t engage. You extract the handler, and you get out. Do not provoke it. Do not open it. Do not speak to it."

Richard scoffed. "Speak to it?"

Dain’s eyes were flint. "From the report here, there were auditory changes. It learned to mimic speech. We don’t know if it understands. But you will not respond."

A silence fell. Even Harlow looked rattled.

"What’s our exit?" Marcus asked.

"Old sewer bypass. Nile knows the path. It leads into the abandoned quarantine wing. You," he nodded at Ima this time. "Will have the codes."

"No casualties," Dain added. "No trace. If you’re caught, you disavow."

They nodded.

"Then gear up."

*****

Winter checked his rifle, slid a fresh mag into place. His gloves were tight, his coat heavier than he remembered. The hall was filled with the quiet rituals of readiness: zippers closing, guns clicking, radios buzzing softly.

He caught Richard watching him.

"You good?"

"Not even close."

Richard smirked. "Then you’re ready. How’s Zara and the little tyke?"

"Waiting in the room. I was supposed to just drop the file and go back, but we can’t ignore something this large." Winter sighed.

"So you’re in trouble then?"

"Yeah," Winter’s lips twitched, imagining the look on his face when he came back in the morning.

Behind them, Ima was triple-checking the jammer frequencies. Harlow was syncing his wrist comm with Marcus’s. Bale stood near the doorway, arms crossed, unreadable.

Dain addressed them one last time.

"Remember the rules. Quiet in, quiet out. Handler only. If you see Seventeen—pray it doesn’t see you back."

No one laughed.

As they filed out into the cold, Winter exhaled once, slow and deliberate. His breath curled into the air like smoke.

"Let’s steal a ghost," he murmured.

And they disappeared into the night.

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