Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 182

Chapter 182: 182

Zara sat cross-legged on the cold floor, her back pressed to the wall, eyes locked on the small bundle curled on the cot.

Leo twitched in his sleep, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling like he was grasping at something in a dream. His breath hitched once, then again—before he whimpered a fractured word.

"Ma..."

Her chest twisted. She squeezed the vial in her palm until the cool glass bit into her skin. The stolen drug sloshed softly inside, catching the overhead light with an oily glint. One dose. She didn’t even know what it did—only that it had been locked up.

Zara crouched next to Leo’s curled form, watching his eyelids twitch as murmurs escaped his lips, muffled, frightened.

"It’s ok, baby, mommy’s here. You’re safe." She smoothed a hand over his dark hair, the motion too gentle for the storm raging beneath her skin. Her thumb brushed his cheek, but the comfort didn’t reach her.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Adrian’s words. But she also tried so hard to believe in winter.

He had to be ok.

She thought she had more time. Thought there was a plan, some order to this madness. But there was none. Adrian didn’t wait for questions or second chances. If he even suspected disloyalty, you vanished. Erased from the sterile halls and digital logs.

Her grip on the vial tightened.

They were running out of time.

His small hand twitched as if grasping for something in his dream. Her chest ached. She wanted to scoop him up and run until her lungs gave out. But running blind was just another way to get scrubbed.

I’ll be fast, she told herself. Just check it. Then I’ll be back before he even wakes up.

She leaned down and kissed Leo’s forehead, lingering for a second too long.

She forced herself to her feet, knees cracking, every muscle sore from crouching and waiting.

She looked back at Leo, waking him now would be cruel. And dangerous. He needed rest. She needed answers.

So, barefoot and silent, she crossed to the door.

She slipped out and hugged the wall.

No cameras moved. No eyes behind the glass slit at the corridor’s end.

No guards. No sound.

The vent was where she’d left it—just behind the bulkhead, above the wall moulding. Small, but not impossible. She crouched beneath it, pulling the fork she’d swiped from the meal tray out of her waistband.

It wasn’t much. But it had a decent curve.

The first screw groaned as she twisted, the sound like a dying animal in the quiet. She paused. Waited. No footsteps. No alerts.

She kept going.

One screw came loose. She turned her attention to the second. Her fingers slipped, the fork’s tines scraping the metal with a shriek.

Then—A sound. A faint shuffle. Not far.

She froze.

Zara pressed her back flat to the wall, breath caught in her throat. She waited. Counted five heartbeats, ten. Nothing. Silence wrapped around her like a second skin.

Her eyes flicked to the corner where the nearest security camera blinked red.

Her skin prickled. Are they watching me?

Or worse—Are they letting me do this?

She swallowed the paranoia down and turned back to the vent, hand trembling slightly as she twisted the next screw. But the moment she touched it—

Pain lanced behind her eyes. A sudden stab, white-hot and wrong.

Her knees hit the tile. The fork clattered beside her.

Fuck! not now! She thought as her world blurred into a premonition.

Winter—face bloodied, eyes wide with rage or pain or both.

A corridor—red glow blooming like fire across the floor.

A scream—hers—ripped through the vision.

She snapped out of it, gasping.

Zara stumbled back against the opposite wall, panting. Her vision swam. Her hand went to her nose—blood. Thick and warm, running down to her lips.

Her powers were spiralling. Something was changing in her. It had changed since she forced it—more clarity, but also more pain. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep it contained.

She scrambled to her feet and half-ran back to the room, hand still smearing blood from her nose when she threw the door open.

And stopped.

Someone was inside.

A woman—late 40s, maybe 50, with graying hair tied in a tight bun, wearing a long white coat with sleeves rolled up. She stood just inside the room, between Zara and her son.

Zara’s instincts snapped like a whip.

"You—!" She lunged, grabbing Leo before the woman could touch him. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

Leo stirred, blinking awake. His small hands clutched at her shirt as he yawned and then frowned. "Mama?"

"It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you." She scanned his skin, pulled back his sleeves, checked his neck, his arms, his chest. No injection marks. No redness. No signs of tampering. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

He nodded, sleepily.

Zara snapped her eyes to the woman. "Who the hell are you?"

The woman held her hands up—not in fear, but in quiet appeal. She didn’t come closer. "My name is Dr. Mireille. I’m not here to hurt you."

"Everyone says that right before they do."

Mireille nodded slightly, as if she didn’t disagree. "I understand your fear. But your son needs you sane. And you’re pushing too hard."

Zara flinched like she’d been slapped.

She wrapped herself tighter around Leo, shielding him with her arms, her back, her whole body. Her voice cracked. "You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to walk into my room and lecture me about being sane. I am doing everything I can to keep him alive."

"I know," Mireille said softly. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a cloth, and set it gently on the cot. "For your nose."

Zara hesitated, then snatched the cloth and wiped away the worst of the blood. She didn’t like how steady the woman was. Like she expected this reaction.

"Who are you really?"

"I told you. Dr. Mireille. I was part of the original design team under Adrian." Her eyes softened. "I believed him once. Believed what he preached. That we were building a better world. That the children like your son—like you—were the future."

Zara’s heart thudded. "I’m not—"

"You are," Mireille said calmly. "You just haven’t seen all the pieces yet."

Silence.

"Why are you here?"

"Because Adrian is spiraling. He’s getting too close to the edge, and I won’t let him destroy another family. Not this time."

"You work for him."

"I hide from him," she corrected. "They don’t know I’m here. Not fully. They see what I let them see. And I need your help too."

Zara’s eyes narrowed. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I’m the only one giving you a way out."

She reached into her coat again and pulled out a folded square of aged paper. She laid it out on the bed—edges worn, corners curled. It was a hand-drawn map.

Zara stared.

"That vent you found? It leads down to the lower labs. Dangerous, yes—but less monitored. If you go through the west maintenance duct, you’ll reach an east shaft that connects to a cargo elevator. That’s your best shot at daylight."

"And the security? Cameras? Motion sensors?"

"I’ve overridden two zones for you. That window won’t last long."

Zara’s hand hovered over the map. "Why... why me? Why help me?"

Mireille looked at Leo.

Then she looked at Zara.

"Because if Adrian gets full control of either of you," she said quietly, "we won’t survive what comes next."

Elsewhere.

Adrian leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowed.

The security feed played in eerie silence. Zara knelt on the floor, speaking to someone. Her lips moved rapidly, eyes wide, expression shifting from panic to disbelief. But the person she was speaking to...

Wasn’t visible.

Adrian tilted his head. "Is this a hallucination?"

"Could be another episode," one of his analysts muttered.

Adrian didn’t respond. His fingers tapped his thigh in rhythm. "The boy’s awake. She’s shaking him."

He snapped toward the comms tech. "Why don’t I hear anything?"

"We’re working on syncing the audio feedback—something scrambled the input. Might’ve been a glitch in—"

"I don’t want a glitch, I want a feed. I want to know what she said."

He leaned in again. Zara picked something up. A cloth. No, a map. She and the child were moving fast now. Gathering things.

"What’s going on now?" Adrian muttered. "She’s trying to leave?"

"Your orders, sir?" One of the men asked.

"Should we intercept her now?" Another asked.

"No," Adrian waved them off, eyes glued to the screen in intrigue. "Let’s see how far she gets."

*****

Back with Zara.

Zara packed fast, breath shallow. Two ration bars, the vial, the fork, and a pair of gloves she had found under the cot. Leo was up now, face pale but curious.

He looked at her as she crouched down. "Are we running again?"

She paused, touched his face. "We’re playing a game. Quiet as mice. Remember how we practiced?"

He nodded solemnly. "I can be quiet."

"I know, baby. I know." She kissed his forehead and lifted him into the vent opening. "Feet first, okay? Then slide."

He obeyed without complaint, vanishing into the narrow dark.

She turned to follow—one leg braced against the wall—

WEEE-OOO. WEEE-OOO.

The alarm shrieked through the corridors, pulsing red lights washing the walls.

"Containment breach. Subject 17 has escaped containment. All personnel report to designated lockdown positions."

Zara’s blood ran cold.

Not now.

Leo screamed from inside the vent, "Mama!"

"I’m here!" she hissed, scrambling the rest of the way in just as the door behind her burst open.

Boots. Voices.

Too late.

But she was already moving, elbows scraping metal, the red glow trailing her like blood in water.

She kept crawling.

Because there was no way back.

Only forward.

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