Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 183

Chapter 183: 183

Three slow taps.

Winter froze.

His rifle came up without thought, leveled at the front door like it had personally insulted him. Behind him, Ima ducked low behind the overturned chair near the kitchenette, her hand already moving to the pistol tucked against her back. Miles slipped to the side of the doorway, crouching low, breath held.

Another pause. Silence. Then again: tap. Tap. Tap.

"Who the hell knocks?" Miles whispered.

Winter’s jaw tightened. It could be Adrian’s people. Or worse, a setup meant to lure them out. But it could also be a warning. A chance.

He stepped forward carefully, back flat to the wall, hand raised to Ima to hold position. His other hand twisted the lock silently, then cracked the door open by a fraction.

A face appeared—a young one. Pale, sweating, barely twenty. Wide eyes behind cracked goggles.

"Who the hell are you?" He growled.

"S-Soren. Sir!" The boys voice was barely audible in the blaring siren. "I-I’m a part of the technical team on site sir!"

"And so?" Winter frowned, confused. Why had the kid sought him out? "What do you want? How did you find me?"

"Captain Winter," the tech whispered, voice shaking. "I was sent by General Bale."

Winter tensed. "By Bale?"

Soren nodded rapidly. "While on duty, I saw her. I saw them taking a lady into the lower access tunnels. I don’t think they know I saw."

Winter’s heart slammed into his ribs. "Who?"

"I couldn’t see the exact people, sir. But there was a woman. And the boy. She was holding him. Limp. I don’t think he was moving."

Winter sucked in a breath. Leo. No. He needed to stay calm, maybe Leo just fell asleep, Zara would never be calmly walking if something was wrong with Leo.

"I monitor auxiliary ventilation. I saw the thermal imprint on the grid. No one else has. Not yet. I reported it to General bale and he said to come to you."

Soren licked his lips, stepping further into the shadowed corridor. His fingers trembled as he reached into his coat pocket and produced a crumpled sheet of medical paper. The paper was streaked with something dark—ink or blood; Winter didn’t care. Soren glanced down the hall, his eyes darting nervously before he extended the paper toward Winter.

"This leads to them. Maybe. I can’t promise," Soren whispered, handing the map over.

Before Winter could speak, the boy turned and bolted down the corridor.

Winter shut the door fast, locking it. Silence followed.

He stared at the map in his hand. The paper was trembling. No—his hand was. Zara. Leo.

"Winter?" Ima asked from behind the table.

He didn’t look up. "The underground. Adrian moved Subject 17 through there once. He could be using the same tunnel system."

"You think it’s real?" Miles asked.

Winter folded the paper. "My gut says yes."

Ima stood. "Then we need backup. A full extraction plan. If you run in blind, you might get her killed. Or yourself."

Winter looked at her, anger sparking in his eyes. "If she’s already down there, anything could be happening. Waiting isn’t a luxury."

Miles sighed. "I hate to say it, but she’s right. We trip a single alarm down there, the base locks down like a tomb. I can trace emergency door protocols, maybe slow them. But it’ll take time."

Time. He didn’t have any.

Winter turned away, pacing. The paper crinkled in his fist. His heart warred with his mind—captain versus father. Husband versus soldier. If this was real, if Leo was hurt, Zara dragging him through vents by herself...

He wouldn’t let it happen again.

"Then we split," he said. "Two goals: Find Zara and Leo. Get the rest ready to move if this turns into a full escape."

Miles straightened. "You’re actually doing it. You’re getting them out."

"I have to. Get back to our dorm unit. Get Sam. Burner tools, maps, anything off-registry."

Miles nodded and was already moving.

Ima crossed her arms. "If you’re planning on running, Winter, we can’t just vanish. Adrian will turn this base into a tomb."

Winter met her gaze, grim. "Then we leave it burning behind us."

She didn’t flinch.

"I know it’s not fair," he added. "But I can’t compromise the safety of our people for strangers. They were here before us, they’ll be here after us. If we make it out, I can fight better from the outside."

"Sam, Marcus, Richard, the wife and kids," Ima said. "What about them?"

"We take who we can. Marcus and Richard are still in the tunnels. Their lives are... uncertain. I’m headed down there now, I know this wasn’t the initial plans but things have changed. You and Sam get the others. Try to make your way toward the back gates. I’m sure we can get out that way."

"How are you so sure?"

Winter turned, pulling the rifle off the table. "Because I’ll make it possible."

Ima studied him. Something softened in her expression. "What about Bale?"

"Find a way to get him a message. Him and only him. Tell him I’m getting Zara and Leo out. He’d understand."

Miles nodded. Ima gave a firm glance, then both slipped out the side hatch.

Winter stared at the map.

Then he moved.

*****

The armour was old, black matte, scavenged over months. No tracking tech, no pings to base systems. His rifle rested against his back, magnetic clip locking it tight. Utility belt, three knives, one heavy torch.

He popped the vent shaft open with a grunt.

Darkness greeted him. Heat. The kind that clung to your skin and made your breath come out thicker.

Winter crawled in, elbows and knees scraping metal.

The map was memorized now. East shaft. Level three. He had to descend at junction C4.

The further he went, the hotter it got. Sweat clung to the back of his neck. The metal hummed around him, vibrating with life. Pipes groaned. Somewhere in the distance, something hissed.

They’re in here. They’re somewhere in here.

Winter’s mind turned.

Zara was strong. She had always been strong. But if they had sedated her again, if they’d tried to force her abilities—

God, was she bleeding?

Had she used her powers?

What if Adrian forced her?

What if she snapped?

What if she broke again? What if she used them? Her powers weren’t stable. Not when she was under that much pain.

And Leo. His son. His boy. The child who didn’t understand most of what was happening around him. Would he be scared? Hurt?

Winter swallowed, jaw clenched.

Get to them. Get them out. Anything else is a bonus.

He reached the junction. The grate was rusty. He could see through the slits—a maintenance hallway beneath. Dark. Still.

Then he saw it.

Blood.

A smear just beside the vent, dragged across the floor like someone had leaned on the wall.

Winter crouched. Fingers reached through the grate, brushing the dried stain. Rust. Dust. But also the sticky, unmistakable texture of old blood.

"Damn..." Ot could literally be anyone’s blood. There were so many people walking around these tunnels.

He pulled his knife, worked the grate until the rusted screws gave. It fell with a dull clang.

He dropped down.

Silence. The floor was damp. His boots stuck slightly with every step.

Winter moved quickly now. His light flicked on for seconds at a time. Glimpses of the map resurfaced in his mind.

Turn left. Down two sets of pipes. Then right.

And then...

A noise.

Not mechanical. Not venting pressure or grinding fans.

Breathing.

Winter spun, rifle raised.

And saw her.

Zara.

She stood at the far end of the tunnel, barely upright, one arm holding Leo tight to her chest. Her hair was wild, clothes torn, one leg dragging.

Their eyes met.

She didn’t speak.

She just ran.

Toward him.

But something wasn’t right. Zara wouldn’t have made it down here already.

Winter’s instincts screamed. He took a step back, rifle still trained on the approaching figure. The way she moved—jerky, unnatural. Leo’s form in her arms seemed too still, too limp.

"Stop!" he barked. "Don’t come any closer."

She halted abruptly, head tilting to one side. A grotesque mimicry of curiosity.

"Winter," she said, but her voice was off, distorted and echoing, as if multiple voices were speaking in unison.

He narrowed his eyes, heart pounding. This wasn’t Zara. It was something else.

The figure’s form began to shimmer, unravelling the illusion. Zara’s features melted away, revealing a faceless, shadowy entity.

Winter fired. The shot echoed through the tunnel, and the entity dissipated into a cloud of darkness, vanishing.

He stood there, breathing heavily, the silence pressing in. Then, a soft voice behind him:

"Your instincts serve you well."

Winter spun again, weapon ready. A woman stood there, late 40s, sharp eyes, dressed in white. Not a guard. Not a prisoner.

"Who are you?" he asked, wary.

"Dr. Mireille," she replied calmly. "I’m here to help. To protect your son. From Adrian. From what’s coming."

Winter didn’t lower his weapon. "Why should I trust you?"

She blinked, then chuckled. "You’re both very much alike, she asked the same thing."

Winter’s heart skipped a beat. "You met her? Where is she?" He took aim.

"Your weapon won’t work on me, I’m just a projection."

"Are you with him?"

She shook her head. "Not anymore."

The ground trembled beneath them. A dull roar vibrated through the walls—an old, distant alarm—but this one was different.

Winter stiffened.

Mireille turned toward the ceiling.

"Unauthorized Subject Released," a robotic voice droned. "Protocol Override: Failed."

She looked back at him, and for the first time, he saw fear in her eyes.

"You have to run," she said.

A shadow moved behind her.

And something growled.

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