Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 194

Chapter 194: 194

The emergency lights turned the corridor blood-red.

Ima’s boots pounded across the metal flooring, echoing into the ceiling ducts. The scent of scorched circuits and burning ozone hung thick in the air, like the base itself was bleeding, wounded by the lockdown.

"Left here!" Ima hissed over her shoulder. "Quick!"

Naomi ushered the kids ahead—her daughter, Lia, clutched the strap of her ragged little satchel, her eyes huge and unblinking. Beside her, Aren’s lip trembled, but he didn’t make a sound. They knew this was a serious issue where they needed to be extra careful, just like when they were outside the walls with the scary creatures.

Mike and Miles brought up the rear, tense, alert. Sam jogged just ahead of Naomi, eyes scanning every corner with the rigid calculation of someone who’d done this before—too many times.

Ima hit the next junction and pulled her tablet from the sling around her chest. Her thumb swiped across the flickering map. The interface was half-fried. Lockdown protocol had frozen the feed, leaving only ghostly overlays and static-ridden corridors, like trying to read tea leaves in a thunderstorm.

"Cameras are frozen." Ima gritted her teeth. "Can’t track Winter’s group."

"Damn it," Miles muttered. "We’re blind."

"We know they’re underground," Mike said, voice hushed but urgent. "But we don’t know which exit they’ll take. And if we go too deep too fast—"

"We lose line-of-sight," Ima cut in. "And get cornered without knowing it. I know."

She blinked sweat from her eyes. Her fingers flew across the interface, searching for options.

Come on, come on...

A pulsing red marker blinked two sectors ahead—squad patrols. The bastards were methodical, even in chaos. Ima opened the subsystem override and selected a maintenance breach a dozen corridors away. With a deep breath, she activated it.

The emergency siren blared to life, loud and shrieking. Somewhere far down the hall, a voice barked orders in clipped, artificial tones—units mobilising.

"Down that side route," Naomi urged. "I saw a med-bay there earlier."

They slid through the hatch and into the abandoned med-bay. The automated lights flickered once and died, replaced by the soft amber of emergency strips running along the floor. Shelves of shattered medkits, gauze, and vials of useless pharmaceuticals cluttered the room. The walls bore blast scarring—this place had already seen fighting.

Lia curled up in the corner beside a broken IV stand. Naomi crouched beside her and pulled both kids close, brushing sweat-slick hair from their foreheads.

"You’re okay," Naomi whispered, drawing Lia tighter against her. The girl’s cheek was buried in the curve of her neck, her small body shivering in silent sobs. "Mama’s here. I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you."

She smoothed a hand through Lia’s dark curls, slow and soothing. But Ima, watching from a few feet away, could still see the tremor in Naomi’s fingers. Small. Controlled. But there.

"Toes still working?" Naomi murmured, voice soft but playful, slipping into the light tone she used when one of the kids scraped a knee. "Fingers? Good. That’s better than most of the folks in here."

Lia didn’t speak, just gave the faintest nod. Her eyes were red, lashes clumped with dried tears. Her grip on Naomi’s shirt was white-knuckled.

Naomi shifted slightly, just enough to glance at Aren, who sat pressed against the bulkhead beside his father. Miles had one protective arm curled around the boy’s shoulders, but it wasn’t doing much. Aren stared ahead, face pale, hands clenched tight around the straps of a too-big pack.

Naomi’s voice gentled again. "Aren? Baby, remember that pond we used to visit in spring? The one with all those loud frogs?"

Aren’s eyes flicked to her, glassy and unfocused.

Lia gave the smallest snort against her collarbone. Aren blinked. Just once.

"Safe," Naomi whispered. "That’s where you are. Not forever. Not yet. But long enough to breathe, baby."

She drew both children in, her arms forming a protective arc, a human wall. Her body folded tight, one leg beneath her, the other curled around to shield their sides. But her spine stayed straight. Tense. Alert.

Even while she rocked them, even while she whispered nonsense about frogs and dumplings, Naomi’s gaze flicked to the door, to the ceiling, to Ima.

A single glance.

Are we really safe? Or am I just lying to them with everything I have?

Ima didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The cold knot in her gut answered for her.

Naomi kept talking, barely above a breath. "We’ll make that stew you like. The one with dumplings, remember? You can stir this time. Just don’t get too excited and dump the whole pot on the floor, like last time."

The words were threadbare and unravelling, but she spun them anyway. Wove them into a cocoon. It held. For now.

Ima had seen a lot of things in her time. Fires. Executions. Collapses. But nothing stuck to the ribs like watching a mother lie so tenderly just to keep her children breathing.

Naomi shifted just enough to glance at Aren, curled against her side, and Miles crouched close behind them. One of his arms wrapped around Aren’s shoulders, the other resting gently on Lia’s back as she clung to Naomi’s chest.

He was close. Close enough to hear every shaky breath. Close enough to feel the tremor in Naomi’s spine where it pressed against his.

He hadn’t said a word since they ducked into this space.

And Ima could see it—the fracture beneath the surface. The raw edge of panic that he was fighting tooth and nail to keep buried.

His wife and children were in this hellhole with him.

And he had no way of knowing if they’d ever walk back out.

Every second they waited, every hallway crossed was another step through a minefield. They were locked in a crumbling sector, being hunted—and there were no second chances with the kind of people who would gut a child if it kept their secrets safe.

Miles turned his head slightly, caught Naomi’s gaze. She didn’t speak, but her eyes met his like a quiet tether pulling taut.

We can’t fall apart now.

He gave a tiny nod.

Then he exhaled through his nose, lips parting just enough to let the tension bleed out in silence. He leaned in and whispered something to Aren. Ima couldn’t hear the words, but the boy gave the faintest smile.

Just a ghost of one. Still, it was something.

The kids needed him to be calm. So did Naomi. So he would be.

Even if his pulse was thundering in his ears and every hallway felt like a trap.

Even if the thought of losing them made something in his chest curl and shriek like iron in fire.

Get them out. Get them out, or don’t bother breathing after.

Mike gave the room a once-over and crouched behind a metal cabinet. "Two exits. Vent up top. No sign of heat signatures nearby. We’re good—for now."

Ima finally sank down beside a cart of overturned syringes. Her chest burned from the run. Her hands trembled.

They slowly made their way out and continued towards their expected meeting point, dodging guards, lights and cameras. Ima felt as though things were starting to look up for them.

Still, she glanced at the door again. Her hand hovered near the screen embedded in the wall, fingers twitching with old reflexes. She could trigger another fake breach down in Sublevel 9. It’d buy them ten, maybe fifteen minutes.

Before she could commit, Mike stepped over with the tablet, his expression tight.

"Service Rung 12 got pinged twenty minutes ago," he muttered, voice low. "Power flickered, just once. Could be Winter’s team moving through."

Ima nodded slowly, heart lurching. It wasn’t confirmation, but it was something.

Naomi glanced up. "That close?"

"Could be. Could be nothing." Mike tapped the edge of the screen with the back of his knuckle. "Still, it’s our best lead. If they’re that far up, we may need to start moving again soon."

Before anyone could respond, there was a sharp click behind them.

Sam had moved to the far wall, crouched near an old maintenance door. The panel beside it blinked red.

"I was trying to see if this led into a cleaner corridor—" he began.

Ima didn’t let him finish.

"That’s a security-grade panel, Sam," she hissed, bolting toward him. "It sends a silent ping when accessed. They’ll be rerouting a guard team here in less than five minutes!"

The power suddenly snapped off.

Darkness flooded the hallway, followed by a soft, pulsing crimson glow as emergency lights flared on.

"Shit," Ima spat. "They’re rebooting the grid. We have to move. No lifts. No access pads. Manual doors only."

Naomi grabbed the kids, arms looping under theirs as Miles shouldered the pack and the tablet. Ima led the way, weaving them through a maintenance passage, then into what looked like a forgotten supply depot.

They crammed behind old crates and rusted oxygen tanks just seconds before the heavy boots of security hit the corridor.

Naomi pulled Lia tight, crouching low. Miles curled his body around Aren, back pressed to the wall. Ima flattened herself near the entrance, peeking through the narrow gap in the door.

The guards were right outside.

A faint sound—like static. Then a distorted voice crackling through a comm unit.

"Sector C-7 confirmed breach signal. Thermal trace indicates five—possibly six. Could be civilian. Or mimic."

The word made Ima’s gut tighten. Mimic? What the hell was that? Some creature running around in the base? Nothing had gotten that far up.

Had it?

The guards paused outside the door. One of them moved closer. Closer.

The beam of a flashlight passed directly over the seam.

Ima didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Lia whimpered, so soft it was almost nothing.

Naomi’s hand clamped over her mouth instantly.

The flashlight stayed. A second passed. Then another. Then—

A sound exploded from farther down the corridor—a metal scream, a shriek of rending steel, followed by panicked shouting.

"What the hell was that?!"

Another voice: "It’s one of them! Sounded like it came from Level Four!"

Boots scrambled. Yelling. Running.

The guards peeled away.

Ima counted to ten before letting herself exhale.

They were gone.

For now.

Miles looked at Naomi. Her face was still pale, but her jaw was set.

He reached across, touched her wrist. Just for a second.

Then Sam straightened, moving toward the hallway.

"Wait—" Ima began.

Sam froze.

Just ahead of him, standing at the end of the hall... was Naomi.

Same coat. Same hair. Same stance.

But Naomi was still behind him. Her hand was still in Miles’.

Sam turned slowly, wide-eyed.

"Uh. Guys?" His voice was barely a breath.

"I think we have a problem."