Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 196

Chapter 196: 196

Back Underground With the Trio

Zara watched in horror as Winter tackled the thing over the railing and sent both of them crashing into the depths below.

"NO!" She screamed, scrambling to the edge.

Her heart froze as she tried to make out Winter’s figure. The sound of gunfire echoed alongside shrieks from different parts of the walls.

Leo whimpered in his corner and forced Zara to look away. Why was this happening? Why couldn’t they just find their way out of this hellhole and be together?

She crawled over to Leo and pulled him into her arms, rocking him softly as she ignored the pain in her side.

"Where’s uncle?" He sobbed, clutching her shirt.

"He’s—" Zara swallowed, voice cracking as she looked down the space he had fallen into. "He’s coming."

He had to. Winter had superhuman durability; surely that wasn’t a height he would struggle with, right?

Her vision blurred as a wave of nausea came over her. No, NO! She wouldn’t pass out here and leave her baby alone.

Not unless she saw him.

She wanted to call out but didn’t trust that her voice would work, she also wasn’t sure if something else would respond to her.

She shuddered to think about it.

Then—movement.

Winter climbed up, bleeding, but alive.

Zara fell to her knees as he reached her.

"I told you," he panted. "We’re getting out."

"You’re insane."

"Yeah. But we’re alive."

She grabbed his face and kissed him—blood, sweat, and all. Desperation and relief poured into the touch.

Leo curled into their side, sniffling.

"We’re not done yet," Winter said after a long moment, forehead pressed to Zara’s. "Let’s go."

Zara nodded.

They stood together—bruised, bleeding, but unbroken—as the flickering lights above buzzed like dying stars.

Somewhere around them, the creatures shrieked again.

But they were already moving, their hands entwined, leading Leo forward.

*****

Winter

The air was different now.

Not fresh, not exactly—but cleaner. No longer thick with the chemical tang of coolant or the stale rot of long-abandoned passageways. The tunnel walls, once coated with grime and flaking rust, now shimmered slightly under the lantern’s beam. Mineral sheen. Condensation.

They were close.

Almost there.

But the thought brought him no comfort.

Zara stumbled again.

Winter caught her before she hit the ground, arms around her waist, pulling her upright. Her skin burned beneath his fingers—fever-hot—and her breath came in quick, shallow pulls. Leo looked up from where he was resting his head on Winter’s shoulder, brows furrowed as he pouted.

"It’s okay," Winter said, injecting as much calm as he could into his voice. "Mama just needs a second."

Zara laughed, a weak, rasping sound. "Mama might need a med pod and three weeks of coma sleep."

"Good thing we’re aiming high."

She swayed in his grasp. He didn’t let go.

The overhead light strips had long since gone dark, winter relied on his heightened senses to get them through the tunnel, trying hard to ignore flickering shadows along the corridor, stretching forward, dancing ahead of them.

He cursed as he felt her suddenly go limp against his side. Somewhere behind them, the thing in the tunnel had started its chase again.

"Stay with me," Winter whispered, his voice barely holding steady. "Come on, Zara. You’re almost there. Don’t give up on me now."

She made a soft noise in response. Not a word. Just a breath.

Her fevered body sagged against him, and he tightened his grip.

This was the woman he had wanted to survive the apocalypse with. The one who could see a dozen futures and still choose the one where they all made it out alive.

If something happened to her now... on his watch...

It would be the second time he failed the woman he loved.

No, that would never happen again.

Winter adjusted his grip—Zara’s arm slung across his shoulders, her body listing heavily against his side, one leg dragging behind. Leo, silent as a ghost, clung to his chest, head buried in his shoulder, arms tight around his neck.

"I can slow it down," Zara rasped beside him, voice barely audible over the pound of boots and heartbeats. "I’m deadweight. You can move faster. Take Leo. Go."

"Don’t even finish that sentence," Winter snapped. He didn’t look at her. His jaw was clenched, every muscle in his body screaming from effort—and still, he moved. One arm under Leo’s legs. The other wrapped around Zara’s waist, nearly lifting her off the ground.

"Winter—"

"No way in hell. I’m not leaving you."

He didn’t slow. Couldn’t. Not when the air behind them rippled with unnatural sound, and the mimic’s steps scraped across metal like claws on bone.

Zara was burning up. Her skin scorched where it touched his, her breathing ragged, fever making her heavier, more unstable. And still, he held her. Still, he moved.

"Just a little farther," he thought, over and over like a mantra. "Just a little farther, and we’re out."

The corridor ahead narrowed.

A single shaft of pale light spilt down from above, illuminating a rusted ladder affixed to the wall—Service Rung 12. Their way up. Their way out.

Winter stumbled as his injured leg protested, but he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Zara groaned, trying to lift her head, her body trembling in his grip.

"We’re close," he told her. "You just have to hold on."

She didn’t answer.

Then—

The sound behind them changed.

No longer the rhythmic scrape of pursuit.

It was a rush.

A sprint.

The thing was charging.

Winter turned just as the mimic came into view—a shimmer in the dark, half-woman, half-man, too many limbs bending the wrong way.

It hissed.

Leo whimpered.

Winter grabbed the nearest metal rod from the ground and swung it just as the creature lunged. The impact echoed through the corridor. Sparks flew. The mimic shrieked and skidded back into the dark, just out of reach.

But the force jarred his balance, and Zara collapsed from his grip.

He caught Leo. Cradled him tighter. But Zara hit the ground hard, unmoving, her head lolling.

"Zara!"

No response.

He dropped to his knees beside her, fingers trembling as he brushed hair from her face. She was burning. Shaking. Unconscious.

Leo knelt beside her, tiny hands hovering uncertainly. "Mama?"

The mimic didn’t attack again.

It was watching.

Playing.

Winter’s eyes flicked toward the ladder. The shaft was vertical, thirty feet of climb, and then—then maybe freedom. Maybe not. But it was something. It was hope.

He could carry Leo.

He could even carry Zara if she was awake.

But unconscious? Fevered?

Too slow.

Still—

Zara stirred. "Winter..."

"I’m here."

"Not safe," she rasped. Her pupils were blown wide, and her body jolted. "Vision. Wait—wait—"

Leo screamed.

Winter knelt beside her, grabbing her wrists. "Zara—Zara, listen to me! You’re having a vision. Stay with me—what do you see?"

But she didn’t answer. Her mouth opened and shut, her muscles jerking.

Winter’s gut twisted.

Her body spasmed, twisting hard. Eyes rolled back. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Her fingers clawed at the air. Winter held her tightly as if his arms could anchor her back to reality.

A sound echoed behind them. A wet, slithering scrape.

Winter grabbed Leo and shoved him behind a beam.

Too late.

Someone stepped into the chamber behind them.

It was him.

His own face. Same sweat-soaked hair, same jacket, same leg brace.

The mimic’s lips curled.

Winter barely had time to react. It lunged straight at him.

He swore and threw himself to the side, dragging the thing with him, away from Zara and Leo.

Metal shrieked as they crashed into a collapsed scaffold. The mimic clawed for his throat, its movements stuttering between uncanny grace and jagged glitching—like a machine caught halfway through an update.

Winter snarled and twisted, driving his rifle against its jaw to keep the teeth from snapping down.

The mimic was strong.

Stronger than before.

It grinned wider.

Behind them, Zara’s body spasmed one final time, then stilled.

Still. She lay there. Breathing. Barely.

And alone.

fuck.

*****

Zara

Zara sat up with difficulty, vision swaying, her breath still ragged.

Two Winters stood in the chamber now.

One near the tunnel mouth, weapon drawn. The other was standing on the side, close to Leo.

"Stay back!" Zara’s voice was hoarse, but loud enough to echo.

The one near Leo looked up. "Zara, it’s me. You fainted. You’re confused. We need to go. Now."

The other one—the one by the tunnel—pointed at him. "He’s lying. It’s the mimic."

"How do I know you’re not the mimic?" Zara hissed, rising to her knees.

Both of them flinched—because both knew the mimic could only imitate form and speech, not memory.

Her fingers trembled around the hilt.

"You don’t get to speak until I say so," she told them.

The mimic-Winter raised both hands slowly. "Zara, please. Leo’s scared. We need to move—"

"Stop talking!"

Her head throbbed. Blood pooled in her ear. Vision ghosted.

She forced herself to focus. Think. Details. Memory. Emotion.

She turned to one Winter.

"What’s the name of Leo’s stuffed toy?" she asked.

The kneeling one frowned. "Uh—it’s the little dragon thing—what was it—Flare?"

Wrong.

The thing didn’t have a name, at least not one that winter would know.

Zara’s eyes narrowed with realisation, and the real Winter lunged.

The mimic reeled back too late. The real Winter crashed into it with full-body force, slamming it into the wall. The thing snarled—not like a man, but a machine trying to remember how to scream.

Its skin rippled.

Then melted.

Its flesh became grey sludge, sliding down its arms. Bones cracked. A second mouth opened beneath the first. A tongue too long to be human lashed outward. It tried to shift again—to grow—but Zara, blade in hand, dragged herself to her feet.

"Don’t—touch—my—son."

She drove the blade straight through the mimic’s spine.

The thing shrieked as its body collapsed inward, deflating like an organic bag. Tendons snapped. Its human face dissolved, leaving something twisted and wet behind.

Silence.

Winter stood panting over the corpse, arms braced on his knees. He turned to her.

She was trembling.

He stepped forward and caught her before she fell.

"You did the right thing," he whispered against her ear. "You always do."

Zara clutched at him weakly. Even though it had been a mimic, to stab into "Winter’s" spine was a terrible feeling. Leo crawled into the space between them, his tiny body pressing against hers.

She cried silently as she held her son.

The ladder shaft yawned above them. Zara had no strength left to climb.

Winter slung her arm over his shoulder, adjusted Leo onto his back with a scavenged harness, and began the climb.

Every rung burned his arms.

Every inch felt like the whole world’s weight.

But light—real light—was above them now. Soft. Grey. Natural.

"Almost there," he muttered to himself.

Zara stirred against him.

"Winter?"

"Right here."

"I don’t feel so good."

He didn’t answer.

He kept climbing. Faster.

And then—air.

Real air.

It smelled of ash and stone, but it was clean. The sky was cracked with morning light, dim behind the remnants of cloud cover. No more tunnel walls. No ceiling.

They were out.

Winter pulled Leo out and turned to help Zara up.

But the moment she stepped into the light—

Click.

A rifle cocked.

Adrian stood ten feet away, calm, composed, black tactical coat billowing gently in the breeze.

The barrel of his rifle pressed squarely against Leo’s forehead.

Zara froze.

Winter froze.

Adrian smiled.

"You’re right on time."