Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 205

Chapter 205: 205

They crouched behind a line of scorched brush, the air stale with heat and electric humidity. The ruins of a metal fence loomed a few yards ahead, its wire mangled and rusted in places but still enough to deter wildlife once upon a time—and now intruders, if they dared.

A perimeter patrol moved in sweeps on the other side, boots striking the concrete in even pairs.

Ima pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, wiping away the sweat beading along her hairline. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the movements of the guards.

Miles, beside her, shifted his weight silently, watching too—but his thoughts were not nearly as still.

He clenched his jaw.

His chest ached.

"Anything new?" Miles’ whisper broke the silence behind her. His breath curled in the cold night air.

She shook her head. "Same loop. Every twenty minutes, that north guard walks away from his post. The south entrance has the lazier ones—half-asleep by the truck depot. If we go in, it has to be fast. Quiet."

Miles exhaled heavily and slumped back behind a stack of concrete. He raked a hand through his curls, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable even in the moonlight.

Ima glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "You’re thinking about them again."

"...but I shouldn’t have left them," Miles finished quietly, voice thick.

"You didn’t leave them," Ima said, turning back to her binoculars. "You went to save the rest of us. If we don’t tear Adrian’s little empire apart, there won’t be anything to go back to. You know that."

Silence passed between them, heavy and brittle.

Then she added, softer, "We’ll find the kid. We’ll find Zara, I think that’s her name. Winter, too, if he didn’t get himself killed trying to play hero. And once we do, we burn this place to the ground."

Miles let out a breath. "So what’s the play?"

She tapped her fingers against her thigh, already mapping the timing, the layout, the seams in the enemy’s complacency.

"You go left, near the storage lots. There’s a stack of fuel crates you can climb and get a view of the interior walkways. Watch for the rotation of the night guards. I’ll slip in through that southern blind spot—those idiots haven’t changed formation in hours."

"And once we’re in?"

"We look for the kids’ wing first. They always put ’em away from the main labs—quieter that way. Less screaming to bother the investors."

Miles clenched his jaw. "Of course."

"I’ll distract one of the inner guards. You slip past. If we don’t find Winter or the others in fifteen minutes, we fall back and try the holding cells."

Miles nodded. "Copy that."

They shared a last look. No words needed. They’d done this before. Too many times before the world went to shit.

But then—a sound.

Not distant.

Not faint.

A sharp, grating wail split the air like a blade.

Ima’s body tensed. "Sirens."

Miles ducked instinctively, heart leaping into his throat. He stared at her, wide-eyed. "Shit. Did they spot us?"

She adjusted her scope again. "No. No, they’re not looking outward. They’re... all running inward."

"What the hell?"

Below, the base had burst into frantic motion. Guards were sprinting from their posts, shouting over comms. Red emergency lights blinked to life, bathing the facility in an eerie, pulsing glow.

One of the officers shouted as he passed: "He’s gone! The child is missing! Room 12-C is clear!"

Miles froze.

"The child."

"Ima—" His voice cracked. "That’s the kid. That’s gotta be the kid."

Ima was already moving. "Come on. We use the chaos."

They scrambled down the ridge, moving fast and low. Ima led, her boots silent against the packed earth. Miles followed close, ducking beneath the shrill spotlight beams that now seemed more decorative than useful.

They reached the lower perimeter where guards had abandoned their posts entirely, leaving the secondary gates swinging slightly ajar.

Ima skidded to a stop near the compound wall, eyes darting between the blind corners. "We blend in. Act like we’re part of the search. Move fast, don’t speak unless we have to. And for god’s sake—don’t hesitate."

Miles nodded. He adjusted the stolen tactical vest he wore and pulled his hood further down to mask his face.

They stepped into the compound.

Immediately, the din of chaos swallowed them.

Guards were yelling into comms, clustered in knots, pointing at holographic maps that blinked red in places. Drones whirred overhead. A few techs sprinted by, clutching tablets, muttering about internal doors being overridden.

Ima grabbed a clipboard from a passing cart and tucked it under her arm like she belonged there. Miles scooped up a fallen earpiece and shoved it in, letting the feed buzz with static and panicked chatter.

"North hallways are clear. No sign of the child."

"We’re initiating lockdown in 12-C and adjacent wings."

"I want every goddamn door scanned. He’s small, but he’s not invisible."

Ima and Miles moved through the crowd unnoticed, weaving between shouting officers and oblivious researchers. Every corner of the base was drenched in blinking red light, casting strange shadows across the sterile metal walls.

They passed a narrow corridor, quiet and dim. Ima grabbed Miles’s arm and yanked him inside.

"Okay," she whispered, catching her breath. "This is deeper than we’ve ever gotten. I think that’s the east wing up ahead. With all this chaos going on, maybe Zara and Winter are already out here. Maybe they started searching."

"Or maybe this is a trap," Miles muttered.

She looked at him. "You’re still thinking like a father."

"I am a father."

She didn’t argue.

Instead, she led the way down the narrow corridor, which opened up to another hallway lined with reinforced doors—each marked with serial codes and hazard levels. The air here was colder. Thicker. Like it knew what kinds of secrets it held.

They passed a door marked Cell 14-D and heard screaming inside—human, male, terrified.

Miles looked away.

"Don’t break pace," Ima said tightly. "We’re not here to save everyone. Just them."

A few more turns and they reached a wide corridor that had been completely emptied. No guards. No security drones. Just blinking red lights and a single unguarded gate at the far end—half-open.

Miles frowned. "Why’s it open?"

"Because everyone’s panicking."

She walked toward it, her footsteps careful but fast. "Whatever’s happening inside—whatever caused it—it’s big enough that they dropped everything to handle it."

Miles followed, blood thudding in his ears. "Do we go in?"

She turned, eyes gleaming. "No."

She stepped aside and gestured behind the gate.

"We go deeper."

Ima split off as planned, veering toward the west quadrant. Miles stuck close to the walls, ducking behind a half-collapsed scaffolding as a guard sprinted past.

The area smelled sterile, like bleach and regret. The fluorescent lights overhead pulsed, flickering slightly under emergency protocol. Hallways split in all directions, and Miles paused to orient himself. His instincts, honed over years of fieldwork, kicked in.

Where would I put a child if I wanted him both contained and watched?

Below ground. Near labs. Near med bays. But isolated enough to avoid noise.

He found a stairwell and descended.

Each level brought new chaos—guards rushing in and out of doors, shouting about Sector Three, about lockdowns failing. But no one stopped to look at him. He kept his head down, dressed in scavenged grey, moving with purpose.

He passed rooms labeled Observation, Containment, Reinforcement Cell B. Every inch of this place reeked of exploitation. His stomach churned.

Please be okay, kid. Please hold out a little longer.

Meanwhile, Ima darted along the outside wall, moving opposite the flow of chaos. She crouched behind an overturned truck, slid through a gap in the perimeter fence, and found a stack of fuel drums near the west corner.

A few wires later, and the first drum was sparking.

She pulled back, eyes on the guards now drawn to the growing flame. One shouted, radio crackling with confusion. Two more jogged over to investigate. Ima lit the second drum with a flick of her knife against a power junction—just enough to ignite fumes.

A boom sounded, brief and sharp.

Guards shouted.

Lights flared.

More scrambling.

She used the distraction to double back, loop around the outer building toward the access gate near the back. Her breath was fast now, adrenaline singing in her veins. There were guards posted before—three of them. Now, only one remained, distracted by the radio in his hand.

She snuck close.

The butt of her blade connected with his neck in a single, silent strike.

He crumpled without a sound.

Ima grabbed his keycard, dragged his unconscious body into the shadow of the shed, and slipped through the gate he’d been guarding.

On the other side, Miles turned into another corridor, heart thudding in time with the sirens.

He turned to leave—and nearly collided with a guard rushing in the opposite direction. The man’s eyes widened, but before he could speak, Miles slammed an elbow into his face, grabbed his collar, and dragged him inside the room. He bound the guard’s hands with a ripped bedsheet and gagged him.

"Sorry, buddy," Miles muttered. "Wrong place, wrong time."

He stepped back into the hall.

Everywhere was chaos now. Radios buzzed with static and panicked reports. A squad of guards ran past him, yelling something about unauthorised access in the lower levels.

He slipped into a maintenance hallway—dark, narrow, meant for carts and supplies—and spotted the soft glow of an exit sign far ahead. The air was damp, laced with the faint scent of outside.

Ima appeared from the opposite hall, breathless.

"You found anything?" she whispered.

"Nope," he shook his head. "Nothing in this place. I was headed towards that place over there." He nodded towards a corridor he hadn’t inspected yet.

She gave a sharp nod. "Let’s check it. Fast."

The two moved quickly, their footsteps muffled by the layers of dust and grime on the linoleum floor. The hallway narrowed further, the walls closing in with age and neglect. Lights flickered overhead, casting erratic shadows across faded signage.

They crept past a row of broken lockers and came upon another hallway, dimly lit, less polished than the others. Old tiles chipped beneath their boots.

Ahead, a flickering fluorescent bulb buzzed above a half-open metal door.

They paused.

Miles’s instincts bristled. "You hear that?"

Ima nodded. Something faint. Soft. A distant rustling. Or... breathing?

Without a word, they rushed toward the door.

It was slightly ajar, just wide enough to catch a sliver of darkness inside. Ima pressed a palm to it—and it creaked.

"Ready?" she mouthed.

Miles gave a single nod.

Together, they slammed the door open—

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