Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 209

Chapter 209: 209

The room felt like a coffin.

Dim, grimy, filled with the stink of oil and blood, its walls seemed to press inward with every breath they took.

Zara sat in the far corner, her back against the wall, Leo cradled in her arms. His tiny body was curled into her, face tucked into her neck, his silent tears dampening her collar.

She whispered to him—nonsense words, anything to distract him from the chaos they’d just escaped.

Once again, she was putting her baby through the stress even adults shouldn’t have to experience.

"You’re safe, baby. We’re gonna get out of here. Just hold on a little longer."

Leo didn’t respond, just trembled. She could feel the shudders, deep and uncontrollable, even as he tried to be brave.

Winter stood by the door, peering through a narrow slit in the rusted metal. Sweat dripped from his jawline, but his rifle never lowered. His back was rigid, every muscle coiled like wire. His eyes scanned the corridor with a deadly calm, but his hand drifted once, briefly, to Zara’s shoulder.

A squeeze. A wordless, anchoring gesture.

She squeezed his hand back. They didn’t need words.

Miles squatted near a toppled tool bench, his expression grim as he laid out what little ammunition they had left. Three full mags, half a box of .45s, one extra clip for the rifle, and a single frag grenade nestled in his palm like a prayer.

To think all this was just sitting at the back of the main base. How were they to believe the entirety of the higher ups weren’t in on Adrian’s bullshit?

"We’re running dry," Miles muttered. "Two mags for you," he said, handing one to Zara. "You’ve got the kid. Ima gets the rest."

Zara reloaded her sidearm in silence.

Ima crouched over the body of a fallen guard they’d dragged inside. Her fingers worked fast, stripping the corpse of gear. She found a red-striped keycard tucked inside his vest, and her eyes lit up when she pulled two compact smoke grenades from his belt.

"Bless your rotten soul," she muttered, tucking them into her pouch.

Winter gave a low whistle. "Footsteps fading. Patrol passed us."

"Then we move now," Zara said softly, adjusting Leo in her arms and standing. Her legs ached. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since the alarms first screamed.

No one argued. The door creaked as Winter pulled it open, rifle up. One by one, they slipped into the corridor—silent ghosts moving through the veins of a dying beast.

The back corridors were narrow, barely wide enough for two to walk side by side. Pipes hissed overhead. Red emergency lights pulsed along the floor, bathing them in the illusion of blood.

"Two lefts, one right," Miles whispered, leading. "That should put us behind the control section. There’s a sub-elevator there, maybe still active."

As they crept forward, a muffled voice echoed faintly from around the next junction.

"—didn’t see them! I told you, they went the other way!"

Zara’s eyes widened. She grabbed Miles’ shoulder. "Stop. I know that voice."

Winter raised his rifle again, and they edged forward, slow and deliberate.

Zara peered around the corner—and her breath caught.

"Richard?"

Two figures stood there—bloody, soot-streaked, weapons drawn. Richard and Marcus. Both turned at the sound of her voice, eyes wide.

"Zara!" Richard rushed forward, enveloping her in a quick, fierce hug. His eyes dropped to Leo, and a heavy breath left him. "You got him out. Thank God."

Marcus gave Winter a sharp nod of respect. "You made it. We’ve been cutting through base tunnels for hours. It’s a meat grinder in there."

Winter clasped Richard’s forearm briefly. "Didn’t expect to see you two."

"Yeah, well," Richard said grimly, "Subject 17 doesn’t leave survivors. We ran into him deeper in. He’s unkillable."

Winter’s brows knit. "We’ll talk later."

The alarm blared again—this time, louder. Above them, the hallway lights stuttered, then came back to life.

"Cameras just came back online," Marcus said. "Lockdown’s close."

"There’s a sub-elevator two turns down," he added quickly. "Cargo access. Supposedly offline, but I think I found a manual override. No guards, just risk."

"Risk we’ll take," Zara muttered. "Let’s move."

They moved as a unit now, slipping through rusted maintenance paths and empty loading bays, always alert, always waiting for the hammer to fall.

Then, they passed a long metal corridor—vehicle access, echoing, deserted.

Too deserted.

The silence broke like shattering glass.

From the shadows at the far end of the tunnel, a figure emerged.

He walked slowly, with all the confidence of a man who believed in his invincibility.

Adrian.

Clad in a pressed black coat, his sidearm gleaming at his hip, and a cruel smile etched on his face. Two elite guards flanked him, rifles already raised.

Winter saw red.

He didn’t wait for a speech. He didn’t care what Adrian came to say. His finger squeezed the trigger in a blur.

The shot cracked through the corridor

But Adrian moved—just enough. A tilt of the head. Not quite human.

The bullet nicked the edge of his temple, cutting a thin red line across his scalp before slamming into the wall behind him.

A beat of silence.

Then Adrian blinked.

And smiled.

Blood trickled down the side of his face, slowly trailing across his cheek.

He let out a low, amused laugh. "Well. Hello to you too, Winter."

Winter’s stance was like a coiled spring, rifle still raised, hands steady despite the fury pulsing in his chest.

Why didn’t he hit?

He never missed—he never missed.

Adrian tapped a gloved finger to the fresh graze on his head, inspecting the blood like it was no more than a wine stain on his cuff.

"Tsk. So impulsive. I know you’ve always had trouble controlling your temper where she’s concerned."

Zara stepped in front of Leo, her arm out protectively. Her eyes were locked on Adrian now, narrowing to cold slits.

"Don’t," she whispered. But to Winter or Adrian, it wasn’t clear.

Adrian didn’t even flinch at the gun still pointed at him. If anything, he looked delighted.

"No, no," he said softly, gesturing lazily at his guards. "Don’t shoot. Not yet. I still want to talk."

His tone was almost warm. That was what made it worse.

He took a step forward—casual, like they were having a chat in a garden courtyard and not a dim, blood-slick corridor of a collapsing facility.

His eyes flicked to Winter again. "You know... I do understand, in a way. How hard it must be for you. Watching her. Always guarding her. Trying so very hard to keep her out of reach from other men."

His smile deepened. "But you can’t protect something you don’t own, Winter."

Zara’s breath hitched.

Adrian looked at her—no, through her, like she wasn’t even standing there.

"She was mine," he said, low and reverent, almost like a priest at a sermon. "She was made for me. She just doesn’t know it yet. But I’m going to make her see it."

Zara felt the fury rise—like bile, like fire, and her memory trying to surface all at once.

Winter took a half-step forward again, but she raised her hand—Stop. I’ve got this.

She didn’t speak until Adrian’s eyes found hers again.

Then she said, calm and clear:

"I was never yours."

Adrian blinked. Just once. But the sharp glint in his eye flickered, like someone had jabbed a hot poker into a nerve.

The mask stayed up—his smile never wavered—but the air changed.

Adrian let out a breath through his nose, slow and deliberate.

"I was about to give you purpose," he said.

"You were going to give me chains."

They stared each other down.

Winter’s hand was still on his trigger. Miles flanked to the side, angling for a clean shot. Richard slowly stepped between Zara and one of the guards, jaw clenched like stone. Ima winced from where she leaned against the wall, blade slick with fresh blood.

And Leo—silent, clutching Zara’s jacket from behind—watched everything.

Adrian glanced around.

"All this," he murmured. "For one runaway woman. And a child none of you understand."

He turned his head slightly, the light catching the blood still running down his cheek.

"You think you’re free, Zara," Adrian said softly. "But even now—after all this—you’re still letting someone else fight your battles."

Winter moved again, but Zara stepped in front of him.

"No," she said. "This one’s mine."

Adrian’s smile faltered for just a heartbeat.

Then—

He raised his hand.

"Kill them."

Gunfire exploded down the corridor.

Winter dove sideways, firing. Zara hurled a smoke grenade, and thick fog swallowed the hallway. Screams echoed as the first elite guard went down, courtesy of Marcus’s clean shot to the neck.

Leo whimpered behind a crate as Zara pulled him close. She shielded his eyes.

"Don’t look, baby. Don’t look."

Ima surged from the smoke like a specter, her blade slashing. She took one guard in the ribs, but not before a bullet grazed her arm. She collapsed beside Zara, panting.

"I’m okay," she growled. "Get the kid out."

Richard and Miles laid down covering fire as the team moved through the smoke, circling Adrian’s position. Adrian cried out—hit in the shoulder—but disappeared into the dark with blood on his sleeve.

"We can’t stay here!" Marcus shouted, reloading.

They turned into a narrower tunnel, running.

At the end—double gates. Mechanical, slightly rusted, but still operational.

"I’ve got the override!" Marcus was already moving. He slammed the keycard into the slot, fingers flying over switches.

The gate groaned. Too slow.

Behind them—gunfire.

"Shit," Miles barked. "They’re on us!"

Winter, Richard, and Miles took position, firing back, covering the others. Ima clutched her bleeding arm, her blade still dripping red.

"Zara, go!" Winter shouted. "Take Leo and go!"

Zara kissed Leo’s head and whispered, "Hold on, baby," as she ran.

The gate finally dinged open.

"GO!"

One by one, they pushed through.

Winter hoisted Leo up and over the threshold, then grabbed Zara’s arm and helped her through.

Just as he turned to climb out himself—

A bullet tore past, grazing his side. Blood sprayed. He stumbled.

Zara caught him with a cry, dragging him through the last inch as Miles and Richard fired behind them.

They were out.

They ran across open ground now, gravel crunching under boots, breath tearing through lungs. Beyond the next ridge—Sector 2, maybe even freedom.

But then—

The sound of boots.

Ten guards, maybe more, stepped out from the treeline, rifles levelled.

Firing squad.

Winter staggered but raised his rifle again. Zara pushed Leo behind her and drew her sidearm. Richard and Marcus flanked outward, weapons raised. Ima, pale but standing, lifted her blade.

Miles cocked the last grenade.

They were surrounded.

They would not surrender.

Then—

A roar.

Engine.

The fence behind them shattered, and through it came a beast: a reinforced military jeep, matte black, roaring like hell’s chariot.

It skidded between them and the firing squad just as the bullets flew.

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