Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 215

Chapter 215: 215

The silence in the base was sharp.

Sector 2 was burning.

Smoke spiralled upward in slow, bitter coils from the demolished gate, and the air was thick with the sting of scorched metal and the faint, coppery tang of blood.

Civilians who had gathered near the walls to watch the chase unfold were now scattered, murmuring, clutching children.

Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, swallowed by the rumble of emergency vehicles and the clipped shouts of soldiers trying to restore order. Emergency lights bathed everything in flashing red.

They’d seen it all.

The flash of the truck barreling toward the gate.

The bursts of gunfire that echoed through the base.

A few stunned medical techs worked swiftly under emergency floodlights, setting up triage tents for the injured.

Adrian sat on the edge of a medical cot, shirt peeled back, his thigh wrapped and shoulder freshly stitched.

He hadn’t made a sound during treatment. Not when they pulled the bullet, not when they stapled the flesh. Not when they prodded or stitched or strapped him down. He just stared, wide-eyed, unfocused, breathing like something feral.

A young medic had asked if he needed painkillers.

Adrian had laughed. Short and sharp.

"Pain makes things clear," he muttered, almost sweetly. "Helps you see who your enemies really are."

Now he sat alone, jacket torn open, hands red with his blood and someone else’s, eyes fixed on the ground. His boots were gone.

They’d cut his pants at the thigh. He looked more like a half-dead beast caught in a trap than a commander of one of City H’s most secure sectors.

The medics worked in silence around him, unsure if they should speak or breathe. He hadn’t spoken since they brought him in.

He hadn’t needed to.

His eyes were wild.

Locked on the flap of the tent, unblinking.

His fingers twitched. Tapped. Gripped the edge of the cot like he might lunge any second.

That bitch. That slippery, lying, pretty little bitch.

Zara thought she’d escaped. She thought she’d won.

He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. Ragged. Crooked. A little too loud.

"You’re not gone," he murmured. "You’re just playing a cat and mouse game. You’ll come crawling back, Zara. You always do. The world out there’s not kind. Not like me."

He stared at the screen above the desk, footage looping from the gate’s camera. The truck. The group. Miles hurling a grenade. Zara’s eyes before she pulled the trigger.

Then it cut out.

Adrian’s jaw clenched. He hit a button and replayed the footage.

Again.

And again.

He smiled. His lips split, slow, unnatural.

Then someone stepped into the tent.

Commander Bale.

Pressed uniform. No dust on his boots. Calm, unreadable expression.

Adrian’s voice dropped to a low edge of steel.

"You’re late."

Bale gave him a thin-lipped look. "What happened?"

Adrian blinked. "Is that really your first question?"

Bale didn’t answer.

Adrian leaned back, legs stretched in front of him, blood already soaking through fresh gauze. "Not how bad is the bleeding or how many fugitives got past me? Just a bureaucrat’s ’what happened?’" He scoffed. "You’re not even trying to act surprised."

"I heard you chased a stolen vehicle through the main gate," Bale said, tone clipped. "Fired into a crowd. We have civilians here, Adrian."

"You think I care about your staged reports?" Adrian hissed, sitting forward. "The gate opened on cue. The lockdown tripped like someone flicked a switch. And the truck—they found that truck? The one hidden in Hangar 3? That’s a restricted command zone."

Bale’s eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting?"

"I’m not suggesting." Adrian’s voice darkened. "I’m telling you—someone helped them. And I think it was you."

A long silence stretched between them. Bale’s gaze flicked to the medics nearby, then back to Adrian with unsettling calm.

"That’s a heavy accusation," he said. "For a man who opened fire on the people under his protection."

Adrian barked a hollow laugh. "You think I care about PR now? I was trying to stop her. Zara. She was mine. She—she wasn’t supposed to leave."

"She left. Along with the others. Into dead zone territory. No food, no maps. They won’t last a day."

"They made it farther than they should have," Adrian muttered.

Bale arched a brow. "They were lucky."

"No." Adrian looked up slowly. "They were guided."

He stood, ignoring the flash of pain. "There was no random luck here. The patrols were delayed. The gate power failed. West flank cameras glitched—just long enough. And the truck? Command-level access only."

Bale held his gaze. "Coincidence."

Adrian stepped closer, bloodied finger raised. "Coincidence, or sabotage?"

Bale didn’t flinch. "Even if they had help, they’re gone. Why waste resources chasing ghosts?"

"I want every scout deployed. Satellites, drones, dogs, I don’t care. If I find so much as a heat signature—"

"No."

Adrian blinked. "What?"

"No," Bale repeated. "You’re not pulling half our units to chase runaways into a wasteland. We protect this base. That’s our priority."

Adrian’s eyes flared wide. "You let them go. You opened that gate. And now you want to bury it?"

"You were shot," Bale said, unmoved. "Maybe you’re confused."

Adrian’s lip curled into a thin, feral smile. "You always were a snake. But I see you now."

A noise at the tent flap.

Four soldiers burst in—guns raised. But not at Bale.

They were aimed at Adrian.

He froze. "What the hell is this?"

Bale sighed. "Orders from the Director. You’re to be brought in for questioning."

Adrian’s voice rose with disbelief. "Questioning? They escaped! They shot me!"

"You opened fire on unarmed assets under our care. You jeopardised an entire operation we’ve spent years building."

Adrian stood, despite the pain, ignoring the way his thigh screamed. "You bastard. You’re framing me. You—"

"Take him," Bale said.

The soldiers stepped forward, cautious.

Adrian didn’t resist.

Bale watched him. "This isn’t personal, Adrian. You endangered lives."

Adrian tilted his head back, staring up at the canvas ceiling as if he could see the stars through it.

"You think she’s safe," he whispered. "That’s what you all think. You think she made it out. That it’s over. But it’s not."

He looked at Bale then, eyes burning, wild, unhinged.

"She’ll come back. They always come back."

The soldiers began to lead him out. Adrian didn’t fight.

"She was mine, Bale. You don’t just take what’s mine."

Outside, more civilians had gathered near the triage perimeter. They watched with hushed awe as the bloodied commander was escorted through the camp like a prisoner of war.

And still, Adrian smiled.

Even as they loaded him into the armoured van.

Even as the doors slammed shut behind him.

In his mind, he saw her face again—Zara’s face—as she raised her gun.

*****

Someone was walking.

Their footsteps were muffled by the wet hush of the earth, swallowed by the endless white around them.

Fog hugged the earth like breath turned solid—heavy, endless, cold.

A figure moved through it. Slowly. Uncertainly.

They—though they didn’t remember that yet—dragged her feet over cracked earth and moss-covered stone, the silence pressing against their ears.

The world was blank. Pale. Empty, except for the sound of their own breath.

They paused. Turned slowly. Nothing but gray.

They didn’t know how they got here.

Didn’t remember leaving.

Leaving where?

Something felt wrong.

They didn’t know where they were. Or why.

Only that... They shouldn’t be here.

And then—

A voice.

Faint. Fragile. High and echoing.

Calling.

Words too slurred by distance to be understood, but something in them cracked something in their chest. They paused. Turned their head. Stumbled forward. The fog thickened around their legs, resisting every step.

"Hello?" They called out, voice hoarse, unused. "Who’s there?"

No answer.

Just that voice again—closer now. Still muffled. Still small.

They ran.

They didn’t know to where, or why their lungs ached, or why their legs burned—but they ran. Branches clawed at their arms, roots tripped their ankles, still they pushed forward, faster now, blindly chasing that voice.

Then it pierced the fog.

Clear. Small. Crying.

"Mommy...?"

Her heart seized.

"Leo?" She shouted.

The name spilled from her lips before she could stop it.

She didn’t even know she remembered it.

"Leo!"

The voice came again. More lost, more scared. "Mommy?"

Her chest crumpled around the sound. She ran. Faster.

"Wait—wait, I’m coming!"

She didn’t know who she was speaking to. Didn’t even know why the tears were coming, or why her hands were trembling.

The fog parted—barely. A silhouette.

Tiny. Still. Facing away.

She ran harder. The sound of their steps drowned out the silence. She dropped to her knees behind the boy, dirt and mist soaking through her clothes.

Her fingers trembled as she reached forward.

Gently. Slowly.

She turned him around.

And gasped.

The child stared up at her, unblinking.

Bright green eyes.

But not Leo’s warm browns.

So similar. Yet not.

His face was softer. Younger. His cheeks rounder. His frame even smaller. A year old maybe? Her breath caught as a tremor ran through the ground. The world around her shimmered. Warped. The fog thinned. Reality peeled.

And then—

"Zara."

Her eyes snapped open.

Winter was crouched over her, his hands on her shoulders, his brow furrowed. His bright green eyes searched hers, sharp with concern.

"You okay?"

She blinked.

The mist was gone.

But that voice... it still echoed somewhere in the back of her mind.

And her hands were still shaking.