Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 97:

Chapter 97: 97:

The patrol team moved along the wall in silence, boots crunching against the gravel path. Winter adjusted his jacket against the sharp morning chill, his eyes narrowing as he studied the mist beyond the tall, reinforced walls.

It hovered, dense and unnatural, a living entity that seemed to breathe and shift on its own. Every now and then, it licked at the base of the wall, as if testing its limits.

"Creepy, isn’t it?" a soldier muttered, breaking the silence. Winter glanced at him, noting the man’s wary eyes fixed on the fog.

"Creepy doesn’t even begin to cover it," another chimed in, hefting his rifle over his shoulder. "I swear I saw shadows moving out there last night. Not human ones either."

Winter kept his thoughts to himself, his gaze lingering on the mist. Shadows? He could believe it. The longer he stared, the more it seemed to ripple, like something—or someone—was just out of sight, waiting.

As they reached the northern section of the wall, a familiar voice called out. "Winter? That you?"

He turned, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Richard?"

Richard stood with a group of soldiers by a small checkpoint. Winter approached him, frowning.

"What the hell are you doing out here? Shouldn’t they have you in logistics or something?"

Richard chuckled, his laughter dry. "You’d think, right? But manpower’s tight. Everyone’s got to pull their weight, no matter how old or young."

Winter’s frown deepened. Richard had been a steady companion during their journey to the base, but Winter couldn’t shake the feeling that assigning him to the military side of operations was a mistake.

Was he also an enhanced person?

"Don’t worry about me," Richard added, clapping Winter on the shoulder. "I can still keep up with you young bucks."

"Yeah, sure you can, old man," a cocky voice interjected.

Winter turned to see a younger soldier, no older than twenty-three, with tousled blond hair and a smirk that practically begged to be wiped off his face. His name tag read Blake.

Blake gave Winter a once-over. "So, you’re the new guy, huh? Heard you were ’enhanced.’ Not seeing much to write home about."

Winter raised an eyebrow, his expression impassive. "And you are?"

"Blake," the young man said, puffing out his chest. "Been here a while. You’ll be following my lead out there."

A soldier on the side snorted. "Blake, don’t start."

But Blake wasn’t done. "I’m just saying, some of us earned our place. Others get handed it because they’re a little... special."

"Blake," another soldier hissed, nudging him. "Cut it out."

He didn’t stop. "Tell you what, newbie. Why don’t we spar a little? Show us what you’re made of. Unless, of course, you’re scared."

The rest of the group fell silent, watching the interaction with mixed amusement and tension. Winter didn’t feel the need to argue with a kid and simply turned away. They had more pressing issues to attend to.

Blake’s smirk fell at the blatant rejection, then flushed at the snickers he could hear from those around him.

He watched both older men walk away, talking and clenched his fist. They thought they could embarrass him this way and leave. Just like that?

******

The mist had retreated, drawing back into the distance, leaving the landscape eerily quiet and hazy. It was the perfect window for a scavenging mission, and the higher-ups knew better than to waste it. The soldiers, alert and tense, moved as one, slipping through the gate and out of the base’s protective walls. Beyond them lay the ruins of the old world—crumbling buildings, half-collapsed roads, and twisted metal that had once been a thriving civilization.

Winter didn’t think he’d be out so soon after arriving, but beggars can’t be choosers.

The scavenging mission began like any other, or so Winter assumed. The group of six soldiers moved carefully through the crumbling ruins of the old world, staying close enough to cover each other but far enough apart to avoid being an easy target. Winter took up the rear, rifle ready, his sharp senses scanning for movement beyond the heavy, unnatural mist that blanketed the ground.

Their bodies were fully covered and they were equipped with modified gas masks to protect them from the mist.

They reached an abandoned store with shattered windows and barren shelves. The group’s de facto leader, a soldier named Reynolds, motioned for them to fan out and search.

"Be quick," Reynolds ordered. "The mist’s thicker than usual. I don’t like it."

Winter prowled the edges of the store, his machete strapped to his thigh and his rifle slung low. His gut told him something was wrong, though he couldn’t place it. The mist seemed to cling to the building, pressing in from all sides like it had a mind of its own.

"Movement!" someone hissed over the comms.

Winter spun toward the front door just as the first zombie emerged from the mist, its movements disturbingly fast, nearly a blur. The rest followed in a grotesque wave—rotting flesh and jagged claws streaked with blood.

Contact!" one of the soldiers shouted, raising his rifle.

"Open fire!" Reynold barked.

The air erupted with gunfire.

The store erupted into chaos as more zombies poured in, their bodies moving with unnerving coordination. Winter raised his rifle, firing a clean shot that took the lead creature down. Its head snapped back, brains and blackened blood splattering the wall behind it.

"Watch your six!" another soldier yelled, spinning to take out a zombie closing in from the side.

Winter turned, his rifle coming up. His next two shots hit their marks, one zombie collapsing with a gaping hole in its chest while another dropped as its knee was blown out, forcing it to crawl.

"They’re faster than usual!" one of the soldiers shouted, panic seeping into his voice.

"And smarter!" Reynolds added. "They’re flanking us!"

Winter’s sharp eyes caught movement through the broken windows. He swore under his breath. This wasn’t a small skirmish; this was a coordinated assault.

"They’re heading for the gate!" someone shouted.

Winter’s gaze snapped toward the base. Several zombies had broken away from the fight, sprinting toward the towering metal gates in the distance.

"Shit," Reynolds growled. "Peterson, Lopez, cut them off! Winter, you’re with me. Blake, stay on the others!"

Winter slung his rifle over his back and unsheathed his machete. The blade gleamed in the dim light, sharp and lethal. He followed Reynolds out the door, cutting through the mist as they intercepted the zombies heading for the gate.

When had the mist moved to surround them? Good thing they were prepared and protected.

The first creature lunged at him, its clawed fingers swiping at his throat. Winter ducked low, his machete slicing upward in a clean arc. The blade severed its arm, black ichor spraying across his boots. The zombie didn’t even flinch, its other arm grabbing for him, but Winter was faster. He buried the machete in its skull, twisting it hard before yanking it free.

The blade flashed, slicing through decayed muscle and bone. Black blood sprayed across his jacket as the creature fell, but another was already rushing him.

Winter ducked under its swing and drove the machete upward into its jaw, the blade sinking deep into the skull with a sickening crunch. He yanked it free and turned, scanning the battlefield. They weren’t too far from the gates, was it a normal occurrence to find these creatures so close?

Reynolds fired beside him, his bullets punching through two more zombies with wet, sickening thuds.

"Keep moving!" Reynolds shouted.

Winter sprinted ahead, his enhanced reflexes putting him steps ahead of the creatures. He dropped to a knee, rifle snapping up to fire three quick shots. The bullets tore through the legs of the zombies closest to the gate, bringing them down but not stopping them completely.

"Peterson, Lopez, cover the gate!" Reynolds yelled.

The two soldiers were already in position, unloading their rifles into the advancing horde. One zombie managed to get close, but Lopez jammed the butt of his rifle into its face, crushing its nose before finishing it with a bayonet thrust to the throat.

Winter didn’t stop. Another zombie lunged at him from the side, its decayed teeth snapping at his arm. He shoved it back with the barrel of his rifle, firing point-blank into its head. The force of the shot splattered bone and brain matter across the ground.

"Behind you!"

Reynolds’ warning came just in time. Winter spun, his machete slicing through the air as another zombie leapt toward him. The blade cleaved through its neck, the head tumbling to the ground even as the body twitched and staggered before collapsing.

They had made quick work of most of them but the rest of the creatures were still rushing the gates!

"Commander!" Winter barked, taking off into a run.

Reynold cursed heavily, the scar running across his temple bouncing as he shot a zombie that went too close and grabbed his radio. "Gate team, this is Bravo Patrol! We’ve got hostiles incoming! Use the mounted guns—now!"

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.