Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 98:

Chapter 98: 98:

"Gate team, this is Bravo Patrol! We’ve got hostiles incoming! Use the mounted guns—now!"

Static crackled before a voice responded, "Copy that, Commander. Targets sighted, firing in three... two... one..."

Winter’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the skyline. He saw the mounted guns on top of the wall activate, the heavy artillery swinging into position. The hum of machinery reverberated through the air, and Winter could feel his muscles tense.

The mounted guns roared to life, spraying the advancing zombies with a hail of bullets. Their bodies exploded under the heavy fire, limbs flying as the line of creatures was mowed down in seconds.

But the fight wasn’t over. Some of the creatures were ducking between the bullets, hellbent on getting to them.

A zombie launched itself at Winter, its claws raking across his arm. Pain flared, but Winter gritted his teeth and slammed his machete into its skull. Blood splattered across his face as the creature fell, its twitching body hitting the ground with a thud.

Winter quickly wrapped the wound. The mist might not be close currently, but it was moving. He couldn’t take any risks.

"Keep moving!" the command echoed.

The group pushed forward, fighting their way toward the gate. A soldier to Winter’s left screamed as a zombie tackled him, its teeth snapping inches from his throat. Winter didn’t hesitate—he shot the zombie point-blank, then hauled the soldier to his feet.

"You good?" Winter asked, his voice tight.

The man nodded, his face pale but relieved. "Yeah. Thanks."

They both took off to join the others already racing ahead.

The group finally reached the perimeter, their backs to the gate. The mounted guns continued to rain hell on the remaining zombies, cutting down the last of the horde.

Finally, the last of the creatures fell, its body twitching before going still. The battlefield fell silent except for the sound of heavy breathing and the distant hum of the mounted guns winding down.

"Target neutralized," Richard called out over the radio, his voice grim but relieved.

Winter straightened, his chest rising and falling as he surveyed the scene. The ground was littered with corpses, their blackened blood pooling in the dirt. The soldiers were bloodied but alive, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear.

Winter wiped the gore from his face, his chest heaving. Around him, the soldiers exchanged grim looks.

"How the hell did they get so close?" one soldier muttered, his voice shaky.

"No idea," another replied, his eyes darting nervously toward the mist. "They shouldn’t have been able to get past the sensors."

Winter’s gaze drifted back to the mist. It hung there, ominous and unyielding, curling in ways that defied logic. It felt alive, aware.

It felt like it was watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike.

One of the soldiers, a woman with a scar running down her cheek, broke the silence. "You ever wonder if the mist is connected to that thing in the sky?"

Everyone glanced up instinctively. The massive celestial object loomed overhead, faintly glowing against the morning light. It had been there for years, a silent, unyielding presence.

"Of course it is," another soldier replied. "The mist showed up not long after that thing appeared. It’s all connected somehow."

"What I want to know is if it’s evolving," the scarred woman muttered. "I mean, look at how it moves. Almost like it’s... alive."

Winter’s eyes flicked back to the mist, unease coiling in his gut. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. The group reached the outer gate, and Reynolds called for a head count. No one had fallen to the creatures, at least not that winter had noticed.

Even the brat, Blake seemed fine as he supported an injured soldier. The mission had been shockingly eventful. Winter had expected some light scavenging—maybe a few small skirmishes, but nothing like what had just happened. It seemed unusual to encounter zombies this close to the base. Most of the time, they were far enough out that the sensors and patrols kept the perimeter secure. The fact that the creatures had breached so near the walls meant this wasn’t a normal occurrence.

"Steele."

Winter snapped out of his thoughts, startled. He glanced up to see Reynolds looking at him, his face tight with concern.

Winter nodded absently, "Sir!"

He wiped his hand over his face, still feeling the grimace of exhaustion and the adrenaline crash from the fight. The name-calling continued and a thought came to winter. If they hadn’t encountered that horde when they did, if they had somehow escaped earlier without being detected... they wouldn’t have made it back to the base. Those things were too close, far too close, and they wouldn’t have stood a chance if the military hadn’t been there to back them up.

The thought of encountering those things with Zara and Leo nearby made his blood boil.

As they approached the second gates, a loudspeaker crackled to life, its harsh mechanical voice cutting through the air.

"Attention, all personnel returning from the mission: You will be processed, tested for infection, and held in confinement for a minimum of four hours. Any deviation from protocol will result in immediate quarantine. Thank you for your cooperation."

Winter’s shoulders drooped at the announcement, his body suddenly heavy. He had hoped to return, take a bath, and collapse into bed, let the exhaustion overtake him. But now? They were going to be tested, monitored, and confined for hours.

He rubbed the back of his neck and winced at the strain. In the heat of the battle, he’d ended up using his rifle’s special ammo, the kind that drained him—his "magical" bullets. When those regular rounds had run dry, he’d had no choice but to tap into his power.

The bullets didn’t work the same way. Every shot, every round fired pulled energy from his body, and each time he did it, it left him weaker, sore. He could already feel the sharp pain in his muscles, the heat that prickled at the back of his neck. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up sick. He sighed heavily.

He’d just wanted to sleep.

As they were herded toward the medical area for the testing, the pain intensified in his arms and legs, his head throbbing in rhythm with his pulse. He hated the feeling—the toll his abilities took on him. But what else could he do?

They were escorted through the sterile hallways, the scent of disinfectant lingering in the air as they made their way to the isolation rooms. The men were checked over, some of them grumbling at the invasive procedures, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. The rules were strict, especially with the recent events outside the walls.

The process was mechanical—standard procedure—but tiring nonetheless. He sat down, done for the day. He just needed to get through this. He couldn’t afford to let his mind wander too much longer, though.

He needed to stay focused. Just get through the testing. Not make it seem like he was sluggish lest he be mistaken for an infected person. Then, he’d rest.

The nurse—one of the younger medical staff, looking just as exhausted as the rest of them—approached with a med kit in hand. She glanced at Winter’s arm, where the sleeve of his jacket had been torn, exposing a long, jagged scratch along his forearm. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she set the kit down on a nearby tray.

"That looks nasty," she said, snapping on a pair of gloves. "I’ll clean and bandage it, but we’ll also need to test for infection. You know the protocol."

Winter didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the far wall. His thoughts kept circling back to Zara and Leo. Were they safe? Was Zara handling the base’s routine? What if something happened while he was stuck here, unable to check on them?

"Hey," the nurse prompted, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Are you with me?"

"Yeah," he muttered, finally meeting her eyes. "Just do what you need to."

She cleaned the wound, the antiseptic stinging enough to make his muscles tense. "You’re lucky this didn’t go deeper," she said, dabbing at the wound with a gauze pad. "Scratches are less risky than bites, but we can’t take any chances."

Winter let out a bitter chuckle, more out of frustration than humour. "Lucky. Sure."

The nurse paused to look at him, her expression softening slightly. "It’s procedure, not a death sentence. We’re thorough for everyone’s safety."

She finished cleaning the wound and wrapped it tightly with a sterile bandage. "Keep this clean and don’t mess with it. I’ve taken a blood sample to check for infection. Results should come in soon."

Winter nodded absently, his mind already elsewhere. The scratch didn’t concern him as much as the idea of being sidelined if they deemed him "at risk." He couldn’t afford to waste time sitting in some quarantine cell while Zara and Leo were out there navigating this new world on their own.

"All right," the nurse said, straightening up and removing her gloves. "Wait here for the results."

After she left, Winter was escorted to a holding room—a cold, sterile space with bare walls and no windows. The air was heavy with silence, and every minute felt like an hour. He leaned back against the metal wall, his body aching, his arm throbbing faintly beneath the bandage.

Winter let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. Great. Hours of confinement ahead, with nothing to do but wait. His body ached, his arm throbbed, and all he wanted was a hot shower and his bed. Plus he couldn’t try to sleep lest they think he was infected and gas him out or worse.

He rakes his hand through his hair and closes his eyes.

Let’s get this over with quickly.

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