Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son-Chapter 230

First light bled across the horizon like a slow-opening wound, seeping red into a sky that had long forgotten what blue looked like.

The orb in the sky had turned red a few days ago and still hung low and silent, watching.

Zara stood at the front of the truck, map in one hand, flashlight in the other, the soft beam flickering over weather-worn ink and creases rubbed almost invisible from too much folding. Her brows furrowed as she compared their position to the coordinates Miles had jotted down last night.

They were close.

"Five clicks west," she muttered. "And then north."

She heard footsteps behind her but didn’t turn. Naomi’s presence was quiet.

"You sure about this direction?" Naomi asked, her voice flat, arms crossed as she leaned against the truck.

"As sure as anyone can be about anything anymore."

"Mm." Naomi didn’t press further. Her expression said what her voice didn’t—if you lead us wrong, I won’t let it go.

But she turned and started checking the gear in the back without another word. That, at least, was something.

Behind them, the others were beginning to stir. Lila rubbed her eyes, yawning widely as Ima helped her with her jacket. Aren sat silent on a crate, his broken arm cradled against his chest, staring out at the wasted horizon.

Leo clung to Zara’s leg like a burr.

"Mama, don’t go," he whispered.

She crouched, brushing a kiss over his forehead. "I’m not going anywhere without you."

"But you’re looking at maps again," he said suspiciously.

Zara smiled tiredly. "Only so we don’t get lost."

Winter stepped up behind them, hands slipping under Leo’s arms. "C’mere, little shadow," he murmured.

Leo squirmed but didn’t resist, his small arms looping around Winter’s neck as he was hoisted up.

Zara and Winter locked eyes.

That soft smile passed between them like a promise.

Still here. Still fighting.

The air smelled like ash and old oil. The ground crackled under every step like it was made of brittle bone. Mike grumbled as he checked the tires, his voice low and gravel-edged.

"This stretch used to be a lake," he said to no one in particular. "I remember. I had family out this way. Big, glittery thing. Now it’s a goddamn sea of dust and bones. Locals called it the Ash Sea."

"Poetic," Marcus muttered, sliding one of the solar panels back into its mount.

"No," Mike said. "Poetic would’ve been if it were still wet. This? This is a desert with a grudge."

The truck rumbled awake beneath them, growling low like some ancient beast disturbed from sleep.

Ima and Miles loaded the last crates in. Naomi climbed in next, silent as always. Lila crawled in beside her, dragging a plush toy missing an ear.

Winter helped Leo into his seat, buckling him in with exaggerated care.

"Safe as a pancake," he said.

Leo frowned. "Pancakes aren’t safe. They get eaten."

Winter blinked. "Okay, bad example. Safe as... a really boring rock. Nobody eats rocks."

Zara bit back a laugh as she climbed in beside him.

The truck creaked as it settled under their weight.

For a few seconds, no one said anything. Just the hum of the engine. The soft breaths of children. The static-laced silence of the radio waiting to catch another ghost.

Zara rested her hand over the map again, eyes fixed ahead.

"We roll west," she said quietly. "Then we see what’s left of this world."

Mike shifted into gear.

The truck rolled forward, slow but steady, tires crunching over a path that had once been a lakebed and was now nothing but cracked, thirsty earth.

As the red orb slipped behind a drifting sheet of cloud, it almost looked like a real sun again.

Almost.

They didn’t speak again for a long while.

There was too much riding on what came next.

*****

The truck rumbled into the basin like a metal beast too stubborn to die. Its tires thudded over cracked earth, groaning with each dip and ridge. Outside the reinforced glass, the landscape was a graveyard—flat, lifeless, and quiet in a way that made everyone listen harder.

The dry lakebed stretched for miles. Once, it might have held water—deep, glistening, maybe even full of fish and sunlight and laughter. Now, it was just scorched clay and dust, split open like the earth itself had been wounded. Great black scars cut through the pale grey surface, and in the distance, the rusted husks of old boats lay on their sides like beached whales. Some were cracked clean in two. Others still had skeletal fishing rods poking skyward, long since snapped.

Zara leaned forward, hand braced on the dashboard, eyes scanning the expanse. There was something wrong about the silence. It wasn’t peace. It was pause. Like the world was holding its breath.

The red haze started about twenty feet out. It clung to the ground, shimmering like oil in water—too low and too dense to be natural. It didn’t rise. Didn’t move. Just hovered, like it was watching.

"Should we be worried about that?" Marcus asked from the back, brow furrowed as he peered out the window.

"It’s not thick enough to be mist," Zara said. "But keep your masks nearby. Just in case."

Lila shifted in her seat between Naomi and Ima, her nose pressed to the glass.

"What happened here?" she asked quietly. "Why is it all broken?"

Aren, his arm still bound in a makeshift sling, sat a little behind her, looking just as puzzled. "This used to be a lake, right? Like... for boats and swimming?"

Naomi turned slightly in her seat. Her expression softened, but the weight in her voice never did.

"Yeah," she said. "It did. People used to come out here to fish, or take rides on little sailboats. There were ice cream stands near the shore, music, kids running around. Summer trips."

Aren blinked. "Then what happened?"

She hesitated, then spoke with a kind of quiet reverence. "The mist didn’t start here, but it came through. People ran. Some tried to fight. Some set up camps. The ground cracked when the last surge came, and it never stopped breaking."

Lila looked at her shoes. "Where did the people go?"

Naomi didn’t answer right away.

"Some made it out," she said softly. "Some didn’t."

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. Leo shifted sleepily in Zara’s lap, unaware of the gravity tugging at the words.

As the truck crept deeper into the basin, the signs became clearer. Overturned wagons with broken axles lay scattered like roadkill. A snapped flagpole with a sun-bleached scarf still tied to it stuck up from the dust. Bones littered a half-burnt camp—small ones, large ones, too many to count.

No one spoke.

Zara’s gaze locked on the horizon, squinting through the red shimmer.

Then she froze.

Far ahead, where the haze met the sky, a figure stood.

Still.

Not walking. Not fleeing. Not waving.

Just... there.

Zara narrowed her eyes, heart slowing. It was tall. Human-shaped. Unmoving.

She blinked.

It didn’t vanish.

"Winter," she said quietly, nodding toward the windshield. "Do you see that?"

He followed her gaze, leaning forward slightly.

"See what?"

"That—" she started, then frowned.

The figure was gone.

Not walking. Not ducking. Just... gone.

She sat back slowly.

Winter looked at her, brows raised.

"I didn’t see anything," he said.

"I did," Zara replied, her voice even, but tight.

He didn’t question her.

He just reached over and set a hand on her knee. A quiet tether. A silent understanding.

The red haze thickened as they drove on. The dead boats watched them pass. And somewhere out there, the silence cracked—just a little.

They were halfway across the Ash Sea when the flare went up behind them.

A shrieking red arc against the bruised sky, far too deliberate to be a mistake—and definitely not one of theirs.

"...The hell?" Mike muttered, glancing into the side mirror.

Then—

BOOM.

The truck lurched violently, its rear end jerking sideways. Something exploded beneath the right tire, the crunch of shredded rubber and metal echoing like gunfire across the flat, dusty expanse.

"SHIT—" Mike fought the wheel, muscles straining as the truck fishtailed. "Hold on!"

Zara threw her arms around Leo just in time as the boy screamed, tumbling forward with the force of the jolt. Winter’s hand slammed down on the roof, bracing, heart hammering.

The truck skidded, spat up a storm of ash, and finally jerked to a crooked stop. Smoke rose from the back wheel.

Everyone was silent for a beat. Breathing. Listening.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Fast. Unbalanced. Coming from the ridgeline.

Marcus’s head whipped toward the left window. "Company."

They spilt into view like rats from a hole, half a dozen figures, gaunt and twitching, skin drawn tight across bones and eyes sunken like forgotten graves. Some dragged pipes. Others gripped broken rebar and shattered rifle stocks tied with cord. They weren’t survivors.

They were scavengers. Feral. Starved.

Zara shoved Leo toward Winter and reached for her weapon. "Naomi. Marcus. Positions!"

Naomi was already on the move, pulling Lila behind a stack of crates and aiming over the edge. Marcus slammed the truck’s rear doors open and slid out, rifle raised.

Mike was cursing up a storm at the blown tire, muttering to himself as he scrambled out with a wrench and jack. "Of course it’s a trap. Goddamn Mad Max wannabes—"

Winter crouched behind the crates, Leo in his arms and Zara at his side. The boy was trembling, eyes wide as saucers.

"Zee," Winter said low. "We’ve got about twenty seconds before they decide we’re worth the meat."

Zara’s lips were pressed into a thin line. "They’re too far gone to talk."

She stood, aimed past the edge of the truck, and fired a single shot into the ash.

The sound rang out across the sea, clean and warning.

The scavengers halted. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

For a moment, hope flickered. Maybe they’d retreat. Maybe some part of them still remembered fear.

Then the biggest one—bare-chested, ribs like prison bars, smeared in old blood—let out a screeching war cry.

They charged.

"Here we go!" Marcus barked, dropping one to a kneecap before they got too close. Naomi’s shot clipped another’s shoulder. It wasn’t enough to stop them.

Zara fired again, this time into a man swinging a jagged blade toward the cab. He crumpled with a shout.

One of the lunatics leapt onto the truck’s side, trying to claw his way up.

Winter growled low and surged forward. With one hand still shielding Leo, he slammed his elbow into the attacker’s face, knocking him clean off.

Behind them, Mike shouted from beneath the truck, "I’m not done fixing this damn thing, so buy me a minute!"

"Do your best!" Naomi yelled over her shoulder, ducking a thrown pipe.

Zara ducked, rolled under the crates, and came up firing—hitting the ground near one woman’s legs. It worked. The scavenger tripped, fell, and didn’t get back up.

Marcus tackled one who got too close, wrestling his weapon free. He didn’t want to kill—none of them did—but the bastard had a knife and madness in his eyes.

The blade slashed Marcus’s arm.

He pulled the trigger.

Blood sprayed across the ash.

And just like that, the others broke.

They screamed—high, cracked, inhuman—and fled into the haze. One of them shrieked something unintelligible behind them:

"The Red Eye’s coming! He’s seen us now—he SEES US!"

Their howling faded into the wind.

Silence.

Only the hiss of the wounded tire and the sound of a jack creaking under pressure remained.

Leo’s little arms were tight around Zara’s neck, face buried in her collar.

"Bad people," he whispered.

Zara stroked his hair. "Yes," she murmured. "But we’re okay. You’re okay, baby."

Her voice was steady, but Winter saw the way her hand trembled.

Naomi came forward, helping Marcus to sit. His arm bled freely, but he nodded to show he was alright.

Winter eased beside Zara, gently cupping the side of her hand. Her palm was scraped raw from the fall she’d taken diving under the crates.

"Let me see," he murmured.

She looked at him, eyes fierce, shaken, exhausted. But she let him take her hand.

His fingers moved gently over the broken skin, dabbing with the corner of his shirt.