Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son-Chapter 231

Mike’s curses echoed under the truck like some angry gremlin. "Goddamn scavenger bastards... pick the worst damn time to plant spikes on a blind curve..."

The truck wobbled slightly as he yanked at the jack, boots scuffing the dust-caked ground. His knuckles were scraped raw, smeared with oil and blood, but he didn’t slow down. The busted tyre lay beside him like a war casualty—blown open by rusted nails and bent metal.

"They couldn’t just rob us, no. Had to wreck our ride first. Cowards."

Naomi knelt a few paces away, tending to Marcus’s arm. The cut was long and angry, still oozing in spite of the makeshift tourniquet. She worked in silence, unrolling their last clean strip of gauze and pressing it carefully against the wound.

Marcus didn’t flinch, though his jaw twitched. "Could’ve been worse," he muttered.

Naomi glanced up at him, her lips tight. "You’re lucky the blade missed bone."

Zara stood nearby, inventory spread out across a tarp. Her fingers moved fast, counting bullets, magazines, what little they had left in the bottom of an old box. The numbers didn’t add up—not for another ambush. Not for another mistake.

She exhaled sharply. "We’re running low," she said, more to herself than anyone else.

A few feet away, Leo sat beside Lila, his legs tucked up beneath him. He leaned close, voice no louder than a breath.

"Why do those people look like monsters?"

Lila didn’t answer. Her eyes were wide, locked on the horizon where the scavengers had come from. Where they might still be watching. Her hands gripped her knees so tightly her knuckles were white. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Aren was nearby, crouched with his back against the truck. He heard them. Of course, he did. That boy always listened too closely.

"They weren’t always," he said flatly, staring straight ahead. "They used to be like us."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Naomi paused in her bandaging. Zara looked over.

Lila swallowed hard. "Then what happened?"

Naomi offered a soft answer, brushing back a curl from Lila’s temple. "Some people get sick from the mist."

"That’s why we don’t breathe it," Zara added, crouching down with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "That’s why we wear our masks and stay in the truck."

Leo frowned. "But they were screaming. Loud."

"They were scared," Naomi said gently.

"They said something," Winter murmured, standing a few feet away, gaze sweeping the broken ridge beyond them. His rifle hung at his side, forgotten for the moment. "They said, ’The Red Eye sees us.’"

Zara’s head turned sharply. "Yeah," she said under her breath. "They knew something."

Winter didn’t look away from the distant trees. "They were too far gone to ask any questions."

The wind picked up then, whistling through the ravine like a warning.

*****

City H Base....

The detention room was more of a tomb than a prison.

It reeked of copper and mildew. The air sat still and stagnant.

A single flickering light buzzed overhead, more threat than comfort, blinking spasmodically like a dying star.

Each blink cast long, jerking shadows along the concrete walls, stained with dark streaks from water damage and other substances far less benign.

A camera loomed above the sealed door, its lens occasionally twitching to life, capturing moments in jerky snapshots. The cot in the corner was thin, bolted to the floor.

Adrian sat hunched in the corner, barely a man, more a shadow stitched together by exhaustion and madness. His once-clean uniform hung from him in tatters, its sleeves torn, and one shoe was missing. But it was his eyes that defied the decay: bright green, luminescent in the dimness like radioactivity.

He twitched—left hand drumming against his thigh in an erratic pattern.

The rhythm changed now and then, shifting like a song only he could hear.

And all the while, he muttered.

"Signal breach point... thirty-four hours... non-linear, yes, non-linear... Zara... Leo... Echo acceleration starts with them, always with them..."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but the microphone embedded in the wall caught every syllable. The guards had long stopped trying to decipher them.

Then suddenly, he laughed.

A soft, dry chuckle that echoed in the silence.

"They think they’ve won," Adrian whispered to no one. "Fools."

Outside the cell, a young guard flinched in his chair, knocking over his half-finished cup of synth-coffee. He cursed, but he didn’t go in. No one went in anymore.

Until calm footsteps made their way through the hall.

Bale stepped

He wore black tactical gear, sharp-cut and unadorned save for the unmistakable crest of City H Barracks sewn onto his left shoulder.

His face was angular, clean-shaven, with the weary calm of a man who’d long stopped being surprised by horror. There was a knife strapped to his thigh, a stun baton on his hip, and exhaustion behind his eyes.

The door sealed behind him with a slow thunk.

Adrian didn’t even turn to look. He just kept tapping. Kept mumbling.

Bale stood still for a long moment, watching the twitching silhouette.

Finally, he said, "You need to come clean, Adrian. Give us something. We’re not here to torture you. We just want to sort this out."

Adrian paused. The drumming stopped.

He tilted his head, slowly, like he’d just noticed Bale was there. Then, a low chuckle. Not manic—scornful.

"You don’t understand anything. None of you do."

Bale stepped closer. "Help me understand, then."

"You think the creatures are the problem," Adrian said, voice stronger now, more lucid. "You think this is about borders. No. It’s always been about preparation. Fortification. Ascension."

Bale folded his arms. "You’re not making sense."

"I’m making perfect sense," Adrian said. "It’s the rest of you who are playing checkers while the world burns in fourth-dimensional chess."

He stood up slowly, joints creaking. The light overhead caught his eyes, made them glow unnaturally. "Hybridization. Shielded zones. Remote resonance fields. You think those came from your little military labs?"

Bale didn’t flinch. "You’re talking about illegal experimenting. You crossed lines. You used people."

Adrian smiled. "To save them. Everything I did, I did for our country. For humanity. You wouldn’t last a week without the systems I put in place. You don’t even know the half of it."

"Other countries were hit too," Bale shot back. "We’re all on the same dying Earth. The creatures are outside. No one’s inviting them in."

Adrian went eerily quiet.

Then, slowly, he looked up and smiled—this time colder, sharper.

"No... they’re already here. The real ones."

The silence that followed was long. Suffocating.

Then, softly, Bale said, "What do you mean ’the real ones’?"

Adrian tilted his head again, birdlike. "You think they just clawed their way through the sky one day? That this was some random, spontaneous breach?" He laughed. "No. This was a prelude. More will come and we must prepare."

He took one step forward, then another, until only the width of the cell separated him from Bale.

"You let them go, didn’t you?" he said suddenly. The shift in tone was volcanic. Fury bubbled beneath the surface. "Zara. And the boy. You pathetic little puppet. You don’t even know what you’re playing with."

Bale tensed.

He didn’t answer.

And that said enough.

Adrian’s eyes flared. He shoved a fist into the wall, hard. The sound echoed, sharp and brutal. The guards outside reacted instantly—shifting to alert posture—but Bale held up a hand through the glass.

"They were part of the Project’s final phase!" Adrian snarled. "The convergence! Their genes, their gifts—perfect resonance. Do you even understand what that means?"

Bale took a step back, arms at his side but muscles coiled.

Adrian was pacing now, almost growling. "They were mine! My trump card! Not some random strays you let disappear into the dirt!"

He slammed his hand into the wall again, leaving a small smear of blood.

Bale’s voice was low. Firm. "You talk about people like they’re tools."

"Because they are! The right tools! The only ones that matter when everything else collapses!"

"Leo’s a child," Bale said.

Adrian froze. Then slowly turned, eyes shadowed. "He’s an asset. He’s the key."

"You keep saying this, but to what?"

Adrian didn’t answer.

Bale shook his head, rubbing his eyes briefly. "You have a trial in four days. Maybe spin this lunacy into something useful. Or you’ll be rotting in the black cells by winter."

Adrian smiled again. Too calm now. Too certain.

"Oh, Bale. Do you think they’ll keep me locked away forever?" He spread his arms wide. "I may be in this cage... but my reach isn’t."

He stepped closer.

"You think I’m the only one who remembers what’s coming?"

Bale opened the door. The locks clicked apart with a hiss. He lingered in the threshold.

"Your trial’s in four days," he said again. "If you want to spin something believable, now’s the time to start."

Behind him, Adrian’s laughter faded into whispers.

He stood slowly, walking up to the line just before the door—just where he couldn’t cross.

His voice dropped, dark and cold. "You think you’ve bought time."

Bale hesitated.

"But I’m not the only one who wants them back."

*****

The soft glow of the moon shone against metal walls, casting a muted orange hue over the cramped space.

The old truck creaked softly as the wind pressed against its dented sides. The heating unit hummed faintly beneath the floorboards, barely holding the chill at bay. Warmth pooled in uneven pockets—enough to keep frostbite off their skin, not enough to feel comfortable.

The dim glow of a battery lantern cast long, swaying shadows over the narrow interior. Everyone was either curled up or slumped across the bolted-down chairs, half-buried in worn blankets. The air smelled faintly of rust, oil, and days-old sweat—survival, in all its subtle grime.

Zara jolted upright in her bedroll, heart pounding.

For a second, she didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

Just listened.

Nothing. No noise besides the occasional snoring and the loud thudding of her heart.

Then she turned.

Leo was beside her, buried under his blanket cocoon, chest rising and falling steadily. He muttered something incoherent in his sleep, rubbing one little fist against his face.

Her hand reached for him instinctively, trembling fingers brushing through his hair. Just a dream. He was fine. He was safe.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

That pull in her chest. That awful tightness in her throat.

She looked around the truck, skin crawling. The shadows pressed close, and the air felt too still, too heavy.

A figure shifted near the door.

Winter, wrapped in a patched coat and armed to the teeth, looked up from his watch post and tilted his head.

"Nightmare?"

Zara shook her head. "I... don’t know." She rubbed her face. "Just had a feeling."

Winter’s voice was quiet, gruff. "Bad kind?"

"The worst kind," she murmured.

She looked back down at Leo.

Was it bad that she couldn’t remember the dream itself, but the feeling it left behind?