Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son-Chapter 221

The engine coughed under Mike’s touch—another sharp metallic wheeze that made him grunt and duck further under the lifted hood. Tools clanked against metal, muffled by the calm that had settled over the clearing. The sky above was muted lavender, neither day nor night, bathed in a perpetual hush that wasn’t silence but peace.

Behind the truck, everyone else had gathered. Blankets and tarps were spread out across the ground in a makeshift camp. Cans of food—heated over a salvaged heating unit powered by cobbled-together battery lines—had been emptied and cleaned. Plates scraped clean. Bellies full.

Except for Zara.

She sat on the edge of the open truck bed, legs drawn in close, a half-eaten plate of canned chicken stew resting on her knees. She kept glancing at the figure curled beside her. Leo, bundled in a small pile of blankets, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythms. Peaceful. Unmoving.

Winter leaned against the tailgate, watching her watch Leo.

"He’s not in pain," he said quietly.

Zara didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on Leo, but her fingers twitched slightly, the only sign she’d heard him. Zara’s fingers curled slightly over the edge of the truck bed. She hated how still Leo was, hated that her son—usually a bundle of unfiltered energy and impossible questions—lay so quiet. Still. Vulnerable.

Winter continued, his voice low and sure. "I think this place... it listens to him. It feels like him. That quiet up there"—he nodded toward the gentle, endless sky—"that’s him right now. Still, peaceful. Waiting. Just like this space."

Zara exhaled, long and quiet. "That was a terrible way to try and get me to eat."

Winter smiled. "Yeah, well. Subtlety’s not my strength."

But when she reached for her plate again and scooped up another bite, she did it with a faint, secretive smile tugging at her lips. Winter noticed.

"I could feed you," he said, teasing, the words light but laced with affection.

Before Zara could answer, a little voice piped up brightly behind them. "I want Winter to feed me!"

They both blinked, spinning slightly to see Lila standing nearby, grinning from ear to ear with her arms outstretched like a waiting baby bird.

Zara went crimson.

Winter stared for half a second, then laughed. "C’mere, then."

Zara groaned audibly. "Lila, manners."

"But he offered!" Lila chirped. "And he makes the food taste better."

Zara muttered something about needing a hole to crawl into.

Winter scooped a bite from her bowl and fed it to her with a flourishing "aaah" sound.

Across the clearing, the others looked up. Miles had the biggest smirk plastered on his face, which he aimed squarely at Winter. Marcus elbowed him and whispered something that made them both snort. Naomi tried to hide her smile behind her palm. Ima just chuckled, while Sam raised an eyebrow in an overly judgmental, faux-scholarly way.

Zara, still burning red, buried her face in her hands.

Winter, unfazed, caught Miles’ eye and narrowed his gaze into a very specific ’shut the hell up’ glare. It only made Miles laugh harder.

Eventually, the laughter ebbed, and the plates were emptied. The group began packing up the leftover supplies—sorted and filtered earlier—into labeled boxes. A few cans, blankets, and precious medicine were tucked into the truck’s storage. It was the first time in days they’d had the luxury of surplus.

Sam stood by a crate of medical gear and tilted his head toward the truck. "Richard’s responding better now. The antibiotics in this place... it’s like the shelf-life doesn’t matter. If he keeps improving, we might actually get him back on his feet."

"That’s a miracle," Naomi murmured, visibly relieved.

Zara stood and collected a spare plate, spooning food onto it before making her way to the front of the truck.

Mike was still half-covered in grease and squinting under the hood when she approached. He didn’t look up until the smell hit him.

"For me?" he asked, taking the plate like it was gold.

Zara nodded. "Figured you could use a break."

Mike sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on a rag. "You’ve got one hell of a kid. His space—if that’s what we’re calling it—it’s loaded with stuff I’ve only seen in military-grade caches. We’re talking fuel-grade oils, sealed tools, even a parts schematic for the truck model we’re running. And I swear half of it was tagged with little crayon stickers."

Zara laughed softly. "He wanted to keep those things. I didn’t know why at the time."

"Now we do." Mike nodded with quiet respect. "Kid saved us without knowing it."

Zara’s eyes dropped. "Yeah. Now if he’d just wake up..."

Mike didn’t press her. He just took a bite and nodded his thanks again.

Zara turned and made her way back into the truck, back to the small cocoon she and Leo had made.

Inside, the world felt different. Distant from the noise. She crawled into the truck bed, careful not to jostle Leo, and sat beside him. His curls were mussed, a line of dried drool at the corner of his mouth. Peaceful.

Too peaceful.

She tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders and brushed his hair from his face. "Okay, baby," she whispered. "That’s enough now. You can wake up."

There was no response, just the rhythm of his breathing. Zara bowed her head. Her shoulders curled forward, a silent shudder working its way down her spine. She couldn’t cry. Not yet. Not with him still needing her. Not with people counting on her to be steady.

She could only hold on. Barely.

Outside the truck, footsteps crunched softly over ground. Then—muffled chuckles.

Winter was grabbed by both arms and yanked behind a shelf.

"—Ow—what the hell—?"

"Look at him. Look at that face," Miles grinned, arms crossed.

"Man’s glowing," Marcus said. "Like he’s had a facial and ten hours of sleep."

Winter mock-glared. "You two sound like jealous middle schoolers."

"Please," Marcus snorted. "You were out here playing airplane with a six-year-old and spoon-feeding her like a sitcom dad. What’s next, matching Christmas pajamas?"

Winter shook his head, but he was smiling too much for the glare to hold.

Miles’s expression softened a notch. "For real, though... You looked good. With her."

Winter raised an eyebrow, but Miles beat him to it. "Zara. I didn’t mean to compare her to, you know... but... your eyes haven’t looked like that in a long time." 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Winter exhaled slowly. "Feels like the first time I could actually breathe in years."

"Then we’re happy for you," Marcus said.

There was a beat of quiet.

Then Miles smirked. "Who are you, his dad?"

"Oh, screw you—!"

They mock-wrestled, Marcus joining in just to drag them down into a tangle of limbs.

Winter lunged for him, but Marcus intercepted with a gleeful "Not on my watch!"

They collapsed into the dust like overgrown puppies, limbs flailing, curses flying.

"You elbowed my spleen—"

"That’s for calling me Dad!"

The laughter that burst out was the first full-bellied one they’d shared in what felt like forever.

Naomi rounded the corner to find a ridiculous tangle of grown men struggling like toddlers at nap time.

She appeared around the corner, arms folded. "Boys. Come on. Enough horseplay. You’ll scare the children."

Winter and the others stood up, dusting themselves off like guilty teenagers. They followed her back to the truck where the others were wrapping up the final packing.

Winter glanced around. Sam, Ima, Naomi—all smiling at him knowingly.

He groaned. "Oh, for the love of—where’s Zara?"

Naomi pointed her thumb toward the truck. "Inside. With Leo."

Ignoring the kissy faces Miles and Marcus made behind him, Winter strode forward. Naomi smacked Miles upside the head as he laughed. "Grow up."

Winter pulled aside the tarp covering the truck bed and stepped in. Zara sat curled at the back, her hand gently rubbing Leo’s back in slow, circular motions.

He paused for a second, taking in the soft curve of her shoulders, the way her hand moved rhythmically over Leo’s back like a quiet heartbeat. The light caught in her hair, and for a second, everything else—noise, laughter, worries—fell away.

Her head lifted slightly at his presence. She raised one perfectly arched brow at the state of his shirt, now tugged, wrinkled, and a little stained from whatever scuffle he’d been in.

"Are you twelve?" she asked dryly.

"Thirteen," Winter said. "I hit a growth spurt."

Zara shook her head, half-exasperated, half-amused. "Leo’s still sleeping."

Winter knelt beside them and gently stroked a hand over Leo’s head. "Kiddo’s missing all the fun."

He leaned in and whispered, "Hey, champ. You gotta wake up before your mom goes full silver fox on us."

Zara rolled her eyes and smacked his arm lightly. "You’re terrible."

"I try."

He let the quiet settle again. The stillness of the moment wrapped around them.

Then, just as he was about to pull his hand away—

A small, raspy voice, barely more than a breath:

"...Daddy?"