Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son-Chapter 226

They didn’t sleep.

Not really.

Zara lay beside Leo’s small, warm body, watching the embers flicker low. Shadows stretched across Winter’s silhouette—still as stone, crouched at the edge of camp with his rifle, eyes fixed on the tree line where the figure had stood.

When the sun finally crested the trees, Winter rose, rifle already in hand. His boots made no sound on the ash-cracked dirt as he moved to the hollow’s edge. The trees were quiet again. Too quiet.

Her body ached from last night’s tension. That figure. The way it watched. She hadn’t needed to ask if Winter saw it too. His silence had been answer enough.

Now he was gone. Rifle in hand.

Zara sat up, brushing soot from her shoulders. Richard grunted from the other end of the fire pit. Mike was out cold. Naomi stirred when her daughter whimpered in her sleep.

A branch snapped—clean and sharp. Not an animal.

Zara’s heart jumped. Her hand went straight to the knife beneath her blanket.

Then came a voice.

"We’re not here to raid you," a woman called from the trees. "But we’re not walking away empty-handed."

Zara stood fast. Leo stirred but didn’t cry. She crouched beside him, whispering, "Stay with Richard."

Winter stepped into view, rifle raised. "Three of them. Maybe more behind."

The woman emerged slowly, hands up. Her clothes were patched and grimy, but her stance was solid—seasoned. A knife hung at her hip. Her eyes were hollow steel.

"Name’s Tessa," she said. "This hollow’s ours. We scavenge it. Watch it. Live close enough to call it home. So whatever you pulled out last night—we want our cut."

More shadows stepped into view—five, maybe six. All thin. Armed. Desperate.

Mike groaned awake. "Is it too early to get threatened, or is this just the breakfast menu now?"

Zara stepped forward. Winter shadowed her.

He didn’t lower his rifle. "That’s far enough."

"Relax, soldierboy," Tessa said. "I’m not here to shoot. Unless you start it."

"We don’t have much," Zara said flatly. "Nothing worth cutting throats over. And if this place is yours—where were you when we rolled in?"

Tessa’s gaze swept the camp. Naomi was on her feet, keeping the kids behind her. Sam held his knife loose and easy. Richard had Leo in his lap and a worn sidearm in hand. Everyone was ready.

"You watching us from the trees all night?" Zara asked. "That you?"

Tessa didn’t flinch. "We had to be sure you weren’t mist-touched. Or worse. We came to talk. But I won’t ask again. We need medicine. Clean food. You give—we walk."

"And if we say no?" Mike asked.

Tessa’s smile didn’t touch her eyes. "Then someone bleeds."

Winter shifted. Just enough to let her know he’d already picked which one of her people to shoot first.

"This region’s been ours for months," Tessa said. "Scavenging, water lines, shelters. You want to stay? You pay. Ammo. Food. Supplies."

"You’ve got some balls," Mike muttered.

"We’ve got mouths to feed," Tessa snapped. "And you’ve got a truck full of comfort we haven’t seen since before the collapse."

Zara didn’t blink. "We’ve got sick kids, injured people, and just enough to last two weeks. You want us to dig into that?"

Tessa shrugged. "Call it a tax for breathing our air."

Zara didn’t raise her voice. "We’re not giving anything to threats. If you need help, you ask. Like people. Not raiders."

Behind Tessa, one of her men twitched—a younger guy, nervous, in a threadbare jacket. He lunged. Grabbed at Aren.

The boy shrieked and stumbled back into Naomi’s legs.

She lunged, yanking her son behind her. "Get your damn hands off him!"

Miles was on the move too—face thunder-dark, machete drawn. "Try that again. See what happens."

But Winter was faster.

He was there in a breath, hand locking around the attacker’s wrist, the other gripping his collar. A twist—crack—the man dropped, screaming, cradling his shoulder in the dirt.

Winter didn’t flinch. "Next time I break the neck."

Naomi knelt to check Aren, her hand trembling as it cupped his cheek. Miles stood like a barricade in front of them, blade still ready.

Guns tensed. Blades twitched.

And just like that, the clearing turned from tense to explosive.

"Enough!" Tessa barked.

Both groups froze.

She took a breath. "You’re right. We came wrong. But we’re out of options. One of ours has a fever. We didn’t come to kill anyone. Just to survive."

Zara glanced at Aren, still clinging to Naomi’s leg. One wrong move and this would’ve gone bad. Fast.

She turned to Tessa. "We’ll trade. You get medicine and food. We want batteries. Bandages. Anything flammable. Information too."

Tessa hesitated, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "There’s a place," she said after a beat. "Maybe thirty miles northeast. Past the cracked highway, near the old floodplain."

Zara’s eyes narrowed. "A base?"

"Looks like it. Walled off. Big. Intact. Too intact." Tessa’s voice lowered. "Could be military. Government, maybe. We don’t go near it."

Winter tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Because nothing that clean in a world this dirty makes sense," Tessa said flatly. "Place doesn’t show signs of life, but the fences stay repaired. Solar lights flicker on sometimes. No one ever comes in or out, and every time someone tried to check it out, they didn’t come back."

"Zombies?" Mike asked, not entirely joking.

"Maybe. Or something worse," Tessa replied. "Whatever it is, we don’t trust it. We make do out here."

Zara exchanged a look with Winter. A flicker of interest crossed his face, but he said nothing.

Tessa shifted her stance, chin raised. "You wanted info. That’s what I’ve got."

The rest of the trade was tense. Mike and Sam handled it. Zara kept watch. Tessa stayed back, tending the man with the dislocated shoulder.

Goods changed hands. The edge dulled. Slightly.

"You can stay," Tessa said. "But you pay if you do. Daily. Supplies, labor, or both. That’s the rule."

A pause.

Then Marcus muttered, "Do we get a stamp card? Ten fees and the next one’s free?"

Tessa turned. Winter tensed.

Zara raised a hand. "We’ll consider it."

That was enough. Tessa turned. Her people vanished into the trees.

Only the crunch of leaves and a trail of unease remained.

No one spoke.

"Well," Mike muttered. "That was fun. Can we leave now?"

"They know the roads," Naomi said. "Even if we go—they’ll follow."

"They’ll expect us to stay," Zara added. "Might buy us time."

"Or get us boxed in," Sam said. "They’ve got the terrain."

"We can’t run forever," Richard murmured. He glanced down at Leo, fast asleep. "The kids need the rest."

A beat.

"One night," Zara said. "Then we move."

No one argued.

That evening, the fire burned low. The hollow felt quieter, like the land was listening.

Zara sat near the flames, Leo curled in a blanket nearby. She hugged her knees, watching the glow.

Winter dropped beside her with a tired groan.

"He okay?" he asked, nodding toward Leo.

"Sleeping. Only time he’s not asking about pancakes."

Winter gave a soft chuckle.

Zara didn’t smile.

"He’s growing up in this," she said. "In ash and fear. The longer he lives in it, the more of the normal times he’ll forget."

Winter’s voice was low. Steady. "Then we keep giving him something good to carry. You. Me."

Zara looked at him, eyes shining faintly in the firelight.

He brushed his fingers against her knee. "Come sit with me."

Zara gave a soft snort. "I am sitting."

He nudged her shoulder. "Closer."

She leaned in. Her head brushed his arm. Neither of them moved after that.

Across camp, the others were bedding down. Sam muttered about stamp cards. Naomi pulled a tarp over Lila and Aren. Mike curled up using his jacket as a pillow, one boot still on.

Eventually, Winter stood. Brushed Zara’s shoulder. "I’ll take second watch."

"Wake me if you get tired."

"I won’t."

She didn’t press. Just nodded. Let him go.

*****

Later that night, Winter couldn’t sleep.

The stars were faint through the canopy. He sat at the edge of the hollow, rifle across his lap, one hand resting on the barrel. Every sound made him twitch—a breeze, a twig snap, the rustle of something too large.

He didn’t know if it was the shadow in the woods or Tessa’s threats still echoing, but his mind wouldn’t still. They were running on borrowed time. And there were kids now—tiny hearts trying to grow in a world that didn’t care.

He exhaled. The cold bit deep.

Boots crunched on ash behind him.

Zara.

She didn’t speak. Just sat beside him and draped a blanket over both their shoulders like it was nothing.

She handed him a tin mug.

"Chamomile," she murmured. "Don’t ask how many times we’ve used the bag."

He took it. "Thanks."

Silence settled between them. The woods held its breath.

Winter stared into the trees. "You think we did the right thing?"

Zara didn’t answer right away.

"We didn’t shoot," she said. "That counts."

He huffed a dry sound. "Some days, surviving’s the easy part. It’s what comes after that’s hell."

Zara leaned into him. "We keep the kids warm. Feed who we can. Don’t become monsters."

He looked at her. He had a lot of things he could say to counter that.

"You’re not a monster," she said quietly.

He didn’t argue, but his shoulders eased.

They sat like that for a while. No confessions. No firelight epiphanies. Just breath. Cold. Night.

Eventually, she reached for his hand.

He held on.

For everything.