Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son-Chapter 228

The truck had been moving for hours.

Its tires ground relentlessly over the fractured road, kicking up dust that caught in the twisted light. On either side, the world rolled by in shades of ruin—skeletal trees blackened by ash, fields overgrown with brittle weeds, and the scorched bones of towns that hadn’t stood a chance. The sun, or what passed for it, hovered unnaturally high in the sky, refusing to set. It glared down like an open wound, bleeding light that had long stopped warming anything.

Inside, the silence was heavier than usual.

Zara sat near the back of the truck bed, one leg curled beneath her, the other stretched out as she rubbed at her calf. Her boots were dust-covered, scuffed to hell. Leo lay across her lap, half-asleep, thumb stuck in his mouth. She smoothed a hand over his hair automatically, eyes flickering from him to the horizon.

Beside her, Winter had his arms folded, jaw tight, eyes watching the road ahead like it might reach up and swallow them.

"I think she’s heating again," Mike called from the front. He was hunched over the dashboard, fingers tapping a gauge that kept flickering.

"Pull over," Zara said immediately.

Mike obeyed, maneuvering them off the main road onto the cracked lot of what had once been a gas station—its pumps twisted like broken limbs, signs dangling by threads of rusted metal. The concrete was stained with time and something darker. Blood, maybe. Oil. No one looked too closely anymore.

The truck rumbled to a halt. A tired hiss of hydraulics. The solar indicator blinked amber. They needed to cool the engine, rotate the solar batteries, and check the filters before pushing further.

Everyone moved like molasses. Shoulders sagging. Arms dragging. Even Leo stirred only to burrow deeper into Zara’s stomach.

"You good?" Winter asked her softly, nodding at Leo and the shadows beneath her eyes.

"Ask me again when I’ve had sleep that didn’t come with creaking bones and nightmares," she said, exhaling.

He gave a short huff that might’ve been a laugh.

They got to work.

Marcus and Miles hopped out first, unloading storage crates from the back. Ima and Naomi took the kids toward a shaded corner, herding them like delicate sheep, voices low but steady. Richard, still recovering from his injury, stayed propped against the inner wall of the truck, keeping watch through the rear slit.

Winter and Zara moved in sync—checking their meager supplies, rotating the solar panels on the roof. The air was hotter here. Thinner. A constant dry wind rattled what was left of the buildings nearby, sending plastic bags and scraps of paper swirling in lazy loops.

"Feels like we’re being watched," Ima murmured, glancing over her shoulder.

"You always say that," Marcus said, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

"Doesn’t mean it’s not true," she replied, adjusting the strap on her machete.

Miles climbed up onto the roof of the truck and adjusted the solar mounts.

"Damn sun’s not even moving," he grumbled.

"It will," Mike replied, wiping sweat from his neck. "Just not when we want it to."

Zara knelt beside a storage crate, inspecting a container of water and pulling out a wrapped protein bar for Leo. The boy, now sitting cross-legged with Lila and Aren, looked up, bright-eyed.

"Mama, look!"

She turned—and paused.

Leo was pointing upward, one small finger stretched to the horizon.

"There’s two moons!"

Everyone’s heads turned.

High above, barely visible against the ashen sky, were two pale orbs. One familiar and silver. The other dimmer. Red-tinged. Out of place.

A breath caught in Zara’s throat. Not fear. Not even surprise. Just... awe. And dread.

Mike shaded his eyes. "That’s new."

"It’s not a moon," Winter muttered. "It’s the orb. The one that’s been hovering over the mist zones. It must’ve shifted position."

"Or grown," Marcus added grimly.

Leo frowned. "It’s watching us?"

Zara knelt beside him. "No, baby. Just... floating. Like a balloon."

Leo didn’t seem convinced.

Naomi watched the orb with narrowed eyes. "It feels closer," she said. "Like it’s not just in the sky but... leaning in."

A silence settled again, broken only by the dry wind and occasional creak of broken signs swaying in the distance.

Miles emerged from the truck, lugging the old comm radio they’d rigged weeks ago. He set it on the truck bed, fiddled with knobs and dials.

"Still trying?" Naomi asked, settling beside him.

"Always," he muttered. "It’s half-dead, but it’s got reach."

Winter helped him resecure the antenna with a length of twisted copper wire. Every bit mattered now. If the signal bounced at the right angle off the haze overhead, they could catch fragments. A code. A scream. Something.

Minutes passed.

The group rotated through their chores. Cleaned filters. Sharpened tools. Unwrapped a few snack rations. The sky continued to hang strange and quiet above them.

Then—static.

The radio hissed.

Everyone froze.

Miles leaned in. His hand hovered over the dials, then slowly increased the volume.

The static warped, thickening with a strange clicking sound beneath it—like a heartbeat over wires. Then, a voice.

"...north... twenty-two point... safe... do not... facility... repeat..."

The voice was ragged. Glitched. But real.

Then, coordinates flashed briefly on the digital readout—faint green numbers flickering against dust-covered plastic.

And then—silence.

No one breathed.

"Play that again," Naomi said quickly, standing straight.

"I can’t," Miles muttered. "It was live. Not a loop. The signal’s gone."

"But it said something. A facility? Safe?" Ima pressed.

"It also said ’do not’," Naomi countered. "That could mean anything."

"Could be bait," Marcus said. "Could be someone luring survivors."

"It didn’t sound like a trap," Mike said. "It sounded... desperate."

Miles nodded. "And it came through clean. Not garbled. Not distorted by mist interference. Whatever sent that, it’s real. And it’s not far."

Naomi crossed her arms. "Or it’s dead already. Could’ve been an old recording that finally bounced right."

"We don’t know that," Zara finally said. Her voice was quiet, but carried. "We don’t know what it was. But it’s the first thing we’ve heard that isn’t screaming, gunfire, or radio silence."

Winter looked at her, waiting.

She was staring at the horizon, jaw set.

Zara stood abruptly. "I need a minute."

She walked to the edge of the lot, past the broken skeleton of an old truck, and leaned against a rusted pole. The sky above her shifted slightly, both moons—or orbs—hanging like gods that refused to explain themselves.

She folded her arms, trying to slow her breathing. This could be real. Or it could be another trap. What if she led them to more death?

She closed her eyes.

What if I get us killed again?

Behind her, footsteps. Soft. Familiar.

"Hey."

Winter’s voice was soft. She didn’t turn right away.

He came to stand beside her, hands in his pockets. Not touching. Not pushing.

"You’re thinking too loud again," he said after a pause.

Zara let out a slow breath. "I just—what if I’m wrong? What if this is another dead end? Another disaster?"

"It might be," he said simply. "But we’ve got a direction now. Even if it’s just a shadow."

She turned to look at him then. His eyes were steady. Certain. A fixed point in the chaos.

Zara nodded slowly.

"Okay," she said.

They walked back to the group together.

"We follow it," Zara said. "First light tomorrow."

Naomi looked like she wanted to argue—but instead, she nodded.

That night, they did what survivors always did: they prepared. Checked fuel levels. Rebalanced loads. Sorted rations. Mike tested the solar wires. Miles tried to coax the radio back into catching more fragments. The kids were fed and laid down on cushioned crates, blankets tucked around them.

Zara watched as the kids settled under blankets, the faint hum of the truck a lullaby against the brittle silence of night. From the corner, Leo stirred, blinking sleepily.

"Mommy," he whispered, voice muffled by fabric. "Will the new place have trees? The green kind?"

Zara smoothed back his curls and smiled faintly. "Maybe," she murmured. "Maybe even birds."

Winter glanced at her, then leaned close with a crooked grin. "Next, he’ll be asking for ice cream."

Zara chuckled. "Wouldn’t blame him."

Leo fell asleep curled around Zara’s scarf, little chest rising and falling in peace none of them felt.

Night fell—but the sky never fully darkened. The red orb still hung low, casting long, uneasy shadows.

Later, Zara and Winter stood at the back of the truck. The false moonlight shimmered across the cracked pavement and ruins beyond. It should’ve felt eerie.

But it didn’t.

Zara leaned her head against Winter’s shoulder.

"I never imagined having this again," she whispered. "A family. Safety. Even if it’s temporary."

"I don’t care how temporary it is," Winter said. "It’s ours."

He kissed the top of her head. No fireworks. Just steady, solid love.

They stood there a while longer—quiet, tired, together—before slipping back into the truck to rest.

Tomorrow, they’d follow a ghost.

But tonight, they had each other.