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Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son

You’d think seeing the future would give me a head start on surviving the apocalypse. I had it all planned—until everything I knew shattered when my husband sacrificed himself to save me and our son. Now it’s just me, my three-year-old son Leo, and my cursed gift of foresight that only seems to kick in when it’s nearly too late. I’m doing my best to keep us safe, to find food, to make some kind of plan— “Mommy?” I glance down, trying to ignore the tug on my pant leg as I focus on our supplies. “Not now, Leo. Mommy’s thinking.” “Mommy!” I sigh and finally look down. My three-year-old is standing there, clutching… I blink. “Leo, where did you get a knife?” He shrugs, grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My heart stutters. “No, really. Where did you find that?” I try not to laugh. I mean, he’s three. Maybe he just—found it somewhere? But the next day, it’s a water bottle. Then, a tiny flashlight, somehow with batteries still inside. I don’t even know what else; he’s pulling things out one by one with the pleased grin of a kid who’s just figured out his favorite game. Well, we may just survive this mess after all. Now, if only the universe could have spared me from him. I don’t even know his name, but I know his type: tall, broad, and annoyingly handsome, with an air of calm control that’s out of place in this chaos. Ex-military, if I had to guess, with a voice that’s just as infuriating as his smirk. The man has a habit of showing up at the worst—or best—possible times, with a gun at the ready and secrets buried as deep as those bright green eyes. I mean, he’s probably useful, but I’m trying to keep my eyes on the prize here: survival. For Leo and me. Because, foresight or no foresight, nothing is guaranteed in this new world—except the fact that people like him are trouble.

QuillMistress · Ficção Científica
Classificações insuficientes
60 Chs

14: The World Never Stops

The air inside the makeshift shelter was thick with the raw smell of sweat and blood. Zara let herself sink against the cold, chipped wall, dragging the back of her arm across her brow to wipe away the grime caked there.

Her chest heaved, but she kept her eyes on the ground, unwilling to meet this stranger's steely gaze. The quiet stretched between them, charged and prickling.

Calculate us both to death, why don't you," she spat, breaking the silence. Her voice was sharp, edged with the frayed tension from the escape.

Winter didn't even look up.

"Only reason we're here," he said, his voice as cold as the concrete beneath their feet, "is because I kept my head."

Zara scoffed, folding her arms. "Kept your head? If I remember correctly, I saved you two times. You nearly got us killed!"  

"That's not how I remember it,"