Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 118: Meeting the President’s Daughter

Althea Cruz sat by the window, dressed in clean Overwatch-issued fatigues that had been tailored down to fit her frame. The fabric still looked too crisp, too sterile, compared to the dust-caked days she'd survived in the field. Her brown hair, freshly washed, framed her face in soft waves that hung just past her shoulders. It still held a hint of tangling from the road, but she wore it naturally—no fuss, no vanity. Her features were striking—sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, a calm expression that belied her youth. At eighteen, she was beautiful, but there was a steel in her gaze that made her seem older.

She looked up as Thomas stepped into the room again, this time without the usual folders or digital tablets in hand. The guards outside the door remained silent. It was just the two of them now.

Thomas sat across from her, folding his hands on his lap.

"Althea," he began, "you said your mother didn't make it out of Malacañang."

She nodded once, her expression unchanged. "She stayed behind. There were too many civilians inside the Palace. She told Major Torres to evacuate us while she coordinated the last defense."

Thomas exhaled slowly. "Do you know if she made it to the bunker under the complex?"

"We never heard back," she said quietly. "When we left through the Pasig tunnel, we were already under fire. There were fires everywhere. Last I saw her, she was still at the top steps, giving orders. She… she knew she wasn't coming."

Thomas studied her. There was grief there—deep, quiet—but it wasn't breaking through yet. Not in front of strangers.

"What happened after you escaped?"

"We moved south. Avoided the major roads. Hooked up with a platoon retreating from Fort Bonifacio. Half of them were sick. They didn't make it past Laguna. We stayed low after that. Never stopped for more than a night. Juliet-4 was the last place we thought was safe." She looked down. "It wasn't."

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Thomas leaned back. "How many of you made it out from there?"

"Just us. The rest were either dead or turned."

There was a pause. Then he asked carefully, "Was there any plan? Any designated fallback site? A government continuity bunker? Something?"

Althea shook her head. "There was a plan. Project SARA. Safezone for Administrative Resettlement and Authority. I overheard it in one of the security briefings weeks before the outbreak started. But it wasn't complete. Funding was cut. Too many in Congress called it paranoia. Believing that they can contain the spread of the virus easily, turns out they were wrong."

"Well good thing that we have this facility. But don't be mistaken, this facility is under my control, not the government. You'll be safe here."

Althea nodded silently.

"Now for the second question. Do you know if anyone else from the cabinet or the Senate made it out?"

She shook her head. "After Malacañang fell, I didn't hear anything. The National Disaster Council had some encrypted broadcasts going for a while—somewhere in Samar, I think—but those stopped too."

Thomas let out a breath through his nose. "So no chain of command. No formal line of succession."

"You were hoping I had a plan to restore the government?" she asked with a ghost of a smile.

"I was hoping for anything that would give the people something to believe in," Thomas replied. "Right now, we're just trying to survive. But morale matters."

Althea looked out the window. "I'm not my mother."

"No one is asking you to be."

"But if you're keeping me here," she said, "eventually they'll want something from me. The people. Your soldiers. The press, if we ever have one again."

"Well, the press here is not the press you were accustomed to in the normal world. The press simply makes announcements on what happens outside and what changes inside."

"Is that so?" Althea chuckled. "World's has changed a lot."

"Right now, I just want to make sure you're safe."

There was a beat of silence.

Then she said, "So we're safe here?"

"As safe as anywhere can be," he replied. "We got everything a human needs to survive."

"Is that so? Then take you for taking us in...I thought we were going to die back there," Althea said, her voice softening.

Thomas nodded slowly. "You weren't the only one who thought that. A lot of people don't make it this far. The fact that you did, and kept that kid alive along the way—that means something."

Althea glanced at the corner of the room, where her small duffel sat folded under the cot. Her whole life now fit inside a bag.

"I just kept moving," she murmured. "Didn't think much. One foot in front of the other. Torres did the hard part. I just followed."

Thomas leaned back in his chair. "That's leadership, you know. Knowing when to follow, when to survive. A lot of people with rank and medals didn't make it because they didn't understand that."

Althea gave a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You sound like my mother."

"She was a fighter," Thomas said. "I never met her, but I knew her name before the outbreak. Tough woman. Didn't bend easy."

"No," Althea said quietly. "She didn't."

Thomas stood and straightened his jacket. "You don't have to decide anything now. Just eat, rest, and stay out of politics for as long as you need. We've got your room, food, and full security."

"And what happens if someone finds out who I am?" she asked.

"They won't," Thomas said. "Not until you say so."

He stepped toward the door, but paused.

"Tomorrow morning, we'll run a full medical scan. Just precaution. After that, you'll get to meet some of the civilians here—ones your age. We're building a future here, Althea. It's slow, but it's real."

She nodded again, more firmly this time. "Alright."

Thomas gave a final glance, then stepped out.

Althea turned back to the window, her reflection faint in the glass.

Still here.

Still standing.

Thomas paused just outside the door, then stepped back in briefly.

"One last thing," he said. "Do you need anything? Food? Supplies? Anything to make this easier?"

Althea turned her head toward him, thoughtful.

"A toothbrush," she said dryly. "One that hasn't been used as a weapon."

Thomas chuckled. "We can manage that."

"And maybe," she added more seriously, "a notebook. I'd like to write things down. Before I forget them."

He nodded. "Consider it done."

She gave him a faint smile—tired, but real.

Thomas stepped out for the last time, quietly pulling the door closed behind him. Down the hall, he motioned to a nearby Shadow.

"Get her what she asked for. Everything."