18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

The dust storm was still raging outside, but it had calmed down a bit at least the Humvee wasn't getting tossed around anymore. The wind was still fierce, though, pelting the vehicle's windows with relentless thuds of sand and gravel. Everywhere Stella looked, all she could see was an endless sea of yellow sand, battering everything in its path like it wanted to crush the world beneath it. Even pressing her face against the glass or using her night-vision goggles, she couldn't see anything but the swirling maelstrom outside.

"Bang!"

Something heavy hit the windshield, and from the shape of it, it looked like a person caught in the storm. But before Stella could get a good look, the figure was swept away again.

A smear of blood was left on the glass, quickly covered by the relentless sand. The bulletproof window was tough, but even it couldn't withstand the constant barrage of sand and debris forever. Scratches were beginning to show, and if she waited much longer, it would shatter.

Frustrated and anxious, Stella retreated back to Arcadia.

After a couple of hours, she ventured out again, her heart heavy with hope that was quickly extinguished by the unforgiving sand. It felt like her hope had been plunged into an icy abyss.

The wind had died down a bit, so Stella decided to wait it out in the Humvee. She couldn't see outside, but what if Jasper managed to find his way to her? What if he saw the Humvee was gone and went searching for her?

The inside of the vehicle was dim and shadowy, wrapped in a sandy cloak. Stella turned on the headlights and high beams, hoping they would guide him. After all, in a storm like this, she was probably the only one with lights on.

But after waiting for hours, Jasper still hadn't shown up, and the sand had buried half the tires. Waiting any longer would make it impossible to open the doors, yet the storm showed no signs of stopping.

Stella held her ground, like a lonely lighthouse in a storm. Night fell, and the world outside was a void of darkness, with the violent dance of sand and wind continuing its relentless assault.

Stella nibbled on some food, but her injuries throbbed with pain despite the medication, and her forehead was burning with fever. Listening to the relentless howl of the wind, her consciousness began to fade, and she had no choice but to retreat to Arcadia once more. Descending from the vehicle, her legs buckled, nearly sending her crashing to the ground. She clutched at the world spinning around her, and the next thing she knew, she was collapsed on her bed, unconscious.

When she awoke, time seemed to have lost all meaning. Her throat was parched and burning, and she felt as if she had been trapped in a nightmare. In the dream, she had lost Jasper in the dust storm, unable to hold onto him as he was swept away. Cooper was gone. Rosie, too. No matter how desperately she searched the endless sea of sand, there was no trace of them.

Stella fixed her gaze on the ceiling, waiting for the spinning sensation to fade before she could fully comprehend that this wasn't just a bad dream. Struggling to sit up, she managed to eat a couple of bowls of porridge and continued with her medication. The fever subsided somewhat, but her wrists were swollen and unsightly. She disinfected the wounds, applied ointment, and with painkillers and fever reducers taking effect, Stella felt considerably better.

Checking the floating holographic clock in the living room, she realized she had been out for two whole days. Two days and nights; the dust storm must have passed. Feeling weak, she forced herself to eat high-protein, high-calorie food and decided to go out once more. If the storm had stopped, there might be survivors.

Donning her military boots and coat, she didn't forget to apply the privacy film to her helmet to avoid recognition, and with two loaded pistols, she stepped out of Arcadia. The sand was soft under her feet, the wind still strong but manageable. She braced herself, scanning the vast nothingness that was barely visible beyond a few meters. What kind of storm was this?

Back in Arcadia, Stella's unease grew. She had the refuge of Arcadia, but if Jasper was injured, could he survive this? Their emergency kits were always with them, but whether they had been blown away was uncertain. Inside were medicines, compressed biscuits, and water, but not much.

Stella sat on the sofa, staring blankly at the ticking hologram. She set an alarm to venture out every five hours. The first day... The second day... Until the seventh day of the dust storm, when it finally seemed to calm. Visibility improved to about five meters, the wind easing, though the sand still danced wildly.

The wound on her forehead was healing well, her wrists still ached from the bruising but were no longer swollen. The streets were buried, cars either blown away or buried beneath the sand. Her feet sank into the soft ground. Stella scoured the area several times but found no sign of Jasper or the dog.

Heading towards the mountains near Lincoln that provided shelter from the storm, Stella found the wind and sand less severe there. Assuring herself she was alone, she retrieved the Humvee and sat inside, waiting. Afraid to miss anything, she didn't return to Arcadia but held her vigil in the car. As night fell, she dozed off.

She dreamt fitfully of voices calling her, only to wake to emptiness. If she had never met Cooper, never fallen for Jasper, she could've survived on her own. But now, it felt impossible. Feeling ill again, Stella curled up, her body aching.

"Boss, looks like there's a car over there."

"Shh," the leader silenced his group with a look, pulling out the baseball bat tucked at his waist.

With the storm this big, the roads being devoured, cars were either buried or clogged with sand. How did this one make it to the base of the mountain and rest atop the sand? Judging by how much the wheels were buried, it hadn't been there for more than a day. Only someone really capable could manage this. A Humvee, a veritable post-apocalyptic chariot-it had to be theirs.

A skinny young man in his early twenties whispered, "Boss, something feels off."

The boss, puzzled, responded, "What's off?"

"How did the car get here?"

"And how do you think it got here?"

The young man, shockingly, suggested, "Could it be Arcadia?"

The boss was baffled by the suggestion. "What's Arcadia?"

Before the calamity, the young man was just a teenager, a deep fan of novels of all kinds, especially those with colorful themes or harem elements. He tried to explain what Arcadia was to his leader.

"You sure your head's right?" The boss was skeptical; nearly nine years into the apocalypse, and the young man's delusions persisted. Letting imagination run wild, the boss figured they'd know the truth soon enough after capturing the car's occupant.

Jimmy flashed a series of hand signals to his crew-a motley band of seven or eight brothers-in-arms. The plan was simple: surround the target and flush them out. If it turned out to be a dame, they'd have themselves a bit of raucous fun. But if it was a dude, well, they'd have their fun all the same!

Scoring a car was just the cherry on top. After they'd had their fill of thrills, they could ditch the stiff and still have enough to keep them eating high on the hog for a few days.

The prize was ripe for the taking. The gang, eager as a pack of wolves on the prowl, gripped their makeshift weapons and closed in...