18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Rosie had been studying under Stella for a few years and had picked up some medical know-how. She figured her sudden blindness was due to nerve damage. The relentless sandstorm howled, filling her ears and nose with grit. Pebbles, whipped up by the storm, pelted her body, each impact making her gasp in pain. She couldn't even open her mouth to scream. All she could do was crawl, groping blindly across the ground.

No matter how desperately she felt around, she couldn't find her brother or their vehicle. Everything had vanished in the chaos of the storm.

Uncertain of her location, her immediate priority was to find shelter from the unrelenting sandstorm.

With her sight stolen, Rosie relied solely on touch as she inched her way through the storm, unable to stand for fear of being swept away or struck down by flying debris.

By a stroke of luck, after hours of crawling, she found herself at the base of a hill.

The hill faced the brunt of the wind, so Rosie cautiously made her way around to its sheltered side for some respite.

Along her path, she stumbled upon several people, though she couldn't tell if they were dead or alive. They didn't move, either way.

Luckily, the first aid kit she carried was still strapped to her, not lost to the storm.

After spitting out the sand from her mouth, Rosie unscrewed the cap of a water bottle, sipping just enough to moisten her parched throat. She tore open a packet of emergency rations - a compact, high-calorie bar that tasted worse than stale bread - but she consumed every crumb without wasting any.

She rationed her water and food meticulously, just like her brother had instructed.

The first aid kit contained medicine, and even though she couldn't see, she identified each pill by its shape and packaging. Stella had made her memorize what to take and how much, depending on the injury.

After taking her medicine, Rosie clutched a small knife and rested. The roar of the storm was the only sound in her ears.

As time passed, the air grew colder. It must have been nightfall, she thought, as she wrapped herself in a blanket from the first aid kit.

The pain persisted, and fever seemed to be setting in. Her lips were cracked, her throat burned as if on fire.

She had no idea when the storm would end, and her blindness - caused by nerve compression - wasn't something that would be fixed in a day or two. She dared not drink too much water, just enough to stave off the thirst.

The cold bit deeper, and her body curled instinctively for warmth.

Voices seemed to call out to her in the darkness - her brother, Stella, and Cooper's. But when she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but blackness and felt a thick layer of sand covering her.

The fever ebbed and flowed; she continued taking pills to fight it off.

In the pitch darkness, memories of a long-forgotten childhood surfaced. Her cousin had taunted her for being an orphan and eating for free. Crying, she had pushed him, and her uncle had locked her in a storage room without food or water for a day and a night until she apologized. Her cousin had even spit on her face.

Since then, she had feared the darkness, a fear she thought she had overcome, but the memories now returned with vivid clarity.

When would the storm cease? She longed for her brother, Stella, and Cooper.

One day passed, then two, then three...

The first aid kit had only three bottles of water. With fever raging for days, even the most sparing sips couldn't make it last.

There were still two ration bars left, but her throat was so scorched that swallowing was agony.

Time became a blur for Rosie. Her vision faintly began to return, but hunger and thirst clouded her consciousness, and the storm showed no signs of stopping.

In her delirium, she returned to her childhood, to the days when her parents held her high with joy.

As her awareness faded, Rosie curled up even tighter, murmuring, "Brother... Stella..."

When she awoke, she found herself in a cave.

She had never experienced this before, but her brother and Stella had told her stories. She must have been captured by some local gang.

Rosie knew all too well what happened to girls who were captured: first they were playthings, then they became food.

Her vision was still poor, and the days in the storm without proper treatment had left her eyes red and swollen.

Feeling herself, she realized her first aid kit was gone, along with her gun and knife. However, the small blade she had tied to her thigh was still there.

Without a clear understanding of her circumstances, Rosie dared not make a move.

After some time, several women were thrown into the cave alongside her.

The men spoke with vulgar words, and many bore scars from acid rain, their faces a grim reflection of the hellish world outside.

Five women were tossed in, but the men seemed to have other matters to attend to and locked the door as they left.

Rosie could barely see their faces, but she was certain Stella wasn't among them. She closed her eyes to rest and conserve energy.

The cave was silent, save for the occasional cries and panicked whispers of the women as they regained consciousness.

One woman slowly sat up, surveying the surroundings with a detached gaze.

Feeling eyes on her, Rosie cracked her lids open slightly, surprised but quickly regaining her composure. The other woman did the same, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she gently nudged the person beside her who was still unconscious. Hours passed, and a few men entered, appraising the women they had captured over the past two days. Their eyes gleamed with avarice as they picked out those who still had flesh on their bones, ignoring the emaciated ones as unworthy.

The storm had been a blessing in disguise, delivering not only supplies but also a group of women with a hint of their former wealth and beauty. It had been ages since they had seen women so delicate and well-kept.

Especially one they had found the day before, so young and innocent-looking; she was surely untouched.

The anticipation for the night was palpable.

A fist pounded on the door, and a coarse voice barked, "You lot, come out."

With a wave of his hand, he singled out several women, including Rosie.

Staggering to her feet, Rosie tried to stand but collapsed again, whispering, "Water... please... water..."

One of the men moved to kick her, but seeing her pale, convulsing form, he hesitated. She was the youngest and prettiest - a prize for the boss, who would be pleased. She couldn't die, not yet.

He motioned to two other women, "You two, help her up."

Trembling, the women lifted the fainting Rosie. One spoke up, "She seems ill, burning up. Maybe give her some water?"

The others joined in, their voices blending in a chorus of desperation, "Yes, please... we're all dying of thirst, just a bit of water and food, please."

The man shouted, "Shut it, or I'll beat you!"

The women supporting Rosie spoke again, "What if she dies?"

The man ordered them out and left another in charge while he went to report to his superior.

"Boss, this batch ain't bad, all pampered types, probably never knew hardship before the storm hit. They're wilting like sickly hens, can't handle rough treatment. How about we give them some food and water?" Otherwise, he feared they wouldn't survive the night.

They were valuable merchandise, meant to be enjoyed slowly.

The one called boss pondered for a moment before smirking, "Feed them, but just enough to keep them hungry, don't fill them up - four-fifths should do."

With the order given, the underling hurried to make arrangements...