18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

The ocean breeze started picking up, and thinking about squeezing into those cramped life rafts, the two who were already uneasy decided to stretch out on the deck, making the most of their freedom while they still could. "Look, a bat!" Rosie shouted as a huge creature suddenly burst out of the sea.

Jasper squinted into the distance and saw a large marine animal with a white belly and dark back gliding just above the water. He turned to his sister, "That's a manta ray. Some of them can weigh thousands of pounds. They've been around for over a hundred million years, like living fossils of the ocean..."

Rosie quickly grabbed her phone to snap some pictures.

Stella scanned the horizon with her binoculars and spotted a flotilla of sailboats about 3 nautical miles away.

But these weren't your typical sailboats; they were handmade rafts, crafted from massive logs tied together, complete with masts and sails to catch the wind.

The rafts had makeshift houses on them, loaded with all sorts of supplies.

Too far away to see clearly, it was hard to tell if the people on board were elites or indigenous folk, their skin darkened by the sun to the point of being indistinguishable.

There seemed to be dozens of them, likely living at sea for quite some time, their faces and limbs peeling from sunburn.

Stella observed closely and didn't spot any women or children, just strong men armed to the teeth with weapons like knives, guns, axes, pitchforks, and spears. They didn't look like the kind you'd want to mess with.

"Don't test humanity in an apocalypse," she thought. "It could end badly."

Handing the binoculars to Jasper, Stella said, "They might be heading our way."

After a look, Jasper suggested, "Should we steer clear?"

"Land's submerged, borders are gone. It's one big global family now," Stella replied with no desire for conflict, "Yeah, let's avoid them."

Under Mr. Howe's guidance, the novice sailor Stella took the helm of the yacht and made a sharp 90-degree turn, steering clear about 10 nautical miles, only stopping when they were sure there was no threat within the binoculars' reach. As night fell, the waves grew stronger, and the yacht began to rock like a cradle, lulling its four "babies" on board.

Rocking to grandmother's bridge was impossible, but it sure made it hard to sleep. What if a rogue wave hit in the middle of the night?

Decisive as always, Stella switched gears, upgrading the yacht to a cruise ship. The weight difference was clear; the stability was such that it hardly rocked at all now.

Rosie had just fallen asleep and was astonished to find herself aboard a cruise ship when she woke up.

It was huge, even bigger than what she'd seen on TV.

She was terrified, but stubbornly refused to ask questions - she'd rather die than show her fear!

Cooper, on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber; his owner had already brought him up to play.

On the deck was a swimming pool. "Should we take a few laps to digest?" Stella pondered, but she wasn't one to indulge such whims. How much fresh water would it take to fill such a large pool?

The deck was filled with planter boxes, perfect to keep themselves occupied.

Over the years, Rosie had become not just a meatball specialist and skillet queen but also quite the gardener.

She and Cooper got busy with the soil, planting seeds and watering them, their activity a picture of contentment.

Indeed, having tasks keeps the spirit alive - even Cooper agreed, engaging in parkour on the cruise ship, pestering the trainer to set up the ropes.

He would leap three meters high, biting onto the rope and swinging in midair, billowing in the sea breeze.

In addition to gardening, Rosie also fancied raising poultry, but her brother disagreed, "The sea's too dangerous. What if they get out and are eaten by fish?"

It wasn't the fish he was worried about; Stella wouldn't have it.

Though Arcadia had stocked up on fertilized eggs, life at sea was a gamble every day. How could one attend to poultry when at any moment, one might need to switch escape modes? You can hardly take chickens and ducks with you in a life raft, can you? Just thinking about the mess made her queasy.

Looking up, Stella saw a fighter jet streaking across the sky, trailing a plume of thick black smoke.

The light gray jet twisted and turned in the air, revealing a bright red star on its underside.

Back at home, the sight wouldn't have stirred much in Stella, but adrift with no destination, the twirling red star wrung her heart.

The jet was flying too low, emitting thick smoke - a sign of a fatal malfunction.

The vast ocean offered no place to land.

Stella's gaze followed the plummeting plane as a figure suddenly ejected, falling rapidly before a parachute deployed.

The jet continued to spiral downward, trailing circles of smoke before crashing heavily into the sea far away.

She quickly observed through her binoculars: the nose of the plane plunged first, and due to its high velocity, it was submerged at an alarming rate.

From its descent to the complete disappearance of its tail fin, it took merely two minutes.

Stella redirected her attention to the sky, searching for the parachutist.

Oh boy, the jumper was drifting towards her cruise ship!

Despite the figure being clad in a pilot's uniform, Stella, exercising caution, drew her gun.

50 meters... 30 meters... 20 meters... 10 meters...

The massive parachute landed, the man sprinting on the deck, trying to control his momentum. But after just a few steps, he collapsed.

His body was shrouded by the parachute, and Stella thought he'd lost his footing. However, there was no movement for quite some time. Jasper, alerted by the noise, arrived with Rosie and Cooper. They gawked at the scene in astonishment. "What happened?" Stella recounted the events.

Jasper, donning a bulletproof vest and armed, approached cautiously.

Stella helped to untangle the cumbersome parachute, revealing a man in his thirties, unconscious.

His face was pale, sweat beads the size of beans glistened, his hand clutching his chest as he struggled to breathe.

It was bad - a heart attack.

Stella had Jasper keep watch with the gun while she turned the man over, lying him flat to administer first aid.

First chest compressions, then mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

But his condition was severe, and he soon developed ventricular fibrillation.

VFib could lead to sudden death; it was a tricky situation for resuscitation.

She remembered having a defibrillator among the medical equipment in one of the containers, and she had recently studied the manual.

Since they couldn't practice on Jasper as they would on Snowy, now they had to hope for the best.

Jasper carried the man into a room, and Stella shut the door behind them, keeping the animals out.

She grabbed the defibrillator and connected it to the power supply, then stripped the man's shirt...

The first shock made the man's body jolt, and Stella almost jumped herself. But thankfully, she steadied quickly and proceeded with the second, then the third shock...

Stella did everything she could, but the vital signs weren't promising.

The sudden heart attack, coupled with the effort of controlling the plane and the parachute, meant they had missed the golden hour for treatment.

She stopped the defibrillation, but it seemed he was holding on to something, his vital signs neither improving nor worsening.

Stella didn't cut off his oxygen.

Minutes later, the man's eyes fluttered open with difficulty.

"How do you feel?" Jasper asked.

Hearing the familiar tongue, the man's eyes lit up with recognition. Sensing that time was not on his side, he cut straight to the chase and said, "I'm a pilot from East Base, call sign 92298..."