18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Monkey was quick on his feet, topping up everyone's plates with generous servings. Without the usual spicy hotpot base, Bran simply mixed his seasonings into his bowl of rice and couldn't help but praise, "Mmm, sis, everything you make is just delicious." The flattery was so thick it set off alarm bells for Monkey. This was his only sister, after all. Not to be outdone, Monkey chimed in, "Of course, sis's cooking is top-notch, and her medical skills are out of this world - she's the reason our family looks so good." Stella rolled her eyes at the two of them. "Rosie made it."

Bran flashed a toothy grin and wolfed down his meal. Monkey made sure to slip some extra slices of meat onto his wife and son's plates. The two most precious people in his life sang Rosie's praises in unison, "Brilliant, fantastic, simply top-notch!" Rosie blushed, her eyes curling into crescent moons. They all gathered around the table, looking for a good time and avoiding any memories that might bring on the blues, focusing instead on the present and future.

After several work-related injuries at the hospital, Stella casually reminded Bran, "I don't want to be stitching you up one day. Be careful at work."

Bran shoveled in another mouthful. "Sis, neither do I, but these days oil is more precious than life. We're saving it for the big lifts. Anything we can handle without it, we have to."

"You should've seen the number of ships docked lately, jets grounded unless absolutely necessary. Oil is the lifeblood of industry. If the base wants to reclaim its glory, we're going to have to strike oil."

Despite their best efforts, the remnants of industrial civilization were but a drop in the bucket. If their generation wanted to relive the prosperity before the calamity, it would only be in their dreams. Stella frowned. "So, the platforms you're building now are mainly for agriculture?"

"The plan is for habitation, with the extra space for crops."

Despite the positive developments, the more survivors arrived at the base, the more complex the issues they faced, such as food supplies. Real sustenance came from grains, not just vegetables or meat. Looking to the future, Stella asked, "Once the platforms are complete, what's the next goal?"

"Probably land reclamation from the sea."

Bran's privileged background had always set him apart. In the past, people gravitated towards him, but that didn't mean he lacked social graces. On the contrary, he was quite adept, especially once he let his guard down. In less than a month, he'd already made inroads with the top brass. "Originally, land reclamation was the priority. But they lost key components for the dredging ships, rendering the machinery useless. So, building the base became the immediate focus."

Stella was curious. "Lost what?"

Bran played coy. "Take a guess."

"If you're going to be cryptic, forget it."

Her brother, having just polished off his third bowl, didn't dare to show off. "It's ridiculous, really. We lost screws and rivets, shaft housings, that sort of thing. Not critical parts, but without them, the massive dredger is just scrap."

"What now?"

"Who knows? The bosses are probably still wracking their brains." It wasn't Bran's problem to worry about. "Who knows, maybe we'll all end up diving for soil, measuring our livelihood by the cubic centimeter."

One thing was for sure - the island had to be built. They couldn't let the living be tormented by their own waste. Fortunately, Monkey didn't have this worry. After several months of laying the groundwork, his standing among the survivors was solid.

Most of the survivors were military

personnel; while some civilians

might concoct schemes, they

wouldn't dare cross the line with the Kindle Society. After ten years of hustling, Monkey had developed a keen eye for trouble and steered clear of risky deals. Diving for soil was out of the question. le planned to support his family through

shrewd trading.

While Stella appeared calm as an old dog, she was constantly scheming ways to return the sea-bottom containers to the base without drawing any attention. She and Jasper would circle the base periodically, but as the number of survivors increased, so did the military patrols, making a discreet return virtually impossible.

Returning items wasn't as simple as

just dropping them off when no one was looking Hope Point was a military installation, and to put it bluntly, the military had its own, protocols and didn't turn a blind eye as easily as the more political bases did. They were sticklers for procedure, insisting on thorough investigations even for good deeds.

Unless something unexpected happened, Stella had no plans to leave the base. How could she explain the sudden appearance of

containers from the ocean floor t

The military would investigate, and it wouldn't be long before they traced it back to her. Stella wasn't alone; she had her partner, her family, and her dogs. She had to be cautious for their sake as well as her own.

Doing good required the right opportunity; haste wouldn't help. Her safety was paramount. If the disasters ceased, a chance to return what was taken would come. If disaster struck again, not returning might be for the best.

As they ate and chatted, Stella shared amusing stories from the hospital. Despite the lack of resources, she was content with the present and optimistic about the future. The medicinal herb gardens were expanding, not only within the hospital grounds but also distributed among the survivors, ensuring a steady supply of necessary plants.

Furthermore, Stella had acquired some unique seeds from Arcadia, which she was attempting to cultivate in the herb garden. As for her medical training, the apprenticeship with Collin was going well. He was a fount of knowledge, and she was eager to soak up all she could from the vast ocean of traditional medicine.

After tidying up from dinner, it was past seven, and they all began to leave the submarine. Unexpectedly, the weather had turned outside. A chill swept over them, raising goosebumps on their skin. A wind had picked up at sea, bringing with it a surprising cold snap. It wasn't a strong wind, but it carried a howling sound with it.

The gangway swayed slightly, but the survivors, accustomed to life at sea, had developed exceptional balance. Jasper popped Cooper into a bag and, with one sister on his left and his wife on his right, hurried towards Area A. Monkey hugged his wife and son, their laughter a testament to a meal well enjoyed.

And Bran, on his own, could only embrace the air. The wind and waves intensified, and by the time they reached Area A, the sea was churning with two to three-meter swells. The base's location usually shielded it from such weather, making this a rare occurrence. By the time they got back, it was past eight, and considering everyone's safety, the ferry service was suspended for the night. Monkey felt a pang of homesickness, knowing he couldn't return to his family. But the thought of being with his wife and kids was enough to keep his fears at bay.

Area A was sprawling, equipped not just with administrative offices but also with cozy lounge areas where one could crash for the night.

Stella chimed in, "How about we bunk at the hospital's staff quarters tonight?"

The hospital was a sizable institution, only understaffed, leaving a number of rooms vacant. Jasper was a frequent visitor, and Stella had previously brought a few gifts for the residential manager. They'd struck up quite a friendly rapport, so getting hold of the keys was a breeze.

Why look elsewhere when you could lean on your own sister's sturdy support? Her two brothers clung to her, grateful and relieved. Just as they were about to head for the hospital, Justice arrived, rushing over with his team in tow.