18 Floors Above the Apocalypse



As the group was getting ready to head to the hospital, Justice came rushing in with a crew in tow.

He quickly assigned a task to Jasper. "Hey Jasper, a boat docked after the staff clocked out, carrying over a hundred survivors. We were gonna let them stay on the boat overnight and process them in the morning. But the weather turned nasty, and their boat can't handle the storm. If it capsizes, we're in big trouble. I've got the okay from the higher-ups - we're bringing them ashore to take shelter and putting them up in the community center for now."

Most of the staff and security team didn't live in Area A, so it was tough to round up people on short notice. Justice, always the friendly face, smiled at Stella and the others. "Looks like this crappy weather's just getting started. Can you guys lend a hand getting these folks off the boat and into the shelter?"

Since Justice was her husband's boss and had always been supportive, Stella couldn't say no. And Bran, being military, definitely couldn't refuse. Monkey was up for it, but he didn't want his wife and kid to go through any hardship. Stella told Rosie to pack up her backpack, take Miranda and the kids, and head back to the hospital - they'd join them once they were done.

So they followed Justice to the docks to help the survivors ashore. The survivors were on a fishing boat, its hull rusted and battered, clearly showing its many encounters with danger at sea. There were over a hundred survivors, including some mixed-heritage teenagers who were born and raised in the country.

Justice talked with the captain and found out the ship was from Shanghai and had been drifting at sea for seven or eight months. They stumbled upon a submarine and found their new coordinates by chance. Shanghai is a melting pot, with people from all over - some spoke the local dialect, and others spoke various regional tongues.

As Justice was about to ask more, a sudden wave rocked the boat violently, throwing many to the deck, with some even cracking their foreheads open. The survivors, panicked and agitated, clamored to go ashore for safety. "We've come all this way, through hell and high water, why can't we go ashore?"

After a decade of disasters, just when hope was in sight, they found themselves being interrogated like criminals, and their patience snapped. "What kind of kinship is this, treating us like this?" The waves grew higher, the wind cut like a knife, chilling the survivors to the bone. It had been sunny during the day, but the weather had turned on a dime, and the temperature had plummeted. The erratic weather made it seem as though the disasters were far from over.

"Come ashore," Justice yelled over the howling wind. "We'll get you indoors for the night, but you need to follow the base's rules and register and undergo checks tomorrow." That seemed to calm the survivors somewhat, and they began to disembark, braving the stormy sea with their belongings. The boat rocked violently, and several almost fell into the sea. Stella, wearing leather gloves, was quick to catch them. After several saves, she felt ominous eyes on her. Looking up, she saw nothing. But her brow furrowed deeper.

Jasper was nearby, and she tugged on his sleeve. They stepped aside, and Stella whispered, "Something's not right." Jasper felt it too. "Their possessions are too scant." In his time working there, he'd seen many survivors, most skin and bones, but always with bags in tow. There were a few who traveled light, but they were the exception. In a bid to survive, who wouldn't carry their life's possessions - clothes, blankets, food? And many would loot the belongings of the deceased. It was hard to survive as an elderly person or a child during the disasters, but usually, there were families on board.

These survivors were thin, but in

better shape than most Jasper had seen fresh off the boat. Drifting for so long, yet still fleshy, suggested they had decent food on board, but their bags looked empty. Of course, they could have left things on the

boat. But with the sea so rough e

weren't they afraid of the waves soaking their things, or the ship capsizing? They communicated silently with their eyes, then a survivor stumbled and fell. Jasper swiftly helped him up. A man in his forties. He quickly thanked Jasper. Once the man left, Jasper's expression darkened. While helping him up, he had squeezed the man's bundle - it was light, except for one hard object that felt like a machete.

More survivors continued to come ashore, and the uneasy feeling grew. They exchanged glances and went to find Justice to share their suspicions. It was just a hunch, and they had already probed a little. As for the machete in the bag, which surviver didn't carry weapons protect themselves? As for their leanness, maybe they just happened to have more supplies? Besides a few mixed-race individuals, the rest were all clear-cut Australians, some speaking standard English, others with regional accents. The storm came out of nowhere, making it hard to judge. But Justice, cunning as he was, took precaution and ordered some military personnel to the scene discreetly.

Over a hundred people made it ashore and were quickly led to the

indoor activity area. One with a

et

bloody forehead approached, "Excuse me, where's the hospital? I've cut my forehead open." The hand pressing the wound was blood-soaked, and it looked serious. Justice was about to mention the on-site medic but then gestured urgently towards Stella, "Stella, your husband works at the hospital, right? I recall you live in the hospital's quarters. Why don't you accompany this gentleman to get his wound treated? We can't have any serious injuries on our hands." Hearing they could go to the hospital, others with injuries came forward - some with head bumps, some with twisted ankles from the rocking, and some

feeling unwell. Altogether, there were eight of them. Content belongs

Stella nodded in agreement, "Sure, I'm heading back to the hospital anyway, I'll take you with me." Then, she signaled to Jasper, "Let's head back." As they walked, Stella chatted with the injured, "Where are you all from?" One of them countered, "What about you?" "I'm from Shanghai." "I'm from the mountain city." "I'm from Swan Hill." They each claimed a place, but not a single one from Shanghai. Stella looked at the man who claimed to be from Swan Hill and smiled, "You're a sausage." She spoke in the Swan Hill dialect, and the man paused before replying, "Yeah, sausage is good." He then asked, "Do you speak Cantonese?" "I do, I picked up a few phrases from videos back in the day." Heh, thinking he's really a sausage, those who know, know.

Stella said no more, walking with Jasper and leading them to the hospital. Monkey and Bran were at her sides, chatting in fits and starts about the worries of not being able to head home. "Man, this freakin' weather really blows, doesn't it? Got us stuck here with no way to get back to our own beds..." The hospital wasn't far; they got there in a matter of minutes. It was already night, and the place was dead – none of the medical staff seemed to be on duty. Stella called out, "Hang tight, guys. I'm gonna head to the dorms out back and rustle up a doc."NôvelDrama.Org owns all © content.

They all moved off together, the conversation light and easy despite the stress of the situation. Those left waiting for treatment shared uneasy glances. Then, out of nowhere, one of the survivors dug into their bag, whipped out a machete, and charged towards Stella and the rest...