18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 301

Under the promise of a hefty bounty, brave souls inevitably emerged—never underestimating the power of the common folk. Whether they transformed into vigilant neighborhood watch groups or assembled as a vigilante posse, there was strength in numbers.

Most of the thugs were armed with nothing more than crudely fashioned clubs or common kitchen knives. For those prepared to bet it all, the lines of fear often became blurred. Lukas was buzzing with excitement as he called Stella, "Hey, Stella! Our building rallied a 50-strong posse, and in just one day, we nabbed over 20 thugs in the neighborhood and actually scored the reward!"

They were all flesh and bone, with really nothing to fear. With overwhelming numbers and fierce determination, many thugs had no choice but to surrender.

Lukas and Cody, having grown up in an orphanage, were used to living by others' whims. One ended up dating for survival, the other faced the world's scorn while hustling from door to door. When disaster struck, they became security patrol officers—acting had become their forte.

Not to mention, the folks of Eastwood Eden were a tight-knit bunch, schooled in the art of persuasion and street smarts by the likes of Luke and Cody, while Monkey and his crew were akin to award-winning actors. When confronting thugs, each individual swells with a ferocity as powerful as a dragon devouring mountains and rivers. They brandish their weapons and rush forward with vigorous war cries, creating a scene as intense as an unyielding army barrelling towards you.

Tell me, wouldn't that scare you?

Stella, ever curious, asked, "What happens to the thugs after they're taken to the police station?"

"Heavy crimes call for heavy punishment. The worst offenders get a taste of their own medicine, then it's off to the waste-to-energy plant; minor offenders are put to work in hard labor."

Lukas admired Stella’s foresight; owning apartments near the police station made for a safer existence. The youth of Eastwood Eden had been mentored by the legendary Jasper, and although Monkey and his lot were a bit less adept physically, their cunning and mischief made for a harmonious blend of talents.

Not like Lukas' old place, where one had to sleep with a knife under the pillow, always on guard for a sneak attack.

Stella warned, "This unrest likely won't settle down anytime soon, so keep your eyes peeled."

"You and Jasper as well—lots of folks in the suburbs are packing heat. Ordinary thugs might not dare mess with you, but the real baddies? That's a different story."

That was precisely Stella's concern. Since the military's crackdown, coupled with a few scorch-the- earth maneuvers, many thugs had learned to steer clear of the suburbs, at least for a while. But there were always a few itching to make a move, thinking they had the chops to sneak over high walls undetected. Yet, before they could even touch the villa's door, they'd either be mauled by guard dogs or caught at gunpoint by the patrol.

These vigilantes were no cops and didn’t mind resort to violence—if you came in standing, you'd leave lying down.

After several such incidents, the community adjusted, no longer the panicked mess they were during the Long Night.

Evan and the others were recuperating at the Porras residence, giving Bran plenty of reasons to bombard Stella with updates. He had become a chatterbox, pestering her every half hour.

"Stella, Evan's awake."

"Stella, I think Evan just farted."

"Stella, Evan's a bit slow. You don't think he got knocked silly, do you?"

"Ugh, I'm bored. Missing one for a game, you in?"

Stella had her limits, "Bran, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Bran had no choice; being cooped up was agony. Stella and Jasper's boldness had left an impression; he felt the other rich kids paled in comparison. Nothing could stop him from wanting to rub shoulders with the strong.

He'd bet his reputation that there was something special between Evan and those from Building 50 —some unseen bond pulling them together. Bran was desperate to figure it out.

The Porras family had hired a new family doctor, and Stella, not keen on getting too involved with Evan, hadn't inquired after him.

What she didn't know was that Evan, upon waking and ensuring the officers were not in mortal danger, had insisted on informing the station to come to pick them up, despite Shane's pleas to stay.

Work awaited him. Would the thugs stop their crimes just because he was healing here?

Bran didn't hide anything, sharing Even’s rescue story truthfully. Learning that Jasper and Stella had saved him from a horde of thugs, Evan wasn't overly surprised. Before leaving, he gave the Porras family some credit, "You've done a solid job with the neighborhood watch. If other communities had your dedication, we wouldn't see such rampant thuggery. Keep up the good work and don't let your guard down."

Once he'd gone, Bran flopped onto the couch, exasperated. "Dad, what's really going on with Evan and those guys from Building 50?"

The day the thugs attacked, Evan had rushed to Building 50—that was concern if anything. After being saved, he showed neither surprise nor gratitude, clearly not treating those people from Building 50 as strangers.

"Do you think those people living in Building 50 are Evan's undercover agents, trying to control the wealthy enclave from the shadows?"

"You've got bats in the belfry, son," Shane scoffed, "Ever heard of an undercover who'd antagonize an entire community?"

"You're out of touch, old man. Don't you get young people's reverse psychology?"

Father and son couldn't see eye to eye. Bran, failing to hold his tongue, blurted, "Would I admire them if they acted like any other rich snobs?"

Whatever the case, there was something unique about them. Something was off. How to put it? Bran couldn't articulate it, but it was anything but ordinary.

Shane, ever the disciplinarian, swung his walking stick, "You're too big for your britches, huh? When I was out there conquering the world, you were nothing. If you're so capable, get out!"

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Stella had selected several wooden planks from Arcadia, setting them up in a room on the first floor with iron frames. She wet the wood, then sparingly spread black moss across it. For comparison, she also prepared some planting pots. Using a low-wattage bulb, she provided about three hours of light each day.

With its thriving root system, the moss clung tightly to the planks and soil, growing steadily. In less than a fortnight, she could harvest it with a sickle.

After tasting a piece, Stella found it bland, but easier to chew than the dry soil. The moss could be stir-fried, boiled, or even eaten raw without fear of poisoning.

Worried Rosie and Cooper wouldn't take to it, she washed and minced the moss, scrambled it with eggs, and fried it up.

Surprisingly, Cooper and Rosie eagerly hovered by the stove. The scrambled eggs were a hit, quickly polished off.

Planning for tougher times ahead, Stella contemplated making sticky rice balls or bread. She was determined to ensure that both of them and poultry shared in the hardship—no pampering their palates.

Hard times called for solidarity, even at the dinner table.

In the depths of an endless night, the poultry were in blissful ignorance of the world's woes, contented as long as their bellies were full. Each day they basked under the warm glow of artificial lights, and sometimes, strains of classical music would drift through the barn, a luxury even in these dark times. Adapting to the eternal darkness and biting cold, the chickens, ducks, and geese began to lay eggs with a fervor that seemed to defy the bleakness of their surroundings.

Life for most had ground to a halt, the perpetual night casting a pall over the once bustling city. Even the wealthy, ensconced in their expansive homes, began to worry about the future, fretting over provisions and the longevity of their comfort.

They had other supplies hidden outside, but it was uncertain if they had been looted by the thugs, and the stash inside the villa was dwindling. So, they began to ask Austin about raising some poultry. Even though they were separated by high walls, their hearing became increasingly sharp in the perpetual night. They could still hear the sounds of the chickens, ducks, and geese from building number 50...