18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 323

Stella's heart pounded like a jackhammer as she frantically checked Jasper for signs of sickness.

It didn't make any sense. He'd only gotten sick much later in his past life, and ever since she'd returned from Swan Hill, she'd insisted he wear masks when patrolling with Rosie and sanitize their clothes with alcohol upon returning home, followed by a thorough wash in disinfectant.

Cooper didn't have a fancy mask, and with an abundance of caution, she hadn't let Cooper accompany them on rounds lately. Buddy came by, and Stella didn't even acknowledge him.

"Ah... Ah... Ah, hahaha, daylight's here, the sun's up!"

A cacophony of voices erupted outside, a cheerful stampede of sounds. It wasn't just a lone reveler —it was a whole crowd. The rich and famous, the down-on-their-luck, young and old alike, they were all there in the mist, laughing and crying, hugging and shouting, "Daylight's broken through, we've survived! Oh, oh, oh!"

Terrified by the commotion, Stella quickly sealed the doors and windows, whipped out the air purifier, and brewed a concoction of herbs she had mixed herself. Everyone had to drink it, even Cooper—forced down his throat if necessary.

The smog was just as dangerous to their feathered and furred friends. Stella had been testing the remedy on their rabbit for weeks, mixing the medicinal syrup into crushed corn. So far, there had been no adverse reactions.

As they were about to drink their herbal tonic, the radio crackled with an urgent broadcast: the smog was caused by a volcanic eruption in a northern archipelago, potentially carrying unknown viruses. Survivors were advised not to venture outside. If going out was absolutely necessary, they must take all safety precautions, wear masks, wash hands frequently, and disinfect clothing.

With the news spreading, those who had been celebrating in the smog turned pale, instinctively covering their noses and sprinting home.

Good Lord, this wasn't ordinary fog; this was a toxic smog with an undertone of nuclear waste. Were they infected now? What were they to do?

Panic set in, and the survivors huddled in their homes, trembling with fear. What hellish smog, they thought, even worse than an eternal night.

Stella pulled out the alcohol and disinfectant, and together they scrubbed every nook and cranny of the house. The smell of the disinfectant was harsh, but they'd rather suffer that than inhale the toxic air.

The walkie-talkie buzzed—it was Dylan, looking for Rosie. His voice was laced with coughs.

Rosie, terrified, hung up immediately, as if a second's delay would let the smog seep into her home through the device. After hanging up, she felt a pang of guilt for being so abrupt, helplessly looking at Stella.

Stella couldn't help but chuckle. "It's fine. The smog can't travel through the walkie-talkie."

Rosie relaxed and reconnected the walkie-talkie, her voice sweet and soft. "Dylan, are you okay?"

"Just a cold, probably caught a chill yesterday."

"Alright, get some rest and keep fit. Don't go outside. There's smog everywhere." Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

After the call, Rosie looked worried. "Could Dylan be infected?"

Stella didn't know; perhaps it was just a cold.

The smog had came suddenly, catching everyone off guard. The city was plunged into deep panic.

Stella stood by the window, peering into the foggy world outside. The smog wasn't too dense yet, with visibility around 50 meters, but the neighborhood was deserted, everyone too scared to leave their homes.

Thus, the fifth homeowners' meeting was held via walkie-talkie. Voices filled with fear, anxiety, helplessness, and a sense of lost direction for the future.

"What do I do? I feel awful, having trouble breathing. Is there a doctor in the group? I need you!"

"I just coughed, am I infected?"

"Stay away from me. Don't come knocking if it's not important—we're not that close."

"No way, I'm not going to die alone. Tonight, I'll make sure someone's with me, even if I have to break into their home."

"Quiet!" Bran's commanding voice cut through the noise. "Stop the racket, we're in a meeting, silence!"

Immediately, the channel went dead.

"You all mute now? Make a sound."

"Squeak."

"Woof."

Bran nearly choked, hurling his slipper at Buddy. "That'll teach you to behave. You are embarrassing me."

Buddy, fed up with Bran's antics, grabbed the slipper and left the room.

After much commotion, the homeowners' meeting concluded with a decision to suspend patrols.

If there were looters brave enough to step into the smog outside, neighbors were to help each other, making sure to cover their faces with masks or makeshift cloth coverings.

Angela reached out on the walkie-talkie. "Stella, you guys okay over there?"

"We're managing," Stella replied, offering advice. "The volcanic ash is acidic. If you've got plants in the garden, harvest what you can or bring them indoors. Otherwise, the soil might turn acidic and the plants could die."

Neither household had disinfectant, but they had a stash of vodka that could be used for sanitation.

After dinner, at around ten o'clock, Jasper briefed his sister. "Rosie, Stella and I need to step out for a bit. You and Cooper hold down the fort."

Rosie, concerned, asked, "When will you be back?"

"Soon, no more than two hours," Jasper reassured her.

Rosie had long since learned not to ask questions, silently watching them leave.

The smog was this bad right after it came in, and the toxicity would most likely be intensified, too. Fully suited in protective gear and gas masks, they set out in their fortified vehicle.

The streets were eerily quiet, only the dim lights struggling against the pervasive fog. At least during the eternal night, there had been looters. Now, with the smog, it was as if the city had pressed pause, empty and devoid of life.

Even the criminal underworld, unafraid of the military and police after three years of cat-and-mouse games, had cowered in the face of the smog. No one dared venture out. Pillaging and arson could

wait. Let others test the toxicity first.

Ensuring the coast was clear, Stella stowed away their Humvee and pulled out two trucks loaded with medicinal herbs.

Over the years, she'd devoted almost all her energy to these herbs, especially two key varieties she'd nurtured like treasures. Her diligence had paid off, and she had an entire truck filled with securely sealed bags of the precious plants.

The other truck was packed with herbs beneficial for liver protection, lung support, and antibacterial action.

The two drove the trucks, one after the other, to the police station. Their plan was to drop the herbs off at the entrance, but surprisingly, someone was on duty. So, they had to offload the medicine in a secluded spot 50 meters from the station.

Worried about theft, they honked the horn to draw attention. In the still silence of the night, the blare of a truck's horn proved incredibly effective. It wasn't long before armed police officers emerged to investigate the commotion.

As they approached, Stella gunned the engine of her truck and took off.

Two massive shapes loomed in the roadway, casting ominous shadows under the streetlights. The officers, their nerves wound tight, mistook the situation for a provocation by some nefarious underworld figures. With swift, practiced motions, they drew their weapons and chambered rounds, their voices cutting through the night air with an authoritative bark, "Come out!"