18 Floors Above the Apocalypse



Stella asked, "The sea's so deep, are they using a dredger?"

The site manager glanced over with a look of disinterest. "The specifics of how we're dredging don't concern you. Just focus on your work, grow your crops, and remember, we're all about community and support here at the base. Don't worry about how things run behind the scenes."

Too many nosy folks cause unnecessary trouble; best to keep your head down, feed your belly first, and pour your energy into this fresh start. The base had a mountain of challenges to overcome, what use was it explaining to the survivors who couldn't help anyway?

Stella decided to keep her mouth shut and climbed the stairs to the third floor with her keys in hand.

Residential Area B was among the first to be completed. Active-duty military personnel occupied zones 1-3, while zone 4 housed the civilian survivors.

No matter which Kindle Society you belonged to before, at Hope Point, if you were willing to serve the people, you had to fall in line with the new arrangements.

With over 12,000 survivors, the majority were military. The rest were from well-established official bases, with only a handful of solitary fighters making it through.

The soldiers were busy working, rarely at home during the day, and some who went to sea might not return for weeks at a time. As a result, Area B was relatively quiet and uncluttered. Civilian survivors even took over private garden plots in zones 1-3, trying to grow more food.

Stella reached room 370, where someone had already placed a planter by the door.

She nudged it aside with her foot and stepped out.

The container-like room was small, about 1.5 meters wide and 2.5 meters long, with nothing but a ventilation window in the upper right corner. The pleasant surprise was that the rooms were separated by movable steel panels, with sliding bolts on both sides. If both parties agreed, the panels could be shifted.

By combining three rooms into one, you'd get a 2.5 by 4.5-meter space, suddenly boasting around ten square meters, much less claustrophobic.

The steel was thick, making noise when moved, but it felt stable and safe to walk on. Thankfully it wasn't peak summer; otherwise, the metal rooms would turn into ovens.

Jasper let Cooper, his loyal dog, out of his crate and reminded him not to bark.

After nearly a decade of working together, Cooper understood and wagged his tail excitedly.Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

The newly built rooms hadn't been used yet, so after resting for a moment, they began to clean up.

Stella pulled out a sleek, multifunctional sofa from Arcadia, which could serve as a sofa during the day and unfold into a bed at night.

The designs and prices of such furniture that could be found at furniture fairs were no joke - stylish yet understated luxury.

The base had no running water or electricity, but the sofa came with a USB charging port and an extendable lampshade for nighttime lighting.

The sofa bed didn't take up much space, and Stella added a small round table and a few fabric stools, creating a temporary but comfortable home. Still cramped, but far better than most survivors had it.

Area B's dock could accommodate ships, and survivors from the same base naturally stuck together. Many were in poor health and unable to work for their keep, feeling they could never pay off their rent, so they chose to live on the ships to save money.

While the conditions on board were harsh, at least there was shelter.

If disaster struck, they could quickly move to the platform for safety.

The base turned a blind eye to this arrangement, understanding their predicament.

Housing was standardized, with no visible wealth gap.

Desirable housing was available, but it was allocated based on military rank.

Stella and Jasper, as ordinary survivors, could only rent one room each. Renting additional rooms in exchange for extra rations was out of the question.

When lunch break came around, Stella unfolded the sofa and set up a single bed for Rosie.

The rooms weren't particularly soundproof. The sound of waves crashing against the giant drilling columns and the occasional conversation from outside made for a restless, dreamlike sleep.

After dozing off until five, Stella opened the door to get some air in the hallway.

The setting sun shone on her face, dazzling and somewhat blinding.

Many people were carrying buckets or basins downstairs, lining up to fetch water.

Back in her room, Stella took two wooden buckets from Arcadia. Rosie stayed with the dog while she and Jasper queued for water.

These days, people were judged not

by beauty but by their health - everyone looked gaunt, their faces pale and haggard. It was the flesh on their bones, not their faces, that caught the eye.

The pair stood out among the crowd, drawing many looks.

Living in a community had its drawbacks; it felt like being on display.

After waiting for half an hour, it was finally their turn to fill the buckets.

The water was well filtered, with the salty brine taste much reduced, almost odorless unless sniffed up close.

Stella noticed some people drinking it straight from their hands.

Carrying the buckets upstairs, she found a woman in a red dress standing at her door.

She was thin, her worn dress hanging loosely, patched up in several places.

The woman clutched a kitchen knife and glared at the overturned planter in the hallway, her words sharp and aggressive, "Which jerk knocked over my potato planter?"

She was about to pound on room 370's door, brandishing the knife as if ready for a fight.

Stella was immediately displeased, "Your planter was blocking my door, we had to move it aside to get out."

Hearing Stella's voice, the woman turned around, her gaunt face fierce and intimidating.

She was about to lash out but froze in shock upon seeing Stella, "You..."

Stella preferred to keep a low profile, "Sorry, I accidentally knocked over the planter that was blocking my door."

The woman quickly hid the knife, her expression shifting to one of delighted surprise, "Stella?"

Her face changed faster than a seasoned stage actor could manage.

A familiar face? Stella studied her features, which were so thin it was hard to recognize her.

"I'm Miranda," the woman offered.

Miranda? Stella racked her brain. Who?

"My husband used to sell goods with Austin."

Stella's eyes fell on the red dress, and memories flooded back - Monkey's wife!

Among the vast waters of the world, she hadn't expected to run into someone she knew. Stella asked in amazement, "Where's Monkey?"

Miranda forced a smile, "He's out

busy, won't be back until later. I'm staying in 351. I thought this area was still unoccupied, so I moved my planten out here to get some sun. Didnt realize it was blocking your door."

UMS

Her tone was warm and enthusiastic, a stark contrast to her earlier brashness.

Sister, oh sister, what a quick change of heart!

Stella remembered that a lot of their supplies came from Monkey and couldn't help but ask, "Are you two doing alright?"

Miranda paused, "Yeah, we're doing fine."

Stella wasn't particularly close to Miranda but naturally inquired about Austin.

"Chuck and the crew were doing just fine at the Goldbridge base, but the tectonic plates had other plans. The quake hit out of nowhere, and we got scattered like leaves in a storm..."

Monkey had been her rock, guiding her and the kids, along with other survivors, through a maze of trials and tribulations before they finally made it aboard a ship.

They'd been adrift on the ocean for months, living through days and nights that seemed to blend together into a surreal blur of endless water.

Maybe it was the familiar faces

triggering a flood of memories, or

maybe it was the weight of

everything they'd been through, but suddenly Miranda's eyes brimmed with tears, "I... I need to take our

stuff back and settle in. I'll catch up with you later when Monkey swings by."