18 Floors Above the Apocalypse
Chapter 302

Moss was sprouting up everywhere, a veritable feast for the backyard chickens, which meant there'd be fresh meat on the table soon enough.

But you couldn't live on moss alone; a little variety wouldn't hurt. Some seeds for lettuce or spinach would do nicely.

However, no one dared to ask the folks in Building 50 directly. So, they had to take the long way around, through Austin.

Austin was a shrewd middleman, always had an angle. He might've been all smiles and smooth talk around the well-to-do, but times had changed. Watching them grovel and sweet-talk was quite the show. Gone was their once lofty air. "Austin, buddy, we're really counting on you here. This is serious."

Austin put on airs, "I'll see what I can do, but no promises. Those guys from Building 50 can be finicky. Considering... Anyway, let's not dwell on the past, eh?"

"We're all created equal. We've always had respect for them from Building 50. It's just that our wives, bless their hearts, got misled and made a mess of things. We've straightened them out since then."

Those in the game knew when to bow and when to stand tall, quick to adapt to the new reality. After all, Building 50 was a force to be reckoned with. Making nice with them was all gain, no pain. Even Bran was eager to get in their good graces. Given the chance, they'd outdo him in no time.

Austin actually brought it up with Stella. Now that the neighborhood was relatively safe, he and his son swung by Building 50 for a hot stew dinner.

Nothing beat the warmth of a spicy stew on a cold day. Throw in a few swigs of whiskey, and you'd feel nothing short of heavenly.

"You can't just give in to every request. You gotta make 'em sweat for it. If it comes too easy, nobody's gonna respect you."

If anyone knew how to play the customer game, it was Austin. No one dared claim the top spot if he was second.

"Mark my words, the moment this eternal night is over, they'll turn on us faster than you can flip a page."

Stella felt the same. With years of darkness ahead, she needed to stockpile meat and eggs for her family, not hand them out willy-nilly.

Yet, refusing outright wasn't practical. If everyone else was munching on scraps while you dined on steak, how long before resentment brewed trouble? Stella had a plan but invited negotiation. "Austin, what's your take?"

"Play hard to get. Let 'em sweat. But I do need a batch for Monkey's crew. They're tight-knit, and with moss aplenty, they ain't short on chicken feed."

If Monkey's folks needed help, Stella couldn't say no.

However, since that place was essentially an complex of apartments, the sound of chickens and ducks was quite conspicuous and could easily attract attention, making it susceptible to thieves. Moreover, poultry consumed a significant amount of food.

"I'll send them a few pairs of quail. They grow fast, lay plenty of eggs, and the hens are quiet. Plus, they don't stink up the place when you keep 'em."

Austin laughed heartily, "You always think things through, Stella."

Stella picked out four egg-laying quail hens and one male quail. She wasn't one to play favorites; once the eggs hatched, she'd share with the whole building. Eastwood Eden's members included.

If everyone had a bit of protein, infighting was less likely.

As for Lukas and his folks, Stella left the choice to them.

Actually, she had mini chickens. When she bought fertilized eggs, the seller gave her 20 extra. When they hatched, they were just the size of a coin, smaller than quails when fully grown but with even healthier bodies. They just started laying eggs, and once there were more hatched, she planned to give them another batch as well.

Austin sent word to Monkey.

Monkey didn't keep secrets. With his band of bounty hunters, they were determined to escort the quail home safely.

With military and community support, the riots didn't last long. Some thugs went straight, others fled to the mountains with their loot, and a few kept up their raids. Business as usual. Danger was everywhere, but the situation was stabilizing.

After a few pushes, Stella started to give the villa residents some poultry. Chickens and ducks were off the table, but quail were fair game. Nothing was free, and it was strategic. The first to receive were those who were friendly or less troublesome towards Building 50.

Austin whispered, "We only have a few, but those guys from Building 50 know you're a stand-up guy. They set aside a pair just for you. Keep it under wraps, though."

Touched by the gesture, the recipients saw the people living in Building 50 in a new light. No more following the wrong crowd; picking sides mattered.

A few pairs went out, promising a solution to eggs and meat without spoiling anyone.

Time had flown. It was hard to believe it had been five years since she'd first seen Rosie's shy, sweet face. Rosie had grown a lot since then, stretching out and starting to bloom.

The genes of Jasper's family did not disappoint. Not only was he ruggedly handsome, but Rosie was shaping up to be a beauty herself.

Being pretty in these dark times was a double-edged sword; it drew too much attention. To protect yourself, you had to be stronger than the rest.

Kids shot up fast when well-fed, but Jasper hadn't prepared enough; Rosie was outgrowing her clothes.

Stella stashed some clothes in Arcadia, but none seemed right for Rosie. Stella tried her hand at making something new. Her sewing skills were modest, but she managed.

Rosie was delighted, prancing around in her new outfit. At ten, she'd be cuddled and pampered in peace times. But now, she had to learn to fend for herself or risk suffering later. Stella felt a pang of guilt but respected Jasper's approach to parenting.

Austin, ever the pragmatist, roped his son into the mix. "You're two years older than Rosie," he told him. "Time to man up. Someday, I'll be counting on you to keep us safe." Ever since hanging out with Rosie, his son had become more spirited. Daily boxing practice toughened him up, a far cry from his once sickly self.

Good neighbors made life easier, indeed.

Despite the bone-chilling cold, Dylan was all smiles, "Wait for me, Rosie."

The kids joining the adults for patrol was quite the novelty.

Having seen Rosie kick a guard's jaw sideways, no one underestimated the little lady. Some even grew envious.

Comparisons were odious. Thinking of their own pampered kids, snug in their beds while they risked their necks on patrol, they couldn't help but wish for simpler times.

The next day, the patrol ranks swelled. Former billionaires dragged their kids out of bed, their long-suppressed emotions erupting. Pointing at their children, they scolded, "Take a good look at the kid from Building 50. Forget about the ten-year-old girl, you're not even on par with their dog. Starting today, if you don't start honing your survival skills, you might as well roll out the red carpet for the thugs to come and take you to the cleaners. The kids I've raised aren't going to be just sitting ducks, fattening up for the slaughter."