18 Floors Above the Apocalypse
Chapter 360

They scoured through the wreckage, hunting for anything useful. They found a few herbal remedies, but none with the antiseptic or antibiotic kick they really needed. Still, they stuffed them into their packs-who knows, maybe some old-world remedy might come in handy one day. Next up was food. They grabbed some jerky, dried potatoes, dehydrated sweet potatoes, and even some dried moss. Not exactly a feast, but it'd keep their stomachs from growling too loudly. Clearly, the good stuff had been snatched up long ago. They packed up their replaces, along with some clean clothes they'd managed to salvage.

But water was the big one. You can go a week without food, but without water, you're toast in three days. The dread of dehydration hung over them as they filled every bottle they could get their hands on.

Two other women, survivors from the same hellhole, timidly tagged along, murmuring hopeful words. "You ladies are so strong and brave. Can we stick with you?"

Kitty shot them a cold glance, her knife still stained with blood. "I'm not your mom. I don't owe you anything. If you don't want to get killed, keep your distance."

The women, clearly terrified, shut up quick, but their hands kept busy picking through the supplies.

Everyone was sick, and lugging too much stuff would only slow them down. Rosie made sure not to overpack.

Before leaving, Rosie went back to the cage where she'd been held captive and chopped through the chain on the door. Whether the women inside made it or not was up to fate.

They reached the cave entrance just as the dust storm died down, only for a torrential downpour to take its place. The sky turned a dark, menacing gray, and within moments, they were drenched. Their spirits, momentarily lifted by the end of the dust storm, sank again.

They were all still sick, especially Kitty, whose wounds couldn't afford to get wet without risking a nasty infection.

"Maybe we should wait out the rain?" Rosie suggested, eyeing the deluge nervously.

That wait turned into two hours, and the rain only got worse. It was like the sky had opened up, pouring down a relentless stream that turned the landscape into a muddy, rushing river.

As the rainwater swelled into a raging torrent, uprooting trees and sweeping away soil and debris, the fear of a flash flood set in. Feverish and delirious, Kitty was the first to voice the urgent need to leave. Years of environmental disasters had left the forests barren and the soil eroded a reality reflected in the very dust storms they'd faced. Now, the deluge was threatening to wash away what little was left. Rosie, realizing the danger, quickly put on a raincoat she'd found among the supplies.

Angela, sensing the same peril, agreed they had to move. Without further delay, they stepped out into the storm.

As they made their way out, the ground rumbled, and everything went dark...

...

Stella stood in the pouring rain, wrapped in her raincoat, stubbornly scanning the horizon with her binoculars. Everywhere she looked, there was water, and amidst the currents floated the dead and the struggling.

On a nearby bank, there seemed to be survivors. She scanned the area again and again, but none of the faces were familiar. Days of sifting through bodies, encountering survivors and bandits, had yielded nothing. Feeling the ground beneath her giving way to the relentless rain, Stella reluctantly retreated to the safety of Arcadia.

Only after taking a sedative could she manage to sleep.

Hours later, she woke up, ate, and donned her raincoat again. Emerging from Arcadia, she found the landscape transformed. A landslide had taken half the mountain.

The rain had eased but was still persistent. She carefully descended the other side. At the base, the path had vanished underwater, its depth and dangers hidden by the murky flow.

Assured she was alone, Stella inflated a dinghy and set off downstream, dodging debris and decay that threatened to puncture her small vessel.

After about half an hour, she heard someone calling her name. Survivors at the foot of the mountain were signaling for help, but she ignored their pleas.

Stella occasionally stopped in shallower currents to scout with her binoculars, her hope ignited and then doused repeatedly.

In this vast, chaotic world, replaceing anyone seemed impossible. Yet she persisted, paddling through the murky waters in search of the lost...

The waters were treacherous, and soon enough, the dinghy was beyond repair. Stella, reluctant to abandon it, stowed it back in Arcadia, hopeful it could still be patched up.

Undeterred, she brought out a wooden boat and continued her relentless search.

In the afternoon, she encountered soldiers conducting a rescue mission. They signaled her, desperate for her boat. Raven Port had dispatched the military for humanitarian aid when the dust storms had subsided, not anticipating the flood that followed. They had set up a camp at Bullwatch Hill, rescuing many from the mudslides and rain. With their rafts and boats damaged, they were in dire need of resources.

After a moment's thought, Stella agreed to lend them her boat.

The wooden boat wasn't large but managed to rescue a handful of emaciated survivors, who eyed her with complex expressions. Two soldiers took the oars, while Stella settled at the stern.

A haggard old woman with a skeletal face turned to Stella, "Young lady, got any food?"

"No," Stella replied curtly.

The survivors were starving, and their eyes, though clouded, were sharp with desperation. "That pack of yours looks full enough. Surely there's water or food inside? Just a little to tide us over until we reach camp," the old woman pleaded. The others chimed in, their stomachs growling in chorus.

Without a word, Stella reached into her bag. The survivors' faces lit up, expecting her to pull out provisions. Instead, Stella brandished a kitchen knife, slapping the boat's side for emphasis. "This is my boat. I lend it if I choose to. Push me, and I'll toss you all into the river." The cold steel glinted menacingly in the dim light.

A collective gasp rose from the group, and no further words were spoken. They simmered with silent resentment.

The tension was thick as the boat pressed on. One of the soldiers called out, "Half an hour to Bullwatch Hill. Hold on just a bit longer."

It was clear this was nothing new.

Finally, after a tense journey, they reached Bullwatch Hill. The elevation and open space made it an ideal place for disaster relief. Tents dotted the landscape, each crammed with survivors. Some, able to fend for themselves, had pitched their own shelters, seeking a semblance of security and solitude amidst the chaos.

The marina at Arcadia still housed about a dozen boats, but Stella didn't fuss over the old wooden one she owned. She willingly lent it to the soldiers for their rescue efforts and hurriedly made her way into the heart of the chaos.

Raven Port's disaster relief efforts had been cobbled together just two days earlier. The authorities were desperate to save lives, ferrying in survivors in waves. Yet, due to the lack of manpower, the logistics and management were a mess.

Survivors were brought in without any formal registration, herded into tents like cattle with little regard for order or record-keeping.