18 Floors Above the Apocalypse
Chapter 368

Stella pedaled her bike with a burst of energy, the wind playing with her hair as she shouted to Rosie, "I'm taking you somewhere special."

Rosie sighed with relief. Her sister-in-law had been gone for days, and she'd feared the worst.

"Sis, I wasn't really bullied," Rosie admitted now that they were alone. "Last night, I snuck up on that guy, threw a sack over his head, and gave him a good beating. Stayed clear of his face, though. He's pissed off so many people he wouldn't have a clue it was me." If it weren't for waiting for her brother and sister-in-law to return, that guy wouldn't have lived to see today.

"Good job," Stella said, finally relaxing. "You've grown up, Rosie. From now on, you can make your own decisions. Just make sure you stay safe."

Rosie beamed at the praise, wishing her brother could see her now.

After an hour of bone-rattling bike riding, they finally arrived.

Cooper, sensing their arrival, ran out to greet them.

Tears streamed down Rosie's cheeks as she saw Cooper and rushed into his embrace. "Cooper, are you okay?" she sobbed, her worry for him having been unbearable. "Woof!"

Rosie, still frantic, clung to the excited Cooper. "Where's my brother?"

Cooper tugged at her pant leg, leading her to a hidden spot.

After days of gut-wrenching uncertainty, Rosie nearly collapsed upon seeing her brother. "Bro!"

Stella quickly cautioned her, "Easy, he's hurt."

Rosie sobbed uncontrollably, having feared the worst.

To her relief, her brother Jasper, trying to ease her worries, smiled and said, "I'm okay. I'll be up and about in a few days."

The place Stella had found was secluded, unlikely to draw attention unless something unusual happened. While Rosie was distracted, Stella pulled out a sleek RV from her Arcadia. Together, the women helped Jasper into the RV.

The RV was too new and conspicuous, so Stella smeared mud all over it to make it blend in. If someone stumbled upon them, at least they'd have a plausible cover.

Rosie and Cooper climbed the hill, scanning the surroundings with binoculars. When she returned, her face solemn, she said, "Sis, we're being followed."

Stella frowned. "Those hunters from the refugee camp?"

Rosie nodded, feeling guilty for the trouble she brought to her brother and sister-in-law.

Stella looked up at the sky, noting how quickly night was approaching. She scouted atop the hill and spotted shadows pacing in a nearby hollow. Wasn't that one of the hunters, standing there with a cigarette dangling from his lips? So, he thought he could handle them, even though he had to steal his daddy's gun and wanted to take on others? He was rushing towards his own demise.

There were eight of them.

Stella pulled out two sniper rifles from her backpack, handing one to Rosie. They attached silencers and aimed with practiced ease, each taking on four targets.

The hunters, unaware, were about to make their move. The leader, Hunter, his arm bandaged from a bullet wound, was seething with anger. "Are you sure she's in there?" he asked his lackey.

The lackey confirmed, and Hunter vowed revenge for the humiliation he'd suffered at the hands of these women.

As they plotted under the cover of darkness, a shot rang out. Hunter's sidekick, the one with the fancy shirt, dropped dead with a bullet through his forehead.

Panic ensued as the hunters scrambled, only to be methodically taken down by the precise shots from Stella and Rosie.

When Hunter tried to flee, a bullet to his thigh brought him down. Rosie, trained well by Jasper, was a crack shot.

Stella let Rosie deal with Hunter, watching as the girl took aim and shot him in his other thigh, his screams filling the air.

As they approached the fallen Hunter, the setting sun cast long shadows over the scene, making the two women seem like avenging angels-or demons, in Hunter's fear-filled eyes.

Desperate, Hunter spotted his gun on the ground and rolled toward it, hoping for a chance to turn the tables. But just as his fingers brushed the weapon, a boot pinned his hand down. Rosie's eyes met his, and in that moment, he knew he had met his match. Fingers to the heart, his anguished scream tore through the silence.

Rosie bent down, her nimble fingers snatching up the pistol from where it had fallen. She straightened up, a sly grin playing on her lips as she gazed at him.

The gun twirled in her grasp like a dancer in the spotlight, captivating and fluid. His pupils dilated in absolute shock; he had encountered some of the slickest sharpshooters in the game, but Rosie? She made them look like amateurs.

It finally dawned on Hunter-the painful truth crashed over him like a rogue wave. It was all a facade, every bit of it. The sweet and dainty image she projected was nothing but a mask. In reality, she was a cold-blooded demon, a killer without a flicker of remorse in her eyes.