18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 332

Stella barely dodged in time, a spray of crimson narrowly missing her shoes. When she saw what was causing the commotion, she couldn't help but be flabbergasted.

This creature was at it again, making a scene. Last time it was covered in cuts and bruises; this time, it decided to greet her with a mouthful of blood.

Cooper was ready to pounce, his body tensed for an attack, before realizing the commotion was just his own mutt causing trouble. He stepped back with a look of disdain, a low growl rumbling from his throat as he scolded the dog for its shameless behavior. His growl softened into a worried whine, showing his concern despite the scolding.

The two dogs communicated in their own canine way.

Buddy sprawled on the ground, coughing weakly and wagging its tail at Stella, exposing its soft underbelly. In just over a month, the once majestic and imposing beast had become emaciated, hardly drawing breath.

Stella, speechless, sprayed the blood with disinfectant before cleaning the dog thoroughly and dragging it into the backyard.

It had been over a month since she was home. Jasper and Rosie had taken care of the interior, while Stella found some rope to secure Buddy's limbs. He was nearly the size of a grown man, and a single dose seemed about right.

While she was at it, Stella checked on Smoky and Snowy. The haze virus was rampant, and she had feared she'd return to find them gone. To her surprise, they were huddled together, pecking at dry grass.

It seemed the haze virus was less severe on poultry, or Cooper wouldn't have recovered so quickly.

The bunnies didn't even acknowledge Stella’s presence.

Cooper stayed by Buddy's side, worried about getting blood on himself, yet not wanting to stray too far and lose sight of the situation.

Stella didn't bother with Buddy any further and headed upstairs after disinfecting Cooper. NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

For the past month, except for a short rest while she was sick, she had been working nonstop. Even her iron constitution was wearing thin.

She knew her family was far luckier than the patients in critical condition at the research institute. Mild symptoms were bad enough. Critical ones were unimaginable, and the virus was prone to mutation. There was no room for complacency.

She turned on the air purifier, showered from head to toe with hot water, splashed disinfectant on her laundered clothes.

Everything and everyone needed a thorough cleaning.

She flicked on the lights and laid out a comforting spread of food: chicken soup, braised pork knuckles, and seafood. The three of them, along with Cooper, indulged in the feast. It was the most satisfying meal they had had since the onset of the haze.

After eating their fill, Stella put on protective gear to check on Buddy. The stubborn dog was still breathing. Despite being at death's door, he didn't forget to wag his tail at Stella, his eyes begging for sympathy.

Stella couldn't bear to see him like this and untied the ropes binding his limbs, serving him a bowl of high-calorie dog food.

After eating, Buddy didn't leave. His large yet gaunt frame curled up in a corner of the yard, his watery eyes full of helplessness, pity, vulnerability, and cautious hope for a new owner.

"Bark!"

Cooper lay on the rooftop glass, cheering on his ailing comrade. Buddy looked up, its eyes filled with a pitiful longing as it stared at its leader.

Stella sighed and quietly closed the door.

Back on the second floor, she massaged her forehead and discussed with Jasper, "How should we distribute the medicine we brought back?"

Even after donating all they could anonymously, it wasn't enough. That was just for the southern provinces. The haze virus had swept down from the northern islands, spreading in all directions. Everyone had their selfish moments; otherwise, she wouldn't have taken medicine from Collin. Every second of illness was agony, especially the relentless cough that made life feel worse than death.

She tried to stay optimistic but was acutely aware that the less fortunate wouldn't get the medicine soon. Many wouldn't get it at all.

She only had fifty doses, and Buddy had already claimed one.

Jasper thought for a moment. "The virus has evolved since the last outbreak I experienced. Many people only have a few days from onset to death. Even if you want to give them the medicine, some might not make it."

Stella's heart felt heavy with the reality of this unpredictable and cruel catastrophe. She picked up the radio and started contacting people, not prioritizing by status but by proximity.

After a long wait, a voice finally came through—racked with coughs, hoarse, and feeble, "Stella, are you and Jasper holding up okay?"

Rosie, standing nearby, asked anxiously, "Uncle Austin, is Dylan doing alright?"

"Rosie, Dylan's hanging on, keeps talking about you. He says he's got to see you one more time..."

The voice was cut off by a severe, weakened cough, "Rosie..."

Both father and son were still breathing, Austin in particular sounding terrible. But he recounted the recent events to them.

The community had been hit hard, with the radio channel going from panic, to noise, to tears, to pleas for medicine, and then to a quiet stillness as no one spoke anymore. Every day brought new infections, new deaths.

The haze made the air thick and still, carrying the smell of decay that grew from a faint whiff to an overpowering stench.

The Porras family took the lead, and other homeowners joined in, donning protective gear—or wrapping themselves in sheets or clothes—to remove the bodies from their homes and burn them with gasoline.

No one knew the exact death toll, but they cleared the bodies every couple of days, taking turns in the community.

Green flies were everywhere, a brutal assault on the senses, leaving many unable to eat for days. But they had to press on, to avoid unbearable conditions and prevent the spread of disease or the virus.

Austin had hoarded some medicine, and with what Stella provided, their symptoms were less severe, but the torment was nearly unbearable. He clung to life, wanting to care for his son, who longed to see Rosie. But no matter how much they called out, House 50 remained silent, as if evaporated.

Every day they knocked on door number 50, pleading or cursing, but all with the same desperate wish to survive.

Austin worried too, but he knew those two were capable and must have gone to find help.

The insistent homeowners who wanted to break into number 50 for medicine were repeatedly stopped by the residents of number 42, even coming to blows.

The folks at number 42 were fierce, not sparing anyone who got in their way. The beaten homeowners finally gave up hope.

It hadn't occurred to Stella that even in their absence, Cody and the others would defend number 50. Stella chuckled, showing concern for his health.

Austin panted, "I coughed up blood today. Feels like my insides are coming out, and the fever comes and goes in waves."

"Don't worry," Stella reassured him, "you're still far from death's door."

At the Institute of Herbal Medicine, Stella's days were split between autopsies and patient consultations. She offered her diagnosis through the intercom, her voice steady and reassuring, "Eat well, sleep well, and you'll pull through."

After a moment's thought, she added another question, "How is Monkey doing?"

Austin paused, a shadow crossing his face, "He’s hanging in there, but..."

The shelter was overflowing with families, many of whom had been struggling even before the crisis hit. The supplies were running low, and some had it worse than others. Over the years, poor nutrition and the lack of necessities had taken their toll, and they had already lost several people.

Austin's own supply of medicine was dwindling. No matter how much it pained him, he couldn't change the harsh reality of their situation.