18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 378

The dust from the desert storm had clogged the engine, leaving the SUV stranded miles from civilization. Bran had trudged the remaining distance, his boots kicking up the parched earth with every weary step.

The old man had given him a pistol and some first-aid supplies, but he’d been ambushed by a gang along the way. Bran had fought tooth and nail to keep them at bay, but over the months, even the half of the supplies he’d managed to protect had dwindled to nothing.

Now, he was more destitute than a beggar, his stomach growling like an angry dog for want of a decent meal.

So, Bran swallowed his pride. “Sis, just put it on my tab, okay? I’ll pay you back, with interest.”

He wondered if the old man had settled down in Goldbridge or had met with disaster amidst volcanic eruptions or another dust storm. It had been too long without a word.

But worry was a luxury he couldn’t afford—not when his own survival was at stake, and he was nowhere near Goldbridge or Griffith.

Stella didn’t want to make a fuss. “Sure, just remember the interest,” she said, with a half-hearted attempt at sternness.

They had to keep scavenging, and time spent on Bran was time wasted. They gave him a crash course—a last-minute cramming session, as they called it.

Turns out, there were tricks to passing the military fitness tests.

Most civilians were clueless, but Jasper had once been in the service. He knew exactly what the Kindle Society would be testing for.

After a hearty meal, Bran received emergency training in both intellect and combat.

Stella didn’t intervene; instead, she took Rosie and Cooper upstairs.

Hours later, they finally sent Bran on his way, his arms laden with provisions.

Stella watched from the window as he disappeared into the distance, recalling how different he’d looked years back at the posh neighborhood meetups: Hawaiian shirts, capri pants, sparkling diamond-studded sandals, and that flamboyant military trench coat draped over his shoulders…

Disasters have a way of reminding you how fickle life can be.

She turned her attention to Cooper, who had been moping since Bran's arrival. “What’s up, Cooper?” she asked, scratching behind his ears.

The dog whined softly, curling up on the floor. Stella knew he missed Buddy. Whether man or beast, the sudden sting of separation was hard to bear.

She didn’t mention Buddy’s name—it would only make Cooper sadder—and murmured that time would heal all wounds.

Jasper came upstairs, and Stella handed him a glass of warm water, saying, “You’ve worked hard.”

Taking the glass, Jasper slumped onto the sofa. “Bran’s a quick study. He got the hang of the written material in no time, and his adaptability is impressive. His combat skills need polish, but I’ve taught him how to break down and respond to likely moves. He’s sharp. With enough practice, he’ll pass those tests easily.”

Stella frowned. “Do you think he was playing up his misery on purpose?”

Jasper couldn’t help but chuckle. “He’s genuinely in a bad spot, but he’s definitely selling it too.”

Bran was stubborn. Asking for help outright would be like asking him to lay down and die.