18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 407

After a grueling seven-hour flight, with no breakfast to boot, my stomach was growling like a bear coming out of hibernation.

We each devoured a hearty serving of roast pork and rice, with green veggies adding a splash of color to the feast. The aroma filled the cramped confines of our survival pod. Post-meal, we washed it down with a glass of zesty fruit juice to cut through the richness.

The aftershocks kept coming in fits and starts. Thanks to the pod’s protection, they didn’t feel too severe, but you couldn't just stroll outside for a breath of fresh air. What if the Grim Reaper had your number? The pod felt claustrophobic, and time seemed to crawl.

Stella set up her tablet, queued up some offline movies, and began cracking open sunflower seeds. Jasper wasn’t much of a snacker, but over the years, he’d mastered the art of shelling seeds and dexterously divided the kernels between his wife and sister.

Cooper furrowed his brow, "Woof!" Jasper soothed him, "Easy boy, you're up next." Stella and Rosie couldn’t help but chuckle.

After satisfying our cravings, when nature called, we took care of business in the makeshift loo. At night, the silence was deafening, and it was pitch black all around.

We'd spent the whole day surviving, and both mentally and physically, we were spent. Stella lit some calming lavender incense, and we all slept like logs. Stella packed up the survival pod into the Arcadia, stretching out our stiff limbs. Inside the Arcadia, it was tranquil—no earthquakes, no natural disasters. A few hours of sleep in a seven-figure bed, and then it was back to the pod.

The next day, with the aftershocks dwindling, the three of us and Cooper stepped out to stretch our legs. With nothing much to do, we decided to fire up the barbecue right next to the pod. The charcoal we had stockpiled before the disaster finally came in handy.

Stella had just finished grilling the chicken wings to a golden hue and was about to brush them with honey when another aftershock hit. Forget eating—we dropped everything and dove into the safety of the pod. Survival first!

When the shaking stopped, the grill was still standing, but... Rosie looked devastated, "Sis, the chicken wings are charred to a crisp." Not just the wings—oysters, squid, corn, eggplant, all ruined. Rosie had known hunger as a child and held a sacred respect for food. Seeing so much go to waste was like bleeding internally. Stella, leaning on the resources of the Arcadia, was more cavalier, "No worries, we'll just do it again."

We took our time grilling and eating—after all, we had time to kill. Barbecue in the morning, campfire cooking in the afternoon. Jasper fashioned a makeshift stove from rocks, and we gathered some firewood from nearby. Rosie, the budding chef, took charge of frying bacon with garlic. Midway through, an unexpected aftershock toppled the stones, spilling pan and all. Rosie, spatula in hand, was speechless.