18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 420

Even the hardest of hearts craved company in the end. Humans, after all, were social creatures at their core.

After nine relentless years of natural disasters, bloodied hands from endless battles against both nature and man, loneliness had been the least of their worries. But after leaving the Kindle Society, interactions with others had dwindled to almost none.

Day in and day out, it was just the three of them and a dog, sharing each other's breaths, either eating or sleeping—especially confined in such a cramped space, with no end to the disasters in sight. They didn’t lack for food or essentials, and with a well-stocked survival kit, they could always cheat the odds in Arcadia, turning misfortune into fortune no matter the calamity.

Stella had it a million times better than other survivors, but perhaps there was some truth in the saying that human hearts are greedy. Or maybe idleness bred illness.

Content as she was, Stella felt like she was suppressing something. Days passed without joy or sorrow, just an occasional sense of ennui. A doctor by trade, Stella had witnessed the bombardment of disasters over the years, until the land itself sank into the sea, leaving hope a faint glimmer. A mild depression began to take hold.

It wasn't just Stella; Cooper was similarly affected, often listlessly sprawled in the submarine. Rosie, usually so jovial, couldn’t help but let a worried frown slip through her smiles. All were repressing something, Jasper included, though none spoke of it. Something had to be done to break these chains, or they’d surely lead to ruin.

The appearance of a similar yacht sparked an unexpected anticipation in Stella, a feeling of joy she couldn't quite place. She longed for the outside, to interact with her own kind. Humans were indeed strange creatures.

The other vessel seemed to have spotted the 2688 and halted, just a few hundred meters apart, silently facing each other in the deep sea. Jasper, sensing the moment, asked, “Should we hail them?”

Without hesitation, Stella replied, “Yes.”

What if, by some stroke of luck, it was Cody Lukas and the others? And there were coordinates left by the Eastern Air Force she had promised to broadcast. She could just make out a light turning on in the second observation window of the other sub.

A flashlight beam signaled inquiringly, asking if they were friend or foe. In plain terms—it was like asking, “Buddy, is that you?”

In the past, submarines had all sorts of radar and technological signals to detect others, even hundreds of miles away, but now, they were down to the most primitive methods. Each military branch had its own signals and codes; Stella knew only a few, taught to her by Mr. Cristian during submarine training.

The other side kept signaling. Stella and Jasper climbed to their second observation window, signaling back with their flashlight—Who are you?

They remained cautious; after so long with the world in such a state, who could tell if the others were friend or foe? Stella noticed their sub lacked the fireseed box riveted to it. As a principle of the South Base—to carry forward civilization—unless in the direst circumstances, they wouldn't sever the box holding the seeds of culture. So, the other sub had either been through desperate times or had changed hands.

The other side fell silent for a few minutes, then signaled back—1926. Cody’s sub had been 2639. Stella couldn't help feeling a tad disappointed but remained hopeful. With the land submerged and Earth a water world, encountering others from the same place was a kind of fate.

The other side turned off their flashlight, and a face appeared in the circular window. Through the telescope, Stella saw a distinctly Eastern face, gaunt features, eyes a bit sunken, looking to be in his thirties.

“Are you military?” she asked. The face alone wasn't enough for Jasper, a fellow serviceman, to discern. But the sub was stocked; if it had been robbed, the man wouldn't be so thin. Pirates lived by the sword, indulging in the moment without stinting on food or drink.

But soldiers were different, especially those on the fireseed mission. No one knew when the disasters would end, and even with ample food, they would ration to survive, especially if supplies were scarce. Being thin was expected; their ultimate goal was to stay alive.

Then there were the eyes. The windows to the soul, the man's eyes seemed excited and happy, not calculating. He continued his verification, signaling to ask for their military numbers.