18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

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.

Afraid she might cry, Stella quickly blamed Jasper, "What's wrong with you? Can't you even pick a decent rock?" Jasper, unjustly scolded, said nothing. Wasting food was indeed shameful, no matter the reason. Determined to avoid another mishap, Stella opted for something sturdier-baked sweet potatoes, along with taro and potatoes, all deliciously aromatic.

As dusk fell, we sat around the campfire, peeling the piping hot sweet potatoes. They were scalding hot, their skins charred black, leaving our hands and mouths smeared with soot. Watching Stella, who looked like a gluttonous kitten, Jasper couldn't help but smile and handed her a cleanly peeled sweet potato. She accepted it, took a bite, then suddenly smeared his face with a sooty hand. Jasper's cool demeanor now featured two dark smudges.

Rosie burst into laughter, "Bro, you've got a smudge." She didn't just laugh; she whipped out her phone for a photo session-solo shots, duos, pet and owner, family portraits. Full and satisfied, we returned to the pod for sleep.

The next morning, we freshened up and set up for a Cantonese-style breakfast tea. The alcohol burner slowly boiled the water in the glass teapot. We added a pinch of tender green tea leaves, watching them unfurl in the bubbling water, their fragrance mingling with the steam. The green tea was refreshing, fragrant, and had a lingering sweetness.

We enjoyed our tea leisurely if not for the surrounding devastation, you'd think we were on vacation. With the aftershocks subsiding, Stella pitched a tent instead of retreating to the pod, preferring the open air. So, for five days, we indulged in simple pleasures, though we couldn't ignore the disaster. Sadly, being far from civilization, all around us lay in ruin, and the condition of the outside world was a mystery.

Collapsed buildings and cracked roads made it impossible to venture far, even by car. Stella, ever cautious, wanted to scout the situation to be prepared for any eventuality. After discussion, we decided to take a flight toward the coast, taking a straight line to save fuel. What was supposed to be a two-hour trip turned out to be just an hour and a half. Not because we misjudged the distance, but because the coastal cities had succumbed to the raging seas. The tsunami had passed, but the sea level continued to rise.

Beneath us, it was hard to tell what was what, but at helicopter speed, the sea had swallowed over a hundred kilometers inland. The realization of how fast it all happened weighed heavily on us. For now, we could only take it one day at a time. Turning back, we flew home in solemn silence. The next day, we tried to lift our spirits. Live each day as it comes-happiness and sadness are both part of life, and when the final day arrives, we'll have no regrets. We continued our routine of eating and drinking merrily.

Time passed, and with the aftershocks over, Stella stowed the pod away. Each day, we patrolled the area, keeping an eye out for intruders and gathering information. From our high vantage point, we used binoculars to survey the distance. Our land, though silent, was not yet swallowed by the sea.

Unexpectedly, Stella spotted a migrating group. Several thousand strong, ragged and injured, they trudged forward, defeated and despondent. And they were heading straight for us-this high ground, this stable land, was a natural sanctuary.

Only the major zones of the Kindle Society had established bases, but each province had official outposts. These survivors, we guessed, were migrating inland from the southeast. No one knew how far they'd come or how much farther they'd have to go to find a new home. Or perhaps they were doomed to wander for life, until their dying day.

Stella was both an observer and a participant in the unfolding drama. Having lived through two lifetimes, a total of 12 years, she had seen and heard too much. She had become numb, rarely feeling empathy anymore. Even with the advantage of her Arcadia device, she couldn't tell if there was an end in sight for the natural disasters plaguing the world. Her gaze remained fixed on a distant team through her binoculars, five or six kilometers away. After a long moment of contemplation, she finally suggested, "Maybe we should look for a new spot, huh?"