18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

They had grand plans, but before they could even act, the staccato of gunfire shattered the silence...

Bullets sprayed back and forth, relentless.

Blind in the darkness, they stood no chance against Stella and her crew, who were armed with night vision goggles, taking them down with deadly precision. They didn't even have time to draw their weapons before they fell, one by one.

Stella pushed open the electronic gate, her samurai sword gleaming as she stepped out.

Several lay writhing, begging in horror, "Lady, I ain't ready to die, please spare me!"

Under the cloak of night, Stella stood amidst the swirling dust, her cold laughter echoing like a harvester of souls.

No loose ends; she made sure of that with her blade, leaving no room for future threats.

She didn't return to the RV; instead, she headed for the camp a mile away.

Jasper walked alongside her in the dark.

They weren't far off, and even with the howling wind, the sound of gunfire had reached them.

Panic ensued at the camp, voices of men and women frantically blaming each other, "What do we do now? What the hell do we do?"

Stella had given them a chance, considering the survivors who'd made it through the Plate Tectonic Collision and the efforts of the official bases over the years. But they hadn't cherished it.

Strike once and be done; there would be no third chances.

From behind a tent, Stella opened fire, then lobbed an incendiary grenade...

The gasoline burned long into the night before it finally died down.

Stella counted heads, making sure no one was missing before she left.

Too tired to bother with the bodies outside, she headed back to wash off the day's grit and fall into a deep sleep in the RV.

Waking naturally the next day, she found Jasper had already cleared the bodies, unceremoniously dumping them back at their camp.

The highland climate was arid, day and night temperatures varied wildly, and the fierce winds meant there was no worry of plagues. To any future survivors, this would stand as a dire warning.

Several groups did come by after, each filled with hope at the sight of the RV, only to be met by Stella's icy, merciless gaze.

They'd scout around for a spot to settle, but at the sight of the wind-dried skeletons, they'd hastily decide to move on.

Life on the highland was harsh; the sun's ultraviolet rays were intense, the air dry and thick with dust, necessitating the constant use of humidifiers and air purifiers. The land was sinking, wooden stakes drove easily into the ground, sometimes feeling soft even with a firm step.

Each day brought a relentless dance of wind and sand, the basin stretching endlessly, its sinking land unmistakable. Sometimes, a jolt would awaken them in the night, a sensation like twitching a leg in a half-awake dream.

The premonitions grew darker, even Rosie sensed it, patrolling daily on her electric bike over the stony, arid terrain. Initially, the rough ride left her sore, but now, the bike glided more smoothly.

Rosie stopped, her gaze landing on a green sprout among the withered grass.

In this dry season, yet there was new life.

She plucked the sprout and brought it back to her brother.

Jasper, with his rich survival experience, examined the plant gravely, "Stella, this place is going to sink too."

Stella nodded, "We need to prepare."

Sedges, a rare high-altitude landscaping grass, combat desertification and conserve water and soil.

They're evergreens, but only sprout in the highland basin at the end of spring, when melting snow provides a rare water source.

Yet here they were, sprouting in the driest season.

No rain had fallen, but the soil was damp enough to germinate the withered grass.

Cracks must be forming beneath, releasing a steady stream of moisture.

Jasper dug into the earth, finding the soil wet just thirty centimeters down.

Days later, Stella noticed a faint stench in the air.

The dryness had lessened, replaced by a chill tinged with the scent of the sea.

She knew that smell from her time living by the ocean in Swan Hill; it was unmistakable. Today, the wind was fierce.

If the entire basin reeked of the sea, the sinking was imminent.

Stella crouched down to inspect the RV, noting how its weight had slightly indented the ground.

All signs pointed to one thing: they couldn't afford to overlook anything.

Decisively, Stella packed the RV into Arcadia and pulled out the escape pod, along with four life jackets that they wore at all times, never to be removed. Cooper's unique physique meant his life jacket needed custom adjustments, which Stella did with needle and thread.

With the sinking's timing unknown, the trio and their dog set up a tent, taking turns keeping watch by day and sheltering in the escape pod by night.

Two days later, Cooper's restlessness couldn't be soothed, even by his favorite treat. He was nudging the ground with his nose, huffing urgently. He even growled at Stella, "Woof!"

"I get it," Stella replied, shoving a treat into his mouth. "Eat up, big guy. Once you're done, we'll pack up."

While Cooper devoured his food, Stella stepped out of the tent to survey their surroundings.

The air was humid, the salty stench intensified.

Sensing trouble, they quickly dismantled the tent after Cooper's meal.

Animals often sensed disasters before humans, and Cooper's anxiety was a clear warning.

Sure enough, once inside the escape pod, Cooper finally calmed down in the arms of his trainer.

By noon, they were eating and watching shows.

Stella had prepared a double delight rice pot, with succulent sausage, sweet char siu, and steaming greens.

Just as she was about to savor a piece of char siu, her chopsticks quivered, and the meat dropped to the floor. No, it wasn't the chopsticks; the escape pod was shaking.

Stella acted fast, tossing their meals into Arcadia and snatching away the plates from Jasper and Rosie.

As she reached for Cooper's bowl, the pod lurched violently, beginning to roll.

It rolled left, right, sometimes veering off course.

Despite gravity stabilizers, they felt disoriented, as if their recently eaten food was about to come back up.

After two minutes of rolling, the pod suddenly plummeted...

Countless fissures appeared, like a demon's hand slashing with a knife, dividing the vast highland basin into myriad fragments, cracked and shattered like a turtle's shell. Splitting, the fissures widened rapidly before collapsing with a thunderous roar...

The escape pod hurtled downward at breakneck speed, followed by a series of jarring impacts that seemed to echo through the void. Then another plummet into the abyss. It was a relentless cycle, a descent that hammered deeper and deeper into the earth's fractures...