18 Floors Above the Apocalypse



The bus route 2688 rolled past Platform C, its bright red banner announcing: "Welcome Home, Compatriots!" A sign pointed right, indicating a 5- kilometer journey to Platform A for check-in.

Platform A featured a deep-sea dock connected to the main structure by a long, covered bridge. When bus 2688 stopped at berth number 79, the group disembarked and were greeted by the sight of several submarines identical to their own.

In the aftermath of the disaster, supplies were scarce, and most survivors were malnourished, their bodies as thin as reeds. Stella, Jasper, Rosie, and their dog, Cooper, wanted to blend in without drawing attention. Stella rummaged through some old clothes and applied makeup to give off a look of hardship and decay.

Cooper, still new to Hope Point, was safely tucked into a backpack Jasper carried. Worried he might show signs of distress, Stella coaxed him with a little white lie, "There are bad guys outside who want to make dog stew."

"Dog stew?" Cooper was instantly enraged, ready to charge out.

"No, no," Stella quickly reassured him, "They've never seen a dog. What if they get scared seeing someone as majestic and powerful as you? They might demand compensation from me! And if that happens, I'd have to pay them with the steaks you love, and you'd be left with nothing but porridge."

For the sake of his beloved steaks, Cooper begrudgingly squeezed into the backpack.

The metal bridge stretched for three kilometers, and it was a shaky walk that took nearly an hour to reach Platform A. Platform A was vast, home to administrative and functional departments, its offices made from specially adapted shipping containers. To reduce wind and wave resistance, the containers stood no taller than three meters, resembling typical commercial buildings. The thick steel underfoot provided a reassuring solidity; if one ignored the surrounding ocean, it almost felt like solid land.

Hope Point, now called "New Haven," hosted over ten thousand survivors, with about half being pioneers from the East Base. The initial tectonic plate collision involved more people, but many were lost during the perilous search for Hope Point through treacherous seas. A decade of disaster had whittled down a nation of over a billion to just these ten thousand who made it to New Haven. The thought was sobering.

As for how many more would come, the staff initially had no idea, but the mood had recently turned optimistic. With the coordinates of their new home now public, more and more survivors were making their way over. A few days ago, a transport ship from an official base in the province of Ru had arrived, bringing over five hundred survivors. Hearing about their harrowing journey, the staff were taken aback. Months ago, they had encountered mutated creatures and were supposedly helped by mysterious individuals who eradicated the threat and even provided two ships' worth of supplies. At first, the staff thought the survivors were experiencing psychological issues. But it wasn't just one person making these claims; it was the entire crew. The matter was serious enough to bring in military doctors for evaluation. The verdict was grim: more than half showed signs of mental distress. While a few were beyond help, the rest could be managed with proper care. But such tales... well, the staff could only listen and wonder.

As new survivors arrived to register, the staff greeted them warmly, "Welcome home."NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

Seeing real, living people brought a smile to Rosie's face, "Hello, everyone."

New Haven currently only accepted survivors with national citizenship, so the vetting process was meticulous: origins, previous shelter, means of survival, and so on. These questions posed no challenge for Stella and her companions; after all, the submarine from the South Base was hard to miss. The staff were astonished, "You're not part of the Seed Project. How did you come by a submarine?"

Stella explained truthfully, "We were scavenging for rare metals and managed to find just what the military factory needed in a pinch, so we traded for the sub."

They were grilled about their survival at sea-what they ate, what they drank; the inquiries were as persistent as a neighborhood committee member. Once their information was verified, they were directed to undergo a medical examination.

"A medical exam?" Stella was puzzled.

The staff didn't elaborate, simply guiding them to the adjacent room where men and women were separated. The military doctors conducted thorough examinations, asking about medical histories and current discomforts, and finally instructed, "Please remove your clothes."

Stella was confused, "Why do we need to strip?"

"It's a routine check."

Thankfully, they were allowed to keep their undergarments on. Stella complied with the examination, despite feeling uncomfortable. The doctor scrutinized her briefly before nodding, "You're good to go."

"

Stella considered the implications, "You thought I might be mutated?"

The doctor, around Stella's age and impressed by her physique, confirmed, "Many survivors have had to eat... unconventional things to stay alive. It's easy for the body to develop issues. The base can only perform basic screenings. Those with illnesses need to be treated."

Handing Stella her signed examination result, he added, "Just take this back to reception."

Stella glanced at the form: A+.

Waiting at the door, Jasper and Rosie emerged one after the other, both with A+ results. As they were about to speak, a commotion erupted from inside, "Let go of me, I'm not sick, I'm not sick!"

The door swung open as two soldiers dragged out a middle-aged survivor who was resisting vehemently, "I'm not ill!"

Stella's sharp eyes caught sight of a

few bumps on his face, not large, but definitely not acne. She quickly pulled Rosie aside, eager to avoid any contact with the man. His skin was bronze from the sun, his body gaunt, and his eyes yellowed and cloudy. He must have survived on his own and found the base. Without resorting to marine life or

cannibalism, how else could he have lived?

Stella fully understood why Ocean Point Naval Station categorized their medical exams. Humanity has its angels and demons, its moral boundaries. Months adrift at sea could warp both body and mind. Mixing the sick with the healthy could lead to infection or tragedy. After all, madness driven by disaster was no new tale.

The survivors were managed in

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categories, the sick treated, and the healthy given a chance at a new life. The trio returned to the reception where the staff reviewed their medical reports and assigned them to Area B for residency. Everything, from food to shelter, require@ration tokens, earnable either by contributing to base construction or by sustainable farming. Of course, those with deep pockets could live off their wealth without issue.

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Considering the survivors have been through hell and back, it's a miracle they're still kicking. When the reaper comes knocking, who's got a stash of grub to spare? Besides, those who find a new haven are either with the Kindle Society or holed up in an official safe zone. Military or government, it's all Uncle Sam's show at the end of the day. Small private crews like Stella's exist, sure, but they're few and far between.

So, the powers that be have laid down some ground rules: you can run a tab on rent and supplies for up to three months. But if you're buying on credit, you only get one room. For the first three months, it'll cost you a mere two pounds of food, but after that, the price hikes up to five pounds. You gotta eat to live, but you'll have to work hard to keep that roof over your head.