18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 316

Pre-apocalypse, Bran wouldn't glance at a stew under five grand, but now, the spicy aroma of the chili-oil broth stirred memories long buried.

"Girl, you've outdone yourself."

Stella beckoned everyone to the table. "I made the seasoning myself. Try it."

Austin, the smooth-talker, showered Bran with compliments, buttering him up without a single stutter.

Stella smiled contentedly; her ears were spared from flattery as she enjoyed her meal.

"Bran, you're too kind. This isn't just booze, it's a treasure," Austin said as he opened a vintage bottle, fearing he might regret it in a moment. "Let's all taste the flavor of art."

A sip of the $150,000 liquor cost a few thousand, lavish enough to make one's heart race. The aroma filled the air, a rich flavor that lingered on the lips. Stella teared up after two glasses. She finally had it.

Austin kept praising, "Man, this is the spirit of the nation. Drink a bit more of this, and you feel like ascending to heaven."

He could talk a big game. But Bran had his own boasts. "What's the big deal? I used to use this stuff as mouthwash."

It was a contest of one-upmanship.

But as the expensive liquor went down, Stella's mind conjured up the image of Bentley, perhaps feeling guilty for having taken a few cases of his stash. She feigned concern, "How's your cousin's condition?"

"Still on meds," Bran sighed with a mix of sympathy and relentless meat stuffing. "It's official, it is deep delusional disorder."

Bran couldn't understand how his brilliant cousin could be so tortured by love. Perhaps Lindsay's tragic death haunted him so much that not even in death did she leave him be.

"Is there a cure?" Stella wondered if it wouldn't be better for Bentley to join Lindsay in the Pacific than to live without valuing life.

"In truth, I wish he wouldn't take his meds," Bran admitted. With clarity came pain, but Bentley’s mum was unyielding.

Maybe those who were heartless were the luckiest. Bran's voracious appetite didn't wane even as he pitied Bentley.

Stella glanced at him. "Bran, are you sure you weren't a starving ghost in your past life?"

"You don't get it." Bran was on cloud nine with the spicy thrill. "My dad's diet is bland, no oil, no salt. It's like I'm being tortured every meal."

Whatever the old man ate, the family had to follow suit. Bran had protested but earned nothing but eye rolls and the threat of his father's cane.

With that thought, he took another scoop of Stella's homemade chili sauce. "Amazing! Send me two jars!"

His tone was not of asking but of expecting. Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Not just the privileged kid was enjoying themselves. Buddy, too, was no exception, polishing off a basin-sized bowl of food.

Full and content, Bran lingered. Stella relented and gave Bran the chili sauce partially because he'd brought the vintage liquor.

But before two days passed, he was back. "My dad says the chili sauce is good. I need a batch of that sauce."

Bran didn't come empty-handed. He brought two sets of surgical tools and alcohol – top-notch stuff from the Porras family stash.

Generously, Stella handed over a jar of chili sauce, enough for several meals.

Cody and Lukas settled in, bringing tobacco, spirits, and poultry with their chicks, along with some vegetable seeds.

Stella didn't pass them on but tossed them into Arcadia. Five years since the disaster, Arcadia preserved its goods well, but their quality could raise suspicions. She stored the items in her villa, letting them sit for a while, ready to display should outsiders need convincing.

The eternal night dragged on, each day a struggle.

The three empty villas were rented out within half a year, all backed by reliable owners.

Despite Bran's carefree facade, he had done his homework and sought to maintain his presence with Stella. "When you and Jasper are on duty, keep an eye on the new tenants. If there's trouble, it'll be my head on the line."

Stella agreed. It was a matter of mutual survival. She might not have been a pro, but Jasper had the chops, and Cody and Lukas were getting there.

After months of watchful eyes, no suspicious activity was noted. They kept their distance but stayed alert.

Two years into the eternal night, as the community's efforts began to bear fruit, lights once again lined the streets.

Robberies occurred now and then, and some tried to scale the walls, only to meet their end at the jaws of the guard dogs. Buddy might’ve seemed dopey in front of Cooper, but he had a fierce side. He'd snap off a burglar's fingers without a second thought and proudly present the bloody digits.

Cooper praised his canine friend. "Well done, big guy!"

As security improved, reconstruction efforts didn't pause.

Stella stayed in, but Bran, the human megaphone, always had the latest news.

The official glass factory was up and running. It couldn't compare to pre-disaster standards, but things were looking up.

Countless times on duty, Bran would stand in the dark, gazing at the triangular glasshouse atop villa number 50. It seemed to grow herbs, but was that the only purpose?

He suspected a link between the official glass factory and the glasshouse. Did Stella know something, and was building it to protect her home from smog and acid rain?

The Porras family had built their wall before the darkness, providing a sense of security over the years.

Shane, ever-watchful of official moves, considered using the same materials for their rooftop upon hearing of the factory's production. It might’ve dented the Porras family's pride to be trailing behind number 50, but survival was now more precious than vanity.

Despite the glass factory chugging along, resources and machinery were in such short supply that production was a trickle at best. Even with Shane stepping in, there was no skipping the line.

Priority had to be given to the Agricultural Science Institute. They needed to erect more greenhouses to brace for any potential natural disasters that could be on the horizon, aiming to secure as much food as possible for the survivors.

Stella was terrified of the smog, a murky cloud that carried unknown viruses, and was potent enough to make one's lungs feel like they were being coughed out.

Just as she was about to inquire about the origins of the smog, her walkie-talkie crackled to life with the voice of the duty patrol informing her that someone at the community gate was asking for Stella.