18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 338

After the viral onslaught, only a few families with resources to secure medicine suffered minimal losses. The rest of the homeowners, even if they weren't entirely wiped out, had experienced death in their families. Even for those who managed to hold on until the antiviral drugs arrived, the aftermath was daunting.

The Porras, always with their ear to the ground, heard that due to smog or some other calamity, several groups had fled southward.

The long-distance migration of survivors was likely a sign of desperation, with no other apparent solutions due to the exhaustion of resources. There would be inevitably competition for survival resources in the south. However, Griffith also lacked sufficient provisions, and there was concern that this might lead to chaos when the time came.

A corrupt politician once said that refugees were less than human. It seemed absurd then, but in the face of a natural disaster, it became clear that refugees were indeed dehumanized.

No one could forget the savagery of the mobs during the endless nights. If they were to return, could the gated community hold its ground?

Shane didn't step forward, but he tossed the problem to his son. "You're not a toddler anymore. As the president of the Homeowners Association, it's time to shoulder the responsibility. Think about how to solve these problems."

At Shane’s age, who knew how much longer he had left? Shane worried that he wouldn't be able to rest in peace at the moment of his death.

The herbal remedy Stella provided was effective, but most of the Porras had contracted the virus. Shane had survived, but at the cost of a grandson and two granddaughters. Having many descendants didn't soften the blow of burying the younger generation.

Worn out in body and spirit, Shane aged rapidly and began to fear death. He wasn't afraid of his own demise, but rather that the Porras would follow the grim path of other homeowners. Once the head of the family was gone, the whole clan could disintegrate.

Having lost his father at a young age, Shane had taken on the family's burden early, guiding his siblings from poverty to a business empire. He had held the Porras together for decades and thought he'd be able to enjoy his twilight years, yet here he was, facing an apocalyptic disaster.

Years of struggle had worn him down to the bone. But he dared not die, fearing that without him, the authorities would no longer respect the Porras, and the underworld would run rampant.

He did have sons, but which of them could truly stand alone? The eldest was loyal but lacked talent, the second was all show and no substance, while the third had some cleverness but no depth.

"You need to grow up fast, kid. Stop messing around."

Bran had given it some thought. "Dad, I think the community needs new blood, but only those we can trust."

"If you think it's right, then go for it," Shane said, patting Bran’s shoulder as he stood up. "Make something happen. Show us all what you can do."

After much deliberation, Bran got in his car and drove off. He didn't even enter the Porras' residence when he returned, taking his dog Buddy straight to building 50, his smile as mischievous as ever. "Stella, weren't you going to treat me to dinner?" It was as if he would leave Buddy at her place if she didn't host him for a meal.

Debts of dinner were to be repaid, and Stella opened the door, "Come on in."

Hosting meant sincerity. She thought of inviting Austin over, but Bran interjected, "Stella, I'm not in the mood for barbecue anymore. I'd like a home-cooked meal."

Whether it was barbecue or a home-cooked meal, Jasper was the one cooking. Stella had no objections. "What would you like?"

"Anything."

Anything it was, and Stella prepared a dish of flame-grilled goose, a specialty of Griffith. "Eat up, this is one of Griffith's finest."

Bran didn't hold back, stuffing his face and commending, "Mmm, Jasper's cooking is amazing."

Jasper was a man of few words, but he made sure to serve both Stella and Rosie.

Bran envied their happiness.

Bran’s high-maintenance girlfriend used to serve him too, before the disaster. He might have been married with kids by now, if not for the catastrophe. But that life was gone, potentially forever.

Even within the community, life had changed drastically. Those who used to flaunt sports cars and host yacht parties with models were now groveling to wealthy patrons for a few pounds of food.

The world had become suffocating.

Bran chuckled and took a swig of the strong spirits. "Stella, the community has lost a lot of people, and I've heard that groups of refugees are heading south. Some will likely settle in Griffith. If we want to keep our community secure, we need to replenish our ranks, don't you think?"

Stella agreed. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

"The folks in building 42 are impressive. Do you have any other recommendations?"

Stella pondered for a moment. "No, not really."

Bran looked thoughtful. "I spoke to Mark today. He suggested considering people from Eastwood Eden who've relocated here. I remember you and Jasper used to live in Eastwood Eden. Some of the security we hired came from there, and Jasper was their instructor at one point."

"That's true."

"Do you think they'd fit in?"

"They were good back in Eastwood Eden, but it's been years and people change. It's hard to say now. But I trust your judgment, Bran. You make the call."

In the wake of disaster, trust was a luxury.

Stella had considered people from Eastwood Eden, but with the divide of years and vastly different living conditions, a wrong recommendation could spell trouble.

Moreover, people from building 42 were close to people from building 50. Monkey's group was Austin's crew, and there had been rumors for a while that they were sticking together. If more people from Eastwood Eden joined, what would the Porras think?

She had no ambitions over the community, just the desire to weather the storm with those she cared about. But where there are people, there are politics, and with politics come disputes.

No matter who joined, she and Jasper were self-reliant and didn't need to make unnecessary moves.

Bran saw that people from building 50 genuinely didn't want to meddle in affairs. After a hearty meal and a heartfelt thanks, Bran left.

A few days later, Bran called a homeowners' meeting.

In the misty air, he skipped the formalities and went straight to the public address system. His agenda was twofold: to attract new blood and to address the possibility that the smog could lead to acid rain.

After much contemplation, the decision was made to bring in the folks from Eastwood Eden.

They'd taken a hit from the natural disasters, their numbers whittled down to about seventy souls. These were people vouched for by Mark, and their backgrounds had been thoroughly checked for any red flags.

The homeowners didn't object—not that they'd voice any concerns even if they had them. Life had gotten too rough, and most were too disheartened to care much either way. Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

And deep down, they were all hoping the Porras family would step up and establish a private sanctuary, one that might cover all the essentials—food, water, and shelter.

How would they cope when the acid rain came? They couldn't even afford glass for the windows.