18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 323

Stella's heart pounded like a jackhammer as she frantically checked Jasper for signs of sickness.

It didn't make any sense. He'd only gotten sick much later in his past life, and ever since she'd returned from Swan Hill, she'd insisted he wear masks when patrolling with Rosie and sanitize their clothes with alcohol upon returning home, followed by a thorough wash in disinfectant.

Cooper didn't have a fancy mask, and with an abundance of caution, she hadn't let Cooper accompany them on rounds lately. Buddy came by, and Stella didn't even acknowledge him.

"Ah... Ah... Ah, hahaha, daylight's here, the sun's up!"

A cacophony of voices erupted outside, a cheerful stampede of sounds. It wasn't just a lone reveler—it was a whole crowd. The rich and famous, the down-on-their-luck, young and old alike, they were all there in the mist, laughing and crying, hugging and shouting, "Daylight's broken through, we've survived! Oh, oh, oh!"

Terrified by the commotion, Stella quickly sealed the doors and windows, whipped out the air purifier, and brewed a concoction of herbs she had mixed herself. Everyone had to drink it, even Cooper—forced down his throat if necessary.

The smog was just as dangerous to their feathered and furred friends. Stella had been testing the remedy on their rabbit for weeks, mixing the medicinal syrup into crushed corn. So far, there had been no adverse reactions.

As they were about to drink their herbal tonic, the radio crackled with an urgent broadcast: the smog was caused by a volcanic eruption in a northern archipelago, potentially carrying unknown viruses. Survivors were advised not to venture outside. If going out was absolutely necessary, they must take all safety precautions, wear masks, wash hands frequently, and disinfect clothing.

With the news spreading, those who had been celebrating in the smog turned pale, instinctively covering their noses and sprinting home.

Good Lord, this wasn't ordinary fog; this was a toxic smog with an undertone of nuclear waste. Were they infected now? What were they to do?

Panic set in, and the survivors huddled in their homes, trembling with fear. What hellish smog, they thought, even worse than an eternal night.

Stella pulled out the alcohol and disinfectant, and together they scrubbed every nook and cranny of the house. The smell of the disinfectant was harsh, but they'd rather suffer that than inhale the toxic air.

The walkie-talkie buzzed—it was Dylan, looking for Rosie. His voice was laced with coughs.

Rosie, terrified, hung up immediately, as if a second's delay would let the smog seep into her home through the device. After hanging up, she felt a pang of guilt for being so abrupt, helplessly looking at Stella.

Stella couldn't help but chuckle. "It's fine. The smog can't travel through the walkie-talkie."

Rosie relaxed and reconnected the walkie-talkie, her voice sweet and soft. "Dylan, are you okay?"

"Just a cold, probably caught a chill yesterday."

"Alright, get some rest and keep fit. Don't go outside. There's smog everywhere."

After the call, Rosie looked worried. "Could Dylan be infected?"

Stella didn't know; perhaps it was just a cold.

The smog had came suddenly, catching everyone off guard. The city was plunged into deep panic.

Stella stood by the window, peering into the foggy world outside. The smog wasn't too dense yet, with visibility around 50 meters, but the neighborhood was deserted, everyone too scared to leave their homes.

Thus, the fifth homeowners' meeting was held via walkie-talkie. Voices filled with fear, anxiety, helplessness, and a sense of lost direction for the future.

"What do I do? I feel awful, having trouble breathing. Is there a doctor in the group? I need you!"

"I just coughed, am I infected?"

"Stay away from me. Don't come knocking if it's not important—we're not that close."