18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 343

As the smog began to dissipate, Stella had already stashed three sets of acid-proof hazmat suits in her villa from Arcadia, hoping her loved ones wouldn't venture outside. If they had to, she wanted them dressed in those suits.

The suits she stockpiled were thick and bulky, top-notch for protection—impervious to even a splash of sulfuric acid. Their only downside was how cumbersome they were, making them almost impossible to carry around.

She tossed and turned all night, the persistent patter of rain interrupting her sleep.

Come morning, the rain showed no signs of stopping. Predicting its duration was a fool's errand. It seemed intent on a marathon, ceasing only briefly before starting up again with renewed vigor.

The streets were flooded, making driving back home an impossible feat.

Impatient by nature, Stella couldn't wait any longer and resorted to the most cumbersome solution—she would go on foot.

Government-issued protective gear was scarce and meant for communal use. Stella couldn't claim it for her own.

She returned it and retrieved her own stockpile instead. It was a struggle to don the suit, weighing her down with its thirty-odd pounds. The mask was bulky, the protective boots even more so.

With her oxygen supply secured, she stepped resolutely into the acid rain.

She felt incredibly safe despite the suit's hideous appearance, reminiscent of a bulky biohazard outfit. It was so clumsy that she was exhausted after just a few hundred meters.

The rain hitting the suit was imperceptible, but her breath fogged up the mask. Thankfully, the built-in desiccant worked its magic, clearing her view quickly.

The research institute was over thirty kilometers from Griffith, a mere half-hour drive under normal circumstances. But in a hazmat suit on foot, it was as if she was crawling at a snail's pace; she wouldn't cover the distance even from dawn to dusk.

A day and a night passed, and the rain persisted, with anxious, hungry, and exhausted people taking shelter under eaves and storefronts, too intimidated by the rain to head home. Some, impulsive and reckless, attempted to venture out at the first sign of a break in the rain. Using planks of wood as makeshift shoes, they moved slowly towards their homes, only for the rain to start pouring again unexpectedly. Those lucky enough to run might save their skin, but the rest faced the acid wash, their cries of agony futile against the downpour.

Stella heard her name being called and turned to see survivors sheltering in a shop doorway. There were looks of envy, curses thrown her way, and even objects hurled in jealousy.

The colloid protective suit provided good insulation. She couldn't hear very clearly, but she felt the impact of the thrown stones on her body.

She scanned past her visor and caught the culprit—a middle-aged man with a mocking sneer as if daring her to confront him.

This was the ugliness of human nature, repulsive to the core. If Stella approached, they would surely overpower her and steal her suit, and what might happen to her then was anybody's guess.

He should be thankful, for if the skies were clear of acid rain, Stella wouldn't hesitate to tear him to pieces.

Unhooked by his bait, she continued on her way.

Hours passed and she hadn't even left the confines of Swan Hill. The remains of those consumed by the acid rain lay on the road, their features obliterated by the relentless corrosion. Luckily, Stella was unfazed; otherwise, she might have lost her lunch.

Many survivors, unable to afford proper shelter, built makeshift huts with thatched roofs or corrugated metal sheets. During the rain, it was a death sentence as the thin metal corroded, and the thatch soaked through.

She focused on the road ahead, avoiding the sight of the two children, not much older than Rosie, struggling to hold up a door as a shield against the rain. Their limbs looked rigid, legs trembling—how much longer they could endure was unknown.