18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 507

Christian stood in silence, prompting Mark to ask, "They're doing alright, aren't they?"

"Yeah, they're holding up fine. I recognized them instantly; life for them hasn't changed much since our days back in Eastwood Eden."

Mark wasn't surprised. People with true talent thrive in any situation, be it peace or chaos.

What intrigued him more was their relationship with the Russians.

Christian wasn't sure himself. "That Russian guy was pretty nice to them. Maybe because they can grow some veggies or have other uses. Anyway, it looks like they're on good terms with the Russians."

He didn't want to dwell on their relationship; his mind was preoccupied with more pressing concerns. "Mark, do you think we'll ever get out of the Arctic?"

Surviving had only one purpose for him: to reunite with his son.

His son had made it into South Base, which meant military protection, so he was surely still alive.

Mark knew Christian was anxious, but fretting wouldn't help. "An opportunity will come, eventually."

Christian couldn't bear to wait another day. "The Russian said we could leave whenever we want."

Mark rubbed his temples with a grimace. "We arrived on the same boat, just this group of thirty-some people. Some want to leave, some don't. How can we achieve anything with such discord? The Russians might seem better than the folks at Union Base, but who knows what they're really thinking? They're polite to us Australians, not like how they curse and fight with people from certain other nations. But how can we be sure their kindness isn't just a façade? If they were truly friendly, why did those who chose to leave not only get no supplies but also end up crocodile food the moment they stepped out?"

Christian was painfully aware. "Those people's countries aren't exactly friends with Russia. I'm afraid they were..."

"Our disunity and empty hands mean certain death out there."

Mark, too, yearned to leave, to wake up from this nightmare, but the timing wasn't right. "Christian, I trust you, not because I doubt you, but because I'm afraid if we wait much longer, there might be no chance left to see AJ."

Christian's thoughts were consumed by his son, but he trusted Mark's judgment. After all, Mark was a psychologist who'd climbed the ranks in the government post-disaster, even serving as the deputy mayor of Griffith. Mark could spot a ghost from a mile away. If the Russians truly meant well for the Australians, they wouldn't have isolated them like this. Especially that guy today, who seemed friendly with Stella. But nobody was born yesterday.

Christian was puzzled. "What are they really after?"

Mark pondered for a moment. "They probably want to reconcile with us, hence the ongoing show of goodwill. But they're also wary that Stella and the others could be a threat."

Christian recalled the day's events. "Stella and Mr. Jasper have their ways. Do you think they might find a way to rescue us?"

Mark dismissed his unwarranted hopes. "If they had the means, they'd have helped without us asking; if they don't, your asking could put them in danger."

Christian knew this, yet when one is desperate, it's hard not to indulge in fantasies. After all, Stella had once saved his life. If not for her, he would have died years ago. Mark's words snuffed out any misguided hope.

Stella was unaware of the situation here, but meeting Christian had stirred memories of Griffith, Cody, and many others. Loneliness had a way of reviving the past.

She had a restless night and woke up late.

The sound of snowmobiles outside interrupted the morning stillness, and there were several of them. Sure enough, the Ivans were back, bringing crates with them. All filled with hydroponic gardening supplies: glass containers, seeds, and nutrients.

Christian looked worn, losing hair and teeth. From the looks of it, Samuel was his last pillar of hope. After a decade of disaster, many clung to such pillars for dear life. Stella didn't know his situation at the base, nor could she inquire.

If you're going to play a part, play it well. She asked Ivans for advice on building an ice house. Turns out, she asked the right person. Ivans had lived in Siberia for years and could build an ice house in his sleep. He was eager to start right away.

Stella accepted the offer. "Call a few guys over, and we'll deduct their fees from the greens."

With so many neighbors, you never know what's lurking. Inviting the Russians to show off their strength was a way to deter anyone from messing with her.

Ivans agreed cheerfully. "Sure thing. I'll bring people over tomorrow."

Watching them leave, Stella didn't bother moving the hydroponic equipment inside. First, there was no space; second, it would be a hassle to move it again tomorrow. She left it by the front door, doubting anyone would dare steal it. Russia was now the big brother of the Arctic. Who would dare to steal the big brother's gardening tools?

Long before the white-robed tycoon settled in, Stella had embarked on a territorial campaign, claiming a hundred-meter radius around her house as her own yard, erecting snow walls over a meter high with the thick blanket of winter's offering.

She would occasionally douse the walls with water, until they became solid ice, impervious even to bullets. Once the base of the walls was securely frozen, Stella intended to stack them higher, reaching over two meters. This would make it near impossible for any prying eyes to spy through binoculars.

With the construction of the ice barrier, the line of sight from the lookout posts of shipping containers was blocked. But the couple, shrewd and cunning as wolves, had senses sharp as bloodhounds; no rustle or whiff could escape their vigilance.

Any other survivors, no matter how formidable, were merely scratching the surface compared to the previous Union Base. They posed little threat to Stella and Jasper.

Ivan had come early, bringing with him five Russians and five Aussies. Aside from Christian, Stella noticed another familiar face—Mark.