18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 516

Ivans had brought over a stash of medical supplies, including anesthetics, all pilfered from Union Base.

Stella first administered a potent medicine, followed by an anesthetic injection. She then cleaned Ivans' festering wound, disinfected it, and stitched it up.

"Ivans, if you want to save your leg, you've got to watch what you eat. No meat, no booze, and make sure you get plenty of greens."

She adjusted his medication, then sent him off with a hefty five-pound bag of veggies, reminding him to come back in two days for a dressing change.

Shutting the door to her makeshift clinic, she caught up with her siblings on what had been happening back at the base.

"If things went smoothly, Peter should've made it back to the naval fleet by now."

Exhausted, Stella retreated to her bed to rest.

Jasper could tell she was feeling down, envious of those who could go home.

It wasn't just Stella feeling the blues; Rosie was too, though she put on a brave face.

He gave Rosie a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

She was mature beyond her years, "Brother, I'm okay."

You win some, you lose some. Had they not left, things might have been worse.

The Arctic wasn’t all bad, just a bit chilly.

Jasper went back inside, intending to lift Stella's spirits, but found her mood had already improved.

The words he'd prepared remained unspoken.

Two days later, Ivans returned for his dressing change.

He didn't forget to update them, "Yang and He, they've left."

There had been over thirty Australians at the base, and all had chosen to depart.

Ivans was generous, giving each person five pounds of potatoes and three pounds of seal meat, even arranging for them to join a hunting party for the journey, ensuring they had support along the way.

"If all goes well, they'll reach the port in two days and join the other survivors heading back to your country."

All the talk was simply a matter of courtesy.

Stella promptly fulfilled his request, "Ivans, thank you for your help, without it, they couldn't have made it home."

"Ha! What are friends for?"

With the Australians gone, they too could finally sleep peacefully.

...

Two days later

The Arctic wind carried a whisper of snow.

The shoreline was packed with people clad in tattered coats, their limbs marred by frostbite.

Some were bundled in animal hides, others clutched their perforated, torn bags close.

Eyes, dull and numb, occasionally drifted towards the vast ocean.

Not far off, a ship flew a tattered but still defiant flag, a symbol of hope amidst the harsh winds.

Onboard, survivors huddled, with a middle-aged man shouting, "Folks, no need to rush or panic. The country promised to take us to a new home, and they will deliver. Keep an eye on your belongings. Now more than ever, we must be vigilant and stay together."

He stood on deck, his brow furrowing as he surveyed the swelling crowd.

A crew member voiced his concern, "Captain, we're barely 300 strong, including those Russia sent yesterday. How come there are so many all of a sudden?"

Arthur had a bad feeling, "The Arctic is harsh. When word got out about Australia establishing Hope Point and sending for us, who wouldn't want to leave this godforsaken place?"

It wasn't just the other Australians; many from other Eastern nations had been stranded in the Arctic.

Normally wary of each other yet clinging together, their relationships were delicate.

He recognized many faces in the crowd that certainly weren't Australian, now trying to blend in and take their chances.

Arthur's eyes welled up at the simple acknowledgment of their hardship.

He had lived to see this day.

From a ship once packed with nearly a thousand, now only 219 remained. Belief in their country's strength had sustained them.

He quickly composed himself, explaining the situation, "Aside from those we lost, there are less than three hundred Australians along the coast. Today, however, five or six hundred people showed up, many of whom aren't from our country."

He also warned about the aggressive gangs, "They're up to no good, so please be careful."

Vice-Captain Liao reassured him, "Don't worry, we've got strategies in place."

Knowing the risks all too well, the naval ship didn't attempt an early landing; instead, it arrived right on schedule.

The reconnaissance pilot, Peter, had already reported back. He asked carefully, "I heard Russia has a base up in the Arctic, with a group of survivors from Australia. Have they shown up?"

"They've arrived, got here last night. The guy leading them is surnamed He."

Upon hearing the leader's name, Deputy Commander Liao called out, "Mark, if you can hear me, please come over here."

Mark, caught in the midst of a crowd, quickly squeezed his way through with the other survivors.

"Hello, I'm Mark. We're a group of 31, all from the Goldbridge base in Guangdong Province."

"The Goldbridge base?" Deputy Commander Liao sized him up. "And where are you from?"

"Griffith, Guangdong Province."

Griffith? There were some folks from Griffith right on this ship.

He scanned the crowd and then pointed to another man, "You there, come over."

The soldier he singled out approached.

"These 31 are all from Guangdong Province. You're in charge of verifying their identities. Once confirmed, they can board the ship directly."

The young, lean soldier looked Mark over, and after a moment of surprise, exclaimed, "Is it really you?"