18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 576

Good news—Reagan had finally come around.

But he was as weak as a newborn calf, barely able to say a word.

Emily was right there, fussing over him like a mother hen. "Stella, I can't thank you enough for the medicine."

"Just doing what I can," Stella said, handing over a steaming bowl of chicken soup. "Uncle Hugh's as weak as a leaf, and porridge won't cut it. Luckily, the farm's chickens were ready for the coop, so I cooked one up especially."

Emily knew too well that porridge was about as nourishing as a wet paper towel compared to a hearty potato stew.

The aroma of the soup was tantalizing. Even someone of Reagan's stature hadn't had a taste in years.

Knowing her husband needed strength, Emily didn't hesitate. She figured she'd return the favor with a gift once her husband was on the mend.

Carefully, she spoon-fed him.

After a few comforting words, Stella got to her feet, suggesting Emily should drop by the farm whenever she could to pick up some chickens and help Uncle Hugh regain his strength.

Exiting the intensive care unit, the pair carried another bowl of chicken soup toward the monitoring room.

Nicholas was gone. Mrs. Shaw was there, a symphony of sobs escaping her as she kept vigil by her son's side.

After receiving medicine, Nicholas had woken up the night before, but he was in a bad way.

He wasn't out of the woods yet, and from all the tests, it seemed the fever had triggered meningitis.

Even before the calamity, meningitis was a notorious killer, and without antibiotics, the survival rate was abysmal.

Nicholas had brain damage, his hearing gone, and he kept vomiting.

Brain damage was often irreversible, and even with antibiotics to stave off the worst, life could be a living hell, not to mention the risk of resistance.

In short, they had to brace for the worst.

Mrs. Shaw, hysterical, accosted the doctor, "Why is this happening? The meds were the same. Why is Reagan fine, but my boy's got meningitis?"

The doctor, the very picture of calm, replied, "Please, Mrs. Shaw, every patient is different, and treatments can vary."

Mrs. Shaw wouldn't have it. "You must have botched it, swapped the meds!"

The doctor restrained his frustration. "The prescriptions were identical. Nicholas was present when they were administered. As for the traditional remedies, they were duplicated, and you're welcome to check the residue."

The hospital had been meticulous, especially with Nicholas, a man known for being difficult. There was no room for error.

And still, they faced accusations.

With her son's life hanging by a thread, Mrs. Shaw lashed out, "It must be Stella; she tampered with the medicine. What are you waiting for? Save him!"

Stella, who had just stepped into the doorway, kicked the door open, her face stormy as a sea squall.

Mrs. Shaw, who had never met Stella, was about to scold this brash intruder in the monitoring room when it dawned on her who it was.

She went pale as a ghost.

She looked vaguely familiar, and after a moment, Stella recalled the woman who had hidden seeds in her underwear. She was crying fiercely, lunging at the men.

Stella watched from a distance, her feelings a tangled mess.

"A police patrol found them out in the wild. They've been brought in," someone nearby muttered.

"The men say it was a trade, the woman claims violation."

The onlookers tsked, "Tough call. It's up to the police to decide. The settlement is short on women—too many monks, not enough porridge. Women are hot commodities now. Happens all the time."

The guy who made the comment had this smug look on his face, tinged with a hint of envy, "Come on, we're all human, right? It's natural to have needs. If I were a woman, I'd be over the moon—it's like having your cake and eating it too. No need to work the fields, just kick back and live the dream."

"Are you gross or what?" someone retorted.

"What's gross about it? Men had their harems back in the day, now it's the ladies' turn to play the field. And don't even get me started on the young and beautiful ones—heck, even the grandmas have got lines of suitors waiting for a shot."

Stella found the whole conversation annoying and fired up her car, heading toward the farmstead.

The place was located next to a vast stretch of farmland, with only a handful of poultry that were either ready for market or laying eggs. But with the way chickens and eggs work, she was pretty sure the operation would expand in no time.

The head honcho of the base had grandly allocated a good ten acres to the cause.

Josef was out there with the workers, putting up fences, while Poppy was... standing around with a couple of cops.

The guy in charge looked familiar, and upon closer inspection, Stella realized it was Evan.