18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 297

Watching Tracy repeatedly disrespect the old man, Bran had had enough. In a sarcastic tone, he said, "It's the 21st century, for Pete's sake. Women and men are supposed to be equal. A woman can hold her own just as well."

The words stung. But in this post-apocalyptic world where everyone was just trying to keep their own houses in order, who had the energy to help others?

Tracy was a tear-streaked mess, but there were no knights in shining armor in sight. Everyone was too busy worrying about their own survival.

The majority ruled, and it seemed the majority of the homeowners had no objections.

There were 44 households in the neighborhood, which meant 44 people could be drafted for patrol duties. Split into two shifts, each group would have 22 people, ensuring round-the-clock security. Porch lights were lit across the neighborhood.

Cleaning up the corpses littering their yards was a grim task. The bodies would be piled up and set ablaze with gasoline. The well-off homeowners who had never done a day's manual labor in their lives were left with no choice but to roll up their sleeves and pitch in.

Though some grumbled, no one dared voice their complaints. The Porras family held the most sway in the neighborhood, and their cooperation was crucial for everyone's safety.

The sight of the blood and gore was enough to make the bravest among them vomit.

Jasper and Stella didn't balk at the task. Their duties were heavy, especially since their area had seen the most casualties.

Back home, they donned protective gear and got to work. They didn't shirk their duties, pulling and dragging the bodies.

Austin from Building 49 also joined in the cleanup effort, as his house had been affected too.

Dylan was scared but when he saw Rosie pitched in, he mustered his courage and joined them saying, "Dad, I want to help too."

Dylan was nearly 11 years old. It was time for him to toughen up. "Okay, just be careful," Austin said.

The number of dead was too many. The bodies were burned on the spot. After burning for several hours, nothing but ashes remained. The ashes were buried in a pit. Hopefully, the dead would be reborn in a world free of apocalypse.

With Austin being the only adult in Building 49, he had to join the patrols, leaving people living in Building 50 in charge of taking care of Dylan.

In such dire times, Stella didn't refuse. To keep Dylan company, she even Cooper stay with him on the ground floor.

If it hadn't been for patrolling, they wouldn't have known that Austin was also equipped with gear— bulletproof vests, helmets, pistols, stun batons—even the leather shoes had highly lethal pointed tips.

Stella could hardly contain her laughter. "Stay safe," she said.

With Jasper on patrol duty, the whole family decided to adjust their routines to match his.

Stella spent her time reading and working out, while Rosie taught Dylan how to box. Cooper, on the other hand, slipped away to accompany Jasper.

As Cooper appeared majestically imposing, the Mastiff Buddy also came out to join in the excitement. But Bentley intervened. Now only two dogs in the neighborhood could play a role.

Buddy had been assigned to another shift for patrolling.

Bran was a little disappointed. He was hoping to see Stella.

Bentley adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "Still denying that you have a thing for her?" This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

Bran teased him back, "Don't you miss Linsay?"

Bentley's sadness was palpable. "I live to find her," he said.

Bran felt a chill. "Then you need to stay alive." Maybe the next storm would bring her back.

He wished mental hospitals were still open. Bentley could use a stay.

Fresh from training and drenched in sweat, Stella was about to take a drink when she heard a voice outside. "Stella, Stella."

It was a woman's voice, and it sounded familiar.

Stella didn't want to respond, but the woman persisted, calling out her name over and over. Wearing her military coat, she opened the door. "Tracy, what do you want?"

Tracy looked at her, her eyes filled with sadness. "Stella, I... I went to the orphanage to see you."

Stella remained calm. "To make yourself feel better?"

Tracy choked back a sob. "I'm sorry. I am your mother..."

"Shut up." Stella cut her off coldly. "Don't insult that word."

"I'm sorry, I was just..."

"Do you remember what the orphanage was like? What gave you the idea that I crave family ties?" Stella didn't mince her words. "You gave birth to me because you were afraid of becoming infertile from a miscarriage, which would have reduced your chances of marrying into a wealthy family. And now you're here because your husband is dead, and you're struggling to survive. You're looking for someone to lean on.”

“Don't you think that's pathetic? Even though I was an unwanted baby, I managed to survive. But you, a full-grown adult, want to be a parasite. What gave you the confidence to think that I would willingly let you suck my blood?

“Using the so-called bond of flesh and blood? To me, that's worthless. I've never been glad to be in this world. If you had aborted me, I might have had some respect for you. Now, I have one thing to say to you: get lost and stop polluting my sight."

There was no room for forgiveness where there was no love. If Stella cared about the elusive bond of family, she wouldn't have given the pendant to Hector so casually. Every time she saw it, she was reminded of her abandonment.

After suffering for so long, she had no feelings for the so-called family that left the pendant.

She was the product of a fleeting moment of passion, yet all she received was a never-ending cycle of mental anguish. After enduring so much torture, she became indifferent, and that was already her limit.

Seeing Tracy confirmed that the pendant wasn't hers, but likely belonged to the man who had impregnated her.

Experiencing two brutal ends of the world and seeing so much of the darkness of human nature, Stella knew better than to have any expectations from a family that abandoned her right after birth.

Tracy, red-faced and embarrassed, wished she could crawl into a hole. But Tracy didn't forget why she came. She pleaded, tears streaming down her face, "Stella, it's not what you think. Listen to me."

"Sorry, I stopped believing in tears when I was three," Stella said. With that, she slammed the door, leaving Tracy out in the biting cold, her pleas falling on deaf ears. Stella went upstairs to soak in the hot tub, humming a tune.

After finishing his patrol duties, Austin carried his sleeping son back home.

Stella whipped up a bowl of hot soup, urging Jasper and Cooper to have some before heading for a much-needed shower to shake off the day.

When Jasper emerged, a steaming hot meal was laid out for him. "How was your shift?" Stella asked, her voice filled with concern.

The first shift was tough. Half of them were on patrol, while the other half were tasked with cleaning up abandoned mansions, collecting the goods looted by the rioters, "All the supplies and medicine we found were confiscated for the injured."

The majority of them were rich folks or second-generation wealthy who had never done a day's work in their life. With the men gone, the high-class ladies had to step up, crying while they worked in their high heels. What could they possibly accomplish?

For a bunch of pampered rich ladies, suddenly without their guiding force, it was understandable for them to be stuck in their grief. The real question was whether they could move past it. Otherwise, they were bound to become a liability or drag everyone else down.