18 Floors Above the Apocalypse



The secretary had no choice but to agree, though he did so reluctantly.

"Come on, wipe that frown off. If we're all down in the dumps, how do you think the others will manage?"

"Captain, I messed up," the secretary said, taking a deep breath. "What now?"

Devin, fighting his sickness, replied, "This place gives me the creeps. Two fishing boats just vanished, and I'm worried Iran might strike again any minute. We better get out of here."

The secretary hurried off to make arrangements.

But half an hour later, not only had the boat not departed, but the noise outside had suddenly picked up.

Devin called out a few times before the secretary came rushing in, a look of wild excitement on his face. "Captain, we're saved!"

Struggling to sit up, Devin asked, "What's happening?"

"The two missing fishing boats have reappeared."

At that, Devin's urgency surged. "Battle stations, everyone! Brace for those freaks; we can't let them harm our people."

“All of Iran is gone. The boats are loaded with supplies—one's full of corn, soy, wheat, and all sorts of greens. The other's packed with herbs—full to the brim..."

The secretary was beside himself, half-crying, half-laughing as if possessed. "The Saints have blessed us, the Almighty has shown mercy, there's always a light at the end of the tunnel."

Devin sighed, realizing another had lost his grip on sanity. He wasn't the first, nor would he be the last.

Struggling to his feet, he got ready to lift the spirits of the survivors once more. As he made his way on deck, the survivors were all cheering, leaning over the railings, while the guards had thrown down rope ladders to climb onto the drifting fishing boats.

They were unmistakably Iranian vessels, still carrying the lingering stench of decay, along with a few guns and sabers.

The crops were all fresh-so fresh they seemed as if they'd just been plucked from the fields. The greens even had dew on them.

Someone with sharp eyes pointed out, "What's that over there?"

On top of the pile of grain stood a hand-waved Stars and Stripes, with a piece of paper underneath. They rushed over and found it was a set of coordinates.

The Kindle Society hadn't lied; Hope Point was real. These were the homeland's coordinates!

The red and vibrant flag quickly made its way to Devin's hands, as countless eager eyes fixed on the banner in his grip. It was so red and vivid, like a flame burning fiercely in the darkness.

Devin clutched the paper with the coordinates, tears dripping onto it, and he couldn't help but choke up as he yelled, "Comrades, we've found home." They had a home! They were going home!

Bags of grain and herbs were continuously moved onto the transport ship, and faces that had known only despair were now alight with hope. Devin stood on the deck, scanning the sea through his binoculars.

The secretary, puzzled, asked, "Captain, what are you looking for?"

"Whoever helped us."

"We've looked, there's really no one."

Devin was a staunch atheist; he believed in human will over divine intervention, dismissing ghosts and gods as nonsense. Someone was secretly helping them, someone with mysterious and formidable power, to deal with Iran so stealthily and to bring back the cargo-laden fishing boats in such a short time.

They were kin, connected by blood.

Descendants of a proud Australian lineage, stretching back five thousand years.

Devin, ignoring his pain, called the captain over, "How long to reach these coordinates?"

As the supplies continued to be loaded on board, the captain, equally stirred, answered, "It's a long haul from our current position, through countless storms and currents."

"Are you confident we can make it?"

"We'll get the mission done!"

With or without confidence, better to strive for a goal than to drift aimlessly waiting for death. With a direction to home, they would eventually arrive. Everyone worked together, moving supplies until dawn, and finally, everything was aboard. With careful rationing, they had enough to reach their new home.

The eastern sky was lightening.

Devin stood on the deck once more, surveying the vast sea.

The secretary approached with a steaming mug, "Captain, the doc whipped this up for you. Drink it while it's hot."

Devin asked with concern, "Are all the herbs usable?"

"Don't worry, they're all useful."

The ship's doctor was ecstatic; the mysterious benefactor had sent all the essential medicines. No longer would he worry about treating the ill without supplies. If only Providence had smiled upon them sooner, maybe fewer lives would've been lost. But no matter what, the heavens had finally turned a kind eye their way.

With all the supplies loaded, they just awaited the captain's orders to set sail.

Devin gave the command, "Sound the horn in gratitude."NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

The secretary was shocked, "Captain, blowing the horn could attract Iran."

Devin insisted, "Sound the horn, in thanks."

And so, the transport ship adrift at sea let out a loud, resounding blast in the darkness. As black smoke billowed from the engines, they set off towards the coordinates. This time, they would not lose their way.

Stella and Jasper sat in the submarine control room, watching the transport ship disappear into the distance through the periscope. They had lost some surplus grain and herbs, but in return, their hearts felt a rare sense of lightness. They would continue to drift, but now, their hearts had found a haven.

At dawn, Rosie got up to make breakfast, only to find her brother and sister-in-law sitting by the observation window, exchanging smiles and kisses. She quickly retreated to her room.

Cooper, the dog, didn't buy it and peeked out cautiously. Then... it felt as if the whole world had gone topsy-turvy. "Woof!”

Rosie grabbed Cooper by the ear, dragging him back to the room.

Despite a sleepless night, the couple's spirits were high. Stella took breakfast out of the Arcadia for the two pets, "I'm going to catch some Z's, keep an eye on things, and holler if anything pops up."

She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Jasper tucked her in, noting the peaceful smile on her lips as they curled slightly in her dreams. Her contentment brought him joy, and he couldn't resist planting a kiss on her forehead.

Even the prickliest hedgehog had a soft heart. In the face of an unstoppable disaster, she had sent out two ships' worth of supplies, earning inner peace and joy. Whether driven by emotion or spiritual need, it was well worth it.

After a couple of hours' sleep, the submarine started to rock again. There was no warning from Rosie, so it was likely the impetuous Blue Blue urging them to keep moving.

They got up, and sure enough, it was the impatient Blue Blue, pushing them to continue on their underwater journey.

The deeper they traveled, Stella realized the more complex the maritime environment became. Currents shifted from intricate to calm, and the sea life was incredibly diverse. This stretch of the ocean was indeed the perfect spot for establishing a base. The seabed was elevated here, which made it ideal for constructing an artificial island. Surrounding it, a maze of complex currents acted as a natural barrier, keeping enemies at bay.

True to form, the sonar of the SS-2688 detected an obstacle ahead.

The distance was too great and the light too dim at the ocean floor. Peering through the observation window and the telescope, all they could make out was a massive, dark shape.

Blue Blue, the team's trained dolphin, swam further out before breaching and emitting a series of high-decibel clicks and whistles, designed to attract attention.

Seizing the moment, the periscope stealthily rose above the waves to snap some pictures.

Well, I'll be darned. The sea was teeming with vessels-fishing boats, cargo ships, naval destroyers, and even black aircraft hovering above...