18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 517

Mark glanced at the soldier standing before him, searching his memory for any recognition. "Do we know each other?"

"I'm from the Porras family," Bran Porras replied, scanning the crowd hurriedly. He found no trace of his relatives, a profound sense of loss washing over him.

Mark's eyes widened slightly as the memory clicked. "Aren't you Hunter, the third son of the Porras family?"

Bran's hopeful expression dimmed, but he couldn't help but ask, "Deputy Mayor, have you seen my family in Goldbridge?"

Mark shook his head. "I haven't, but Goldbridge is a massive base. It housed over 300,000 people before the land sank. It's not unusual that you haven't run into them. We survived the Arctic; I'm sure your family is out there, too. You'll reunite one day."

Life is unpredictable, but hope keeps us going.

When Christian realized who the soldier was, his eyes lit up. He pushed through the crowd urgently. "It's an honor, sir. I'm Samuel's father. He used to work security in the new town's villa district. Have you seen him at Hope Point?"

Bran, somewhat comforted by Mark's words, chose his own carefully. "I haven't seen him, but Hope Point is huge, divided into more than a dozen residential areas. He could be in any one of them."

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Bran steadied himself and got to work, verifying identities one by one.

Finding no issues, he directed them to queue for the boats and then transferred them onto the naval ships.

Next up were the 219 survivors on the ship. Despite Arthur's assurances, due process had to be followed.

Those with ID or some proof of identity were asked to present it for quicker processing.

The scene was chaotic. Many survivors were desperate. "The disaster was ten years ago! Who still has their papers? They were lost ages ago."

Arthur tried to calm the crowd. "Everyone, please, no need to panic. Just line up orderly. Even without documents, we can identify our fellow Australians."

Only a few had identification; the rest were grouped ten to a line, back to back. The evacuation routine kicked in-singing the national anthem.

Soldiers watched their lips closely while Deputy Captain Liao had Arthur and the ship's crew keep an eye out for unfamiliar faces.

Indeed, some couldn't finish the song.

They were asked about their nationality and region, and survivors who had already been cleared were called over for a local dialect check.

Most of those from the official Sichuan base were survivors from the same province, and even those from other provinces should have picked up some of the dialect after being confined together for so long.

The survivors on the ship had always moved in groups; it was rare for an imposter to slip in.

The real challenge came next. Deputy Captain Liao had learned from Peter that there were over 300 Australian survivors in the Arctic.

This number, provided by Russia, might not be exact.

The coastline was in turmoil, with daily casualties, and even Arthur couldn't provide an accurate count, estimating no more than 300 at best.

of three to four

dozen were actual

clamoring that they were Australian and demanding to board the

nationals, but they also had to prevent ill-intentioned individuals from causing trouble amidst the

be exploited by those with malicious

survivors to stay and assist, while the rest were moved to the

human wall formed

inciting the masses to surge forward and clash with the Australian soldiers, hoping to profit

the

stepped back, shed his military coat, revealing the detonator and explosives strapped to his waist. "You really want to crowd

to Deputy Captain Liao, "Captain,

Liao cleared his throat. "Ahem, you'll get

just Bran; several other soldiers stepped forward, explosives

clearly visible on

meters, the tight crowd was forced to back

"Those who think they're Australian, group up in twenties and

without hesitation, quickly

crowd, a good fifty meters apart, still in rows of

confident, silently reciting the national anthem in

them, taking in every expression. "Ready?

sang the wrong

called for a halt.

but only seven or eight voices emerged, growing softer until silence

who had sung aloud.

from scrutiny;

would eventually pass one of

impostors, initially defiant, soon

them with a cold gaze, drawing his pistol. "Everyone, hands

don't blame my gun for

crowd complied, squatting with hands

the anthem would suffice, but

the tune and added extra questions

hell, Australians are

Gangs of various shades,

$19

the shadows, a figure stealthily drew a gun, eyeing crouched figures in the distance, their heads

had arrived? Sure, they had a mere hundred soldiers on

impostors were all killed, it would surely ignite the fury of every survivor in the Arctic. Over three thousand

brink of eruption, a thunderous "boom" resonated through the

shock etched on their faces as they witnessed more than twenty cannon muzzles extend from