18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 518

The folks from Russia swung by to pick up some leafy greens.

Ivans didn't show up himself, but he made sure to send word that the ships from Ocean Point Naval Station had indeed arrived. They were there to evacuate all the Aussies from the Arctic.

After years of bartering, the Russians had picked up a few phrases in Aussie slang, but that was about it. They babbled excitedly, their faces animated as they spoke. Stella couldn't understand a word, but she could tell from their gestures that the evacuation must've hit some snags. Regardless, they all managed to leave safely in the end.

Stella smiled, offering only a heartfelt "thanks" in return. The trade in greens went on. Each time, Ivans would throw in a box of antiques as a bonus. At first, they were Aussie relics, but then items from other countries started to appear. No matter what he brought, Stella accepted it all-until the Russians sent over a mummy. Stella couldn't help herself; she sent the mummy right back.

New neighbors sprouted up around the edges. They'd eye Stella's mansion, pondering what riches it held, but they never dared to make a move, knowing well her close dealings with the Russians and the big dog owners. As more neighbors arrived, so did more customers for the leafy greens. Stella treated them all the same, fair and square, no matter who they were.

In the blink of an eye, three months passed, and it was the cusp of summer in the Arctic, with temperatures rising. The snowstorms lessened, and Stella took to walking around her front and back yard daily. The three little pups gobbled up food and grew fast, waddling behind their pooper-scooper, tumbling and play-fighting in the snow.

vessels slanted more. Sometimes, in the dead of night, her body would shiver. At first, she was alert for earthquakes, but she gradually got used to it. The tectonic movements were different from earthquakes, felt milder. But

clearing the snow around the ice house first. She couldn't help but smile at the containers leaning more and more to one side. Waiting was agonizing, and even though she had acclimated to the Arctic cold, her heart grew increasingly restless. Rosie felt the same, sometimes standing atop a snowdrift, lost in the distance. With temperatures on the rise and the

several boxes tied to the back seat. "Ginger, these are the last relics left from Union Base, almost used them for firewood," he said. Cryptic scripts, some on paper, some on parchment, he couldn't

laughed heartily. "Want me to take it back?" Stella, somewhat disgusted, replied, "Bring them in. Those wooden crates look solid though, good for chopping up and burning. You'd

they weren't short on something, they'd give a fair trade, sometimes even throwing in a bit extra. Even though vodka was their

a year of trade, Ivans knew her well enough. "You first." "It's nothing major, just looking to get the scoop

wouldn't even let him through the door. With a chuckle, Stella cut to the chase:

arrivals by boat, but this month, almost none." Ivans wasn't surprised. "Many lack the experience to survive at sea, and with the land submerged for so long, the number of survivors is dwindling." It

you not been eating well?" Indeed, he hadn't. The base housed over four hundred people, consuming vast amounts of food daily. The harsh Arctic allowed no crops to grow, and with two to three thousand survivors, they had to turn to wildlife. Excessive hunting led to a sharp decline in crocodile and

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followed his lead, "Summer is coming, the outer ice will melt, and hunting should get better." Ivans disagreed. "Ginger, rising temperatures mean the outer ice melts, and survivors will move inward.