18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 522

Chapter 522

Rosie was the embodiment of diligence, faithfully watering her fledgling garden

twice a day. Yet despite her efforts, more than half of the grass and trees withered away within days. The scorching heat and lack of water were concerns, but the real enemy was the soil itself.

Stella was no agro-scientist, yet her optimism remained unshaken. "Don't worry, we've still got half left," she said with a reassuring smile.

The sound of hailstones relentlessly pummeling the RV was like a relentless drumbeat. There was only one home-a precious sanctuary-that Stella cherished dearly, and she swiftly ushered everyone inside Arcadia for shelter.

After a couple of hours, they emerged to find the hail mostly melted away. But the storm took another third of the plant life with it. It wasn't the impact that killed them, but rather their inability to adapt during their transplanting phase, as they faced the relentless assault of extreme weather. Even humans would struggle under such conditions.

time, she learned from experience. Instead of planting directly into the alkaline soil, she transferred the plants into pots with their original earth, gradually exposing them to the harsh elements and retreating them to Arcadia

half of the plants survived. Their growth was pitiful-a sad, wilted sight that seemed on the brink of giving up

resources. "Arcadia is home to mulberry trees, cypress, winter squash, and wheat. They're ideal for saline-alkaline soil. We should give them a

The soil wasn't saline, and the alkalinity levels seemed manageable. Stella could afford the setbacks thanks to her resources. So, the third planting endeavor

her pups persevered, regaining their vigor despite the initial shock to their systems. On mild mornings and evenings, the canine couple

sunset, the two would stroll along the beach. Stella glanced back frequently, pondering, "Has the mountain grown taller?" It felt

over 50 meters inland. Neither of them were geologists, so whether it was the mountain rising or the sea retreating was unclear. Life in the RV had its own rhythms, but sometimes they still felt the earth's

a month. The environment was harsh, but as long as land remained, hope would spread like wildfire. On the rocky

weed. It was only half an inch tall, but the moist seaside air had nourished it well. It likely sprouted from the seeds they had scattered on the mountains, carried to the shore by the wind. That single plant lifted Stella's

close. Stella's interest in the endless mountain range grew; she wanted to know where it ended. But hiking was tough; just half an hour of uphill and downhill sapped their strength. So, they brought out the Plunderer. Cutting through mountains and charging forward, they soared to the peak. It was a thirsty machine, but the sheer

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