18 Floors Above the Apocalypse



The trio and their dog were living the high life, feasting like they hadn't been cooped up in a submarine for ages. It was likely that they had been marked much earlier, maybe when they switched to the escape pod, the yacht, or even when they got picked up by that Thai fishing boat. Their pursuers had been biding their time, waiting until they were absolutely sure.

Those small fry, experts in mixing biological weapons with nuclear wastewater, were nothing short of monsters. If they ever got wind of Stella's secret, they'd pull out all the stops to capture her for their twisted experiments. If they succeeded, Stella's life would be a living hell.

And with Jasper and her having no clue where exactly they were in Iran, or how many enemies and weapons they were up against, taking them down was a tall order. Jasper had a sinking feeling. They had traveled over two hundred nautical miles since they spotted that fishing boat, yet they were still in Iran's sights. This wasn't the work of amateurs; it had to be the military.

Stella was shocked. "Their military?" she exclaimed.

Their homeland had been erased, surviving even tectonic collisions. Indeed, they were monsters. History, soaked in blood, told a clear story: falling into these monsters' hands meant an unthinkable fate. They were more rabid than mad dogs—no way could Silver Asylum or Alpha Outpost handle them with just three people and a dog.

As they mulled over their next move, the submarine shook again. Had Iran caught up so quickly? Rosie came running over. "Bro, Blue Blue's back." This time, it wasn't just a scratch or a bump. It was nudging the submarine with its head, back and forth.

Rosie frowned. "What does Blue Blue want?"

Stella had a hunch. "Maybe it's trying to tell us to get out of here."

Retreating without knowing the enemy's strength was the smart move. Stella's ultimate goal was survival, not a showdown with Iran. They floored it, and the escape lasted three hours until Cooper suddenly barked from the third viewport.

"Woof!"

Stella rushed to the stern, peering through the binoculars. There was definitely a submarine following them. Whether it was too far away or the ocean floor was too dark, she couldn't see clearly. But she made out three dark shapes in a "river" formation, relentlessly pursuing them.

"Well, this is a three-on-one situation," she muttered.

"Hey, Sis," Rosie called from the second viewport. "They're after us."

Stella joined her at the second viewport and saw a shadow on the right flank. If there was one on the right, the left was bound to have company too. "Great, now it's five against one," she said, exasperated.

What could they possibly use to fight back? They'd have to tough it out and hope the submarine, built by a major power, was strong enough to withstand it. When Jasper learned there were five subs on their tail, his face turned grim. The Kindle Society had built a number of submarines meant to combat ocean disasters and mutant creatures. They could withstand weapons, but they weren't made to fight their own kind. Mutant creatures didn't rush to encircle 2688, but Iran had come out guns blazing.NôvelDrama.Org content.

Jasper hit the emergency button, activating the submarine's external collision deterrent-hedgehog spikes. Hans and his 1926 had used them to breach a Chinese submarine and scare off North Korea. Hopefully, they would work now. Iran's industries, despite striving for "craftsmanship," were known for their blunders.

Mr. Cristian had introduced the hedgehog spikes as durable defense weapons made of rare alloys, certainly trustworthy. Just as the external defenses were set, the submarine suddenly shook violently. A blunt impact at the stern, not a heavy collision, more like a sharp object striking. "Harpoons!" Jasper exclaimed.

Iran was firing harpoons, targeting the third viewport of 2688. Stella immediately checked the stern. The viewport was intact. Good thing she had the foresight to close the steel protective doors over the glass. The viewport was the submarine's Achilles' heel, and Iran was going for the kill, aiming to breach the sub and capture them alive. Too bad the national father was so astute. To withstand tsunamis and other disasters, he'd turned the submarine into a steel beast.

Even the tsunamis from tectonic collisions couldn't breach it, so Iran's harpoons were simply embarrassing. With hedgehog spikes protecting the sides, the vulnerable part was now the bow. However, the quality of Iran's harpoons gave Stella a bit of relief.

Just as she thought this, 2688 was struck with such force it was pushed across the ocean floor. Stella was flung against the wall. Items flew everywhere. Cooper was thrown to the ground with a thud. Rosie suffered a nasty blow to the head. Clambering to the safety cab, Stella shouted, "Rosie, take Cooper back to the room and fasten your seatbelts."

Thinking they were pushovers, huh? She was determined to make them regret it. Rosie had been hit by hail before, suffering a concussion that took ages to heal. And now, she was hit again. Cooper too, might look strong but was getting on in dog years. If anything happened to them, she'd mince Iran into chum for the sharks.

As Stella cursed, feeling 2688 being pushed far, she failed to see that the black submarine striking them was repelled even further. The other crew, overconfident and at full speed, were now dealing with the breach caused by 2688's spikes. Thrown about, their equipment blaring warnings. One was flung 360 degrees into the air, crashing down with a fatal splatter. The rest scrambled to the control room, trying to stabilize the sub, but to no avail. Buttons were unresponsive; the control stick was immovable.

"Damn it, damn it all!"

Water was seeping in, sea water pouring unstoppably. How could this be? This was the empire's toughest vessel! "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

Some quick thinkers attempted to contact other submarines, but the communicator was underwater. Sea water filled the space, quickly rising above their knees. Two cowards bolted for the hatch. They didn't want to die! But the hatch was locked tight, immovable from the inside. One pounded desperately, only to be impaled by a sharp katana, blood spurting. His comrade met the same fate. Cowards didn't deserve to live!

Knowing escape was futile, the katana-wielding Iranian plunged the blade into his own stomach, shouting, "For the empire!" The remaining few, unable to resist, began to sing. Their voices were gentle, like a mother's call, akin to cherry blossoms tumbling through the sky. As the song ended, the sea rose to embrace their necks.