18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 576

Good news—Reagan had finally come around.

But he was as weak as a newborn calf, barely able to say a word.

Emily was right there, fussing over him like a mother hen. "Stella, I can't thank you enough for the medicine."

"Just doing what I can," Stella said, handing over a steaming bowl of chicken soup. "Uncle Hugh's as weak as a leaf, and porridge won't cut it. Luckily, the farm's chickens were ready for the coop, so I cooked one up especially."

Emily knew too well that porridge was about as nourishing as a wet paper towel compared to a hearty potato stew.

The aroma of the soup was tantalizing. Even someone of Reagan's stature hadn't had a taste in years.

Knowing her husband needed strength, Emily didn't hesitate. She figured she'd return the favor with a gift once her husband was on the mend.

Carefully, she spoon-fed him.

After a few comforting words, Stella got to her feet, suggesting Emily should drop by the farm whenever she could to pick up some chickens and help Uncle Hugh regain his strength.

Exiting the intensive care unit, the pair carried another bowl of chicken soup toward the monitoring room.

Nicholas was gone. Mrs. Shaw was there, a symphony of sobs escaping her as she kept vigil by her son's side.

After receiving medicine, Nicholas had woken up the night before, but he was in a bad way.

He wasn't out of the woods yet, and from all the tests, it seemed the fever had triggered meningitis.

Even before the calamity, meningitis was a notorious killer, and without antibiotics, the survival rate was abysmal.

Nicholas had brain damage, his hearing gone, and he kept vomiting.

Brain damage was often irreversible, and even with antibiotics to stave off the worst, life could be a living hell, not to mention the risk of resistance.

In short, they had to brace for the worst.

Mrs. Shaw, hysterical, accosted the doctor, "Why is this happening? The meds were the same. Why is Reagan fine, but my boy's got meningitis?"

The doctor, the very picture of calm, replied, "Please, Mrs. Shaw, every patient is different, and treatments can vary."

Mrs. Shaw wouldn't have it. "You must have botched it, swapped the meds!"

The doctor restrained his frustration. "The prescriptions were identical. Nicholas was present when they were administered. As for the traditional remedies, they were duplicated, and you're welcome to check the residue."

The hospital had been meticulous, especially with Nicholas, a man known for being difficult. There was no room for error.

And still, they faced accusations.

With her son's life hanging by a thread, Mrs. Shaw lashed out, "It must be Stella; she tampered with the medicine. What are you waiting for? Save him!"

Stella, who had just stepped into the doorway, kicked the door open, her face stormy as a sea squall.

Mrs. Shaw, who had never met Stella, was about to scold this brash intruder in the monitoring room when it dawned on her who it was.

She went pale as a ghost.