Apocalypse Fiction Books Novels & Stories

"Lyra, your sister brought a man back!" I groggily opened my eyes as Jade Black grabbed my wrist and dragged me outside. Bitter wind and snow hit my face, making it impossible to keep my eyes open. Ever since the frozen apocalypse a hundred years ago, Earth had entered an ice age, and wind and snow had become the norm. Most of the world was covered in ice and snow, resources were scarce, and terrible blizzards occurred from time to time. Our serpent clan had migrated several times to survive, and the entire clan had finally settled in this barren wasteland.

Come pick a bouquet from these Flowers in a Dumpster. Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast by Jonathan Winn—where the secretly guilty go to die. All thrown into their own private hell as every cruel choice, every deadly mistake, every drop of spilled blood is remembered, resurrected and relived to feed the ancient evil that lives on Eidolon Avenue. Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia—Are there truths within the books we read? What if the book delves into the lives of the very town you live in? People you know? Or thought you knew. These are the questions a bookstore owner face when a mysterious book shows up.

"You were dead." The next trouble waited until everyone was tired before showing its teeth. In the First Gate, symbols had weight. It made the temple smaller, not larger, because every new rule had to fit inside a room full of frightened people. The cold incense smoke pressed against every window while wet footsteps marked the next turn of the case. Nothing about the Final Gate War felt clean. It felt like another emergency arriving before the last one had been wiped off the stones. "A recurring inconvenience." The archive seals spun around him. Each seal held a name: forgotten gods, unpaid dead, broken vows, erased children, districts swallowed by the first apocalypse wave.

She didn’t even notice when she got so cold. “I see you prefer to shop in large quantities,” Yuna looked at the stack of books with a malicious glance. “We don’t have Simmons in the store, but we have a couple of books in stock: “Prayers to the Broken Stone” and “The Fall of Hyperion.” — “Hyperion” is not particularly interesting to me, but I would buy a collection of his stories. - Okay, I’ll call tomorrow and order delivery - it’s too late today. They probably dumped everything. And I'm closing in about twenty minutes. If you don't have plans, then let's go home together.

I began to read and to train my body. Immersed in the ocean of knowledge, my heart grew fuller and calmer than it had ever been. A strong, healthy body was the greatest asset for enduring this long apocalypse. Occasionally, I would access the global surveillance network to glimpse the world being scorched by heatwaves. The traces of civilization were being erased at breathtaking speed. Skyscrapers grew brittle and collapsed under the relentless heat. Forests turned to scorched earth. The oceans evaporated, revealing jagged seabeds and countless skeletal remains of once-living creatures.

Yardley Novellas: A Season in Hell by Kenneth W. Cain Quiet Places: A Novella of Cosmic Folk Horror by Jasper Bark The Final Reconciliation by Todd Keisling Run to Ground by Jasper Bark Devourer of Souls by Kevin Lucia Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love by Mercedes M. Yardley Wind Chill by Patrick Rutigliano Little Dead Red by Mercedes M. Yardley Sleeper(s) by Paul Kane Stuck On You by Jasper Bark Anthologies:

I kicked back and relished the show as Christopher and Sally unwrapped their surprise. When they finally got home, the looks on Chloe's and Howard's faces were priceless. It was only in that moment that he realized I had known all along, but by then, it was tragically too late. The apocalypse had arrived. Hordes of haunts had descended upon us, turning the world into a living nightmare in the blink of an eye. Someone was walking down the street when, without warning, their head suddenly came off. Before long, the haunts had devoured both the head and the body of the unlucky soul.

They rarely expect reassurance. She gives the speech anyway. Because Nora deserves to know. Ben deserves to know. The woman three rows back, nursing an infant beneath a patched blue blanket, deserves to know. And because a leader who tells the truth only when it is convenient is not a leader. She is weather. So Maya stands at the front of the room they build for joy and tells them about the people who build the apocalypse. She keeps it clean. “The collapse wasn’t an accident.” The room settles around the words. “It was made. Deliberately. A small group decided there were too many people in the world and arranged to correct that.”

The third day of the apocalypse was a study in desolation. The satellite uplink showed a world transformed, its familiar landmarks buried under ice and snow, its streets empty of life. The city was dead, its population reduced to a few thousand scattered survivors who huddled in basements and tunnels, their bodies struggling to generate enough heat to keep their vital organs functioning. The cold had killed the vast majority, their bodies frozen into grotesque sculptures that littered the streets like macabre decorations.

He looked at the carnage around him, his face a blank slate of shock. And that’s when it hit me. The final, fragile illusion of society, of order, of help, shattered into a million pieces. This wasn’t a riot. This wasn’t a temporary crisis. The men in biohazard suits, the chained gurneys, the bloody cough, the biting… the gunshot executing the infected. This was the end. The world wasn’t going crazy. The world was gone. This island, this hospital, this room—this was the new world. Shit. This is the apocalypse.