Post Apocalyptic Novels & Stories

Amidst the backdrop of a post-apocalyptic world, the refugee shelter stood as a beacon of hope and perseverance. It was a testament to the indomitable human spirit, and within its confines, life surged, thrived, and adapted. A chaotic blend of noises—the hum of conversations, the laughter of children playing, the shuffling of feet—all contributed to a symphony of survival and resilience.

"Maybe your coming back changed something. Maybe your actions—the divorce, the training, everything—altered the timeline." "So the apocalypse isn't coming?" "I didn't say that. I said it's not coming when we expected. It could still come. Just later." I closed my eyes. All those days I'd spent preparing. All the fear. All the urgency. And now it was gone. Poof. Like it had never existed. "What do I do now?" I asked. "Everything I planned was based on the timeline I remembered. If that's gone—" "You adapt." His voice was firm. "You survive. That's what you do, Emma. You adapt and you survive."

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.

And then everything went dark. Present Day I’m lying down. Awake, but unwilling to move. I know I can’t stay in one place for long. Today’s refuge is an abandoned, water-damaged house, where the makeshift bed of cardboard and filthy pillows is at least dry. You’d think that a year after the apocalypse, people would have adapted. Nope. They just became worse. Men rule the world now. Most women were taken—by the demons of hell, as the survivors call them. The destroyers of our world.

Rowan's territory was indeed remote and desolate, but it was nothing like I'd imagined. Word had spread that Rowan and I were coming, because many beastmen crowded the roadside holding gifts they wanted to present to us. They all looked well-fed and healthy, their eyes bright. Even the little ones and elderly were plump and rosy-cheeked. Since the apocalypse began, all the clans had struggled to survive. Food was barely enough to get by, and many older beastmen had starved to death. Those who survived were skin and bones. However, everything was completely different here.

I said comfortingly, "It's fine. It's in the past now, okay? There are too many uncertainties in an apocalyptic world." … Nothing happened in the neighborhood for some time after this round of ransacking. My experience from my past life told me that no one dared do anything in the initial stages for fear of being infected. However, once supplies ran out, people would do anything to stay alive. A month after the outbreak, many people started hanging banners outside their homes, begging to be saved. After so many days, most people would be running low on food and water. I went through our supplies. They would last us half a year if we rationed them.

Before I even realized it, our fingers had laced together, his grip firm. Oliver's face contorted with rage. He looked ready to snap, ready to unleash the same kind of violence he had used to punish me in our past life. But did it even matter? Before he could explode, the mediator called him outside for questioning. One by one, everyone was interrogated. By the end of it, my innocence was undeniable. The apocalypse was a global catastrophe. Anyone trying to use the zombie virus as a tool would first have to ensure they weren't infected themselves. That alone made it nearly impossible.

The kind that can only be earned in the face of death. Mr. Yellow sat beside me on the stone ledge, chewing contentedly on a honey bun larger than his head. He sighed dramatically. “Well, that was dramatic,” he said, licking his paw. “But I must say, for a kingdom on the brink of destruction, your people throw a surprisingly tasteful post-apocalypse picnic.” I chuckled, resting my head against the cool stone. “You didn’t help much, you know.” “Excuse me, I organized vegetable warfare. Broccolini is traumatized.”

“It's been a while since I heard the word normal, nothing is normal.” I turn to look at her, “If the apocalypse ends today, do you think the world will be back to normal?” I ask. Mel shook her head doubtfully. “I don't think so, important lives have been lost and there's no way people will cope with the new world without looking above their shoulders. Life used to be normal, a cure can't bring normality back”. I sigh and cut the thread. “Aright then, let's get you stitch”. *********************

Meanwhile, Esmeralda and Agatha followed by their side. “France is no longer the country of romance as it used to be.” Dorothy sighed lightly. What came into sight were the signs of ruin everywhere. Domestic garbage, tramps in tattered clothes on the streets, smashed doors of stores, crashed vehicles, and burned-out buildings were everywhere... Various signs showed that this was a post-apocalyptic place. After the powerhouses of the universe entered Earth, many people did not go to America. Instead, they had been searching for opportunities all over the world. Those people were reckless and did whatever they wanted abroad. In their eyes, the local regime was an existence that they could crus