Post Apocalyptic Seattle Novels & Stories

Nothing was there by accident. She stood in the middle of the storage room, running her finger down her list. There was still more to buy. More generators. More solar batteries. More fuel. Several refrigerators and freezers to keep meat and other perishables safe. In her last life, she had watched food vanish from the market within hours, and she would never let that happen to her again. This time, she wanted enough to last for years. Her phone rang, breaking her concentration. She glanced at the screen. Daniel.

The Throne Room was no longer a room: it was the interior of a hyper-active cell. The walls were translucent, pulsing with a violet light so intense it made the air taste like copper and static. In the center of the hall, the map on the floor was turning black as city after city fell into the "Resonance Shock" that Isabella had triggered. Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco were gone, their millions of inhabitants now trapped in a state of biological suspension.

The bandits instantly retaliated and shot the couple dead. The people who'd caused my death in my past life died in this lifetime just like that. And funnily enough, the broken gate—which I'd been worried about—had saved us. … Half a year after the zombie outbreak, we started running low on supplies. The military's rescue teams didn't show up anymore, and we started preparing to head to a safe zone. I'd bought plenty of gasoline before the apocalypse. After Emmett and I checked the car to make sure it was functioning, we finally departed for the safe zone.

in the sky held the power to snuff out a city with a song. "It’s a total social blackout," Emma whispered, her hands shaking as she scrolled through the feeds. "Religious cults are claiming the Apocalypse has begun. Stock markets have flatlined because no one cares about currency when dragons might be real. The 'Terrified Awareness' is hitting Stage Four." By the time the shuttle reached the "Zenith Sanctuary" - the LNI’s fortified headquarters in the St. Louis Arch - the world’s governments had stopped trying to shoot them down and started trying to dial their number.

Waste system started, because nobody writes songs about sanitation but everyone dies when it fails. Maya strings noise-makers at the rear fence from cans and fishing line. Elegant? No. Useful? Yes. Aesthetic rating low, LUS says. “It’s an apocalypse tripwire, not a wedding centerpiece.” Function adequate. “Be still my heart.” At 6:17 p.m., twenty-four hours after the world publicly tore itself open, Maya stands in the center of the warehouse and listens. Sirens still exist, but fewer. Gunshots now punctuate the city in short, ugly bursts. The dead are no longer incidents. They are weather.

Silver light spiraled around me. Dr. Moira tried to stop me. "Alpha, your body can't handle this kind of strain." "My body has handled worse." The portal opened, showing Apex Industries' fortieth floor. Chaos. Fighting. Bodies. And Adrian, pinned beneath rubble, blood pooling around him. I stepped through. The transition nearly killed me. I materialized in Seattle and immediately collapsed, the portal taking everything I had left. Blood soaked through my medical gown. My incision had torn open from the strain.

Beyond the city, the institute waited: the lab, the project, the life I had once thought I would never live long enough to claim. I stepped forward.

But the truth had its own gravity, and I couldn’t outrun it anymore *** Seattle blurred into a string of taxi windows and rainy sidewalks by the time I touched down. The hotel was forgettable. Clean, smelled of lemon detergent and the faint trace of cedar, functional, close to my destination. Morning came too early. I'd barely slept, mind churning through possibilities and dead ends and what I'd actually say if I found them. The address Joe had given me led to a modern building in downtown Seattle. Glass and steel, environmentally conscious design, solar panels on the roof. A bronze plaque by the entrance read: ALADE FOUNDATION.

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.

Probability of Scam Success: 70%. This dramatic increase filled me with immense satisfaction. I quickly closed the system screen and began mentally calculating all the essential survival supplies I could acquire with two billion dollars. I could easily fill my entire 30,000-cubic-meter spatial inventory to the absolute brim with food, medical equipment, and weapons. Though, even that astronomical sum wouldn't be entirely enough to purchase everything required to comfortably survive the brutal apocalypse for several decades. I turned my head toward the side window and watched the bright neon lights of the city blur past through the dark tinted glass. It was only then that I realized Elara was