Novel & Cerita Realistic Post Apocalyptic Books

A light frown on my face would make him panic. I used to think I was the happiest woman in the world—until that familiar scar appeared in a trending post written by a woman who claimed she had given birth to her best friend's husband's child. It felt so surreal that I could barely believe it, yet the truth sat there on my screen, cruelly crushing everything I once believed.

The apocalypse did not start with zombies right away. That would have been too simple. First came the drought. The heat was brutal, day after day, pressing down on cities until roads cracked, crops burned, and people started fighting over bottled water in stores that had nothing left on the shelves. The electricity could not keep up. Power grids failed in waves, hospitals went dark, cooling systems died, and people who had spent their entire lives trusting walls and machines suddenly understood how thin civilization really was.

"Ahhh—" [Consumed high-calorie, delicious food.] [Status Updated: Full.] [Sanity recovering slightly... Current: 100/100 (Max overflow)] [Evaluation: In the apocalypse, a bowl of hot stew is more precious than gold.] Jake drained the last of the broth, feeling a light sweat bead on his forehead. He glanced out at the pitch-black, frozen wasteland. Outside was hell. Inside was heaven. "Day one," Jake murmured, shoving the last bite of lamb into his mouth. His eyes, half-veiled by steam, were dark and sharp. "If I want to keep living like this... this rig's got to get stronger."

"Good. Lets just get back to the warehouse. Get behind the walls." The four-kilometer drive felt like it took hours. Every time a stray zombie stumbled out from a side alley my foot jerked on the pedal. The heavy steel plow on the front of the truck pushed them aside like dry branches. The city was still burning around me, black columns of smoke twisting into the gray sky but all I could think about was the cold terrifying look in Justin’s eyes. He was right about one thing—the world was changing fast. If a Tier 2 Awakened was already walking around on day one, my current defenses weren't going to be enough to keep me alive.

Black dots danced in my vision from the suddenness of the pain and I pressed my fingers hard into my temples, dropping the gun I stole. The pain from before was back—only worse. So much worse. The black dots grew in my vision and fear gripped me at the sudden blindness. I heard Gabriel’s footing cease and retreat back to me. “Suthard! What are you doing? Come on!” My head pressurized to the point where I could start to feel my limbs fail me. My body crashed onto the dirt road and I wasted no time letting the darkness encompass not only my sight, but all my senses. -

She was trying to reach her, but her bas**** ex was holding her, keeping her from using water ability to save her. When the meteorites scattered across the globe, some people developed abilities almost the same time the undead appeared. The sky was bright red, explosions, screams in every direction. Chills crawl on her back, recalling what would happen a year from now. Her revenge for every suffering will be done slowly because preparing for the approaching apocalypse matters more. In the future, food and water will be scarce. Guns will be more valuable than gold and jades. There will be safe military and clan bases emerging but still needed some points from working and trading for food.

The force of gravity in the room seemed to suddenly increase, threatening to drag her to the floor. Get over it. You knew damn well this was going to happen. Just . . . move on. She looked over her shoulder to finally take in the rest of the space. Her father’s bed lay inside one of the corners, the mattress a size too small for a man of his height and covered with the same camo blanket that rested on her own. A large bookcase lined one wall, its contents a hodgepodge of classic and paranoid—“Survivalist,” Emma corrected herself—literature. She scanned the titles. Finding Tom Sawyer and The Anarchist’s Cookbook resting beside each other conjured demented scenes of the scamp lobbing improvise

I dump my bag on the floor and read through the shelf while pulling books out and mumble as I go. ‘Even a book can be dangerous in the wrong hands.’ ‘Ignite.’ ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.’ ‘You’ll make bad choices. Sometimes you’ll choose the best of bad ones.’ ‘Tuesday is Fucked.’ ‘Everything’s a game. And now it’s your turn.’ I have a stack of about 10 books before I abruptly stop. "Next isle." I say and we walk up and down the library isles. I climb and jump to get books off of shelves and Aidan has to catch me a couple of times when I fell.

It is only because of this job she could go home, relax in her tub and read a web novel before sleep even after the apocalypse. Her favorite are rebirth apocalypse novels and dashing hero ones. After all, we only ever like fantasy when reality is utterly disappointing. There is no way to reincarnate even with all the weird abilities going around. If there were any good men in the world, they did not survive past the first week of the apocalypse. She knew very well what she would do if she were the lead of either story. If she were to be reborn before the apocalypse, she would blow her brains out after killing her entire family.

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.”