Realistic Post Apocalyptic Books Novels & Stories

Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "Zayla, he's the one who saved you? But I heard that after the first rescue team left Zone A, the zombies went into a frenzy. By the time the second team arrived, no one who had been left behind in Zone A had survived. How did you make it out?" I wasn't entirely sure what she was getting at. Shrugging, I said, "Does it matter? I'm alive. That's enough." "Of course it matters. The virus wasn't even in Zone A before, and then suddenly, right after you announced your engagement, the outbreak started? A little too convenient, don't you think?" She let the implication hang in the air before adding, "The apocalypse is beyond our control, but we can't rule out the pos

They are afraid the helicopter belongs to the bad groups like they read in the novels these few weeks . The couple had bought many novels and fiksyen books about the backward world and the future world , the apocalypse novel and the cultivation novel . Although most of them are only the writer's imagination still they might get few information about the world they might went to and here they are , at the future world . The apocalypse world. Adrian added two more warrior puppets at the entrance to the office and enters the living room to stay with his wife . The black thick curtains will be able to cover everything inside the floor , outsider won't be able to see anything inside anyway .

POV: PHINA Surviving the end of the world was never going to be a matter of stockpiling enough grain or locking myself behind twelve-foot walls. Food rots, walls fall, and eventually, the cold breaks through every barrier. The real key to surviving the coming apocalypse lies in knowing exactly whom to trust, and setting boundaries that can never be crossed. Sitting at my desk in the command center, I opened a fresh file on my encrypted laptop and titled it “The Highland Protocols.”

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.

I want to have a bit of hope dad has finally remembered me. I want to hear his voice. I want him to say something to me, but he's quick to remind me that the dead don't speak. The call dies. AUTHOR'S POV Hello guys, so I've reached the end of my first book on Good Novel. Please don't hesitate to vote and leave a review. I was thinking of making Ethan's book a dystopian or utopian Mafia book since the book will take place in the future. Anyways, I'd like to say thank you to those that read my book to the end despite the errors.

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

It was the smile of a predator who had finally been turned loose in a pen of defenseless sheep. This is what I love about post apocalypse the most: they no longer check your crime records. I adjusted my grip on my pack, feeling the familiar weight of the tools I had kept hidden beneath the mundane supplies. I wasn't just here to survive. I was here to thrive. The wall that kept the dead out also kept the living in, locked in a cage where the rules of civilization had evaporated, and where the only thing that mattered was not whether you were a good person, but whether you were still breathing.

Brixtius turns and starts walking down the corridor; little Eurydice ran down. I follow him down the dim hallway. I immediately glimpse at the paintings on the wall. Mostly the scenes are of the gods, playing havoc on Olympus. There are some paintings of everyday life. Men and women are working the fields, eating the bounty of the land, and enjoying each other's company. What grabs me the most is the vivid colors and lifelike detail. It saddens me to know these pictures will soon be destroyed when Vesuvius blows her stack. As if the thought disturbed the sleeping giant. The walls and floor start to shake. The tremor only lasts a few seconds, but it's enough to spur me into action.

Among the desperate and the dying, she was known as the woman who would stitch up an Orc’s jagged gash or treat a human’s infection without asking for the payment she knew they didn't have. Marcus, standing ten feet away with his hand on the rusted door of their armored truck, had once been a promising architecture student. But now, he has only built excuses. Rhea had met him in the early months of the collapse. For three years, they had been a pair or so she had convinced herself. But the apocalypse had a way of eroding a man’s foundation, turning solid stone into shifting sand. "He’s alive, Marcus," Rhea grunted, her muscles screaming in protest as she heaved the massive, unconscious stran

I looked at it once and turned away. My belongings had been thrown into two suitcases. Old medicine bottles were mixed with clothes, and a photo from my first remission had cracked down the middle. I took only my documents, my research notes, and the journal I had kept through treatment. Everything else could stay. When I came downstairs, the front doors opened. Dante walked in. His wedding suit had been changed, but he still looked like a man who had come from the wrong ceremony. His eyes found me at once, then dropped to my empty stomach. The color left his face.