Novelas y relatos de Survival 101

As the incessant beeping came to an abrupt cease, I reluctantly glanced at the message now visible. ░░▓░░░░▓░░░ M I N I - M I S S I O N ░░░░░▓░░░▓░░ Survival depends on success. But first, a test of courage and will commence. Greetings from the dark, students! — ۩ As the survivors, you have made it through the first ordeal but now your supplies run low and wounds fester. To continue, you must acquire food and medical supplies. This is the perfect time for the mini - mission in lieu and before starting the official second mission.

He died on the spot, due to blunt trauma. Glancing at Virginia, Susan saw the flicker of fear in her eyes, mirrored by her own. The gravity of their situation was not lost on her. With each passing second, the water rose higher, threatening to engulf them completely. In that moment, Susan made a choice, a selfless act driven by loyalty and love. ‌

He's not Bell, there's no camera crew here, and he's watched wilderness survival programs that add up to no more than 10 hours, have no standard Swiss Army knife, no lighter, no antibiotics, don't recognize poisonous insects and herbs, don't know what can be eaten and what can be used, and don't know how many days he'll be able to live on his own if the rescue is too slow. But it's in those 10 hours of limited knowledge that Ethan Brooks remembers the saying that after dark, shelter is far more important than food and water.

There was a hearth, but no wood. Outside, I gathered what I could. Damp branches, some moss-covered. A few dry twigs where the wind had dried out the higher brush. My hands throbbed with cold as I piled it inside, then crouched down on the dusty stone floor to try and remember what the trainers had taught us in survival simulations. Small bundle first. Feed it slow. Spark. Shelter. Breathe. The flint was chipped. The steel weak. I struck them again and again, the sound sharp and desperate in the silence.

It was a pot of violently bubbling chili con carne, slick with red oil. The girls hadn’t reacted in time. The scalding liquid drenched them from head to toe, coating their faces and hair. They clawed wildly at their skin, wailing in agony. It had all happened in a flash. Dominic hadn’t even processed it until everything was already over. "Call an ambulance! Hurry!" I forced panic into my voice. Dominic stammered before finally snapping out of it and dialing emergency services. The boiling red chili blistered their faces instantly. As they rubbed frantically at the burns, the skin sloughed away, exposing raw flesh beneath. It was horrifying to look at.

The system sent another message. "Please choose your survival skill for the next week: "1. Unlimited supply of metal weapons "2. A body that is as strong as steel and immune to poison "3. Short-distance teleportation "4. Unlimited storage space "5. Reverse photosynthesis (obtains energy via absorption of water particles in the air)." The group chat was immediately flooded with messages as everyone debated about the best skill that would allow them to survive the plant apocalypse. Once again, Riley took the lead and told the male companions to choose the first skill that provided them with an unlimited supply of weapons, explaining that it would increase their chances of protecting her.

I survived the most dangerous and chaotic first three months of the zombie virus outbreak. One morning, the roar of helicopter blades came through the bunker's external microphones, followed by a military loudspeaker broadcast. "Attention all survivors. This is the Southwest Rescue Command rescue team. We have established a safe base. Survivors who hear this broadcast, proceed to the designated assembly point..." I stood up, took off my comfortable loungewear, changed into a black tactical gear and put on a stab-resistant vest. I slid two combat knives into my tactical boots and slung a cocked compound crossbow over my back.

Ten was the appropriate number of points to keep immune from getting infected and the more you had, the more out of danger you were. But as I stared down at the band strapped on my wrist, my chest tightened. I survived twice so far; ten points for each, twenty points altogether — but what was clearly displayed on my band was a five. Fifteen points deducted for trying to survive at the golf game? I clenched the band to my chest, lips tight. “Chow chow now, players. Watch who you call your friends… they might be your carnage” The voice blared. “The next immunity game commences at dusk, find your way to the game arena once the siren blows.”

I frowned. The viewers behind the comments sounded no different from sadistic killers. When no one else spoke, the system's voice returned. "Please select the next participant to enter the game before the timer ends. If no one enters, the game will be deemed a failure, and I will punish the remaining players." We exchanged glances and all saw the fear reflected in each other's eyes. The system continued, "Current death count totals 21. The remaining 195 merit points will be evenly distributed among 15 survivors."

Dust rains from the ceiling. My survival instincts finally kick in. When danger comes, most people scream, cry, or run. Me? I follow my life routine. Step one: Breathe. I inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Okay… heart still racing. But at least I’m not fainting. Step two: Check surroundings. Exit: one. Enemies: probably many. Chance of survival: questionable. Step three: Secure essentials. I rush to the small pile of things we gathered earlier—berries, a water pouch, and the cloak Kaelen gave me.