Surviving Disaster Extreme Cold Ch 1 Novels & Stories

Professor Shaw said. My hand moved to my stomach. It was flat. For several seconds, I could not breathe. “Where is my baby?” The answer was already in Professor Shaw’s eyes. The project doctor spoke gently. “By the time we reached you, the procedure had already begun. You had lost too much blood. We transferred you here immediately, but the fetus was too weak to survive.” I stared at the ceiling.

As I turned I saw the body of my seatmate half buried in bloody snow and looking away immediately I saw that a sharp metal had pierced through his eyes down to the back of his skull. How did I survive? My body ached everywhere, bruises, but I didn’t care… I was alive and that was all that mattered to me. I shivered. Cold… I was so cold. From where I sat I saw that a few seats were empty seats. I wasn’t the only survivor… the left side of the plane was now open but I could barely see, if I didn’t leave nor I would be buried in no time. I should be dead! My hands flew to my shorts and upon seeing that I wasn’t bleeding, relief hit me so hard I almost sobbed.

I soon find myself in an open, wide and cold space with no one, animals or plants whatsoever aside from the lady. She walks towards me as I stay kneeling on the ground, unable to move my already frozen body. She smiles warmly, stretches out her hand for me to take, which I do with shaky fingers. The cold triples the moment my hand connects with hers and strikes my bones, causing me to fall to the ground and shout in pain. The cold becomes unbearable that I almost blank out but try my hardest to keep my sanity. I can't die here. I have to live through it no matter how hard it is.

Chance just chuckled, remaining on his side. _____ Hours seemed to pass, and Zara was shivering violently despite the sheet. The cold was a physical ache… she felt like she was going to die if the storm didn't let up. Suddenly, the lights flickered violently and plunged the room into pitch blackness. Chance groaned in frustration, turning his head toward her trembling form.

Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Don't fall. Don't die. My mantra was my salvation, the only thing that kept my legs moving through two days of snowfall. My feet were numb, sockless and wrapped in strips torn from my dress to keep the most extreme cold from reaching my bones. I could see the dark stains moving through the makeshift bandages. Frostbite or blood, it didn't matter anymore. Seven days. Seven endless days of survival that had leached all the gentleness from me and had left something harder, bitter, more desperate.

Mismanagement led to disaster, decimating the population and leaving a mere 1% of humanity clinging to survival. Life became harsh, and people struggled to live, resembling scenes from a "Mad Max" movie or "The Book of Eli." Trudging across the dry, barren land, I felt the oppressive heat, unsuitable for cultivating anything. Merely minutes in the open, my skin felt like it was scorching.

On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year." I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat. Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade. The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you."

Chloe's journey back to the Mill Creek house was a nightmare of pain and cold. She crawled through the snow, her body broken, her vision blurred. The wind howled around her, its icy fingers clawing at her exposed skin. She could feel the cold seeping into her wounds, could feel her blood freezing in her veins. She was dying, and she knew it. But she kept moving, her determination fueled by a primal will to survive. She had come too far to give up now. She had survived the apocalypse, survived the cold, survived the beatings. She would not let some stranger's rage be the end of her.

"The poor little thing... stuck on a ship with dying people and starving to death with unbearable thirst surrounded by water that's undrinkable." "Surprised they didn't resort to cannibalism," I snorted out and looked away from the foul sight. "Some might've... but they would've hid them I think," he whispered. "They wouldn't want to be eaten... those that refused to eat each other." "You do what you have to, to survive. Like in the artic.... People cut into dead animals and climb inside them to get out of the cold weather. This is no different. Let's go find the locked up cannibals, shall we?" I asked him and held out my arm. He smiled and walked up, taking my arm and then kissed my shoulde

The oceans evaporated, revealing jagged seabeds and countless skeletal remains of once-living creatures. Humanity—once the ruler of Earth—proved pitifully fragile in the face of absolute natural force. Perhaps, in some corners of the world, there were survivors like me, hiding within their own arks, waiting for the planet's next cycle. Perhaps, hundreds or thousands of years from now, when the heat finally receded and glaciers returned, new life would sprout again from this burned wasteland. But none of that had anything to do with me. I picked up the journal on the table, turned to a pristine new page, and wrote the first line.