The Last Survivor Book Novels & Stories

"There is a camp in the deep caverns. The Warren. They need protectors. They need a shield." One by one, the forty-two survivors turned away from the stairs leading to General Nyosi. They chose the harder path. They chose mercy. Baraka led them out of the holding block, leaving the forty-two dead silver collars resting on the cold concrete floor—a monument to the night the military-industrial complex lost its teeth. They navigated the dark utility tunnels, slipping past the destroyed perimeter of the Forward Operating Base, and emerged into the cool, biting air of the pre-dawn morning.

It never once crossed her mind what was waiting on the other side of those doors. Dad remembered how I was when I came back from the camp. At dinner, I ate mechanically, and my eyes were dark and hollow, as if I had become a different person entirely. He told himself I just needed time to readjust. He planned to send me back only after the holiday. It never once crossed his mind that by then, I had already been tortured past the point of wanting to live, that the thought of dying had already taken root. They always said it was for my own good, but they ended up destroying my life with their own hands. At the best age of my life, they drove me to end it in the most devastating way possible.

I glanced at the last two chances for forgiveness I was holding onto and finally spoke, "Alright, thanks, professor." Just then, Walter walked in. "Who were you talking to? The professor?" he inquired, curiosity in his eyes. He dropped a bag on the table, the contents hidden from view. I ended the call and faced him, trying to keep my voice even. "Nothing important, just some questions." Walter's frown deepened, his gaze probing. "What kind of questions? It's pretty late for that, isn't it?" I met his gaze, my own brows knitting together. "Just about an experiment, nothing to worry about."

“I am. Why? Are you afraid now?” I fought the urge to run. “I will live… right?” “Don’t worry, your book missed one vital information. There was actually one who survived,” he replied instead. “There were three people who were foolish enough to do what you are doing now. And one of them got lucky.” “Who?” Blade just shrugged. “Is that person okay?” “He is alive, Katniss. Isn’t that the most important thing? And since you seem to be as foolish as him, you will live, too.” Blade shook his head and added, “Foolish people are needlessly brave.”

Closer than before. Too close. No time to run. No time to think. Lena’s breath caught. Her body refused to move. This is it “I can’t....” The thing lunged. Straight for her. And Lena realized survival wasn’t about strength. It was about who breaks last. And right now...she was breaking.

That moment where she realizes she might die and her last thought is "I failed my son." I cried writing that ending. Not even joking. Sat at my laptop at 3 AM with tears running down my face because I'd just done that to a character I love. To THREE characters I love, actually, because Ares and Lucas are in that wreck too and none of them deserved this. But you know what? Stories aren't about what characters deserve. They're about what characters SURVIVE. And trust me when I say—Book 2 is going to be about survival in ways that will make Book 1 look like a warm-up.

He took a sharp step around the edge of the table, cutting off her path. “Claire. Please.” She stopped, her body freezing, but she didn't look back at him. Ethan lowered his voice, the raw desperation completely shattering his CEO composure. “I never... I never wanted things to end between us like this. You have to believe me.” Claire closed her eyes tightly for half a second, swallowing down the bitter taste of seven years of wasted loyalty. Then, she turned her head slowly, looking at him one last time. “Neither did I, Ethan.”

“And they won’t forgive her if they find out. She is the last survivor of the seven families, and with Kael missing, she is the last hope. The vessel.” My breath came in rushed. I couldn’t breathe normally. “She is the final option,” I read on another page. “They must be stopped. Or they will release the infinite corruption through her.” My knees quivered, and I found it difficult to stand. “Elora, you’re—” I flinched as the voice came and stopped abruptly. Turning around, I was face-to-face with Lloyd. He’d gone still, hand holding a towel over his face. His eyes darted between my face and the books in my hand.

"He's an incredible writer. He let Pat read a couple of his short stories, and she gave them to me. They were real dark, but beautiful. One was about what goes on in the space between moments of time. It was called 'The Second Hand.' He had this character who suddenly begins to live between the moments, and finds that there is more going on there than in normal time." "Sounds interesting. What made the story dark?" "The guy was in the last hour of his life. But it took him a year to live it." "Did the guy know it was his last hour?" Ray hesitates. He must know Seymour is not well. "I don't know, Lara." He has not used my name before. "Call me Sita," I say, surprising myself. He raises an eye

The audio clip started and the image began to move. “Hello survivors, my name is Daniel Shirker, President and founder of Project Humanity’s Last Resort. For those unaware, the world as you know it is over. We are entering a new world, a new age, a world of peace and freedom, but do know, you are not alone. Scattered across the United States are one hundred fifty-one bunkers containing an overall total of one million survivors. These bunkers are meant to serve as your new home. You will live here for three months. There will be enough food and water, as long as you ration properly and utilize the farm to grow food immediately. After those three months are over, the air will return to its pre