Three Ways To Survive The Apocalypse Novels & Stories

If humans started mutating too and became heavy eaters someday, their current supply might not last nearly as long as expected. The more she calculated, the tighter things felt. Not to mention, surviving well in the apocalypse required far more than just food. They still lacked too many things. Which meant she had to start trading supplies. Nonrenewable resources were untouchable, so the only option was growing more food. That was why she planted nothing but potatoes. They matured quickly and produced absurdly high yields. For the third crop of cold-resistant potatoes, she only planted 100 pounds. The rest went straight into storage space. Once the survivors' own potato harvests started hitt

"Thank you for always being on our side. We wouldn't have to live in a mountain cave if everyone were like you." Uri also knew not to continue the story about the Red Leaf organization; he took the initiative to switch the conversation to Finn. "We are always in danger of extinction, so for three thousand years, did our previous generations not find a way to live for themselves?" "All our previous generations have always found a way to live, but hope keeps dying with time," Finn replied desperately. "They didn't find a way?" Uri wondered. "Not without a way." Finn sighed. "It's impossible to find it."

When they realized he had no interest in entertaining them, they left reluctantly. As soon as the door clicked shut, Cyrus summoned his pocket dimension and sent all the supplies into the white void. He wanted to see if they would change overnight. By the time he finished, it was late. Instead of sleeping, he pulled out pen and paper and began drafting a one-month survival plan. Lazy as he had been in the past, the will to survive could unlock hidden potential. He wrote: [To live luxuriously in the apocalypse, food comes first.] He could easily acquire ordinary groceries. The real stockpiling would come from the warehouse, but only cautiously, only at the right moment. A few days in jail for

Some toward weapons, some toward the fence, some only far enough to realize they had no idea where they were supposed to go. The difference between panic and survival was usually about five seconds. The tower had already lost three of them. “Eastern side!” Caleb shouted. His voice cut through the rain better than Warren’s did. Lantern light bounced across the muddy yard as survivors scrambled for spears, rifles, and tools that had become weapons because the world no longer cared what things were originally made for. The infected kept coming. Not dozens. Hundreds. Not all at once, but enough that the fog below the ridge seemed alive with bodies. Pale faces appeared between the trees, vanished

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

“Move away from the where they can see you, they'll keep on going crazy knowing that they can't get to us, and that will do us no good.” I sigh in relief as I drop my bag, Mel shoved her hand into hers, one by one she places the canned food on the floor, counting them again. My eyes dart around trying to observe the surrounding ruins, most houses had their windows broken, shops and stores were emptied probably by humans who were finding any means to survive. The moaning sound of zombies shuffling around, this used to be humans who had a life before this whole destruction. A dog bark gets my attention, I face to the direction of the bark.

Bailey asks while digging into her pack for spare filters. "No," Drifter says, "No dinner tonight." "You're not hungry?" "Of course I'm hungry, but we need to save our food. This isn't the bunker. There are no cafeterias out here. We eat one day and then eat again in three days." "Three days? That's insane." "No, that's survival. Pure and simple. Now shut up and get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us. Tomorrow, I want us out of this city."

“There is a gas stove. Perfectly functioning.” It wasn’t surprising. The outbreak was utterly unexpected. People left their homes as soon as they heard the news, and no one bothered bringing their things with them, much less their gas stoves. Lucky for the team, they took a cozy house. There’s even a refrigerator, but because the electricity supply stopped just a year after the apocalypse in these areas, the refrigerator’s contents were either looted by the early passing survivors or rotted inside the refrigerators for years. The three youngsters helped Farrah into preparing the utensils. They didn’t dare use anything from the house and used their utensils. They also brought water, for there

And she knew what was coming. The world was shifting. Cracks forming. The apocalypse wasn't a maybe — it was already unfolding like a slow burn, too quiet to notice until it screamed. Selene didn't care about the end of the world. Only about Aria surviving it. So she built safehouses. Stocked weapons. Hid gear in abandoned buildings across the city. She mapped escape routes, memorized police patterns, paid off engineers to maintain power grids in dead zones. All of it was for Aria. Always her.