Wasteland Novels & Stories

] A broken cry tore out of Evan as he drove the blade into his own chest. [Evan said he’s moving out. Even though I didn’t want him to go, I still agreed. Maybe it’s for the best. My body is getting weaker, and I look worse every day. If he leaves, he won’t have to see me at my worst. But I really wish he had stayed.] Evan was sobbing uncontrollably. “Ana, I wish you had stayed too!”

Day Three. A black steel RV rumbled down the battered highway. This world was massive. According to the system, this region was called the Zombie Wasteland. To Jake, it felt a lot like a no-man 's-land—cold, dry, and utterly desolate. The barren plains stretched endlessly in every direction. Along the way, he'd spotted plenty of Lv.2 vehicles—taxis, vans, buses, even a helicopter buzzing overhead. Anyone still alive on Day Three had a decent ride. The ones who'd started with scooters, bicycles, or wheelchairs? Unless they'd latched onto someone else, they wouldn't have lasted.

Waste system started, because nobody writes songs about sanitation but everyone dies when it fails. Maya strings noise-makers at the rear fence from cans and fishing line. Elegant? No. Useful? Yes. Aesthetic rating low, LUS says. “It’s an apocalypse tripwire, not a wedding centerpiece.” Function adequate. “Be still my heart.” At 6:17 p.m., twenty-four hours after the world publicly tore itself open, Maya stands in the center of the warehouse and listens. Sirens still exist, but fewer. Gunshots now punctuate the city in short, ugly bursts. The dead are no longer incidents. They are weather.

"I'm a goody two shoes and I'm a prude and I like to do my homework and I absolutely definitely don't know how to be friends with all around bad boys and ..." "Well, if you don't know how to be friends with a wanton because you're a good girl—" He lays emphasis on wanton, a word I'd used randomly many days ago in his room and I visibly swallow "—then there's only one solution. Welcome to the wanton train, good girl. Hope you enjoy the ride." This is what I get for not keeping my mouth shut.

As his eyes closed, he waited for a woman to appear in his set. He was alone in the middle of his own creation, the dark monochrome alley that still flickered on his computer screen. It was somewhere on the outskirts of a sprawling futuristic city, and deserted, Twilight gleamed greyly, and the faint thud-thud of hard rock music told him he was near an entertainment area. He felt excellent now: strong and sexy, ready for anything, and deep deep into his fantasy. ‘Hello, J.J.’

The sun hadn’t risen fully when they drove out—just a bleeding line of orange over the horizon. Behind them, the new world stirred. Children ran barefoot through dusty streets. Wolves patrolled the borders, teeth bared and rifles slung. Smoke rose from cooking fires—not battles. Laughter could be heard, here and there, like light cutting through the cracks of a long-closed door. But outside those walls… chaos still lived. Emma gripped the map tightly as they passed into the wastelands beyond the city. Each marked location was a ticking time bomb. She didn’t know what waited for them out there.

A whisper that wasn't by voice. And tonight, it showed me something that I couldn't escape. It started with smoke— it was thick, black, and curling like serpents across the ground. I was standing on a cracked path of scorched earth, the sky a scary swirl of red and grey. The air hummed like something alive. I didn't know this place but something in me said I did. Death Hollow. It whispered. The forbidden wasteland where no life grows. Where bones sink into the black soil and never rise again. Where the dead don’t rest—they wait.

I can hear their footsteps scuffling away. “You know she’s never going to make this easy for you, right?” I hear Rowan ask quietly. Silence. Long enough that I almost think Luca isn’t going to answer. “I know,” he says softly. A beat passes. Then Rowan snorts. “You’re so unbelievably fucked.” “Shut up, Rowan.” Their laughter fades down the hall. And despite everything… Dean Withers. The tracker beneath my skin. Callan Ravaryn and his stupid, gentle eyes. The memories of Skyless Keep. The panic still clawing at my chest… I find myself smiling. Just a little.

To her, that was worse than death. "Too bad, it's not up to you." Donovan waved, ordering, "Exile them to the Wastelands. They are never to set foot in any packs again." The Wastelands were a barren, desolate region in Northmere—no food, no water, only howling winds and savage beasts. Being sent there was synonymous with a death sentence. The Gamma warriors stepped forward, dragging the mentally shattered Falcon and the struggling Julia out like rugs. Walter remained collapsed on the floor, watching his son being taken away. After a night, he looked decades older.

But my resistance is useless. “Take her away!” Raffaele barks once more, his tone leaving no room for argument. The stranger holding me tightens his grip, pulling me close as he weaves us through the sea of bodies, some writhing in pain, others completely lifeless. A cold dread sinks into my bones as I catch glimpses of the grotesque scene around me. Blood pools on the floor, bodies slumped over tables, their eyes staring blankly at nothing. The air is thick with death and despair.