The Dangers of Writing About the Apocalypse
By: Meriah Crawford
Tags: Writing, Survival, Zombies, Apocalypse, Farming

A couple of years ago I wrote the first 65,000 words of a post-apocalyptic novel: a version of our future where a great many of us, globally, died from a virus, and then nearly all the rest died in the grim aftermath: from cold, illness, starvation, suicide, fire, random violence, and more. It was a grim future, made survivable for a few, in part, by the swiftness and the thoroughness of the illness, which left some food still on many supermarket shelves, gas at gas stations, and most roads largely clear — at least of vehicles.

The biggest challenge for me as a writer has been to understand what would work and what wouldn’t. Research taught me that GPS, for example, would not. That technology requires human adjustments to hold the satellites in place. Sure hope you have access to maps! Gas would be ok for a while, but not more than maybe a year and a half, and of course you’ve got to get it out of the underground tanks at the gas stations without power. Solar energy would work, of course, so a smart and well-equipped group could actually use computers, and PlayStations, and even solar-powered water pumps and heaters. Running water and hot showers — yes!

The Internet would be done for, though. Can you even imagine that? We’ve reached a point where even essential reference books are only accessible online. And cell phones are out, too, without all the systems operating in the background. Water treatment would be a thing of the past, too. Until my band of survivors make their way out of the city and find a place with a well, collecting rainwater is an essential part of life. As long as that pump keeps working and the well doesn’t silt up.

I also made a point of studying labels in grocery stores, to understand what products would still be edible a year to 18 months after the end. The answer is, not that many. And the stuff that’s expired? Is it just stale or actually dangerous? I have something of a solution for that — my group of travelers eats in batches, ensuring that no more than half of the group eats the same foods for each meal. That way, unless something really goes wrong, there’s always someone to handle guard duty and the like. And they cook stuff hard, to kill as many bacteria as possible. Sounds tasty, huh?

And of course, there are no more vegetables or fruits to buy. No fresh meat. No dairy, including cheese, though canned milk and those containers of powdery parmesan are ok, when they can find it. No more crackers or cereals, but oatmeal is good, depending on the packaging. Oils and most nuts are fine. Flour and sugar, generally being on lower shelves, are often ruined by mice or bugs or moisture. Do you know how much time, effort, and money grocery stores put into pest management? It’s a lot, so most products shelved in paper or cardboard or plastic bags are a loss. Canned goods, like soups and vegetables, are mostly ok, for a while longer. Canned tuna, sardines, and Vienna sausages? You bet. All the herbs and spices they could ever want, too, though the taste will gradually dull and distort with every passing month. Some more so than others.

Of course, every store is different. Some shelves, and some whole stores, are well picked over by the time they break in. The fading stench of long-thawed frozen foods and rotted meat and produce is usually still present. Roofs leak, often, and sometimes collapse. Rats and birds and mice have taken over some stores. Bugs, too, and sometimes larger animals. And so forth.

The trouble is, I spent a lot of time thinking about this. It became an obsession for a while, and then it became a habit. It reached the point where I’d evaluate an area for its suitability as a camp when I was out, or look to see if any of the stores would be useful. I’d feel alienated from my life, sometimes — thinking that none of it would matter once the apocalypse came. None of it would have meaning or value. Why even bother paying for two years on my car registration now? Better to wait and see.

And what sorts of properties would be easy to guard and defend? A remote farm? A warehouse? A hospital or prison, maybe? There are pros and cons to each, but the key is: which would be empty when you got there? Getting bodies and their associated stench out of a place is a nightmare. A school, maybe: one with lots of rooms and a big kitchen, showers, and fields encircled with lockable fences. Can’t have anyone, or anything, getting at the crops.

A field of young corn plants in Charles City, VA.

Crops? Yeah, any apocalypse novel ought to also be a farming novel, because that food will only last so long. I mean, you know there’s a warehouse somewhere in the lower 48 filled to the gills with freeze-dried emergency rations, or MREs, or maybe camping meals in lightweight pouches, but how are you gonna find it? Yeah, that’s right: the Internet is down. And when was the last time you saw a phone book, even assuming it would be in there? You could search every building in a whole city for stockpiles of food, and maybe not find more than a whole lot of corpses, dust, and expired reject food in the cabinets. Plus, you know some of those preppers have booby traps.

So yeah, stop and grab some gardening implements and seeds next time your band of survivors is walking or driving past a Lowe’s or an Ace Hardware Store. Get some books about gardening from a local library, and maybe see if you can corral some cows — they’re great for fertilizer. Then think long and hard about irrigation, because you need to grow enough to last you through winter whether the rain comes or not. And also? Better learn how to can those vegetables you’re growing. Pick up some ammo, too, because you’ll have to defend your crops from the other band of survivors who live two towns over and are too lazy and shiftless too grow their own damn crops.

OR, you could maybe take a deep breath and remember: the world probably isn’t going to end any time soon. And if it does, you’re more than likely going to be one of the zombies and not one of the people escaping town in an RV, or whatever. In which case, you won’t have to worry about a thing. Comforting, isn’t it?

So, all things considered, you might want to skip writing about the apocalypse. If you do it, it will more than likely be with you for quite a while. And finding yourself in the middle of a pandemic doesn’t help one little bit — though the experience will definitely help me when I’m revising my novel. There are a whole lot of things about our responses to a pandemic that I could never have imagined — and that you would never have believed if I had.

Stay healthy, my friends!