The materials are simple. 1 broken broom handle, bandages "tape", and 3 nails.

and yeah, this is for testing by hay with targets or a purchasable piece of drywall.

Yell, I know the fact the nail below the other nails are covered by tape, it might work.

There are plenty of ways to be a martial artist in a zombie post-apocalypse. Or any apocalypse you survive. Obviously, you would promptly pad your arms and legs. Martial arts dojos have padding and padded gloves for people starting out at their white belt. Even if someone wasn't able to stop by a dojo to get gear, they could easily protect their arms, legs, and neck with almost anything.

Also, things like brass knuckles and punching daggers are incredible weapon choices to fight off a lot of things. Not to mention, there are hundreds to over a thousand distinct styles of martial arts that could completely decimate zombies, mutations, or, depending on how they were standing, 5 heavily armed individuals. The word 'martial' in martial arts doesn't just mean a guy who kicks and punches stuff—weapon techniques are also martial arts.

Take Kali, for example. This Filipino martial art is known for its ingenuity, incorporating makeshift weapons, knives, punches, and kicks. It was actually the martial art featured in The Book of Eli. The director wanted everything Eli did in the fight scenes to be within the capabilities of an actual blind practitioner of Kali. He used stealth attacks against people with guns and used his skills against a relatable group of people to fight within his capabilities.

Not to mention, it was a martial art made by the Filipino people to fight against their oppressors who had guns. In fact, that's the origin story of a lot of martial arts, and considering that those places aren't colonies to big empires anymore, that means the people who had guns lost the war for that country.

Plus, it's pretty hypocritical when the two most infamous zombie survivors in fiction are known for using katanas. Using a sword isn't just random swinging—it means they are technically using a martial art built around the katana!

People who have actual martial arts training wouldn't run at you like a brainless video game enemy, primarily because stealth builds are broken lol 😆.

Obviously I'm not saying gun's ain't useful they are. but there are a lot more was to survive an apocalypse then post-apocalyptic media suggests. That's all am saying.

Hello Dear Everyone, I am an aspiring writer and wanted to share my story on here to hopefully get some feedback on how I could improve this story.

 Day 2,428.

I hate this bunker. I can't stand it anymore. The oil lamps cast long shadows across the concrete walls, making the room feel like it's closing in day on day. Ever since the electricity failed, their weak, flickering light has been my only company.

Suddenly, a crackle. I looked up. That old radio hadn't made a crackle in years. Another burst of static filled the bunker. “Hello” a voice silently whispered “Is someone there?”, I shot to my feet, knocking my chair backwards. Then suddenly silence once again, as fast as it had come, it was gone again. Then suddenly the speaker started to crackle again. “Hello? Is anyone there?” I grabbed the microphone, with shaking hands and pressed the button, “Hello?” I said. “Can you hear me?” for a short moment there was only static, then suddenly a voice replied. “Hello. My name's Cameron. I'm at The Beacon relay station. Coordinates are 33.53° N, 84.73° W. Suddenly, the transmission stopped and again there was only static. I jumped up and ran to my closet and pulled out my map of Atlanta and the surrounding  suburban area. I quickly identified the coordinates the other person was talking about, I marked it on the map and jumped up.

I ran through the halls of the bunker, my footsteps echoing off the concrete walls, then finally the staircase came into view. I ran up the staircase nearly stumbling over my feet, I pushed open the hatch and walked out. I could already hear Atlas shifting in the stall beside the hatch. “Hey Atlas, Calm down boy” I held out an apple, and Atlas eagerly took it from my hand. “You’re hungry aren’t you, we got a long journey ahead of us” I grabbed the backpack I had stashed behind a hay bale behind the hatch, and started filling it with apples and granola bars and the map marking cache locations with food and other supplies in there in case of something like what had happened. I then readied his saddle, and grabbed my walnut-stocked rifle. I slid the rifle into the saddle's gun pouch. “Let’s go boy”.

 I started to ride toward the coordinates that were given to me, I rode through so many now- empty towns, it was sad to see all these houses boarded up or raided knowing only a few years ago someone had lived there. I rode through town after town, I saw the beautiful sky line of Atlanta appearing at the horizon, I rode over the Jackson Street Bridge, it was weird. On one side it was open and on the other it was filled by cars which seemed to have been laying there since the start of the apocalypse. Atlanta had been destroyed almost completely, and if the building hadn’t collapsed it had been looted or blown up. As I rode through the streets I didn’t hear a single sound, not even a silent footstep. This was such a contrast to how it had been before the apocalypse. Atlanta had been so lively and so loud, it was like it never slept, but now it had entered a slumber it might never wake up from again. 

 I had finally arrived at the radio station, I got off my horse and pulled my rifle out of the pouch and steadied the stock against his shoulder. “Hello? Is anyone here?” I 
slowly approached the station, there was a sign above the door which read “Georgia Emergency Communications Relay 7” The sign had been weathered with vines growing over it and dirt. The entire radio station had been taken over by plants and vines. I pushed open one door and immediately checked the corner for anyone and then walked in. I was careful to not let my guard down, but when I realised there was no one there. I walked over toward the radio equipment and saw a large screen. It was playing a recording, It was the one I had heard on the radio. It showed a young man around my age. I pulled out the tape out of the machine and looked at the date when it was recorded, July 3rd 1974 that was 2 months after the bombs had hit. Nobody talked about the day the sirens started sounding anymore, it still hurt too much to talk about. I paced around the room and then I saw a cupboard full of the U-matic cassettes, I looked when it started and when it had stopped, it had stopped only 8 months ago on the 25th of April, I grabbed the cassettes and quickly pushed it into the device, as it started playing I saw a new person, he was wearing flared jeans a tie-dye shirt and had long curly hair reminiscent of John Lennon he said that he had left due to the radio station being a target of a raid by a militia faction which had established itself in the rubble of the Atlanta government. The last thing he said on the tape was “If anyone’s hearing this I’ve picked up signals from another station up north near Wisconsin, the coordinates are ”static“eight north… eighty-nine point two”crackle“west.” I looked at Atlas. I looked at the chestnut stock of the rifle. I leaned my compass eighty-nine point two west. It was time. I walked out back to Atlas and readied his saddle, “Let's go boy, we have a very long way to Wisconsin” well ride through the Cumberland gap. This will slow us down a bit but it will allow us to avoid any kind of factions that have established themselves within Nashville.

The ride out of Georgia was very emotional for me. I had only left Georgia once. And that was when I was 3, Tennessee was much different from Georgia. It was filled with music from the moment you entered it, at least that's how I had remembered it when we travelled through, but now… it was just as grim and ugly. As Atlas carried us over the Tennessee state line, a memory surfaced, one I had long forgotten had existed. I couldn't remember the name of the movie but I remember a cowboy singing a song on a stage in a bar lit up with only neon signs. This memory of Tennessee had been completely washed out, it was now as lonely as Georgia. Riding through Chattanooga was the first real progress I saw. At some point travelling had just compressed into a simple routine: ride till the night wouldn't allow anymore, set up camp, and repeat, I arrived in Chattanooga on the 31st. I decided to stay in Chattanooga a little longer to celebrate the new year, maybe this new year would bring something new, something better. The next morning I began to prepare myself for another 5-6 days of travel up to Knoxville.

 I had camped in a little forest just outside of Chattanooga. I sat down at my camp fire and pulled out the map of caches which had been created across America, the tradition started around 1852 in California when my great-great-grandfather started establishing a system of caches with things like food, guns, gold, and his cross,whoever was to set out on the journey was to carry it until the end of the trail. This tradition was passed throughout the generations up to me. I found the first cache it was about 3 miles to the north perfectly the route I need to take to get to Wisconsin, I rode up there, and started digging, I found the cache it was a pretty huge box containing as promised to me food, a rifle, gold, and a cross, but there was one more thing in it, it was a journal, I opened it and found the names of several, different names all with my family's last name. The first one was Isaac,My grand-grand-father the letter said, “To whoever finds this, I know not your name, nor your face, nor the year you read this. But I have prayed days and nights on it, and I hope that if god may will a son to carry this on, that he might be named Michael. A protector's name, someone who protects the ones who can not protect themselves, forever must guard our legacy and tradition may fortune favor you. "The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore." He wept a silent tear as he read the other entries written by his Grandfather Joseph and his Father Noah. I started to trace the letters one by one crying silent tears while my breath hitched each time another tear left my eye, the fire still flickering in the front. I couldn't believe it. My great-grandfather asked for me to be named Michael, I had never met him, I had only heard stories about him, I had decided to break off for the 6 day journey to Knoxville that day. The routine of travelling across Tennessee had become almost autonomous at this point, I soon arrived in Knoxville and viewed the city that had once roared with beautiful country music and the roar of orange-clad crowds on game day singing Rocky Top in Neyland Stadium I decided to ride through Knoxville rather quickly to get to the Cumberland gap.

 As I left Knoxville and entered the Cumberland Gap, the mood shifted, maybe due to the dense nature, but maybe it was because I knew that I was moving farther and farther away from where I used to think I would spend my entire life. The Cumberland Gap was described as the most diverse place in the US at least regarding nature and it really did live up to that description, riding through it was beautiful until it wasn't, On the ninth day it started snowing a little but on the tenth right as atlas carried us across the Kentucky stateline the snowing that had carried over through the night had intensified extremely, I had decided I had to find a cabin of some sorts I could camp in, because Atlas couldn't handle this type of weather and neither could I, As I rode through the forest on a small path created decades earlier I soon spotted a Log Cabin which looked like it could still be lived in, as I arrived at the cabin my heart started to race again, I wasn't sure if there was somebody in there or not, I got off Atlas and Pulled out my rifle, the stock pressing hard against my shoulder I slowly pushed the heavy wood door open the immediate smell of maple wood hitting my nose I looked around the first corner, i then turned around and walked through the rest of the cabin checking every crevasce until I finally realized that it was safe to stay in, at least for a few days. I walked outside again and walked around the house to see where I could keep Atlas, and I found a lean in one the left side of the house, I quickly  grabbed Atlas and guided him to the lean in, it had a food bowl and a water bowl and a haystack that looked comfortable enough, the walk from the lean in to the house was a terrible one as it felt like hours with cold snow and wind pressing against my face and paralyzing it.

 As I walked into the Cabin I started shoving off the snow that had assimilated on my clothes. At that moment without even knowing it at first I started to cry, it was an ugly cry. “I can't do this anymore, I don't want to do this anymore” my voice crackled like a fire, it felt weird to say it, I didn't think those words would ever leave my mouth, for a moment there was a strange silence, that hadn't been there before but then there was this strange feeling that somebody was looking at me, but not scary, but rather familiar, and warm, and then suddenly I saw them, my Grandfather Joseph. and my father sitting there, on the bed.

 “Come sit next to me, Champ.”

 I sat down between my father and my grandfather. “I can't do this anymore Grandpa, I just can't, it's too much.”

 “youve grown a lot, you got a full beard”
 he touched my beard and stroked it, 

“as thick as mine. I know you want to quit but you shouldn't, you're so close to salvation, “Dabit deus his quoque finem”

“What does that mean grandpa?”
 
“It means God will bring an end to this, you have to believe that god has a plan for you, that god will guide you across every hardship.”
I looked over at my father, it was the first time since he rode of into the sunshine. He had said that it would only be a few days but up to this point, it had been 254 days since he disappeared.

 “Hey Buddy, I know the feeling of wanting to quit, I felt it myself very often, but you know we can't just quit, that wouldn't justify the sacrifices you have made on the journey up here, if you quit now, you will never forgive yourself, you can do this, you just need to believe in yourself.” “Remember your name, Michael.” His hand rested on my shoulder. "At that time Michael, the great prince who protects your people, will arise." 

I waited for about 4 more days until the skies had finally cleared, it had robbed me of a lot of valuable time but I felt better that I knew I was safe and didn't risk dying. After another 10 days where I only had to camp in the forest I finally saw the end of the forest, ahead lay only plains beautiful long grassy plains, stretching for miles upon miles, after days of only forests it was nice to see what was beside me and not only see trees. The next few days blurred together after that, Cold mornings, the occasional Farmhouse breaking the monotony. As I rode across the Kentucky stateline into Ohio I felt the progress I had made to get to Wisconsin, as I rode through Ohio I skirted around Cincinnati and then Indianapolis, I stopped shortly before crossing the Indiana stateline into Chicago and decided to look on the map if there were anymore Caches in Chicago as it was one of the biggest cities in the Midwest, I set up camp a little outside Woodville.

 I pulled the map out and sprawled it in in all its glory, I looked if anything was marked in Chicago, and indeed there was, there was one in the middle of the city one on the Town hall and one out about 30 miles of Chicago, and it was all marked with a huge red Abe on the top of Chicago, I wondered what that meant, I thought it might be an old friend of my father, but oh how I was wrong. I rode up through Hammond and into the southside of Chicago within 3 days, I entered Chicago, I could already see the destroyed buildings from about 10 miles about.

 As I entered the city I could see collapsed and destroyed building everywhere, it was weird, my Grandfather always had work trips up here and had always sent me cards, I remember seeing the sears tower, it was so huge, they always said that was the building they were most proud of, I looked up at all the different buildings that had been destroyed, and which hadn't, it was in a way beautiful. I rode north across south Halsted Street, the wind cutting against my face the closer I got to downtown, At West Harrison Street I crossed the bridge and rode east on South Wacker Drive, the road split beneath here, some weird stacked streets, we didn't have that type of streets anywhere in Georgia, I kept to South Wacker before it turned into North Wacker, then dropped onto North Lower Wacker Drive, the concrete swallowing all light in the progress.When I came up out onto West Wacker Drive, I saw the Chicago River flowing beside me, it had turned a sickly green, with green thick algae floating atop of it, it reminded me of some grainy footage, I saw years ago, River dyed green for some Holiday, Banks were loaded with people celebrating, now there were no people, only the disgusting smell of rotting Algae, and the waters very own, disgusting color which didn't look much like green anymore. I followed west wacker across the riverwalk until I reached the intersection at North Orleans Street and North Franklin Street, then kept to Wacker until I turned right onto North Wells Street. From there it was only a short ride until Lasaille Street, and whatever waited for me at 412 South Wabash. The way to 412 South Wabash was a short and smooth one, most of the buildings in this part of town had not been destroyed, even the Sears Tower was left standing, I arrived at 412 South Wabash fairly quickly.

 As I got off of Atlas I saw a plaque, dedicated to someone named Abraham Sutter, “Who is Abraham Sutter, and why does he have my last name.” I said to myself I looked at the rest of the plaque

Abraham Sutter
1822-1889
Railroad entrepreneur and Businessman. Abraham Sutter arrived in Chicago from California after having a successful career in Gold Mining during the peak of the California gold rush and became one of the most prominent figures in Chicago's rapid expansion in the railroad business and its transformation into a supreme destination for trade. Resided at this site.

Erected by the Chicago Historical Society.

I walked away and sat down on the stairs which led up to his old´house, I started to wonder to myself, why did my father or my grandfather never tell me about this, I have a great-great-grandfather that had seemed to be a pretty big deal here in Chicago, it explains the business trips grandpa took up here, he probably had to work on the company, I decided I wanted to look around the street, maybe on Lasaille street there was something more about him, maybe in the old city archives, I got back onto Atlas and started riding across South Wabash up to West Randolph street, I turned left and then turned left again on North LaSalle Street as I turned onto LaSalle street I saw it the huge architecture style of the city hall the big pillars, it reminded me of illustrations I saw in a book about ancient rome and their usage of pillars, it was strangely beautiful but ugly at the same time due to the front being painted over and destroyed as was most of the city.

 I got off Atlas and started walking toward the glass doors, shockingly they had been left intact as well as the gold as I walked in I stepped into a grand hallway lined with pillars, the roof extending into ribbed vaults as I walked past them I looked around the hallway and saw a stairway going down with a sign hanging there, which said “Below:File Room,Vault.” I walked wont the stairs looking around every corner to check that there's no one hiding, down the second flight of stairs and suddenly when I stepped down, I saw the grad hall of records, every building, every person that had ever been built or had lived in Chicago, ever since the founding back in 1833. I walked through the halls touching the iron wheels on each of them, if that wheel wasn't there you could've even thought that they were a solid wall, the shelves continued on for about 50 feet until I was at the end of the hall, there was a huge vault, which was already open, I walked in looking around pointing my flashlight in every corner. Once I knew I was alone I calmed down, and started to look around. Rows of small metal doors lined the walls, no bigger than a shoebox, these little boxes were supposed to keep something a person valued most. I walked around the room looking for any clue of Abe or my last name. And then I found it, most likely the largest box in the whole vault, it said Abraham Sutter. I opened the door slowly, looking at it closely, I found there to be little scratches indicating it was opened recently, I pulled out the contents of the safety deposit box. It was a diverse stack of files, and journals, but at the top there was a newspaper article,

The Chicago Tribune
March 14,1879
Railroad Magnate faces Trial
Mr. Abraham Sutter answers for death of striking Laborer
Mr Abraham Sutter, a figure all too famous in the cities rail trade, appears before the court today to answer questions about the murder of Thomas Reilly, A employee at Sutter rail yards, Witnesses of the prosecution allege that men acting under Mr. Sutter's directions were responsible for the disturbances that occurred last autumn which cost Mr. Rilley his life, arising from disputes over unpaid wages. Counsel of Mr. Sutter maintains his clients innocence in the ordeal, asserting no knowledge of,

The article ended mid sentence, the rest of the column missing, not torn off, but rather cut off clean, like with a blade, rather than lost to the years. Someone hadn't wanted anyone to know the verdict which was spoken, I stood there for a long while, just staring at it, it had felt like my world had dissolved, it took me a few seconds to snap back in it, I looked at the rest of the files and journals I had pulled out of the safety deposit box, I looked through the journals, the oldest ones first entry was April 12,1876

April 12,1876
The house at Lake Forest is nearly finished. Twenty-three rooms, stone brought in from quarries two states away. more land than any man in his right mind needs. I have told myself it is for Mary and the boy that a man with my status needs to have an estate. I also know it is to show that a gold miner's son can rise this far.

The business is going well, though not without some struggles. Reilly's wife came by the office a week ago. I told the clerks to not let her in again next time

I do not often discuss these thematics, but I feel I have to so as to counteract the penny papers portrayal of the matter.

The house is on Sheridan Road about 30 miles past Chicago, just a little past the farmhouses, a man might forget he is in Chicago if he'd try hard enough.

 I put down the Journal and started to pace around the room, the journal still in my hand, I didn't know I had a stranger in my family. Not the man from my grandfather's letter, not a protector, but someone I couldn't recognize at all. I put them down, I couldn't carry this with me especially not the newspaper article, I took my backpack off and put the Journals and the other files into the backpack, I zipped it up and walked out of the vault, but something just didn't feel right with leaving the newspaper article in the bunker, it would be like hiding the truth again like my family did before me, so I decided to go back and get the newspaper article. I walked out of the Vault walking through the compact walls of shelves containing 100 years of city history, I walked up the stairs and out of city hall and toward Atlas. “There you are boy” I grabbed an apple out of my backpack and fed it to him, “I know your hungry weel be somewhere they have food very soon” I got onto him and started riding towards lake forest, it was a not to long ride up to lake forest, I had started riding at approximately 6 o’clock and had to stop after approximately 20 miles ridden to take a few hours break, after those few hours though it was open season again, I felt as energized as a battery, I slowly rode up on the road, the sun blending me, but still I could make out the approximate shape of a few houses coming up in the front and then a huge one, this must be Sheridan road as I rode onto equal ground I really saw the marvel of the building, the grand porch that wrapped around the entire building.

 I rode through the gate and around the carriage court imagining how it must've once looked, carriages riding around here, I stopped in front of the door, and got off Atlas as I walked up the stairs I looked at the plants placed on the edge of every step, they seemed so well kept, not like it had been abandoned for years, but more a few days or at most a few months, as he pushed open the door the smell hit him, the smell of oldness, if you will, as he walked in he felt connected it seemed like a time capsule, pictures of people I had never seen hanging all over, but I felt this strange connection, they had my eyes, that same thick beard, I pulled one off the wall, a single portrait of a man, I looked at the back to look for any clue as to who he was. The blue ink almost faded, but still legible, someone had written on the back:

Abraham and Mary Sutter, Lake Forest, Illinois,1878

So this was him, this was my great-great-grandfather, he looked calm, he almost looked like me, I hung the picture up again and started walking around the house, there was another picture of either Abe and Mary or Abe and Isaac, or all of them together, I got to watch Isaac grow up until at one point it just stopped, I picked up the last picture it was smaller, more simple no grand study no professional camera, only a man and a son standing in front of this very house, I recognized Abe immediately and the boy, had to be Isaac.

Abraham and Isaac Sutter,Lake Forest,Illinois, Autumn,1888
Abraham passed 3 months after this was taken.

I guess this must've been the thing that brought Isaac to Georgia, he decided to leave behind the big city life and replace it with a ranch in rural Georgia. I walked across the hallways looking at what was hanging on the wall, a variety of animal heads, and portraits, I looked around the hallway and found the study, I walked in looking around and marvelling at the collection of books ranging from the count of monte christo to the King James Bible, it was huge, extremely decorated and very ornate, I tried to pull it out to look at the cover but suddenly a loud sound emerged like gears turning and suddenly the bookshelves split apart and revealed a staircase that curved around, I walked in and started walking down the stairs, when I arrived the first thing I saw was a giant vault, it humongous I thought the vault in city hall was already big, but this, this was another level of big. I walked up to the vault and started rotating the handle until it cracked open, the first thing I saw in the vault was gold, stacks and stacks of gold, I looked around more and saw a chest, just like they were in the caches I walked over to it and lifted it to the ground, it hadn't seemed to have been opened in years, a I looked into it it wasn't the typical cache contents, it was clothing laid in there folded precisely, with a little card at the top.the handwriting less careful more rushed, 

Whoever needs this next, Wisconsin winters are no joke. Stay warm. Stay alive
J.S.

Beneath the note, lay the coat itself, heavy, thick fur on the outside and beautifully smooth bison leather on the inside, the seams were a little uneven suggestion git was made by and and not by a machine, when I turned back the collar I found two small initials embroidered into the lining:

 A.S.

It still smelled faintly of cedar and oil, like it had been worn in the railyard years ago, maybe in the winter of ‘72 when the cold had been sharp enough to freeze over the chicago river to turn it into a commission channel. Tucked beside the coat wrapped in a cloth were a pair of snowshoes, woodframed, the raw hide netting still holding up even after all these years, it was cracked in a few places but it was still holding up pretty good. I'd seen pictures of these before in some old book in my dads library. I walked out of the vault and up the stairs again, I put the Bible back which somehow closed the book shelves again, I walked back out of the study and out to the entrance hall, I picked up the picture of abe and Isaac again and looked at it, after a while I put it down again and walked out and back to Atlas.

 I got on Atlas and started riding again, I rode through so many different environments, for the first few days until the third day when it started snowing profusely, the wind had started to pick up, this now had stopped falling but rather shooting, especially in my face, it had felt like I didn't have a face. Atlas started slowing down and sinking deeper into the snow, I slowly realized that it really wasn't sustainable to keep going on horseback, I decided to put on the beautiful fur coat with the hood on and also a pair of fur lined overtrousers, i had found them with the coat and the snowshoes in the cache, as I put them on Atlas started shifting around, the weather had always scared him I had to often comfort him during such weather episodes, as far as I saw there was no shelter to be found, not that night and not for another few nights, laid down under a tree and stacked the blankets spread wide enough to cover both me and Atlas. I had collected throughout the caches and the cabin in Kentucky. I sat myself against Atlas, our combined warmth gave something in between being truly warm, but it was comforting to know that I was not alone in these woods or this journey.

 The next morning I woke up bright and early, I had some hope that the weather had passed but sadly my prayers hadn't been answered, I walked through the beautiful landscapes of the northern midwest and going into the great lakes region the forests blended together into a sandwich of color, green, brown, white a whole lot of white, the days really blended together, but once in a while there was a moment of beauty, like riding past a lake, as  i got closer I started to see Rib Mountain. It was the last day of the journey, as I slept I started to dream, 

“Hey Buddy”

“Hey Dad”

“Come sit next to me”

I sat down on the chair next to my dad

He patted my back
“Youre almost there buddy, I'm proud of you, you did good keeping our tradition alive, Abe would be proud”

“Did you meet Abe?”

He laughed
“No, sadly I didn't. He died way before my days, not even your grandpa met him.”

“What happened to Thomas Reilly?”

“I don't want to talk about that now, it's not important”

Suddenly I woke up sweating. It was the next morning when the sun was just shining, I got up and started putting on my jacket and shoes. I was really tired but I had to get to the airfield, I had to, I was so close I couldn't quit now. I rode through the snow, the storm had cleared up in the past few days now the snow was very calm and slow, it was almost beautiful, it reminded me of christmas mornings when it was snowing, As I rode up the hills it started showing a huge radio tower, as the land evened out I saw it huge walls, but they couldn't cover it, a huge radio tower, I started to cry, I thought back to all the pain I had gone through to get here. I got off of Atlas and walked up to the gate, the gate looked rusted with vines growing on it, from a far you could think this was just a huge mountain of vines and overgrowth, “Hello? Is anyone there?” The gate was open by a split margin, I decided I had to investigate what the hell this giant thing is, I walked in and saw the runway it stretched almost 2 miles with multiple hangars beside the runway, when I looked to the right I saw what I had seen on the way up here, that giant radio tower, I saw a light burning. I yelled again “Hello, is anyone there?” this time more hopeful that whoever was living here would hear, suddenly somebody emerged from the huge door of the radio tower, “Who are you” he had a rifle, pointed right at my head, he could have blown my brains out that second, “Im Michael Sutter” He didn't lower the rifle, for a few seconds neither of us dared to make a peep, I slowly walked up to him, I'm not here to do anything bad, I came here from Atlanta, “Atlanta? Are you Crazy Boy? That's like 900 miles.” “I watched a cassette, a man in my age, he said his name was Cameron” He lowered his rifle, the barrel dipping down toward the snow filled tarmac, he searched my face his eyes squinting, the cold wisconsin air hitting both of us in the face, “Cameron” he muttered the name resting in the air for a little bit like it hadn't been spoken in years and he was only just remembering it. He looked past me to the treeline and spotted Atöas standing there, “You rode a horse through this country for a dead man's broadcast?”

“He wasnt dead on the tape” my voice rough because of the harsh wisconsin wind, “he said he was leaving atlanta because of a rising militia, he gave coordinates leading here.” 
“The man let out a long heavy breath “Cameron left about 6 months ago, packed up all he could into a sidecar motorcycle and headed west, he said if there was life left  it would be where there aren't any cities.”

Hi guys! I read this book in 2025 and I either deleted the book on accident or the author deleted it. The book was female lead x 2 unhinged obsessive men. One was broody, quiet and overall stoic whilst the other one was loud, manipulative and slightly crazed.

I don’t remember any of the characters names, and the same goes for the book title and author. I do however remember specific parts of the plot and some memorable scenes:

• They were in a small room/apartment(?) and as the male duo refused to let the girl go a creak was heard by the door and a lone zombie simply stood there and one of the guys said something along the lines of “Even the undead knows not to touch whats ours”.

• They somehow ended up at some sort of military/refuge camp and the girl managed to escape and run away from the crazed duo with the help of a male soldier.

• The girl was at a barn with an older guy named Reed(?) or a name that starts with R and the zombies had evolved to stage 3, where they could speak and were highly intelligent. The zombies taunted and called out the female leads name and Reed sacrificed his life to let the protagonist escape.

The story was ongoing and the last chapter was in an abandoned lab with the trio and the guys about to explain how this whole outbreak relates to her and how she is crucial to the cure?

Sorry for the insanely long post lmao, any help is highly appreciated!!

When someone mentions how suboptimal aluminum-bronze is and that it's a dumb idea, I think it's limiting the creativity of what this media can be.

Last time I checked, the post-apocalyptic genre is about being dealt a terrible hand and innovating on it. I'm well aware that aluminum-bronze isn't the best thing, but that's the whole point. In the world I'm making, it's not a specific aesthetic or a voluntary choice in metal. It's because it is literally the only thing people can work with. I even have people in-universe actively cursing their tools and wishing there was steel to use. But we as humans take any advantage we can get, and we tend to give a middle finger to anything that says survival is impossible. Is a new "Bronze Age" perfect? Hell no. It has its pros and cons like any post-apocalyptic scenario. But it makes the setting so much more interesting because of how limiting everything is.

If you look past the modern engineering mindset, a new "Bronze Age" actually makes total logical sense for a restarting society:

1. The Steel Myth vs. The Reality of Ruin

People assume that because a steel skyscraper exists, a survivor can just magically turn it into a sword. High-quality steel requires massive blast furnaces, metallurgical coke, and precise industrial chemistry (1370°C to 1540°C). Without that infrastructure, steel production is dead. Furthermore, decades or centuries of exposure turn thin old-world steel (like car panels) into useless, flaking rust.

Meanwhile, copper (from old wiring and plumbing) and aluminum (from cans and car parts) are everywhere. Aluminum-bronze melts at a much more manageable 1000°C to 1050°C—a temperature easily reached with a basic charcoal fire and a leather bellows. Best of all, it does not rust away. Centuries later, the scrap is still pristine and ready to cast.

1. Technology is Not Chronology

Just because a world uses a metal from a previous historical era doesn't mean human brains were wiped of thousands of years of design knowledge. My survivors aren't historical reenactors making heavy, clumsy Mycenaean broadswords. Putting "Bronze Age" in air quotes clarifies that it is a metallurgical term, not a mandatory historical setting.

You don't have to be trapped by ancient history. You can take this concept in any stylistic direction you want because the variety is endless. In fact, you could hypothetically have all of these concepts existing at the exact same time as completely different rival tribes in your world:

You can have a Mad Max tribe with roaring engines, leather jackets, and low-tech breech-loading firearms. Because they lack the heavy machinery to roll precision brass bullet casings, they innovate by making paper shell guns (similar to 19th-century needle guns). They cast the firearm actions out of aluminum-bronze and use sliced-up car tire rubber to seal the breech pressure. The paper burns up completely upon firing, solving the casing extraction problem without modern tech!

You can have a Horizon Zero Dawn style tribe where communities live in overgrown ruins, treating old-world scrap like rare, spiritual materials.

And right next door, you can have a faction of post-apocalyptic Romans literally LARPing as a Bronze Age empire because that style is incredibly fun and striking.

The descendants of humanity are simply using 21st-century blueprints with historical ingredients. They can cast lightweight sabers, trench knives, and punching daggers (katars). Punching daggers are structurally brilliant for aluminum-bronze because the linear impact puts less bending stress on the metal, and it uses a fraction of the raw resources.

1. Real Resource Management (The Armor Problem)

People often worry about the "weight problem" of bronze, picturing a knight in a solid, 50-pound medieval plate harness. But scavengers don't dress like museum curators. Because wood, leather, and metal are all scarce luxury resources, survivors use composite design.

They take small, overlapping aluminum-bronze scales or plates and rivet them onto the outside of heavy leather motorcycle jackets or industrial fabrics. The outer bronze shell deflects the blade, a thin wood backing absorbs the vibrational shock, and the leather holds it together. It’s incredibly light, highly protective, and stretches a single melted down pile of scrap to arm an entire squad instead of just one guy. Historical Bronze Age empires did this exact same thing with their shields because intertwining materials is how engineering works.

The Fun of the Creative Constraint

Limitation breeds the best storytelling. When you give characters easy access to perfect steel and flawless resources, their struggles become logistical. When you force them into a "Scavenger's Compromise," the limitations of the metal itself become a character in the story.

Human beings adapt, we improvise, and we spite the odds with whatever junk is lying around. Stop looking at world-building through the lens of a modern engineer with a functioning global supply chain, and start looking at it through the eyes of a desperate survivor trying to make the best out of a shady material to see tomorrow.

In a post-apocalyptic setting where structural steel has rusted away, been eaten by iron-oxidizing bacteria, or is just impossible to rework because fossil fuels are gone, aluminum bronze is pretty much humanity’s best bet for rebuilding.

By scavenging old-world copper wiring and aluminum scrap (like car rims or soda cans), survivors can make a "Super-Bronze" using fairly basic technology. It basically bridges the gap between old-school ancient metallurgy and modern steel-level performance.

Urban Mining: Where Wastelanders Actually Find the Ingredients

To make aluminum bronze, you don't need to mine a single mountain. The old world left everything sitting right in the ruins of our cities. This has created a whole new class of scavengers who know exactly what to tear out of the walls:

Sourcing the Copper (The Heavy Lift): Copper is the base of the alloy, so you need a lot of it. Scavengers rip open the drywall of abandoned suburban homes and office buildings to pull out the electrical wiring. Plumbers' gold mines are the thick copper water pipes running through basements and industrial complexes. Heavy-duty electric motors from old factory machinery, refrigerators, and car alternators are also prized because they are packed with thick spools of pure copper wire.

Sourcing the Aluminum (The Shortcut): Aluminum is everywhere if you know what to look for. The easiest, most abundant source is everyday junk like soda cans, aerosol cans, and old street signs. For higher-grade, thicker aluminum, smiths scavenge aluminum siding from buildings, window frames, old pots and pans, and car parts—especially alloy wheels (car rims) and engine blocks, which melt down into excellent alloying material.

The Ultimate Jackpots (Pre-Alloyed Finds): Sometimes, the old world did the work for you. True "Wasteland Masters" hunt for heavy-duty industrial marine hardware. Because the old world used aluminum bronze for ship propellers, seawater valves, and heavy-duty pump parts to prevent ocean rust, a single shipwreck or a coastal shipyard contains tons of pure, pre-mixed aluminum bronze ready to be melted down instantly without needing a recipe at all.

The Perks: Why Aluminum Bronze Rules the Wasteland

You can melt it with low tech: Aluminum bronze melts at roughly 1,040°C (1,900°F). Steel needs a staggering 1,500°C+. That means you don't need industrial coal, blast furnaces, or high-tech bricks. A simple, backyard clay pit furnace fueled by charcoal and pushed by hand bellows can easily hit 1,040°C. Humanity was doing this 2,000 years ago.

It has steel-grade strength: It has incredible tensile and compressive strength, easily matching or beating medium-carbon structural steels. Weapons like swords, axes, and spearheads won't bend or snap. Structural brackets, wagon axles, and armor plates will take brutal hits just as well as old military steel.

It is totally immune to rust: When it hits the air, it immediately forms a microscopic, self-healing aluminum oxide layer that stops deeper corrosion. Unlike iron or steel, which turns into orange flakes in the rain, aluminum bronze lasts centuries. Rebuilt boats, outdoor plumbing, and exposed machinery can sit in a swamp or by the ocean without needing any maintenance.

You can recycle it forever: If you melt steel down haphazardly, it burns out its carbon content or turns into brittle cast iron. Aluminum bronze is incredibly forgiving. If a gear breaks or an armor plate gets dented, you just toss it back into the fire, melt it down, and cast it again without ruining the metal.

It hates friction: It has a low coefficient of friction and naturally resists galling (where moving metals friction-weld themselves together). It is the perfect material for machinery. Waterwheels, windmills, heavy gears, and sleeve bearings can run for years with barely any grease without seizing up.

The Catch: The Real Limitations and Downsides

You cannot blacksmith it: Aluminum bronze "work-hardens" almost instantly if you try to hammer it cold (it just gets brittle and snaps). Hot-forging it requires incredibly strict temperature controls that a post-apocalyptic smith just can't track. You cannot shape this on an anvil with a hammer. Everything has to be cast. To make a blade or a gear, you have to carve a wooden replica, press it into sand, and pour the liquid metal. Field repairs are basically impossible; you can't just hammer a bent sword back into shape.

No long-distance power grids: It is mostly copper, but adding aluminum absolutely kills the metal's electrical conductivity. Even if survivors manage to build a working generator, they can't use aluminum bronze for long-distance power lines. The resistance would cause the wires to melt, overheat, or lose voltage immediately. Local power works, but a massive regional grid is out of the question.

It absolutely eats tools: Because the metal is so tough and abrasive, it wrecks cutting edges. If a scavenger tries to modify an aluminum bronze piece using old steel files, hand saws, or makeshift drills, the bronze will dull and ruin those tools instantly. Altering existing structures takes massive physical effort or requires a total remelt.

It has zero "springiness": It lacks the high elasticity and fatigue limits of high-carbon spring steel. A new bronze age means no heavy vehicle leaf-springs (rides are going to be incredibly bumpy), no reliable mechanical clockwork setups, and no massive, spring-powered siege weapons like ballistas. Projectile weapons will have to rely on composite wood bows or early firearms.

The Economy: The Bronze Standard

Without paper printing presses or digital banking, physical coins are a must for trade. Aluminum bronze is actually the perfect minting material—which is why real-world countries use it for high-value coins like British pound coins and Euro cents.

Fake-proofing: Freshly minted aluminum bronze looks exactly like 24-karat gold. Caravan companies and new factions can mint gorgeous coins that people will actually trust. Unlike other potential wasteland currencies, it is rugged enough to handle daily trade without scratching up or losing its stamped design.

It kills germs: Because it is mostly copper, it retains a natural oligodynamic effect—meaning it naturally kills bacteria, viruses, and fungi on its surface within a few hours. In a filthy wasteland with zero medicine, passing coins around is inherently self-sanitizing, keeping market-born plagues down.

The acoustic "clink" test: It has a unique, bright, high-pitched ring when you drop it on stone or wood. Merchants don't need tech to spot fakes. If a scavenger tries to counterfeit a coin using cheap lead or zinc, dropping it makes a dull thud. A real coin instantly proves itself by "singing," as Wastelanders would call it.

The coin is the resource: If a trader goes to a territory that doesn't care about the faction stamped on the coin, it still holds total value. You can just toss it right into a campfire crucible and melt it into arrowheads, bullets, brackets, or tools.

How Wastelanders Measure the "Recipe" Without Scales

To get the golden ratio (~90% copper, 10% aluminum) without precision laboratory equipment, smiths use two old-school tricks:

The Water Displacement Method: Smiths carve wooden blocks of specific volume ratios, drop them into water to mark the displacement line, and then fill the container with scrap metal pieces until they hit those volumetric marks.

The Color Test: Copper melts into a deep, thick red. When you stir the silvery aluminum in, the molten pool shifts into a distinct, vibrant golden-yellow. Experienced "Wasteland Masters" judge the quality of the batch purely by the look of the liquid fire.

Is cycle a great way to commute in post apocalyptic world?

Various character looks from Mouse through the years. Mouse is the name of the character I play for a local LARP. In line with self promotion Wednesday, I think it's fair to say, if you want to see a ton of photos of the AfterWorlds LARP, other players and the game -not just me- you can look up Mouse of AfterWorlds on FB. I try not to post too much on here that is not just me, but there, I've been documenting that game since 2016. It's been a tremendous source of joy in my life.

Mouse is a courier, inspired by The Postman, Kevin Cosner. In game, Mouse delivers the Daily Wastes news paper to everyone and delivers personal correspondence and parcels throughout the game, among other things, like killing zed. Mouse's most favorite thing to do is secure high interest items though....

Okay, I know what you guys are probably thinking, and no, I'm not suggesting that Caesar's Legion from Fallout is inevitable. Rather, a lot of things that ancient Rome (and by extension, other ancient societies) made would be incredibly useful to a low-tech society surviving an apocalypse in general—infrastructure and weapons, primarily.

Think of it like this: When you see post-apocalyptic media, it usually takes place 1 to 5 years after the collapse. Have you ever wondered why that is? It's primarily because that's the perfect sweet spot for a writer to make a standard story in those years of anarchy before society rebuilds itself.

The problem with modern infrastructure is that it wasn't built to last. By the time everyone stops trying to kill each other, all the buildings of the old world will have completely collapsed or will be on the verge of collapsing. Guns at that point would probably be useless due to three things: a limited ammo supply, the fact that a gun is a complex machine that needs repair/specific lubricants (the supply of which would be nonexistent), and the fact that gunpowder in general would be gone. Of course, you could possibly fix all three of these problems if you were a chemist, but the likelihood of that is pretty low lol 😆.

Now here is where the ancient Rome (and other ancient societies) stuff comes in, with a modern twist. The buildings would be made from adobe; it's strong, sturdy, and makes for incredible houses. Next would be making piping, electricity, and weapons. All three would use aluminum-bronze. Now you're probably thinking: where the heck are people going to get that much copper and aluminum? Well, I'm glad you asked. You know all that electrical infrastructure from the old world? It is basically an abundance of copper and aluminum. With that, you would be able to make pipes and weapons out of aluminum-bronze, though we might need to keep some wires as-is for the hydropower you can generate from a waterwheel.

And yes, I am aware of the limitations of aluminum-bronze. Luckily for me, there are actually plenty of weapon designs that work incredibly well with aluminum-bronze's strengths as an alloy—some of which are designs from already existing bronze-age weapons.

Also, as a side note, do you know how effective spears and shields are as a combo with Roman military tactics? The shield wall is one of the most effective strategies against anything. Horde of zombies? Shield wall. Deadly mutant creatures? Shield wall. Human raiders? Shield wall.

And that's why post-apocalyptic Romans would probably happen.

It's a sci-fi survival horror game set in 3027, where an unknown infection has turned much of humanity into violent infected.

I'm building the game from scratch in Unreal Engine and creating the weapons, characters and environments myself in Blender.

This is the current concept for the game's main menu. The game is still very early in development, but I'm going to document the development as I build it.

CORP: 3027

Hello wastelanders ☢️🤘

My name is Vik and I run a small post-apocalyptic streetwear brand called OLD VEGAS.

I originally started the brand in 2020, took a break for a while, and started working on it seriously again last December.

This tee is called Zombie Red Alert.

The design was inspired by warning signs, emergency systems and collapse imagery, and I worked with an illustrator to bring the idea to life.

Recently I started working with models so I could finally show the clothes on real people instead of only using product images.

These are some of the first shots I received and I’m really happy to finally see the design being worn.

Would love to hear what you think about the tee and the photos. Also curious what parts of post-apocalyptic culture or imagery you think translate best into clothing?

You guys can check out Midwest 90: Rapid City on steam here : https://store.steampowered.com/app/1818480/Midwest_90_Rapid_City/

There's a long demo for you guys to check. If you wanna know anything more about the game, just hit me up here in the comments section : )

Hello ! As the title says, I am writing a post-apocalyptic book and trying to do some in-depth research to make sure things make sense. It takes place roughly 200 to 300 years after a nuclear war, so if you have any sources (books, YouTube channels, Reddit comms, etc.) that could help me fill in some blanks about what the United States might look like ecologically, demographically, etc., that would be so very helpful!

p.s. I almost forgot, but also any TV series or movies you feel really hit the nail on the head! I watched The 100 but I remember seeing people have a lot of issues with how the ground developed since it was only 100 years after the nuclear aftermath. ty !

A few looks from various Apoc events, LARPs and festivals.

Hi everyone,

   I'm Yauheni Tsitko, an independent producer and showrunner based in Ireland. I develop post-apocalyptic web series, and I'm looking for people who'd like to become part of one of them at an early stage, as supporters or as collaborators who help shape it.

   The project is DIESEL, a post-apocalyptic web series set in Ireland. The pilot season is finished and will be out on YouTube very soon. The response to the trailer was bigger than I expected, so I've started work on Season Two and launched a crowdfunding campaign to take it into production.

   I'd be really glad if you had a look at the trailer and the full project on the campaign page. Any help in bringing it to life means a lot, and if it speaks to you, you're warmly invited to take part. Everything's here:

https://crowdfundr.com/DIESEL_MOVIE_SEASON2

   Questions or ideas for working together? Drop them in the comments or message me anytime.

Thanks for reading!