In questo nuovo speciale del podcast parliamo, tra il serio e il faceto, di veri studi e ricerche riguardanti l’eventualità di un’apocalisse zombie, così come ce l’ha fatta conoscere il cinema.Pare strano, eppure è tutto vero: ci sono fior fior di biologici, sociologi, filosofi e perfino economisti che si sono occupati…
Sono trascorsi molti mesi da quando i cieli si sono tinti di porpora.Da quando i morti sono resuscitati, per uccidere i vivi.Della specie umana resta sempre meno, ma qualcuno cerca di resistere.È ciò che fanno, per esempio, i superstiti asserragliati nel centro commerciale “Il Garofano”. Pochi disperati che hanno trovato un modo per convivere con le orde di zombie che assediano il loro…
Problematic title aside, this 2013 movie was so ridiculously bad, I would call it a Z movie. Honestly that makes me wish there were letters after Z because, this shit was so boring, poorly made and the acting was a million times worse than parody porn acting. Christ..
If you want to watch a movie just to talk shit then,hey, give it a single watch.
This is just a compilation of my thoughts, ideas and resources about surviving a zombie apocalypse (though some of them can be applied to any kind of apocalypse) and zombies related stuff.
why don’t people in zombie apocalypse stories ever just wear suits of armor? you think any zombie is gonna get their shitty rotting jaws through this?
I’m gonna rip and tear my way through the zombie apocalypse completely unharmed because none of the undead hoards will be able to get through my plate mail
everyone else is like “oh we gotta stay inside the most secure places possible and never leave” and I’ll be storming through the wastelands in my bloodstained suit of armor, blasting the Doom (2016) OST and plowing my way through waves of the undead. one of them tries to bite me but his shitty rotting teeth don’t even leave a dent in my armor before I turn his head into paste. I’ll be unstoppable until I die of dehydration or something like an idiot
this goes along with my other pet peeve about zombie apocalypse stories, namely: why does no one ever think to ride a bike?
bikes are quiet- if the zombies react to loud noises, they won’t hear you on a bike the way they might hear you in a car. bikes don’t need gas, meaning you won’t be stranded if you run out. bikes are much, much easier to maintain than a car- there’s no computer that can short out, no fiddly engine bits that could kill you if you mess with them wrong. you can learn how to maintain a bike with a couple weeks’ worth of classes. almost every adult knows how to ride a bike, and without cars on the road, it’d be much safer to do.
what i’m saying is
Oh it got better
Okay, this is a fun post, but I feel like the quietness of the bike doesn’t really matter because a suit of armor is definitely not quiet.
If you buy the paperback edition of Beverly Williams’ new-adult, science-fiction thriller, romance Survival Kit’s Apocalypse, we will send you a free copy of the digital edition.
Fear the Walking Dead is back on air, and we’re getting in the spirit of the zombie season with this Smart Pop classic, Triumph of The Walking Dead. A must-read for fans of Robert Kirkman’s epic!
- Take a gun, you have to shoot me. - No, I- I can’t. - Please, Stiles, I have less than an hour to stay conscious, and I don’t want you’ll remember me like this.
Synopsis:You’d follow him to the end of the world, you promised, only to realize how silly the words sounded with the current state of life- not to mention, you had said the same to Petra, a girl that met her fate with zombies gnawing the flesh of her thigh.
Word count: 2k
Warnings: zombies, gore, blood, minor injuries, explicit language, mentions of death
When you were twelve, you promised Petra you’d follow her to the ends of Earth, even if the world had gone to shit- you’d follow her.
Looking below you now, growling corpses walking the streets of Paradis; one of the most populated cities, it began to feel almost taunting. Had you manifested this? Of course not, you were a naive twelve year old, but it was too ironic.
Petra walked in front of you, baseball bat clutched tightly in her scar riddled hands. The wind caused strands of her golden hair to fly to the right, escaping the messy bun she had done hours ago. “Hey, wait up!” you called out, having fallen behind more than what you considered comfortable.
She came to a halt, turning as the corners of her mouth lifted, “Aren’t you afraid of heights?” Throughout the whole ordeal, Petra had never lost her smile, you admired her for it; you lost yours on the second day. “Keep up, we only have so much sun, y’know.” and off she was, continuing with her fast pace, leaping from roof to roof.
You groaned, fighting the urge to claim the cement floor beneath you and sleep, but Petra was right, she had never been wrong. “Alright, alright.”
The gaps in-between roofs were small due to the sheer amount of buildings they had stuffed together, but still big enough that one slip would leave you a soon-to-be zombie. “Be careful not to fall,” a useless warning, but it became tradition.
A few rooftops away from home, your leg lost balance, the slant of the roof propelling you forward as your hand desperately clawed the ground, tearing the end of your nails off as a terrified scream fell from your lips, “Petra!”-but it wasn’t enough as you hit the edge, legs rolling over and off the side. “Fuck,” you cursed, bloodied fingers digging into the ledge as you tried to pull yourself up.
Zombies piled below you, the scream from moments ago attracting them. Their groaning and growling added to your fear, one slip up and you’re zombie chow.
It was inconvenient, but you were able to graze your tip toes over what seemed to be an edge on the building.
The yell of your name pulled your attention back from the hoard below, you saw Petra running back to you, skillfully jumping over the openings. “Are you okay- Holy shit, your hand.” she mumbled, dropping to her knees as she hastily pulled you up, careful of causing any more damage. “Shit,” her eyes ran over your fingers, the blood made it look worse than it felt. “you okay? What happened back there?”
Her worried questions fell upon deaf ears- you’d almost died, moments after telling Petra to be careful, you almost fucking died. “How far are we?” your eyes met her wide ones. “I don’t think I messed anything up too bad, my damn fingers hurt, though.”
A strangled laugh forced its way through her as she looked behind her, a sloppy trail of blood from where your fingers tried to catch flat ground showed, “Yeah, I bet.” she held your head in her lap, fingers brushing through your dark, matted hair, looking down at you with a small smile. “Just a few more roofs away, I’d say five more minutes.”
The sun blinded you, Petra’s head doing little to block it out. It was a beautiful day, couldn’t have been less than sixty degrees.
You brought yourself to your feet with the help of Petra, blood staining the front of her pale blue shirt, you shot her an apologetic glance. That was one of the few shirts she owned.
“If I thought I was over my fear,” you started, examining your fingers: the tips had stopped bleeding, but it looked like someone had taken a cheese-grater to them. “Then I was dead wrong.”
Your pun flew over her head or she just didn’t find it funny. Either way, your laughter was cut short as you looked up.
The sky was a light orange, any other circumstance and it would have been beautiful; but with the world burning below it, you couldn’t help but curse the universe and its ability to create something so pretty at a time like this.
“Let’s get home,” she urged, the darkening sky made it harder to spot the openings between buildings and with your luck, you’d fall through. “Don’t want to have to sleep on a roof, again.”
It was meant as a joke, but the silence following showed neither of you took it as such.
Right before you found the apartments, there had been one other in your small group: Annie. The three of you felt unstoppable, spending all your nights sleeping on whatever roof gave you the best ocean view.
In the end, it seemed zombies always won, taking away the people you love with no second thought.
Thinking about her brought tears to your eyes, she was your best friend of fifteen years and you killed her, or at least what was left of her after the zombies had their taste. “Fuckin’ zombies.”
Petra agreed. It was a loss for her too, having known Annie for the better part of ten years. “Fucking zombies,” she repeated, picking her bat up from the ground.
Trailing behind, you watched stars appear in the sky, one by one. Now that there was less pollution, the stars were brighter; one of the few rewards of the Apocalypse, if you could call it such.
A full moon lit the sky, marking the completion of a cycle. Soon there will be a waxing crescent moon, one of your favorites- you can only hope you’ll live to see it with your best friend by your side.
“Last one,” Petra announced, jumping over the opening. “Your turn, be careful.“
Launching off the edge with your right leg, you landed on your left, falling straight to the cement with a hiss, hugging your knee to your chest. “Ouch.”
A few moments of you not moving later, arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you to your feet. “C’mon, wanna sleep,” Petra whined, pushing the green, metal door open.
The sound of metal against concrete was unpleasant, tonight it seemed louder than usual.
Twelve stairs ascend down from the green door, you’d memorized the number the first day in case of emergency. “I’ll help you,” an arm wrapped around your waist, allowing most of your weight to rest on them as you walked- no, limped down the stairs.
One
Two
Three
Four
Fiv-
A clunking noise sounded from the floor below, echoing up the stairs. Metal against metal you noted, nothing a zombie could make.
“Did you hear that?” Petra whispered, arm tightening around you, ready to take off and drag you to the roof at any given moment.
Your breath was caught in your throat, heart hammering against your chest.
“Maybe something fell over?” The thought did little to soothe your fears, knowing even if something had fallen, someone or something was prowling too close for comfort. “Let’s just get inside our room, lock the doors, and put a chair up against them.”
“And trap ourselves!?” she yelled in a hushed tone, brown eyes glued to what little you could see of the staircase through the barricade. “I say we roof hop, find a new place. Mayb-”
You silenced her, shaking your head as you spoke. “No, our room is right by the ladder, remember? Anything happens, we can leave- but I’m in no condition to be traveling.”
God, she hated it when you were right. “Fine, but I hear it again and we are gone. Understood?”
A compliant ‘yes’ left your lips, Petra was the unofficial leader.
Rarely had there been a disagreement between the two of you. Ever since Annie, she had taken it upon herself to keep you safe, seeing as you were the youngest at twenty. Annie being twenty-one and Petra twenty-three.
She reminded you of your mother, occasionally. The way she doted on you, checking you for injuries every time you went somewhere.
Chairs stacked against the doors, underneath the handles. Petra worked tirelessly to secure the rooms and doors, making sure no one could kick them down, convinced the noise was caused by the living.
“I swear I heard talking, the living aren’t like how they used to be,” she rambled, locking the bedroom door and placing a black, wooden chair underneath the silver handle. “They don’t have laws preventing them from killing- there isn’t a justice system for them to fear.”
The wall behind you was cold on your exposed back, the ridges in the paint poking at your skin.
Turning to Petra, you let your head fall against the wall. “Tra,” you sighed, breaking her from her nervous pacing. “Why would people clear every floor of an apartment building? Not even we did, for all we know some dead fucker knocked something over.”
“The voices- what about the voices I heard!?” Tears pooled in her dark eyes, she was having a panic attack. “You’re injured, can you even climb down the ladder- oh my god, your fingers.” Words flew from her mouth, worries spilling out like a broken faucet.
Your hand caught the back of her shirt, tugging her onto the bed. “Calm down, I can climb and run if I need to and my fingers,” you held them out, blood staining the skin around the nail. “are fine, some rubbing alcohol and a hand wash will fix ‘em up, Tra.”
Her fingers tangled in her hair, palms pressed flat against her face. Blonde fly-aways blowing forward, the open window allowing a breeze to pass through the room. “I just..” she paused, looking over to you. “I worry about you, about us.”
The quiet rustling and groaning of the zombies below became somewhat comforting over the months, it was a constant in a life of variables.
“I am twenty years old,” you giggled, attempting to lighten the mood. “Not a reckless fourteen year old. I can take care of myself, too.”
Blonde hair clouded your vision, Petra had placed her head on your shoulder, hand intertwining with your own. “I know,” she mumbled, “But after Annie..” she didn’t have to continue for you to understand: she couldn’t lose you too.
Change the subject, you thought. Focusing on Annie for too long will make you cry, the wound was still too fresh. “What do you think…y’know, started all this?” It was a frequent conversation you had, each time leading closer to an answer. “I still think biological warfare.”
Silence coated the room, hanging heavy in the air. “I feel like it was just an experiment gone wrong, like someone mixed the wrong vials or something.”
Your back slid down the wall, meeting the softness of the mattress underneath the purple sheets. “That’s so boring,” you groaned, looking up at her. “Besides, this feels intentional. Like, how do you not only ‘accidently’ make a zombie, but spread the virus too?”
The bed creaked as Petra moved down, becoming eye level with you. She watched you with her honey colored eyes, studying your face- memorizing every dimple and divot.
She placed her thumb on your cheek, caressing the skin, noting the scar underneath your eye: small and delicate, thin like a paper cut.
To the right of her thumb, there was a scar, you could feel it as it drug against your skin. If you had to guess, it was within the last seven or so months, seeing as Petra had smooth hands before the Apocalypse.
“One day, you’ll find out,” she paused, eyes closing- pulling her thumb away from your face, before continuing. “I’m sure of it. Now get some sleep, I’ll listen for new noises.”
You smiled, an act reserved for Petra alone. "Love you, try not to stay up all night” you whisper, pulling the gray, wool blanket close to your face.
“No promises,” she grins, moving closer to your body. “Love you too.”
Synopsis:You’d follow him to the end of the world, you promised, only to realize how silly the words sounded with the current state of life- not to mention, you had said the same to Petra, a girl that met her fate with zombies gnawing the flesh of her thigh.
Warnings: Eventual smut, explicit language, zombie apocalypse, minor character death, blood & gore, violence, weapons, minor & serious injuries, hurt/comfort
