Ten Simple Tips for Surviving the Apocalypse Read online

  Table of Contents

  Love is an Open Road

  Ten Simple Tips for Surviving the Apocalypse – Information

  Ten Simple Tips for Surviving the Apocalypse

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Test Your Readiness with the Apocalypse Survival Assessment Quiz!

  Author Bio

  Love is an Open Road

  An M/M Romance series

  TEN SIMPLE TIPS FOR SURVIVING THE APOCALYPSE

  By Cari Z

  Introduction

  The story you are about to read celebrates love, sex and romance between men. It is a product of the Love is an Open Road promotion sponsored by the Goodreads M/M Romance Group and is published as a gift to you.

  What Is Love is an Open Road?

  The Goodreads M/M Romance Group invited members to choose a photo and pen a letter asking for a short M/M romance story inspired by the image; authors from the group were encouraged to select a letter and write an original tale. The result was an outpouring of creativity that shone a spotlight on the special bond between M/M romance writers and the people who love what these authors do.

  A written description of the image that inspired this story is provided along with the original request letter. If you’d like to view the photo, please feel free to join the Goodreads M/M Romance Group and visit the discussion section: Love is an Open Road.

  No matter if you are a long-time devotee to M/M Romance, just new to the genre or fall somewhere in between, you are in for a delicious treat.

  Words of Caution

  This story may contain sexually explicit content and is intended for adult readers. It may contain content that is disagreeable or distressing to some readers. The M/M Romance Group strongly recommends that each reader review the General Information section before each story for story tags as well as for content warnings.

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  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Ten Simple Tips for Surviving the Apocalypse

  Copyright © 2015 Cari Z

  Cover Art by Caitlin Ricci

  This ebook is published by the M/M Romance Group and is not directly endorsed by or affiliated with Goodreads Inc.

  M/M Romance Group Publication

  TEN SIMPLE TIPS FOR SURVIVING THE APOCALYPSE

  By Cari Z

  Photo Description

  A person stares out at you, someone clearly no longer human. His hair is white, his skin is dusky purple, and his eyes are the color of honey. He’s scarred, a cut spanning his face from cheek to cheek, and he’s looking at you like you might be lunch.

  Story Letter

  Dear Author,

  Those of us who survived the virus that wiped out 50% of the population are the lucky ones. Those of us who survived the subsequent wars that decimated the world as we know it, throwing us back into a pre-industrial era are the lucky ones. Those of us who survived are the lucky ones.

  Except… Some of us are different. Some of us are changing. Some say the virus mutated. Some say it is a result of genetic warfare. All I know is that I can see better in the dark, I can hear from further away and I am stronger now than I ever have been before. And I have claws.

  We may not be the lucky ones after all.

  Sincerely,

  Jenni Lea

  Story Info

  Genre: postapocalyptic

  Tags: action/adventure, mutants, frenemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, road trip, humorous

  Content Warnings: graphic violence

  Word Count: 28,934

  TEN SIMPLE TIPS FOR SURVIVING THE APOCALYPSE

  By Cari Z

  (In which I blatantly abuse biology, geography, and Shakespeare. You have been warned.)

  Chapter One

  Lie, Lie, Lie!

  Okay, let’s start with a basic premise: you, whoever you are and whatever your circumstances, want to live. We have to agree on this before you read any further.

  Why bother laying that out? Isn’t it obvious, you might think, that people want to keep on living? Haha, oh, keep sipping on that sweet nectar of delusion. Or rather, don’t. Because it’s not going to save you.

  But wait, isn’t this chapter all about lying, you ask me? Well, yeah, it is, and I’ll get into that in a second. However, my tips won’t work if you’re lying to yourself about this. Even worse, my tips won’t help the people who are stuck with your deluded ass if you’re harboring suicidal tendencies, because I’ve been on the receiving end of that, and it sucks. Okay? It really, really sucks. If you’re feeling blue, or perhaps purple depending on whether or not you’ve caught the Plague, and that’s getting you so down that you can’t live with it, then stop. Put this down. You might as well already be dead. Because my advice won’t work for you, and in fact, it may backfire at the most wildly inappropriate time and end up taking all of your friends (if you have any left) with you.

  I’m sorry, I really am. I know how much everything is awful. I wish it wasn’t. I wish it were sunshine and daisies, or fuck it, at least as familiarly screwed up as everything was before P-Day, but it isn’t. And that’s where delusion will trip you up.

  Now that that’s out of the way, let’s move on to my actual tips for surviving this clusterfuck with a minimum of damage.

  Apocalypse survival tip number one: lie, lie, lie. Lie your ass off. Lie about everything, lie to yourself, and lie to the people around you. The truth will not set you free during the apocalypse, folks. The truth’s just going to turn you into a victim. You want to make it to your grandfather’s cabin in the Cochetopa Hills alive, the last thing you do is tell people that’s where you’re heading. Lie about being friends. Lie about being enemies. The only person who needs to know the truth is you, and even that’s negotiable.

  Think I’m making this shit up? On the contrary, mi amigo, I walk the walk and talk the talk. I am a fantastic liar.

  It’s an odd skillset to be proud of, I know. Why would lying ever be described as fantastic? Neither my Catholic mother nor my Jewish father would have been pleased to hear me talk about lying that way. Lying was for people who were trying to cover their tracks, who wanted to avoid taking responsibility for their own actions. Lying was for the morally corrupt, completely debasing to the mind and spirit.

  Never mind that lying had helped me get a date to prom (hey, she didn’t know my family didn’t own a limo until the day of, and by then she didn’t care because I could make her laugh), helped me hide m
y rather flexible sexuality until I’d moved safely away from my family (you say it’s better to come out, I say you haven’t met my mother), and let me land the job of my dreams (sure, I can program in LabView, why?). I’ve always been a fan of the lesser sins, personally. Some of the major ones too, but the ability to spin a little white lie into something that opens doors for me: I’m an expert at that. I’m convinced that’s why I’m still alive right now. I know how to lie to myself.

  Obviously it can be taken too far. Like, for instance, lying to myself about whether or not I actually saw something moving in the bushes over there. My basic assumption has always been, and will always be: yes, I sure as hell did see something moving over there, and it’s probably going to try to kill me, so let’s shift my ass somewhere safer right goddamn now. That assumption, that little bit of paranoia, has probably saved me half a dozen times since being on my own. Not that I know for sure because I never stuck around to find out, but that’s all in the past now. Now I lie to myself about other things.

  Mostly I lie to myself about the fact that the guy I’m traveling with right now is a good person. I’m pretty sure he’s not, honestly, but he hasn’t hurt me and I don’t think that’s his game plan. Is he a badass who could probably kill me with his pinkie finger and a roll of dental floss? Well, yeah. I came upon him in the middle of a mountain road just outside of Yucca Valley, with a pistol in one hand and a machete in the other, surrounded by five still-bleeding bodies. Five. All normal humans, from what I could see of them, and all better armed than this guy. He was wearing a dirty black three-piece suit, sunglasses, and a very disappointed expression.

  This was one of those times that my see danger, shift ass instinct kicked in hardcore. Unfortunately, I was going downhill on a mountain road riding a pink Huffy bicycle that was way too heavy to just turn around and pedal out of sight, not to mention I had a little trailer full of stuff attached to the back that slowed down my reactions.

  I was staring right at him the moment he lifted his head and saw me. That was when I abandoned any dignity or illusions of badassitude, jumped off my still-rolling bike and booked it for the tree line. I was wearing my pack, so at least the most important stuff was with me. I could just run; I could find a new route and get a new bike and everything would be okay as long as I—

  That was when I fell over a stealth tree root and flat onto my face. This little stretch of forest didn’t have leaves, it had pine needles, and I felt every single one of them as I tumbled another ten feet down the unfortunately steep slope. There weren’t a lot of rocks, but the ones that were there said hello to my shoulders, knees, and head until I finally managed to stop my fall.

  I rolled onto my back and stared dazedly up at the sky, the faint patches of blue just visible beyond thin brown clouds. I wondered if I’d ever see actual white clouds again, or if all the bombs that had gone off had changed their color forever. Maybe once I got further from L.A. it would clear up some. That would be nice. Some fluffy, white…

  A man’s blurry face intruded on my view. Sunglasses rose for a moment, and I could just make out the blue of his irises before the glasses were replaced. “Hey there.”

  “Fuck,” I moaned, because that seemed to sum it all up rather cohesively.

  “Yeah, you don’t look at all comfortable.”

  “No, not… me,” I muttered, because he was right, I wasn’t comfortable, but that wasn’t why I was pissed. “You… fuck. You being here. Fuck. My head hurts.”

  “You might have a little concussion. It’s probably best for you to stay pretty still right now.”

  “Yeah?” I rolled to the side a bit, pulled Gina’s Beretta out from my waistband and raised it in my surprised attacker’s direction. “It’s probably best for you to leave me the fuck alone.” The fact that I was almost whispering the words definitely didn’t help make my case, but my hand was steady. Mostly.

  The guy held up his hands, now empty of weapons, and backed off a few feet. “Sure, no problem. I don’t want to cause any trouble, okay? I just came down here to ask you a few questions, nothing else.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why would I lie?” He sounded genuinely curious. “If I wanted your gear I could have just shot you in the head while you were taking your dirt nap and pulled it off your corpse.”

  Given that there were five dead guys back up on the road who could attest to this man’s abilities, I had to hand him that one. “Fine,” I said, forcing myself up into a sitting position. It made my head feel a little like it was filled with water, swooshing perilously inside my skull, but at least my vision was clearing. “What’s your question?”

  “It’s very simple. I just want to know if you’ve seen anyone else in this vicinity apart from us? Say, within twenty miles of here? Preferably someone well-armed?”

  What kind of person went looking for armed groups of marauding assholes in this brave new world? This guy was crazy. “Nope.” And that was completely true because I’d been practicing my excellent hear noise, move ass strategy since the end of Phase One of my most horrific adventures. “No one.”

  “Shit.” That was definitely disappointment in his voice. “The last thing I want to do is draw this out. But actually, maybe you…” He looked me over, and I looked right back. Despite the dirt, he was a good-looking guy. Taller than me, clearly ripped under his suit, tanned skin, and dark-blond hair cut high and tight. If I’d met him a year ago I’d have been begging to crawl into his lap, not holding a gun on him. “No, you’re not going to do it for me.”

  Well, that was rude. I didn’t even know what he wanted, so how could he know whether or not I could do it? “Do what?” I persisted.

  “Nothing, don’t worry about it. It’ll take care of itself eventually, I’m sure. You’re traveling alone?”

  “Obviously.” Because there was being polite and then there was playing dumb, and I wasn’t going to bother playing dumb with somebody who looked like as much of a shark as this guy.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  His eyebrows rose. “That’s over a hundred miles from here. You made it this far on your own?”

  “Sure did.” Actually I hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know about the utter failure of Phase One. Lie, lie, lie.

  “Then you’re a lot more resourceful than you look.” He ran his empty hand over his short hair and took a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but hear me out. I’m… newly independent, and I think I could use a companion on the road. As you see,” he waved back up the hill toward the road where he’d left his dead, “I’m pretty handy in a tight spot.”

  “So you want to travel with me?” I wasn’t sure I was hearing this right. Maybe the concussion had affected my hearing. “Because… why, exactly? And don’t say it’s out of the goodness of your heart.”

  “Oh no,” he said with a dark smile. “It’s not for your sake, it’s for mine. I’m a mission-oriented person, and I don’t do well on my own.”

  It didn’t look like he did well in groups either, honestly. “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

  “I don’t care.” He sounded totally serious about that, too.

  “You don’t even know my name.”

  “Let’s fix that.” He shuffled over to me on his knees, nice and slow, and held out his hand. “I’m Conrad. And you are?”

  “Call me Javi,” I said, shaking gingerly with the hand not holding the gun. No last names were fine with me; no last names were always fine with me; to be honest, mine had brought me a lot of grief over the years. “And look, I’m sorry, but I just don’t think traveling together is a good idea. I mean, you seem mostly sane despite all those dead dudes, but how do I know you won’t shoot me in the back, take my stuff, and rape my corpse five miles down the road when, I don’t know, your mood changes or something?”

  “You don’t,” Conrad said with a shrug. Not even a lie, I could tell. I almost admired his honesty, excep
t for how it made my skin crawl. “But most of the open land between here and Arizona has been claimed and patrolled for the past three months. You can bet that these sorts of encounters,” he gestured around himself, “are only going to happen more frequently. And you, Javi, don’t look like the sort of guy who deals well with this kind of violence.”

  That was, unfortunately, true. That was another thing I’d been lying to myself about: that I could handle defending myself now that Gina was gone, that taking potshots at rabbits really was good training for shooting human or mutant stalkers in the head. Those lies were harder to swallow than most of the other ones I’d been feeding myself, though. “I’m not so bad. I mean, it’s not like I’m swooning at the sight of gore,” I pointed out, and Conrad nodded. “And I’m holding a gun on you pretty easily.”

  “True,” he agreed. “Of course, if you’re coming out of L.A. I assume you’re just inured to the sight of death at this point, even if you’re not used to causing it.” Yeah, that was probably right. “Also, and I’m reluctant to tell you this, but hey, take it as a goodwill gesture: your safety is still on.”

  “My what?” I glanced at the gun and resisted the sudden urge to facepalm. Yep. Safety on. Fuck, how many times had Gina told me to remember the safety? Of course, she was usually telling us to remember to put the safety back on because she didn’t want me or Phin shooting ourselves in the ass, but still. I should have remembered.

  “And yet, I didn’t take advantage of that fact, did I?” Conrad smiled winningly, and his teeth were just as brightly white as I’d expected them to be. “Look, how about we just give it a try. There will be no raping and no torturing you, I swear. I’ll even pedal your ridiculous bike and let you sit in the basket on the handlebars, or back in your trailer, until we pick one up for me.”

  “There’s something very wrong with you,” I told him.

  “True. But my offer to help you is genuine.”