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plotandelegy · 10 months

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Crafting Future From Ruins: A Writer's Guide to Designing Post-Apocalyptic Technology

Photo: Standard License- Adobe Stock

Crafting post-apocalyptic tech involves blending creativity and realism. This is a guide to help you invent tech for your post-apocalyptic world:

Tinker, Tailor, Writer, Spy: Start with modern tech. Take it apart (conceptually or literally if you're feeling adventurous). Using the basics, think of how your character might put it back together with limited tools and resources.

Master the Fundamentals: Understand the basic principles underlying the tech you're working with. Physics, chemistry, and biology can be your best friends. This understanding can guide your character's resourceful innovations.

Embrace the Scrapyard: The world around you has potential tech components. Appliances, vehicles, infrastructure - how could these be deconstructed and repurposed? Your characters will need to use what's at hand.

Cherishing Old Wisdom: Pre-apocalypse books and manuals are the new internet. A character with access to this knowledge could become a vital asset in tech-building.

Indigo Everly

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if-not-now-tell-me-when · 4 months

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The full passenger manifest of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571, which set off from Montevido, Uruguay to Santiago, Chile, on October 12th, 1972.

1. Francisco Abal

2. Carlos Paez Rodriguez

3. Roberto Francois Alvarez

4. Daniel Maspons Hossa

5. Gilberto Regules Zorrilla

6. Marcelo Pérez del Castillo

7. Roy Harley Sanchez

8. Jorge Hounie Sere

9. Julio Martinez Lamas

10. Gaston Costemalle Jardi

11. Arturo Nogueira Paullier

12. Felipe Maquirriain

13. Diego Storm Gornah

14. Alfredo Delgado

15. Alvaro Mangino

16. Jose P. Algorta Duran

17. Francisco Nicola Brusa

18. Esther Horta de Nicola

19. Antonio Vizintin Brandi

20. Susanna E. Parrado Dolgay

21. Eugenia Dolgay de Parrado

22. Fernando Parrado Dolgay

23. Eduardo Strauch Urioste

24. Adolfo Strauch Urioste

25. Daniel Shaw Urioste

26. Gustavo Zerbino Stajano

27. Roberto Canessa Urta

28. Gustavo Nicholich Arocena

29. Fernando Vasquez Nerel

30. Jose Luis Inciarte Vasquez

31. Daniel Fernandez Strauch

32. Rafael Echavarren Vasque

33. Numa Turcatti Pesquera

34. Alfredo Cibils

35. Carlos Valeta Vallendor

36. Enrique Platero Riet

37. Javier Methol Abal

38. Liliana Navarro de Methol

39. Ramon Sabella

40. Juan Carlos Menendez Vilascca

41. Graciela Obdulia Augusto Gumila de Mariani

42. Guido Jose Magri

#flight 571 #Uruguayan flight 571 #miracle in the andes #el milagro de los andes #history #history posts #passenger manifest #survival stories #disaster stories

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hollers-and-holmes · 2 years

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It was a single-engined turboprop short-haul utility Cessna with a handsome gold stripe down the starboard fuselage which lay in a mangled, smoking slag just inside the boundary of his bleary eyeline. Beyond it, the black spruce burned. The shimmer going up against the bloodless sheet of sky. Gravel grated in his mouth and he knew he should spit it out but he could not seem to remember how his tongue worked. Why were the wheels still spinning? Fixed tricycle landing gear meant more drag and more weight but also a craft less vulnerable to tailwinds. Final approach at seventy knots and a three-degree flare and—

It had not been him at the instruments.

Blood in his mouth.

Fuel in a glistening rill down the ruined engine cowl.

Sprays of sparks and cinders candling up into the sky.

Get up…

#whumptober 2022 #no.4 #waking up disoriented #can’t pass out #fanfiction #lord of the rings #Tolkien #modern day AU #Elladan #Arwen #plane crashed in the wilderness #survival stories #serial story from prompt to prompt

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hurricanewindattack · 1 year

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One of the most amazing survival stories I've read recently.

#makes you want to survive yourself!#keep fighting!#survival stories #air crash investigation #Spotify

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haute-lifestyle-com · 2 months

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Society of the Snow, from Netflix, brings to the screen a recreation of the fateful flight 571carrying a Uruguayan soccer team and their companions that crashed in the Andes Mountains enroute to Santiago, Chile in 1972

#Janet Walker #Haute-Lifestyle.com #the-Entertainment-Zone.com #Film Review #survival #survival stories #filmmaking #Academy Awards #Oscars 2024 #society of the snow #Netflix

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seccamsla · 4 months

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On the Edge | Top Most Dangerous Moments Caught on Camera Prepare to be awestruck as we dive into the heart-stopping world of the most perilous situations ever recorded on camera! From breathtaking close calls to adrenaline-pumping near misses, this video is a rollercoaster of danger that will leave you breathless. Join us as we countdown the most intense moments caught on tape, showcasing the thin line between disaster and survival. Experience the thrill, shock, and sheer disbelief as we unravel the stories behind these hair-raising incidents. Hit subscribe and ring the notification bell to stay tuned for more jaw-dropping content that captures the raw power of life's most dangerous encounters. Buckle up for a ride on the wild side! #DangerousMoments #CaughtOnCamera #ThrillingEncounters

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joncronshawauthor · 8 months

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Magic on the High Seas: Exploring the Genre of Nautical Fantasy

Fancy yourself an adventure? A swashbuckling escape from terra firma into a world of monsters, pirates, and unsolved mysteries of the uncharted deep? Perhaps it’s time to dip your toes into the ocean of nautical fantasy novels, a genre that unites the thrill of the high seas with the enchantment of the fantastical. Whether it’s a towering ship cresting a colossal wave or a haunted seafarer…

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#Character Transformation #Fantasy Novels #Fantasy Sub-genres #high-seas adventures #maritime myths #nautical fantasy #nautical fantasy books #ocean folklore #piracy in fantasy #sea exploration #sea mythology #seafaring tales #survival stories #world-building

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spacecrew · 10 months

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All Is Lost (2013)

Directed by J.C. Chandor

Cinematography by Frank G. DeMarco and Peter Zuccarini

#movie stills #movies #2013 movies #2013 #all is lost #movies about sailing #survival stories #2010s cinema #2010s

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creepytalesdaily · 10 months

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The Last Signal

In the wake of the world's end, Ada is the lone survivor on a desolate Earth, her only company an old, non-functional robot named Silence. Her solitary existence takes a turn when she receives a distress signal from a stranded astronaut

Chapter 1 – Silence. The relentless sun pierced through the dilapidated ruins of the old world, casting long, morose shadows over the sprawling desolation. It was in this ghost of a city that Ada found her solitude, nestled in the remains of a radio tower that once thrummed with the symphony of human communication. Now, it echoed only silence and the occasional screech of static on the…

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#Character Development #Echoes of the Signal #Emotional Bonds #Guilt and Redemption #Human Resilience #Loneliness and Hope #Post-Apocalyptic Fiction #Science Fiction #Survival Stories

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a-wandering-imagination · 11 months

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Chapter 1

Anton sat on the beach, just above the water and stared out at the ocean. He could feel his sanity ebbing away like the tide at his feet. The sky was thick and dark and threatened rain but the bay was clear and calm. September was nearly gone and soon winter would arrive. Even though he had no hat and only a light jacket, he didn’t feel cold. It was warm, in fact, unnaturally so… but Anton didn’t notice. Instead, he sat staring out to sea as the rain began to fall. The events of the last few months were playing out in his mind, rushing towards the horrific conclusion that had brought him here. Anton was at the breaking point.

Looking back,it seemed like decades since his world had crumbled. How long was it really? Six months? A little more? It had started with a snippet in the news back in April. Where was it? Texas? Maybe Louisiana. Someone had died of a respiratory infection. The CDC thought it was the result of an unknown viral strain. At the time, no one was overly concerned...until the numbers of infected jumped drastically. Seattle, Boston, New York, Miami, San Francisco... all of the major cities were reporting an alarming number of cases and people were starting to die very rapidly. Doctors were quarantining the sick, but it didn't seem to make any difference. By early June, the government was restricting interstate travel to military and medical personnel only. Air traffic was grounded. And still the numbers of dead continued to mount.

Anton remembered the first victim in Juneau. John Bisby, the municipal emergency preparedness coordinator, had grown up in Juneau with Anton. After high school, John had moved away for a few years but had returned just five years ago with his wife and three kids to accept the job as the city’s liaison with the Department of Homeland Security. It was in this official capacity that he had travelled to Washington for a three-week conference in early April, returning on the second of May. Anton remembered the date because he had been present in the meeting when John had met with the city officials to share information from his trip south. Anton also worked for the city as a wastewater treatment specialist and had been required to attend the briefing when John made his report to the city assembly’s public works committee.

When the feds had started restricting travel near the end of May, the police department worked with the national guard and started screening anyone who had been out of town since the beginning of the year. There were one hundred and seven of them, John among them. All were quarantined and checked for illness. For six weeks none showed any sign of infection and they were all finally released on the 17th of July.

Six days later, John Bisby was dead.

Two weeks after that, roughly 60% of the town was showing signs of the illness and 459 people had died. The town fell into utter panic. All the businesses shut down. The utilities all closed as people refused to show up for work. The local grocery stores were laid waste by random looting as everyone tried to stockpile food and necessities in their homes. Encounters on the street became hostile as suspicions about infection mounted. If anyone wandered within ten to twenty yards of another, guns would appear and threats would ensue. Shots were often heard.

By mid-August, many of the sick were being abandoned, kicked out into the street. Some of them were taken in by well-meaning neighbors… until the cough spread. Most, however, were left outside to fend for themselves. The dead were strewn about, usually behind the houses, but some corpses were left where they fell in the streets and sidewalks. Everyone was afraid to handle the bodies for fear of infection, so they started to accumulate. In some of the neighborhoods they just started piling them up. A few of these piles were huge with as many as fifty or sixty bodies.

As the virus progressed, the remaining survivors avoided all physical contact. Everyone wore filtered masks. No one shook hands, no one hugged, and whenever anyone coughed, everyone in the vicinity departed quickly. Communication broke down as everyone avoided their neighbors. Life-long friends passed each other on the street in silence, casting furtive glances at each other from a safe distance as they hurried about their business. Foraging for food became risky. Violent conflicts erupted over trivialities. People were now shooting at each other over a can of beans.

It was the night of September 5th when Anton's six-year-old daughter Celeste woke up coughing. Anton and his wife Larissa hoped against hope that it was just a cold. Four days later, both Celeste and Larissa were dead. Anton, however, never got so much as a sniffle. He sat alone in his house staring at the two lifeless bodies. The darkness of his home enveloped him. He wanted to cry but the tears would not come. In silence, he gently bathed the bodies and then wrapped each in clean linen sheets. The fear of contagion was overcome by his grief. He bound the sheets tight around the bodies in preparation for burning, but then couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew it was the best method for disposing of the infected, but he just couldn’t do it.

As he sat in the dark, Anton lost track of the time. He would slip in and out of awareness. Staring at the wall, he would suddenly jolt into wakefulness and realize he had been unaware of his surroundings for some time. He felt no hunger. No thirst. His mind churned with memories of his wife and daughter and the pain of their passing. Visions of happier days passed before his eyes, interspersed with long episodes of anguished blackness.

After what seemed like an eternity spent in quiet solitude, he finally dragged the two bodies out into his backyard. He tore the wood planks from his windows and stacked them over the bodies and then dumped two five gallon cans of kerosene over the top of them and lit it up. The fire was massive and hot. Anton could feel the intense heat on his cheeks. He added more wood and stood silently watching as the fire burned for hours, well into the evening dark.

No one came to investigate.

As Anton pondered this, he realized he was having trouble remembering the last time he had seen anyone else. He looked around at his neighborhood and found himself wondering what day it was. He couldn’t have been in the house more than a couple days, but he wasn’t sure. Everything outside appeared older, somehow. There was a heavy layer of dust on his car and the other items in the yard that he hadn’t noticed when he had last ventured out. The houses on his street all appeared abandoned. Empty windows stared back at him. He began to wonder if there were any other people still alive in town... Or anywhere else for that matter.

Leaving the fire burning, Anton turned and walked down his street to Egan Drive, the long divided highway that led from the mountain-locked channel of downtown Juneau out to the Mendenhall Valley and beyond. He followed the road out of town to the northwest, in the direction of Auke Bay. He had no purpose or destination in mind, he just walked.

Looking neither to the right or left, he walked in eerie silence. Shadowed windows stared vacantly at him from the houses along the road as he passed. He heard ravens off in the distance, and some gulls, but no sounds of human life. The sky was growing dark. Must be coming up on evening, he thought, as he wondered again what day it might be. His muddled mind tried to sift through the time he had spent alone but it seemed like a dream. He was sure it wasn’t very long, as he hadn’t eaten anything but still felt fine. Something about the quietness of the town, however, made him feel like he had been away for eons.

The road on which he walked skirted the eastern edge of Gastineau Channel between downtown Juneau, where Anton lived, and the Mendenhall Valley some seven miles to the northwest. The highway had been built in the intertidal zone and resembled a large levee running parallel to the shore. Every hundred yards or so there were oversize culverts which allowed the tide and, in the case of some of the larger ones, even boats to pass underneath. Anton walked on the channel-side shoulder of the southbound lanes, just a few feet from the water’s edge. Mile after mile slowly slipped past. First Vanderbilt Hill Road, then Sunny Point, then the massive, empty Fred Meyers store and the equally quiet Nugget Mall. Anton didn’t even look at the buildings as he passed, he just walked, eyes straight ahead and the crunching of his boots on the gravel sounding loud against the dark quiet. He trudged on through the night, covering mile after mile.

The early light of dawn was just appearing in the sky when he walked down onto the beach at Auke Village Recreation Area and sat down to stare out at the quiet water and pine covered islands stretching out before him. He had sat on this same beach countless times before and stared out at that same rugged wilderness and marveled at the their wild majesty, their unforgiving nature. Never had the view made him feel so alone as it did now. His eyes subconsciously searched the distant peaks and valleys for any sign of human activity. He scanned the water for movement--a boat or a skiff--but saw nothing.

As the morning light grew, he saw porpoises swimming lazily through the small bay. He heard eagles in the treetops chittering arguments at one another, and he saw a flock of crows rise from the trees on Point Louisa and fly south towards the harbor at Auke Bay. The gray sky overhead gathered forces and soon a light rain began to fall. For several minutes, Anton sat oblivious to the weather, staring out to sea. Then, as a chill shiver racked him, he started and looked around as if waking from a dream. He stood up and walked up the beach to one of the pavilions. As he stood in the empty picnic shelter, he became aware of how cold he was and looked impulsively at the fireplace. Of course he had no matches and there was no wood and these realizations started his mind down the uncomfortable pathways of comprehension of his predicament. What if there are no more people left alive? What if there are no more people anywhere? What do I do?

Like most humans in times of extreme psychological trauma, Anton turned his attention to his base needs: shelter and warmth. The big questions could be answered later. Right now, he needed to get out of the wind and the rain.

Having grown up in Juneau, Anton had many childhood memories of Auke Rec (as this area was known to the locals) and its picnic pavilions. He had always wanted to live near this beautiful beach, but the homes here were the most desirable in Juneau and had been out of his financial reach. As he walked away from the beach along the road back to town, he saw the large houses standing quiet and dark on the shore. Now they looked like nothing more than what they really were: shelter.

He walked down the boardwalk staircase to the first house and knocked hard on the door. The windows on the main floor were boarded up. Anton stepped back and searched the second story windows for any sign of movement. Seeing nothing, he banged on the door again and waited. Still no answer.

With one lunging kick he broke in the front door, shattering the frame. Inside the entryway he stood listening once again. Only silence greeted him. He wandered through the darkened main floor of the house and saw much the same as what was in his own home. A large pile of canned goods stood in the corner of the dining room along with piles of dry goods. There was a wood stove in the living room and probably a cord and a half of firewood stacked around the walls. Anton noticed how out of place the dirty firewood looked on the cream-colored wall-to-wall carpeting. Anton walked through the kitchen and the dining room to the den at the back of the house. No one was there. No bodies either.

He walked back into the living room and headed up the stairs to the second level. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom, all empty, in various states of disarray. Someone had been here fairly recently, but all was quiet now. He walked into the master bedroom and was caught by the view. The room had floor to ceiling sliding glass doors that opened onto a deck looking out over the bay. What caught Anton's eye, however, was the figure sitting on the deck, back leaned against the glass, facing the ocean. Anton knew immediately that the person was dead. The slump of the shoulders and the careless angle of the neck told him all he needed to know. Anton slid open the door that was unobstructed and stepped out onto the deck. He squatted next to the corpse and studied the features. It looked like the birds had been at him a bit, but not bad yet. Must not have been dead long.

Anton straightened up and turned to face the sea. As he stepped up to the railing of the balcony, he saw the bodies on the beach. There were three laid out in front of the house in varying states of decay. They were lying in the sandy soil above the tide line and Anton could see what looked to be the grave of a fourth person next to the bodies. He turned to look at the corpse on the deck once again. It was an older man, probably in his early sixties. He looked like he had been frail even in life. He had probably been unable to keep up with the burials.

As this line of reasoning rolled through Anton's mind he noticed the dark discoloration on the front of the man's shirt. As he stepped towards the body once again, he saw the pistol, partially hidden under the folds of the man's pants where it lay in his cold grasp alongside his leg. Anton drew back involuntarily as the reality of the situation set in.

"Shit!" he hissed and spun around to face the sea once again. Gulls were chattering out on the point. Anton leaned against the rail and slumped downwards until he was sitting on the deck with his legs pulled up against his chest. He sat there for several moments as his eyes scanned the surrounding area for any sign of life. Desperation shone through the tears forming in his eyes as he looked over the long line of homes down the beach. No smoke. No light. No movement. He clutched his knees to his chest and shivered violently. He rocked back and forth on his heels and then slowed. His eyes hardened and his jaw set. He stood and quickly walked back into the house and down the stairs. He started searching the rooms for anything he could use. About a half hour later he had a nice stack in the living room.

Most of it was food, either dry packaged goods or canned so that it would keep, but he had also found some ammunition. There was a box of .380 caliber for the pistol he had retrieved from the deck and a case of .22 bullets for a Ruger 10/22 that he found under the bed in the master bedroom. He didn't bother with the rifle, since he had a better model at home, but he would definitely need all the ammunition he could find. Anton was in survival mode now and was planning for his needs. He wasn't too worried about drinking water, he could always boil water and water was never in short supply in Juneau. Satisfied that he had collected everything he could use, Anton began thinking about breakfast. The stove was electric and there was no power in the house, so Anton used the wood stove in the living room. There was plenty of wood, kindling, paper and matches and he soon had a good fire going.

While he was waiting for the water to boil, he started pulling the boards off the windows. He had most of them off of the living room windows when the water was ready. He opened a package of dried oatmeal into a bowl and poured in a little hot water. Then he dumped in a small can of peaches. He sat on the couch with his feet against the base of the stove and ate quietly as he stared once again out at the ocean.

When he finished eating, Anton returned to the garage. There was a silver, late model Subaru Forester parked there and, after a quick search, he found the keys hanging from a peg in the kitchen. He opened the hatchback and folded the rear seat flat and started loading in the provisions. He'd loaded most of the provisions when he realized he didn't know where he was planning on going. Subconsciously, he must have been planning to take it all back to his own house, but now, as he considered it, he realized there was no sense in that.

"I've got to start thinking ahead," he whispered to himself. Where should I go? What should I do? Anton slumped down and sat on the rear bumper of the car, his mind searching for a direction, a goal. He decided that he ought to try and find out if there was anyone else left alive in town and then go from there. The thought that he may be completely alone sent shivers along his spine, but he had a feeling that others had survived as well. Even though he’d seen no evidence, his mind was not ready to accept that no one else in Juneau was left alive. With that thought in mind, he decided to head out in the morning in search of survivors.

#new fiction #creative writing #first novel #supernatural story #apocalyptic fiction #pandemic fiction #scary stories #writing #movie ideas #monster stories #survival stories #thriller #suspense #action #books #booklover #fiction books #book publishing

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if-not-now-tell-me-when · 5 months

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"And I'm sure there's an extent to which we are hiding the bigger scary thing, which is like scary not in a little kids telling ghost stories kind of a way. So much as its not promising you that your humanity is going to snap and it'll be gone; it's telling you that the capacity of your human experience is more vast than you'll probably ever get to feel even most of in the time you have to be alive."

#you're wrong about podcast #sarah marshall #blair braverman #miracle in the andes #flight 571 #survival stories #wilderness survival #uplifting stories #hopeful stories #humanity #hope #Spotify

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nerdpoe · 8 months

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Ground Control to Major Fenton.

Danny's chosen for a space mission, along with a group of other astronauts. They're gonna rendezvous at Justice League Watchtower, and then go for a part of space as of yet unexplored as a part of a Justice League effort to map the cosmos.

But something goes wrong with the ship.

And one of the escape pods gets damaged.

So Danny tricks the Captain of the team into a pod and fires it away into space.

He then immediately turns around and makes sure that the ship won't explode, just turning off his breathing on the way.

Danny did this because, unbeknownst to his employers, he is the only person on the crew capable of surviving the harsh nothingness of Space. As a half ghost, he doesn't need to breath and his heart doesn't need to beat, even while in human form.

So when the Justice League sends out Hal for salvage and corpse retrieval, Hal get's the absolute shit scared out of him. Like, the dude almost legitimately shit himself.

It went a little like this.

He managed to pry his way into the dead ship; no oxygen, no gravity, no nothing. He checks the rooms one by one, noting along the way that the ship shows signs of attempted repair.

His head is filling with images of the lone astronaut, Fenton, desperately doing his best to save the ship.

All the rooms are empty.

So if Fenton was trying to save the ship, then that would mean the last place to check would be the engine room.

Hal goes to the engine room, and there, cradled in wires that had been pulled from the ceiling, is the corpse of astronaut Daniel James Fenton.

The wires show clear efforts from the man to anchor himself in place, probably when the gravity went, so that he could still try to save the ship.

With a heavy heart, Hal moves forward and starts to detangle Fenton.

Only for Fenton's hand to shoot out with inhuman speed and catch his wrist in an iron grip, and when Hal looks up he sees a pair of glowing, inhuman eyes staring at him from an impossibly pale face, the neck at a strange an unnatural angle.

Hal screams like a little bitch and runs to the other side of the engine room.

Danny, however, had just tied himself to some cables so he could finally get some fucking sleep without bouncing around the room. (He woulda gone to his bunker and just used the seatbelts on his bed, but that room was Creepy without lights).

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #story prompt #phanfic #Yes the entire thing was recorded #all of Justice League knows how high u can scream Hal #Danny's in for a huge scolding by Batman #“you knew you had abilities to enable you to survive impossible conditions and neglected to tell us. unacceptable.”#long post #ficlet

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stutterhug · 6 months

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