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I didn’t go to dances, never been for a sleepover, never even sat with anyone else for lunch. Hardly a surprise, is it? Survivalists? Maybe, but we call ourselves “sensible” – what else would you call those not blind to the inevitable? I was picked on sometimes at school, but after the suspension – and the scrum half’s snapped wrist (thanks Dad, for those self-defence drills) – I was left alone. Of course, I’ve not had what you might call a normal life. Sewing’s my weak point, truth be told, but at least I’ve stopped sewing stuff to my jeans and Mum says I sew a pretty strong stitch. Speaking of Zeke, my brother and I were both trained in and for almost anything you can imagine: hand-to-hand combat, gas attacks, nuclear fallout, weapon making, foraging, first aid – you name it, we went over it. Dad and Zeke worked hard and it paid off.
#WASTELAND SURVIVAL ZOMBIE GUIDE FULL#
There’s a room full of bunk beds that are more comfortable than they look, a pretty well-equipped kitchen, a library, a bathroom, a canning room – my Mum’s mantra is ‘waste not want not’ – and a big communal living area. Robin Hood would weep at the skill in my fingers. A clutch of arrows will take me another five, tops. I can shape a bow out of a piece of willow – or pretty much any tree with enough bend in it – in less than three minutes. Mum always said they’d make the best weapon anyway – when the bullets run out, who’s going to be making new ones? Arrows, on the other hand, are relatively easy to make. Air rifles mainly, but by ten I was shit-hot with a bow and arrow. I started shooting when I was eight years old. Best you get your head round that from the get-go. There are few philosophies smarter because when the world’s getting its apocalypse on you have few other choices. Past the cut, in Part Two, we’ll be looking at the comfort of petty theft, how hipsters decorate their fallout digs, and why it’s not over til it’s over… In Part One of What Hurricane Sandy taught us about the urban apocalypse, we looked at Corporate Sponsorship, Disaster Parasites, and the not-so sweet smell of the apocalypse. Yet, what lay in front of us was a solid lesson in where the future may lead for many cities across the globe.
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We may be incredulous of the naive expectations of the massive storm or the religious leader who blamed Sandy on New York State’s acceptance of gay marriage. More than the Boxing Day Tsunami, this felt uncomfortably close to home. A seafront bar dragged across a bay, a boat perched on railroad tracks. A suburban block turned to some vast waste dump. Smouldering burns scarred into whiteboard neighbourhoods. From the safety of social feeds, we watched as photoshopped spoofs and Michael Bay rip-offs paled before the quiet aftermath of Hurricane Sandy.