So you have a post-apocalyptic story you want to tell? They can be great vehicles for not only personal but social expression, often more so than other SF subgenres. Like most fiction, post-apocalyptic tales are influenced by the current zeitgeist—but also bring something else to the table: a reappraisal of the past and how it influences the present.
During the Cold War, most of those narratives focused on the aftermath of a nuclear conflict; now, we see more stories about climate catastrophes or deadly epidemics (zombies usually fall under the latter category). The mechanism for apocalypse may change, but the themes remain largely the same. How these themes are presented is crucial to exploring this subgenre. Without them, your story may be little more than an adventure with crazed gangs chasing the protagonists across a run-of-the-mill wasteland.
What follows are the essentials of a post-apocalyptic story. I went for macro elements; these can be found in a variety of such stories. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel; The Drowned World by J.G. Ballard; the video games Horizon Zero Dawn by Guerilla Games as well as Fallout 4 by Bethesda; The Walking Dead comics by Robert Kirkman; and the film Mad Max: Fury Road by George Miller exhibit all of these qualities.
1. The Past must be Ubiquitous
What gives a post-apocalyptic story its flavor are the glimpses the writer provides of that world’s past. Ruined cities, old signs advertising products that no longer exist, technology that seems alien or even magical to survivors who are ignorant of its function—these are typical tropes, but they are effective. What makes this subgenre work are the contrasts between the survivors’ society and the civilization that preceded it. What does a character think of a society where she lacks electricity, but discovers traces of an older one that possessed such power? Or one where she has to hunt for food, whereas the former civilization featured well-supplied supermarkets? The contrast could highlight the scarcity of the current era versus the abundance of yesteryear. It could also reveal the ancients’ hubris or prejudice: were certain people prohibited from living in a designated area, or did a former religious institution forbid the mixing of ethnicities or classes, rather than the more open, egalitarian world the protagonist dwells in? The particulars of your story may be different, but such comparisons help ground not only the characters, but the audience, into the writer’s world by evoking such differences. Also, if there are never any comparisons with the past, then the story can hardly be termed post-apocalyptic. Your characters are surviving on the corpse of the old world; it cannot be ignored. The present must feature some hardship that did not exist in the previous civilization, whether it is economic, ecological, social, or a combination of these. To make that point, the past must be part of the narrative, even if it’s only a few slight details. This can be accomplished with subtle world building: the legends survivors tell each other about the cataclysm that changed their world; the aforementioned ruined cities; evidence of forgotten technology or knowledge; and so on. These details are more than set dressing—they should underline the contrasts between past and present at every opportunity.
2. The Present must be Less Secure
Post-apocalyptic stories often delve into the raw, gritty dangers of survival—gathering food, finding shelter, caring for the sick, dealing with a hostile environment or wildlife, and most commonly, fighting other survivors for scant resources. These can be interesting narrative challenges, but not all post-apocalyptic stories will—or should—focus on such minutiae. Yet the new world the writer shows must feature an element of danger or dread. Something that highlights the mortality of not only the characters, but the extant remnants of the previous civilization. If the cataclysm merely took away the power grid, internet, and mobile phones, but left everything else intact, then it’s not a very compelling event, is it? A post-apocalyptic story is about a character’s personal struggles against a dangerous or uncertain backdrop. Are all the crops dying, are water sources drying up faster than rains can replenish them, is there a contagious disease survivors must shield themselves from, are there violent factions who might enslave or kill the characters? This doesn’t mean the characters should be in constant danger, but for whatever reason, their life shouldn’t an easy one—and always due to the catastrophe that changed their world. Hardship is a key post-apocalyptic trope for a reason: without it, the story becomes something else. It immediately places the audience in the mode of ‘how would I survive in this author’s world?’ and that’s what fiction needs to do: provoke the reader into engaging with the material.
3. The Future must be Uncertain
Uncertainty in a story provides anxiety, tension, and mystery. This is true regardless of genre, but there’s an emphasis on this quality in post-apocalyptic narratives. If a writer communicates too early that the characters will survive their ordeal, it’s like letting the air out of the balloon before it even takes flight. It doesn’t matter if your story isn’t action-oriented, or if no one perishes along the way. A post-apocalyptic world is by definition a realm of uncertainty. The previous civilization came to a terrible end; could such a thing happen again? That something so big could fail emphasizes one’s own mortality, and less is taken for granted. This doesn’t mean the characters must always be near death, or starvation, or on the verge of succumbing to a plague or the privations of their enemies, but for this subgenre to work, the reader must believe that nothing is guaranteed except death. Even if it is a peaceful demise. It’s the elephant in the room. Characters needn’t refer to it constantly, or you risk wearing the audience down, but its presence is a constant, like the air we breathe. If uncertainty is taken away, then the story should be near its conclusion—but not before. Once uncertainty is gone, then it’s not a post-apocalyptic story any longer (unless the certainty is assured death, near the climax). This can take many forms: are the characters challenged by a radioactive climate? Do they face food/water/vaccine shortages? Is the sun a red giant and about to expand too close to the Earth? Do they assume they’re the only survivors in a world of mutants/zombies, and the burden of keeping humanity alive is on them? These are simple examples; though there are too many to enumerate, the point is evident. Another key question: can the characters change their new world? Can they cure the plague, escape to another planet, detoxify their environment, etc.? What is their impetuous for going on, other than mere instinctual survival? This is partly answered by the next item.
4. What does the Writer wish to Preserve?
Like all fiction, post-apocalyptic stories are mirrors of what the author appreciates or despises in their own society. This subgenre, however, feeds on that all the more, since the writer will highlight very subjective elements to fit these two criteria: what was better or worse about the past, and what is better or worse about the new era. In most post-apocalyptic narratives, the old world was lost in some great, paradigm-shifting cataclysm that cannot be undone. Thus most of what came before is lost. Usually this is considered a tragedy by at least some of the characters who have an idea of what transpired. Here lies one of the most specific ingredients for a post-apocalyptic story. Was the old world better, and the new one worse? Or did the catastrophe level the playing field, destroying a malignant civilization and ushering in a better one? These things cannot simply be told; they must be shown (remember contrast, mentioned earlier?). The way a writer reveals these details helps make their take on this subgenre even more unique. What would you like to see preserved if our civilization ended and a new one crawled from its ashes? Knowledge, art, faith? Which elements of modern life do you detest? Which ones would you consider the world to be better without? What values would be important to the new culture of survivors, and which ideals would they loathe? These will be different for each writer, and indulging in them will help your work stand out. A love for books and libraries is a common trope, since we—the audience reading the story—already enjoy books. Another element to consider: what are you afraid to lose if the ‘world ended’? The works of Shakespeare, the symphonies of Beethoven, the songs of Billie Holiday? Safety and security? The rule of law, or a pluralistic society? Your home? Your family? Post-apocalyptic fiction is more often about the author’s fears as much as anything else. Unlike horror, the goal is (typically) not to create terror, but to illustrate what the author deems most important and why they wish to preserve it, no matter what happens. This brings us to character drive: why do they choose to continue living in a harsher, more dangerous world? What matters to them, that compels such stubbornness in the face of overwhelming calamity? What are they struggling to maintain when everything else has been lost? That is the core of the story.
Summation
There are many other concerns and details that go into a post-apocalyptic story. Most of those are character, world building, and narrative decisions that can be applied to other subgenres, so I will not list them here. The key principles outlined above, however, provide the cornerstone necessary to hold up a more compelling, unique, and entertaining post-apocalyptic story.
If you’re interested in how I bring these elements together in my own work, my EDEN trilogy from Aethon Books is available via Amazon:
EDEN boxed set: https://tinyurl.com/mrxwuv8w (ebook only)
The individual volumes in print, ebook, and audio:
EDEN DESCENDING: https://tinyurl.com/2p96m2yw
EDEN’S TEARS: https://tinyurl.com/ms6k594e
EDEN’S CROWN: https://tinyurl.com/2p9dvkby
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