How To Survive the Apocalypse, Part 4: Shelter & Safe Zones

Look, when the apocalypse hits, you’re going to need a place to crash. And I don’t mean “find a cozy Airbnb in the wasteland” (though, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone still tried to charge a cleaning fee). No, you need a real shelter—somewhere to hunker down, store your supplies, and hopefully not get eaten by whatever new apex predator emerges.

But here’s the thing: you can’t just wing it. You don’t want to be the person wandering aimlessly through the ruins, muttering, Wow, I probably should have thought about this sooner.

So, let’s talk about safe zones and how to secure a decent shelter before the world goes sideways.

Step 1: Identify Potential Safe Zones

First things first: Where are you going when everything goes belly-up? Your options depend on what kind of apocalypse you’re dealing with, but let’s go over a few solid choices:

• Your Own Home – If your house is defensible, well-stocked, and not directly in the path of disaster, this might be your best bet. Reinforce doors and windows now. Maybe get to know your neighbors so you can form an impromptu defense squad. This is also likely the easiest solution.

• A Friend or Family Member’s House – Got a cousin with a fortified basement? A friend with a farm? Establish a “just in case” plan now so you’re not that person showing up unannounced with a bag of trail mix and regret. Make sure you have a way of getting to this person’s house as well, especially if they’re more than a short drive away.

• Public Buildings – Schools, libraries, fire stations—these often have emergency supplies, strong infrastructure, and (in the case of libraries) useful books to keep you from going insane. They even have nuclear shelters sometimes! Check out what’s in your area now, so you’ll have that information if… when?… you need it.

• Nature Retreats – If cities become dangerous, rural areas, cabins, or even caves could be viable. If you don’t already know how to live off the land, maybe start watching some survival YouTube videos now. Hot tip: don’t eat mushrooms.

Step 2: The “Bug In” vs. “Bug Out” Debate

Do you stay put or do you flee? The answer depends on the apocalypse. If it’s something slow-moving (economic collapse, supply chain failure, AI existential crisis), staying home and fortifying is likely your best bet. If it’s something fast (wildfires, zombies, alien invasion), you may need to get out fast.

Prepping for both options means:
✅ Having a go-bag – At least 72 hours of food, water, medicine, and a flashlight that isn’t dead.
✅ Knowing where you’ll go – Choose two or three safe zones in different directions. Roads will be blocked, and you may need alternatives. You may have to hoof it, so make sure you have a good pair of shoes.
✅ Planning for pets – Don’t leave them behind, but also don’t assume a feral cat will become your apocalypse survival partner either.

Step 3: Make Your Shelter Actually Livable

A shelter is useless if it’s unlivable. If you’re planning to stay in your home, make sure you:

• Stockpile water & non-perishable food. If supply chains break, you don’t want your last meal to be an expired granola bar.

• Insulate and fortify. Patch those weak points now before looters (or just bad weather) make them worse.

• Get backup power. A generator, solar panels, or at least a stockpile of batteries and candles will make life much, much easier. If you’re in the north, a non-electrical means of heat is probably a good plan too.

Step 4: The Ultimate Rule—Have a Backup Plan

No shelter is 100% secure. Always have an escape route, know multiple safe zones, and, most importantly, don’t wait until the world is already on fire to start thinking about this.

Because when the time comes, the last thing you want is to be sitting in your car, watching civilization burn, and realizing you have absolutely no idea where you’re going.

New Book: Market Like It's HOT

Skip the read, and click to grab the book here!

When I first started writing and publishing, I thought marketing would be simple. Write a good book, put it out there, and readers would find it.

It didn’t exactly work out that way.

An early attempt at book marketing with a grumpy cat meme

Marketing turned out to be messy, overwhelming, confusing—and full of trial and error.

Market Like It’s Hot is a collection of essays about that messy middle: learning how to market books in a way that feels sustainable, creative, and (sometimes) even fun. Many of these essays first appeared in my blog or newsletter, where I’ve shared honest reflections, practical advice, and hard-won lessons over the years.

I’ve also included some brand-new pieces written just for this collection.

At the heart of it all is my philosophy: there’s no single “right” way to market your work. Every author’s journey looks a little different, and the best strategies are the ones that fit your goals, your energy, and your life—not someone else’s blueprint.

Whether you’re a writer looking for encouragement and ideas, or a reader curious about the chaotic, behind-the-scenes world of publishing, I hope you’ll find something to enjoy (and maybe even be inspired by) in these pages.

How to Survive the Apocalypse, Part 3: Community

The apocalypse has arrived. You might have always imagined that you’d be the rugged lone wolf, stalking through the wasteland, surviving on sheer wit and a diet of questionable mushrooms. But in reality? Lone wolves tend to die—usually because of an infected wound, a bad decision, or sheer exhaustion.

In fact, the key to surviving any world-ending disaster is community.

But building a strong community of people you can count on isn’t easy. Best to get started now.

Befriend Your Neighbors (Before You Need Them)

Yes, even the ones who never bring their trash cans in on time.

The people who live closest to you are the people you’ll most likely rely on in an emergency. Whether it’s a natural disaster or a slow-burning societal collapse, knowing your neighbors before things go sideways can mean the difference between survival and desperation.

Learn their names. (Seriously, just knowing their names is a good start.)

Find out what they do for work. If one of them is a doctor or mechanic, that’s information worth filing away. It’s also great to know a little bit about their personality. Are they selfish or generous? Do they offer to help out or talk to you with the chain still on the door? Are they open to your attempts to befriend them or do they always try to shut you out?

Offer small favors—help shovel snow, carry groceries, be the person who has an extra battery when the power goes out. Reciprocity builds trust.

Because let’s be honest—when the world starts crumbling, you don’t want to be “mysterious hermit neighbor.” You want to be the person they want to help.

Watch for opportunities to show up. You never know when your neighbor might need a helping hand that they aren’t sure how to ask for. It might be something simple, like bringing in their packages when they’re on vacation or going to their awkward holiday party. Or something more complicated, like feeding their cat when they’re in the hospital. But showing up when they need you is a surefire way to let them know: if the world ends, I’ve got your back.

Get Involved in Local Groups

It doesn’t matter if it’s the PTA, a gardening club, or a volunteer fire department—being involved in your community before a crisis means you’ll have a support system when one happens.

• Join a local Facebook group (Yes, even the chaotic ones full of neighborhood drama).

• Attend city meetings (You don’t have to care about zoning laws, but it’s good to know who does).

• Find local skill-sharing workshops—some places offer free classes on first aid, self-defense, or basic survival skills.

The goal isn’t to become the town prepper; it’s to become known. If people know you and trust you before the apocalypse, they’re a lot more likely to let you in when things go bad.

Bonus points: they’re also more likely to let you in when the apocalypse doesn’t come. They’re more likely to help you with moves toward social justice, more likely to buy girl scout cookies from your kid, and more likely to be someone you can count on.

Community never hurts. So go make some friends.

Learn the Art of Barter & Reciprocity

Money might not mean much in an apocalypse, but skills and favors always have value. Start practicing now:

• Swap favors instead of paying for everything (Need your lawn mowed? Offer homemade bread in return).

• Learn skills that are valuable in a crisis—basic car repair, first aid, gardening.

• Be the person who helps others without expecting anything in return (Because generosity now = loyalty later).

If you start building goodwill today, you won’t be knocking on doors begging for help when the world falls apart—you’ll be part of a network that already wants to help each other.

Surviving alone isn’t just difficult—it’s exhausting. If you build community now, you won’t just increase your odds of survival—you’ll make life better in the meantime.

And if the apocalypse never comes? Well, at least you’ll know your neighbors' names, have a solid group of friends, and won’t have to barter your last can of beans to get someone to fix your car. Win-win-win-win.

How to Survive the Apocalypse, Part 2: Tools

Alright, you’ve committed to surviving the apocalypse! Hurray! Now, before you go running into the woods armed with nothing but optimism and a rusty can opener, we need to talk about tools.

Because let’s be honest: "survival" without the right gear is just "delaying death by a few minutes."

The Must-Have tools

There are tools, and then there are tools. The ones that keep you alive. The ones that make life slightly less miserable when civilization is crumbling around you.

Here’s your absolute bare-bones survival kit:

• Knife (or multi-tool) – A good blade is everything. Cutting, prying, whittling, threatening rival scavengers, stabbing zombies—endless possibilities.

• Fire starter – Waterproof matches, a lighter, or (if you’re fancy) a ferro rod. You don’t want to be rubbing sticks together like a chump. It’s also good to know how to build a fire that will last. Call a boy scout.

• Flashlight & Batteries – The apocalypse will be dark. Literally and figuratively, no doubt.

• Basic first aid kit – Because you will cut yourself. No exceptions. Don’t forget the antibiotic ointment!

• Water filtration – A Lifestraw, a Sawyer filter, or at least some purification tablets. Maybe even a pot to boil water in. Drinking straight from a random stream is not the survival flex you think it is.

• Food you don’t have to cook – Canned beans, protein bars, peanut butter. The essentials.

• Map & Compass – If GPS is down, you’ll wish you had these. (Yes, I know you don’t actually know how to use a compass. Learn now, not when you’re lost in the woods.)

The Nice-to-Have tools (a.k.a. “I’d Rather Not Die Miserably")

These aren’t life-or-death essentials, but they’ll make survival significantly less awful:

• A solid backpack – Because carrying your apocalypse loot in a Kroger bag is just sad.

• Tarp or emergency bivvy – Shelter. Rain protection. Improvised sled. Fancy cape. Tons of uses.

• Hand-crank radio – Staying informed is good. Staying entertained is also good.

• Duct tape & zip ties – The real MVPs of problem-solving.

• Portable solar charger – Because deep down, you know you’re still going to want to check your phone.

• Socks! Several extra pairs if you can swing it. I’m serious. If your socks get wet, your feet get cold. If your feet get cold… you’ll probably die.

The “I’m Either a Genius or a Hoarder” Tools

These tools aren’t strictly necessary, but if you happen to have them, you’ll feel like a post-apocalyptic king:

• Crowbar – The Swiss Army knife of breaking and entering.

• Fishing kit – If you’re patient and enjoy eating disappointment.

• Binoculars – So you can spot trouble before it spots you.

• Harmonica – Because even in the apocalypse, someone needs to bring the vibes.

Step 4: The One Tool You Can’t Buy

Your brain.

All the gear in the world won’t help you if you don’t know how to use it. Practice now. Start a fire. Purify water. Learn basic first aid. And most importantly, always ask yourself:

Can I actually survive without WiFi?

If the answer is no… well, it’s time to start training.

The Self-Driving Trolley Car

A self-driving car speeds down the road. The human inside is barely paying attention—probably scrolling, answering emails, or daydreaming about dinner. The AI is doing what it does best: making micro-adjustments, scanning the road ahead, processing more data in a second than a human driver could in a lifetime.

Then, everything goes wrong.

An unexpected obstacle appears. The AI calculates every possible outcome in milliseconds, and none of them are good. It has to make a choice:

• Swerve into a concrete barrier, almost certainly killing the driver.

• Stay the course and plow into a group of pedestrians.

A human might slam the brakes, jerk the wheel, make a desperate, instinct-driven move. But the AI doesn’t panic. It doesn’t hesitate. It simply follows its programming.

And that’s where the real question begins.

Who decides how self-driving cars should be programmed in a life-or-death situation?

Should the car prioritize the person inside—the one who bought it, trusted it, and expected it to keep them safe? Or should it act for the so-called “greater good,” sacrificing one to save many? And if that’s the case, would anyone actually be willing to step inside a car that might be programmed to sacrifice them?

But maybe there’s an even bigger question: if humans struggle with these ethical choices—if we hesitate, if we panic, if we make mistakes—should we really expect AI to be better at determining the “right” choice than humans?

The Modern Day Trolley Car Problem

This is, at its core, a modern twist on the classic trolley problem—that endlessly debated ethical question about whether it’s better to let five people die or pull a lever to actively kill one.

A utilitarian approach says the AI should prioritize saving the most lives, which means the self-driving car should choose to hit the obstacle—even if that means sacrificing the driver. Five lives outweigh one, mathematically speaking.

But there’s a catch. The driver is the customer. The person who paid for the car, who trusted it to be their guardian on the road. No one buys a vehicle expecting it to decide they’re expendable.

If self-driving cars are programmed to protect the most people rather than their owners, would anyone even want to use them? Would you?

And what if the answer isn’t clear-cut? Should AI mimic human instinct—self-preservation, hesitation, split-second irrational choices? Or should it hold to some higher ethical standard, making the hard calls even when humans wouldn’t?

This isn’t some far-off, science-fiction thought experiment. AI-driven decision-making is already happening in all sectors. And so far, different companies have taken different approaches.

Some automakers lean toward prioritizing the driver—because, let’s be real, no one wants to buy a car that might kill them in a crisis. But government regulators might argue that public safety should come first, meaning AI should be programmed to protect the greatest number of people, even if that means sacrificing its passenger.

Ideally, the cars would be safe enough that even in the worst accidents, the driver would be protected. But there will always be a situation the programmers and manufacturers didn’t predict. Meaning, they’ll have to build a set of ethical rules into the programming.

Mercedes-Benz has already stated that if forced to choose, their vehicles would prioritize protecting the driver. The reasoning is simple: people won’t buy a product designed to sacrifice them.

But that raises even more questions.

• If different manufacturers program AI differently, who is responsible when things go wrong?

• If every company sets their own ethical framework, will customers start picking cars based on which brand values their life the most?

• And maybe the biggest question of all—should we even be outsourcing these choices to machines in the first place? Or to corporations, for that matter?

Because let’s not forget the social contract problem.

Right now, people accept that being a pedestrian near traffic comes with some risk—because human drivers are unpredictable. But if self-driving cars are supposed to be flawless, should pedestrians assume they are always protected? Could that lead to riskier behavior—people stepping into traffic because they assume the AI will stop in time?

As self-driving cars move from concept to reality, we’ll be forced to grapple with questions that go beyond convenience or efficiency. Who should AI protect? Who should it sacrifice? Who gets to decide?

Should these decisions be left to private companies, each making their own ethical calls? Should governments step in and set universal rules? And if every manufacturer is making their own choices, how will that shape our roads—and our trust in technology?

The future of transportation isn’t just about speed, safety, or automation. It’s about morality. And whether or not we realize it, the choices we make now will determine who lives and who dies in the world we’re building.

So, if you had to choose, what would you program your self-driving car to do?