If a Zombie Outbreak Started in My City: A Personal Survival Story | by Mathees Asinsha | Sep, 2025

I never thought the sound of silence could be so loud.

The outbreak didn’t start with chaos — it started quietly. Just whispers on the radio about a “strange illness,” videos on social media that looked fake at first, people collapsing on sidewalks. We joked about it, called it another internet hoax. But by the time the screaming started in the streets, nobody was laughing anymore.

The First Night

I remember locking my apartment door three times, hands shaking so hard I could barely turn the key. The city that was always alive — buses honking, people shouting, shops blasting music — sounded like it had died in a single day. Then came the new sounds. The groans. The pounding footsteps. The broken glass.

I looked out my window and saw a man staggering, blood dripping from his mouth, chasing a woman who tripped trying to run. She screamed until her voice cracked. I turned away, because watching was worse than not knowing. That’s when I knew: this wasn’t a sickness. This was the end of the city I knew.

Learning to Survive

I thought survival would feel like in the movies — adrenaline, action, a clear plan. It didn’t. It felt like shaking hands, dry throat, trying not to breathe too loud. My “weapons” were laughable: a kitchen knife, a broken chair leg, a flashlight with weak batteries.

But survival wasn’t about being strong. It was about being smart.

• I filled every bottle I owned with tap water before it stopped running.
• I raided the corner store at dawn when the streets were empty, shoving canned food into a backpack.
• I marked the stairwell doors with chalk — an “X” for danger, an “O” for safe.

Every move felt like gambling. Every step down a hallway sounded like it could be my last.

The Loneliness

The hardest part wasn’t hunger or fear — it was being alone. Days blurred together. I caught myself talking out loud just to hear a voice. At night, the city groaned like a dying animal, and I buried my head under pillows so I wouldn’t hear.

When I finally heard knocking on my door, I froze. My mind raced: zombie or human? My body screamed at me not to open it. But then a voice whispered, trembling: “Please. Help.”

It was my neighbor, Ravi. His bat was covered in blood. His shirt was torn. But he was alive. And in that moment, I realized I needed him as much as he needed me.

Holding On

We survived together — sharing food, keeping watch in shifts, whispering stories about the “old city.” Sometimes, we laughed. Sometimes, we just stared at the wall, too tired to speak.

The world outside had become a graveyard, but inside our little hideout, there was something zombies couldn’t touch: hope.

What I Learned

If this outbreak taught me anything, it’s this:

• The world can fall apart overnight.
• Fear is heavier than hunger.
• And people, even in the darkest times, are the only reason worth surviving.

I don’t know if my city will ever be mine again. I don’t even know if tomorrow will come. But tonight, I’m alive. And sometimes, that’s enough.