In the ashes of Jericho, survival is not just about food and water. It is about what you are willing to keep alive when the world says let it die. Richard carries the weight of his fever-ridden sister and his mutated mother while hunter gangs stalk the ruins, chanting for the “Broodmother.” What follows is part horror, part love story, and all nightmare.

The world didn’t end with a bang. It ended with silence, whiskey, and a bar in Boulder where survival still feels like a bad joke. Meet Ray, Gus, and Lila—a broken man, a stubborn mechanic, and a girl with a guitar—holding out against the kind of evil that never really dies. If you ever wondered what happened after The Stand, this is the story of the last bar, the last songs, and the choice between fear and hope when the road brings trouble back.

“If you’re out there,” Mickey said, voice cracking through the static, “this is 98.7 The Blaze. The airwaves are still open. I’m still here. You’re not alone.”

The studio smelled like mildew and old vinyl. His only listener was a dog named Joplin, and maybe—just maybe—the cowboy with burning eyes who kept showing up in his dreams.

Outside, the crows circled over Gainesville. The I-75 was a graveyard of cars and silence. But Mickey?

He kept talking.

Because someone had to.

He woke up in a bunker. No memory of getting there. Just the stale hum of machines, a glowing screen that said WAIT, and the taste of old coffee still on his tongue.

Outside? Nothing but ash, silence, and a sky that watched like it remembered something you didn’t.

And when the screen changed to RUN, it was already too late.

He stripped his shirt off slow, like it was a ritual. Hands taped. Forearms carved out of scarred wood. No smile. No words. Just movement.

“You want the title,” he said, voice low and steady, “you finish when I finish.”

I don’t remember finishing.
I just remember waking up in the corner, shoes gone, hands torn open, whispering apologies to the rig.

The belt’s still there.
But no one reaches for it.

Not twice.

What if your thoughts weren’t just yours anymore? In Next-Day Delivery, a man’s life unravels when packages start arriving on his doorstep—items he never ordered but definitely thought about. Slippers. Childhood mementos. A tooth. Each box digs deeper into memories he’d rather forget, until it becomes clear: something is inside his head, rewriting reality one delivery at a time. Creepy, surreal, and disturbingly plausible, this horror story peels back the packaging on convenience culture and exposes the cost of always being connected. Because when your past is prime-shipped to your door, what shows up next might just be you.