First of all, there should still be plenty of seeds.
While you’re ransacking a hardware store for chainsaws or sucking gasoline from a derelict tractor on an abandoned farm, take a minute to poke around. Even if your region was infected by the undead outside the normal spring-planting window, you can usually find a box of leftover seeds tucked away somewhere. If you only have room in your grenade-stuffed pockets for a few varieties, select veggies that mature quickly, like leafy greens, sweet peas, and radishes. These fast-growing florae make a delightful salad in just a few weeks—an excellent way to supplement the standard apocalyptic diet of old Skittles and other people’s pets while preventing that pesky scurvy!
Next, you’ll need a secure area for your garden. It should have at least ten inches of well-drained soil, eight hours of sunlight a day, and sturdy concrete barricades. The plants, of course, are in no danger, but the smell of hard work is like a bouquet of fine wine to brain-eaters. Ignore the way they howl and claw at the walls outside—you’ve got seeds to snuggle into the earth!
Now, just a reminder: a garden requires a great deal of commitment. But it’s a labor of love! The satisfaction of homegrown produce is worth every blister! Also, it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do in the bunker besides snipe zombies with your homemade shoulder cannon while wondering how Aunt Louise would taste on a kebab. Why not direct your destructive impulses towards annihilating thistles instead? With elbow grease and a little dissociation, you can transform barren gravel into your own patch of heaven.
Lastly, weed diligently, water every morning except after rainfall, and meditate on the imminent demise of humanity. It’s really best not to expect to live to see your first harvest. Honestly, even if you do make it four to six weeks (when spinach peaks and the peas start to sweeten—ah, that magical taste of the first sweet pea!), the likelihood that conditions outside your safehouse will improve is nil. This is the zombie apocalypse, after all, and we’re basically fucked. You think a scattered handful of survivors can win out against uncountable billions of undying, eternally hungry zombies? Nope. Not a chance. Better to embrace extinction and welcome the void.
But, hey, the garden will probably survive. The zombies won’t touch it—even when they come swarming over the walls to feast on your flesh—and the plants will keep growing as long as there’s a sun in the sky. You saved them from moldering away in some forgotten corner, anyways—set them free to sprout and rise and thrive for a year, maybe even longer if they reseed themselves in that good dark dirt you tilled. Some other survivors might stumble across this place and have themselves an unexpectedly tasty lunch. Or maybe the bunnies will get a nice treat, someday, when the walls start crumbling. That’s a good legacy, right? That’s something.
EMILEE MARTELL is an aspiring author with, unsurprisingly, a deep-seated fear of zombies. After graduating college with degrees in English and Environmental Studies, she now works for a river conservation organization while angrily crafting novels about social justice.