The Role of Animals in Apocalyptic Fiction
Or... why animals are really the unsung heroes of staying alive
If you’re new to The Rebel MFA Way, welcome! This is an essay in my ongoing “Writing Fiction to Heal in Real Time” series where I deep-dive into my writing fiction to heal method as field work and a case study. To begin, I will be working through my story, The Archive, which you can find more information on here.
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Let’s be honest… the real star(s) of The Archive isn’t Ari… it’s her two furry and one furless companion. Atlas, Freya, and Bastet are admittedly some of my favorite characters to date. I’m no stranger to including animals in my narratives. I have some pretty memorable ones in other stories like Leelo and Lois Lane from Until They Burn. But what makes this trio different from my other stories?
They are an extension of my own lifeline.
When the world becomes too much, I turn to my own pets for comfort, security, reassurance. Animals are a gift from the universe that we take for granted. And every time one of my cats snuggles into me or one of my dogs nuzzles my neck, I am deeply reminded of their power.
I couldn’t think of anything more important to have as companions for Ari on her survival journey. I can’t imagine my own life of post-apocalyptic survival without my animals.
The reality is though… the more I work with and write about these three animals, the more layers I uncover about their role in fiction and reality.
Animals as Emotional Anchors
I knew from the beginning that Ari was going to survive with an animal in this narrative. I have 8 pets and I knew that wasn’t going to work for her (and sadly, wouldn’t work in real life either). So I combined the personalities and attributes of all my past and present animals to develop three central animal companions for Ari. I realized that they represent different aspects of emotional survival:
Atlas: Loyalty and protection
Freya: Joy and living in the present
Bastet: Independence and adaptation
Each of them offers something to Ari that she cannot summon in herself, at least not consistently. When the world falls apart, we don’t just lose safety or shelter. We lose routine. We lose the emotional rhythm of daily life. And animals — in their sheer simplicity and presence — offer a way back to that rhythm. Feeding, grooming, walking, cuddling. These aren’t just chores; they’re grounding rituals. They help Ari hold on to her identity, to her sanity, to the version of herself that existed before the collapse.
For Ari, caring for her animals is not just survival… it’s self-preservation.
And there’s grief too. Her connection to Atlas in particular is tangled with memories of Finn. In a world where everyone she knew is either gone or unreachable, the animals are her only bridge to a life that once was. They hold emotional echoes. Their presence reminds her of what she’s lost and what still matters.
Animals as Survival Tools
It’s easy to see animals as symbolic in fiction but they’re also incredibly practical. In The Archive, I wanted to honor that too. These aren’t magical familiars. They’re not just fluffy metaphors. They’re working companions.
Atlas, a shepherd mix, is Ari’s shield. He’s hyper-vigilant, fiercely loyal, and physically imposing enough to deter danger. He’s saved her life more than once. Freya, part retriever, part pitbull, part pure joy, has a nose for food and an unerring instinct for hidden paths, she’s the scout, the morale booster, the emotional glue. Bastet, the sphynx cat, is watchful, quiet, clever. She finds cracks in walls, safe perches, warm hiding places. She’s survival (and a fierce bitch) in feline form.
Their usefulness goes beyond just tracking or defending. They signal trust. In the few encounters Ari has with other survivors, her animals often serve as a litmus test. People who respond to them with kindness or curiosity are more likely to be safe. People who flinch, lash out, or try to steal them? Red flags.
The Symbolism of Keeping Pets
In a world stripped to its bones, the decision to care for animals says something profound about what kind of person you are. Food is scarce. Safety is relative. Every extra mouth to feed is a gamble.
And yet, Ari keeps them. I would, too.
There’s something radical about choosing to keep “impractical” companions. About maintaining empathy when the world no longer rewards it. In some ways, keeping her animals alive is Ari’s way of keeping her own soul intact. It's her refusal to become numb. It's her answer to nihilism.
That choice — to feed something else before herself, to protect something that can’t speak — is a recurring question in post-apocalyptic fiction. What makes us human when the systems around us collapse? For Ari, and for me as the writer, the answer is often this: compassion, even when it hurts.1
The Practical Challenges
Of course, I don’t want to idealize it. Keeping animals alive in a world falling apart is brutally difficult. Ari has to make hard choices. There are moments in The Archive where she’s on the verge of leaving one of them behind not because she wants to, but because survival demands it. There’s tension in that. Vulnerability. Guilt. Love doesn’t always make smart decisions, and sometimes it makes Ari weaker in the short term.
But those moments also reveal her character. The way she calculates risk, the way she prioritizes, the lines she refuses to cross — all of it is more vivid when we see it through the lens of her relationship with Atlas, Freya, and Bastet.
The apocalypse in this story isn’t about zombies or resource shortages or tyrants rising from the ashes (though there will be some of that!). It’s about emotional attrition. And animals — flawed, needy, intuitive — offer a counterweight.
Between Survival and Humanity
In The Archive, animals are not side characters. They’re the bridge between survival and humanity. They are both Ari’s most pragmatic allies and her most symbolic tether to the past and future. They remind her who she was before, and who she still wants to be — despite everything.
In real life, we often underestimate the emotional labor animals do for us. In fiction, I wanted to give them space to shine, not just as mascots, but as emotional co-survivors. Their presence in Ari’s journey is my way of writing my own survival, too. Of recognizing what I turn to when the noise gets too loud. Of honoring the animals who’ve carried me through the worst… sometimes just by curling up beside me.
Even now, as I write about Atlas, Freya, and Bastet, my own pets are scattered around me, anchoring me to this moment, this story, this truth: that in our darkest hours, it's often the simplest connections that save us. A wet nose against our hand. A purr in the darkness. A loyal presence that asks nothing but offers everything. These aren't just companions we keep alive — they're the ones keeping our humanity alive, one heartbeat at a time.
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To read the backstory to why I’m writing this series:
To read the backstory on why I’m serializing “The Archive,”:
I recently read the brilliant If Cats Disappeared from the World by Genki Kawamura (translated by Eric Selland) and this theme is echoed throughout, though his protagonist and my Ari are facing very different dilemmas. In the story, the protagonist is given a choice — make cats disappear from the world in exchange for another day of life.
Additionally, one of my favorite examples of this deeply profound relationship to pets is captured in A Quiet Place: Day One. I can’t re-watch that movie without feeling every ounce of concern and love for Frodo.
Gold, Jade. 👍