Food For Thought

Okay.

Cities. What are they? How do we define them? Really, that's not as important a question as "How do they work?" I'm sure we can make all sorts of analogies and metaphors to discuss the aesthetics or mechanics of a city. In fact, I'm so sure we can do this that I'll do it myself. A city is like a machine; it has many interlocking parts, it does things, it hums and bustles etc.
Actually the only reason I made that analogy is so I can point out something very important: machines break down.

Yes, for all their vaunted economic might, cities are incredibly fragile mechanisms, relying on a number of important factors to keep humming along. If any of these city-sustaining qualities is thrown out of whack, expect the whole contraption to just grind to a halt (imagine smoke, gears and springs shooting out).

Cities rely on a consistent work force to manage it and major supply lines feeding it. The first is obvious; without constant monitoring and effort on the part of specialized workers, we have no electricity, mass transit, or law enforcement. We'll come back to that later.
The second factor is actually more pressing. Here's the bottom line: Cities do not produce anything. No food comes out of NYC with the exception of specialty chocolates, which are apparently one of our major exports (who knew?) and even those are produced using raw materials imported from outside New York. We have no fields or livestock, and most city dwellers wouldn't even know what to do with a hoe except make the unavoidable pun.
Without a significant workforce dedicated entirely to the transportation of foodstuffs into the city, we would all starve to death.
Fortunately, New York is one of the few cities in the USA that uses no filtration system for its water. That's right, there is no water treatment plant for NYC. This is awesome for a zombie apocalypse. Assuming your building is topped by one of New York City's ubiquitous water towers (required for any building six stories and taller), even without power you should have at least a days worth of good clean drinking water if everyone in the building is using it at the same time. If it's just you (because all your neighbors are now swelling the ranks of the undead horde), you could have weeks of fresh clean water, with enough pressure to take a (cold) shower.

So what's a New Yorker faced with a millions strong zombie menace to do? Obviously, being in a city is not the ideal; when the zompocalypse strikes one of the first things to go will be our supply lines, thus no food. How can you get around this huge hurdle?
One word. Stockpile. You won't want to be one of the unlucky bastards stuck looting a Gristede's™ or crushing former passive-aggressive rivals underfoot down at the food co-op trying to snag that last can of beans for your anti-zombie apartment bunker. Instead, make sure you have a decent supply of canned and dry goods in your house so you can let some of the wacky looting fun die down a bit before you scavenge. We'll talk about urban foraging later.
As for water, like in the event of a potential natural disaster, fill lots of containers with water at the first available moment. Fill your bathtub. Stop up all sinks and fill those bastards too.

The city may be a death trap when the walking dead come to town, but that death doesn't have to be one of slow starvation or (significantly faster) dehydration.

I know we touched on some other topics here, like a dedicated work force, electric power supply, and looting, but I think we'll save those for another time.

As a last thought, if you're into the whole fortification deal, search around for the concept of Green Roofs. If your building is defensible otherwise, and you're planning on digging in and sticking to your guns, then find out if your roof infrastructure could support a green roof; having a garden available to you on the secure roof of a ten story building could mean the difference between life, death, and undeath.

- Shamble On -