DAY 27

When I was in college, I studied abroad in the Netherlands. One of the hardest parts was trying to think using the metric system. Sure there were several difficult things: being away from family and friends, riding my bike everywhere, navigating a city with unfamiliar street names. But I'd been mentally prepared for all that. The metric system, however, threw me for a loop. Like, I wasn't dumb, I knew that the whole world uses the metric system, but we don't here in America. And you don't realize how casually we talk in measurements until you are immersed in a country that uses ones you don't understand. Is a 40 kilometer per hour speed limit fast or slow? If I buy a kilogram of chicken, is that enough for dinner? If it's 30 degrees celsius outside, how am I supposed to dress? For an entire semester I had to recalibrate my brain.

Well, a similar recalibration process is required during the apocalypse.

When I walk through the woods, keeping an eye out for the walking dead, being careful about where I step so I don't trip on a tree root or slip on a loose rock, I cover only about 1-2 miles an hour. (That's around 3 kilometers an hour, if I remember correctly.) I can walk twice as fast on a paved surface, but there are also more dangers out in the open.

I've been studying the atlas that I found on the bookshelf, trying to get a better grasp of where I am and what is around me. God, I don't even remember the last time I had to use a paper atlas to navigate. Finding locations on a grid of letters and numbers, tracing my finger along the curved red lines of roads, trying to measure distance using scale. It makes me grateful that I learned how to drive in days before Google maps, back when everyone kept local maps in their glove compartments.

According to the atlas, the grocery store parking lot where I threw my phone is located about twelve miles away.

Somewhere twelve miles away, which once would have been only a half hour car ride each direction, is now a full-day trek that requires an overnight stay.

Jumping in a car to take an hour round-trip drive on a wild goose chase to find a dead and probably irreparably broken cell phone that was lost months and months ago would be a waste of time and resources. WALKING there would be just plain crazy.

Suicidal even.

But for some reason, that's not enough to stop me. I'm in the middle of packing my bag right now. I plan to leave first thing in the morning.

DAY 28 (MORNING)

I guess I haven't done a good job with sticking to my "savings account" plan. Along with a rolled up blanket and raincoat, I've put a few more protein bars, a fresh canister of cashews, and a bag of dried apricots in my backpack. The empty spaces in the pantry are only growing bigger and I'm barely closer to figuring out a sustainable source of food-income. I haven't planted a garden. I haven't caught a rabbit. But at least I know the location of an apple tree and have a working prototype for a rabbit trap.

Before I leave this morning, I am going to un-set my traps. Honestly, I'm not sure what's the best course of action: maybe if I left them up I'd come home to fresh meat. But, I might also come home to friggin' zombies gnawing on my catch, and that is a risk I'd rather not take. Not just because then I'd have to deal with the zombies, but also because it might draw unwanted attention to the property.

Yesterday was a productive day. I came up with a better system for how I'm going to lock up the cabin before I leave this morning. There was a deadbolt in the shed, in one of the tool cabinet drawers and it was the kind that doesn't need a key, just a 4-digit code. I moved the latch that was on the shed door to the front door and now I can secure it with the deadbolt. I also went around and boarded up the lowest windows with some scrap wooden boards that Jack kept around. Any thief who is determined enough will be able to break in, but this gives me some sense of security, particularly from non-living-human would-be invaders.

Ever since I ran into that mother, I've been wondering about how other people must live around here. I can only hope they don't know where I live. I'm not too worried because I haven't actually seen anyone around, but I know it's a risk leaving this cabin unoccupied for a night. Guess I just have to hope that it's hidden away enough not to be found. Jack and Jill had been zombified and holed up in this place for only God knows for how long without being discovered.

I just need to take advantage of my working indoor plumbing and use the restroom and then fill-up my canteen and I'll be grabbing my weapons, putting on my protective gear, and hitting the road.

DAY 28 (MIDDAY)

Fuck me.

Damn. Shit. Motherfucker.

Ok, let me catch my breath. I should be deep enough in the woods now that it's okay. I just need to get this out and clear my mind and then I will continue towards the Stop and Shop where I'm headed.

The bottom line is that I should have kept to the woods like I had originally planned. Staying in the shadows. Not tempting fate.

But it can be so frustrating making such ridiculously slow progress. Always watching your step, trying not to get snagged on thorns or whacked by a branch. And it's not just walking corpses you need to be on the lookout for in the woods. There are snakes and packs of abandoned dogs. Never mind the insects. There is a better chance that I'm going to die from lyme disease than a zombie bite.

So I took a risk and walked along the freeway.

It was an interstate. Beautiful four wide lanes in both directions. Flat. Wide open sky, unobstructed by trees. Sure there were some abandoned cars, a few growlers still strapped in the driver's seats, but nothing crazy.

At least not for the first few miles.

Then, I made it around a bend and saw a cast iron fort. Cars had been towed into two concentric circles so there were no gaps. I had an image of pioneers circling their wagons against an attack.

I'm so stupid. Why didn't I realize I needed to get off the road right that second? But I didn't. Maybe I was curious? Or I just didn't think of myself as the invading party? For whatever reason, I just kept marching forward. Until...

Suddenly a kid holding the biggest sword that I've ever seen outside of a museum display case jumped on the roof of one of the cars. (Actually, now that I think of it, he probably did steal it from a museum. Kind of smart.)

He was a teenager on the cusp of manhood. Tall, lanky, and the first wisps of a mustache shadowed his upper lip. He wore a torn and ragged t-shirt which showed off his dark lean muscles which were taut from holding up such an impressive weapon. "Stop!" he demanded, his voice husky with a slight nasal quality.

Reflexively, I froze, staring wide-eyed at his predatory stance.

"Listen, mister, I'm not going to hurt you," he continued. Although, isn't that what someone who was going to hurt you would say? To get you to put your guard down? "Look at me. Look at this killer sword. Meeting me is a reward! Let's join forces and work together!"

Then he jumped down towards me, keeping the sword raised, level to my face.

So I did the only thing I could do: I ran.

"Run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me. I'm the ginger beard man!" I taunted as I disappeared beyond the tree line, not sure if he was following or not. And I ran, blindly and without direction, until now.

I. Am. Lost. In. The. Woods.

And confused.

Like... he was just a kid. Was he a threat?

If he'd been white would I have run? The mother was white and I ran from her. I'm not a racist. Right? Just a wimp. Just an asshole.

I'm just... I just want to be alone. Is that too much to ask?

Ok, now that I've caught my breath, I better figure out where the fuck I am and–as my GPS would have said–recalculate my route.

DAY 28 (EVENING)

Thank God I can read a map. I was never a boy scout. A trans boy scout? That would've been something! But I do know my way around a paper map and although it's later than I had anticipated, I did make it.

There must be a few dozen rotters roaming around the Stop and Shop parking lot. Not sure what my plan is, but I'll figure something out in the morning. Right now I've hauled myself on top of a covered bus stop and I'm going to hope that the nice weather holds out. It's not like I can check the forecast on my phone.

My phone.

It's so close now. This is such a stupid and risky mission. I hope it pays off. All I want is to see my family's face one more time. Is that too much to ask?

DAY 29 (MORNING)

Question: How does a living thing get through a crowd of zombies?

Answer: It doesn't.

Only a zombie can get through a crowd of zombies without attracting attention. And that poses an even more interesting question: Why?

I'm not a scientist and I'm not sure how a zombie differentiates its prey from other zombies, but zombies can't have senses that are heightened beyond what a living human has. Can it? The virus that keeps a corpse's body going long after death only has access to the physiology of the host. So, a zombie can see movement. They can hear noises. They can feel warmth. And, they can smell what is rotting versus what is not.

To pretend to be a zombie, you need to take all your senses into consideration.

Except taste. If a zombie decides to taste you, well, you're done for already.

The only way I am going to even have a chance to look for my phone is to play zombie. And that is much easier said than done.

I woke up this morning with the sun, my neck stiff from laying on this God forsaken bus stop roof. A few zombies had noticed me in the night and were clawing at the metal sides of my refuge. I knew I wouldn't be able to sneak past them, and running past them would have gotten me much more attention than I wanted. So, after a protein bar breakfast, I killed them.

Killing them is getting easier.

It was pretty simple from where I was positioned. I laid flat on my belly, held the fire poker with two hands, and plunged it down through one skull at a time. It took some oomph to get the poker back out of each rotter's skull, but it wasn't more physically challenging than plunging a toilet. After about fifteen minutes there were five dead corpses sprawled around my raised campsite.

So, here comes the fun part.

I can limp along like a zombie and think that my growl is pretty convincing. The late summer heat will help mask my inherent warm-bloodedness when compared to their sun-soaked temperature. All that's left is my smell. And I've got five rotters at my disposal. If I'm going to have any hope of my plan workinging, I'm going to have to slather myself in their decay.

Good thing I know I'm returning home to a working shower and clean clothes.

I'm going to put you away now, dear journal. Don't want to smudge your pages with zombie-slime.