DAY 32

The birds were out of control today. Their chirps and whistles were so loud that they woke me up. But I'm not complaining; it was a beautiful morning. Sunlight poured in through the top half of the bedroom window, dust motes danced in the air, and there was a cardinal–bright and red–perched on a branch right where I could see him.

I actually woke up with a smile on my lips. I have no regrets about risking my life for that phone. Seeing Janie and Clara's faces, it didn't make me sad or full of loss and mourning. Just the opposite. It reminded me what I have to live for. Their love still lives in my heart. Still drives me forward. Animates me. Motivates me. Every day that I survive, their memory lives on too.

So, it was with that purpose that I marched outside the cabin today. I reset my rabbit traps using a mixture of crackers and dried fruit as bait, thinking that a bit of sweetness might do the trick. Though, I must admit, I'm not sure I'll have the heart to kill Mr. Bugs Bunny even if I do manage to catch him.

Then, I took a dog-eared field guide, which I'd found along with the survivalist notebook on the cabin's bookshelf, and I went looking for edible plants. Turns out there are quite a few around here. I'm not sure if Jack and Jill were so foresighted that they cultivated wild edible plants in the area just in case society fell and their hordes of supplies needed supplementing, or if nature really is just that bountiful. Either way, I am grateful.

(Especially for those dog-ears. Because of them I'm confident that I actually identified the plants I found correctly.)

Along the creek I found some groundnuts, which had long drooping pea pods ready to be picked and boiled. Around a maple tree I found some Indian cucumber and a dark-berry covered hobblebrush. I pulled up a few of the Indian cucumber plants by the root, like the book directed, and I'm just going to have to trust that the dirt-covered tubers taste like jicama. I think I also identified hickory trees and elderberry bushes, but the hickory nuts didn't seem ripe yet, and neither was the elderberry.

I wonder if I could eventually make elderberry wine. That might not be a bad idea... Some nights I could use a stiff drink.

A few times I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned my head there was nothing there. Probably just those same overactive birds that woke me up this morning.

Anyway, I think I gathered enough food today that I won't need to use anything from the pantry today. Tomorrow I'll let you know how things taste. I may be an old dog, but maybe I can learn some new tricks!

Things are coming together. I hope I don't jinx myself by feeling too optimistic.

DAY 33 (MORNING)

Schizophrenia doesn't run in my family. I've never been someone who you would describe as "anxious." The only time I've ever been super paranoid is when I bought some sketchy bag of weed off of a tweaker who I barely knew back in college and then I spent the entire night with one eye staring through the crack in my curtains convinced the cops were going to show up any minute.

I definitely didn't smoke any weed this morning. (Although, to be fair, who knows if I really know what berries I picked. Is it possible I ate something with hallucinative properties? By the way, while I'm on the topic, the tubers did taste a bit like jicama and the berries were devine. Groundnut wasn't my favorite, but beggars can't be choosers.)

The point is, something funky is going on.

It rained last night. A late summer thunderstorm that rolled in as quickly as it rolled out. Rivers of rain flowed over the gutters and down the windows as white streaks zigzagged across a purple sky. I watched the light show with fascination, choosing to observe nature's performance rather than read a book or scroll through more memories on my revived phone.

Several times when the night sky lit up with shards of electricity, I thought I saw a humanoid figure lurking by the edge of the lawn-turned-meadow.

"Was it a zombie?" you ask.

That's what I thought at first. But the dead aren't bothered by rain. They don't seek shelter from it. So, why would some rotter remain hidden under the branches, lingering at the edge of the forest?

Then, this morning, I opened the door to investigate, and I found fresh footprints in the muddy path leading to the cabin and continuing up the stairs. They weren't the dragging limping tracks of a roamer, and I feel like I would have heard it banging on my door and on my windows if a zombie had made it up to the front porch. And they weren't my footprints left over from a previous excursion. The shoe imprints had the wrong treads.

So, that begs the question: Do I have a stalker? Someone spying on me? Watching me sleep? Maybe staking out the cabin to see what defenses I have in place, or what weapons I'm carrying? Because, let me tell you, beyond a deadbolt on the door and a knife in my boot, I don't have any. And, while I've been building up my zombie-killing resume, I'm not sure how good I'd be against a living person.

Shit, I haven't even killed a rabbit yet.

If there really is a person who's followed me back here and is planning an attack, a robbery, an invasion, some sort of hostile takeover, well... I'm screwed.

DAY 33 (AFTERNOON)

I've been stewing all day. Pacing. Feeling trapped. I finally start to feel settled, and that has morphed into feeling like a caged animal.

When I go outside I am defenseless. Exposed. Not just to the wilderness, the elements, or the walking dead, but to whatever rogue and deranged humans might be out there. People who want what I have. To take what is mine by rights.

I FINALLY feel safe. FINALLY. Me, someone who was never meant for this world. An innocent. Not a killer. Fucking hell, I can barely kill zombies and I'm not a hunter.

This place is my sanctuary and someone wants to take it from me. Just like how Janie and Clara were taken from me.

Matt screwed us over and he was my brother-in-law. Strangers I have met on the road and tried to make alliances with–like that asshole Mark–all they do is strip me of what I have.

But not this. This is mine.

     I ran from the mother who held her children close.

          I ran from the teen who just wanted to boast.

               I ran from the singer, with so many songs.

                    They held my attention, but not for too long.

                         I ran from the zombies, woman and man.

                              If they can't catch me, then nobody can!

     Run, run, as fast as you can! 

          You can't catch me...

               I'm the ginger beard man!

BUT I DON'T WANT TO RUN THIS TIME.

I always run. And always get away. I don't fight. But how can I keep this place if I don't fight? Don't literally stand my ground?

I need a plan B. I need a way to run, but also hold on to all this.

This... this... this is the quandary that I must sleep on tonight.

DAY 34 (MORNING)

It's the morning after and I have my Plan B. My emergency escape route: I must hide a stash somewhere.

Don't keep all your eggs in one basket.

This is a basic investment strategy. Spread the wealth.

I wish I could set up running water and electricity at several outposts, but the best I will be able to do is divide the pantry up.

Although, maybe I'll get so good at identifying plants and catching rabbits that I won't even need canned goods to survive. What's that saying? You can steal my possessions, but you will never be able to take my knowledge.

Day 34 (AFTERNOON)

One deposit successfully stored! I didn't go too far away because I was nervous about whoever might be watching me.

Before I left, I did a walk around the perimeter and didn't notice anything askew. I then went inside and turned on a movie, putting the volume up, praying that would trick my stalker into thinking I was inside.

Then I filled a nylon sack with canned goods and stuffed it in my bag and walked out, locking the door behind me.

I was probably gone for only just over an hour. I stayed off the path and made my way into the woods, towards the creek. I walked far enough that I couldn't see the cabin anymore, but remained close enough that the creek was still in view. I discovered a bit of a natural clearing with a large, distinctive oak on the edge. It had a broken branch that was low enough for me to hop onto with one foot and stand. I then took out the nylon bag and was able to secure it in the crook of two branches that made a V.

It felt strange leaving food out in the open, but hopefully it's well hidden enough that no one else will find it, yet also some place where it is easy enough to retrieve it if necessary.

This was a pretty small stash, though. I'll have to think about my strategy moving forward.

Now that I'm back in the cabin, back with running water and my cell phone charging in a working outlet, I feel good about my choice. Tomorrow I'll go stash another cache of food.

DAY 35 (MORNING)

I filled my pack with more food today. Instead of hiding it in a tree, maybe I should bury it somewhere. The cold of the ground might keep it fresher. Isn't that what a root cellar was? So, I put a wool sweater in the bag too, thinking I might use it to mark the burial place somehow. Along with my fire poker and knife, I'm also carrying a small spade.

And, instead of going somewhere close, I'm going to risk a bit of a longer trip. Maybe head back towards the convenience store. Someplace near shelter. A destination.

DAY 35 (AFTERNOON)

The spied on has become the spy.

I barely have enough light where I am hidden to see your pages, but if I don't try to write down what happened, and what I'm witnessing, then I'm afraid I'll forget something important.

After I locked up the cabin I hit the road, being super careful that no one was around. I didn't walk down the main driveway, but instead trudged through the underbrush and made a path through the woods, leading to the next road. Once I got to the road, I stayed to the edges, hoping not to draw the attention of anything: living or dead.

For the first mile or so things were uneventful. A couple corpses, but nothing I couldn't easily jog pass. But right when I was getting to the area I had in mind–an overgrown park about two city blocks away from where that hardware store is–things went south. That place must be cursed for me. Didn't I get trapped by a horde last time I ventured this way? How stupid am I? Because I came across another herd. Or maybe it was the same one. A pack of townspeople who now roam these streets in perpetuity.

So, I do what I always do. I ran. Heavy pack and all.

But I just couldn't shake the fuckers. Instead of ditching them, their numbers seemed to grow. I would run by some decrepit store and the growling noise of my pursuers would alert a few rotters hidden inside, and then they joined the chase.

I ditched town and was making it back into the woody hills, and of course, right when my lungs felt like they would burst and my shoulders ached like all seven hells, I ran into a blockade.

With all my zigging and zagging, I must have gotten turned around and found myself in an area that I haven't yet explored, because I'd never seen this pile of boulders before. They were at the base of a small cliff and they looked as if they had been placed there on purpose.

I didn't have time to think about that, though. In the moment, all that was occupying my mind was the growing number of growling groupies who were so very interested in meeting me up close and personal. So I did the only thing I could: I climbed.

As I got close to the cliff's edge I slowed down. Zombies are not very good rock climbers, so I had some time before they figured out how to get over the boulders. I slowly peered over the cliff edge and saw a large clearing with a raging bonfire.

Staying on the boulders, I made my way over to where the cliff was a bit higher. I found a bit of a shallow cave with some bushes as cover. And that's where I am now.

Not sure how long I've been crouched here, but my ass fell asleep awhile ago from how I'm sitting on this rock. And in that time, I've seen enough. There must be two dozen people living here. Almost all are women. Tall, like Amazons, with bows slung across their backs and firearms on their hips. I haven't seen the mother here, but I wouldn't be surprised if this is where she was from.

There is one woman who looks to be in charge. She came to sit in a portable camping chair by the fire and others kept coming up to her to talk. I can't hear what they are saying, nor can I see what's happening too clearly. But I've decided that she is the queen. And when I have the opportunity, I am going to run from her, too.