DAY 8:

Who knew that sardines in a can could taste so good? I certainly didn't. Sardines got a bad rap. They are delicious. Legitimately fucking delicious and I wish I had eaten them before all this went down.

I know: I'm in a cabin with comforts I've only been able to dream about for months, and it's the canned sardines that I'm fawning over. It's ridiculous. But as soon as I heard the tin tearing open, with just the right pop, a drop of the oil spitting forward to stain my cuff, my stomach let out the loudest grumble. Like it knew what was coming. A dog wagging its frenzied tail at the sound of scooping kibble.

The silvery scaled body of the sardine awoke some carnivorous reptile-part of my brain. I literally shuttered with delight as the salty umami of the fish danced across my tastebuds, exciting them. Arousing them. The smooth oil coating my lips, my teeth, my gums. When the last fish was gone I licked the can clean, lucky I didn't cut my tongue!

After eating the can I felt full for the first time in a loooooooong time.

More than full. I felt satisfied. Nourished.

Hunger has become my friend out here on the road. As reliable as my shadow on a sunny day. Sometimes my breath stinks with starvation, like my insides are digesting themselves. My gums feel raw, my heart beats are slow and stuttering. Honestly, the zombies are the least of my problems. I'll probably perish from scurvy or some other vitamin deficiency-induced disease that I've only ever read about in books.

The incredibly thin silver lining to nearly starving to death is that at least my fucking period never started back up, even after months and months of going without my testosterone prescription. At least there is one positive effect of all the stress of living during the apocalypse. (Why the fuck didn't I get a hysterectomy back when it was a possibility?)

There are so many things I never had to think about before. Vitamins are just one example. Like, my biggest worry used to be what I was eating too much of. Too many refined sugars. Too much trans fat. Too many artificial flavors. But even if all I did was eat shit processed foods, everything was enriched. And, feeling a sniffle coming on? Feeling low energy? Pop a multivitamin. No problem.

Jesus. The things that used to occupy my mind.

This cabin, though. I slept in a bed last night. A firm mattress with sheets that I found clean in a linen closet. I changed my outfit. Even found shoes that are a close fit. There are books on the shelves that I've never read and a complete deck of cards for solitaire. The only comforts lacking are running water and lights at night. I think the toilet would even flush if you manually filled the tank. Shitting on the comfort of a porcelain throne? That's a luxury that would make my head explode.

I'll explore more outside once I take care of Jack and Jill. They're circling the house, scratching at the windows and banging at the door. Now that I've rested and my stomach is full, my next job will be securing the perimeter.

DAY 9:

Jack and Jill walked 'round the house, their groans attracting more rotters.

Do you like it? Now that I have food to eat, my mind can concentrate on something other than hunger pains.

I've been watching the two of them from my window. Mindlessly stumbling in circles around the yard. They remind me of the cat videos my daughter used to watch on YouTube. Part of me wants to keep them around just for their entertainment value.

But that would be reckless.

Though, what else do I have to lose? The only life I'd be risking is my own. And what is that even worth these days? Not much, that's for sure.

Sometimes I'm not sure what the point is anymore. Without Janie and Clara...

Fuck.

I'm finally not on death's door, and that's where my mind goes? What the fuck is wrong with me?

Maybe I'll just watch Jack and Jill a little while longer. I think I saw some Jiffy Pop in the pantry. I can pretend that I'm sitting in a movie theater. Dinner and a show, what a concept.

DAY 10:

Fight or flight. Those are the options.

Or freeze. Sometimes you've got to freeze. Just, not when facing a zombie. You play dead with one of those bad boys and pretty soon you won't be playing. You'll just be dead.

To be honest, I'm more of a flighter than a fighter. Running, that's my jam. Run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the ginger beard man.

Has a nice ring to it? No?

When I was a young man I had a friend, Paul, who called me "George the Ginger." I hated it then, but he had a point. I wonder if he is still alive. Probably not. The better question is: is he dead and eaten, or dead and walking around?

But, I digress.

It's been three days since I found this cabin. I've been rationing the jugs of water and cans of soda, but I'm going to need to do a water run soon. I think I saw rain barrels under the waterspouts, and I heard the nearby creek before I found this place. If I haul in a few buckets, warm them on the wood stove, I could take a bath Maybe even figure out if I can get the toilet to flush.

So you know what that means:

It's time to kill
Jack and Jill

But how? That's the question. Killing zombies has never exactly been my area of expertise.

Right after the world went to shit, Janie and I decided to go to her sister's house to hunker down. She lived close by, and didn't seem like too much of a risk to drive the SUV down the road for a mile. My brother-in-law, Matt, was a hunter. Was handy. And we figured there was safety in numbers.

For a while it was true.

There is definitely a broader range of skill sets when you have numbers. But safety? No. When it comes right down to it, the only person worried about keeping you safe is you.

So, I've watched people kill zombies and make it look easy. I've taken care of a few myself, but never easily. Like I said: not my area of expertise.

Tomorrow I'll do it. Tomorrow.

DAY 11:

I'm still alive. That's something.

I took care of them this morning. It was messier than I expected. Although, I should have been prepared for the mess. It's just that my hands were shaking so bad. But I've taken a bath now and put on clean clothes. Had some tea and crackers to settle my stomach, so now I think I can finally tell you what happened.

The weather has been holding. No rain since the day I found this place. The ground is dry, the air humid, but not more than expected for this time of year. And I've had plenty of time to explore this little cabin. It's only three rooms, you know: the living space, the bedroom, and the bathroom. Though, the pantry is so large it could practically be considered a fourth room. It's quaint and well organized. I'm not sure how long Jack and Jill were trapped in here, but not long enough to make too bad of a mess or even to stink it up too bad. There are pictures of them from before. The frames are dust-covered and cracked, but it's clear that when they were alive they were a happy and adventurous couple. I'm not sure why I am telling you this, except to say that it was weird knowing who I was about to kill. Every other zombie I've had to deal with has just been an anonymous roamer. And here I am living off of these people's good preparations. Makes me wonder how people like this–survivalist out-doorsy types–got turned. But I'll never know. Neither of them kept a journal. I've looked.

Anyhow, not only did they not keep a journal, but they were also not big stockpilers of weapons. Canned food and bottled water? Yes. Guns and rifles? No. At least not inside the cabin. I haven't explored the shed yet. But, I guess it doesn't matter. It's not like I have any training in shooting a gun. I played enough Duck Hunt on my NES when I was a kid, but that's about the extent of my experience.

Matt had a gun, but he didn't share.

No projectile weapons meant I was going to have to get up close and personal. Not my favorite place to be with a zombie.

I put on a deer-skin coat that I found hanging up. Despite the heat, it would protect my skin from scratches or bites. I looked for a bike helmet or safety goggles, but no luck. That sort of stuff is probably in the yet-to-be-explored shed. For weapons, I chose a fire poker and I tucked a sheathed fish-filet knife into my boot. Then I took a deep breath and made my way outside.

They came running up as soon as I opened the door, like dogs hearing their owner's car pull into the driveway. So I did what I do best. I ran. When I got some distance I bent over and threw a stick, hoping to distract one. But no. They had my scent and weren't going to lose focus that easily. They're slow fuckers, but they are tenacious.

I knew I couldn't take them both at once, so I had to try and separate them somehow. I started to make bigger loops around the property, weaving between trees, hopping over exposed roots.

Finally, just as I thought I should go back inside and come up with a more concrete plan, Jill stumbled and fell. I planted my feet and let Jack approach. I held the fire poker up like a javelin and waited. One, two, three...

He swiped out at me and I lunged forward.

But the poker missed its mark and instead grazed past his ear, causing black gelatinous blood to drip down his neck like an oil leak on an old Chevy.

He kept moving forward, like a freight train, he barrelled me over and I went down hard, his weight pinning me to the hard earth.

Instinctively my left arm shot up, blocking his mouth from tearing open my face.

Time slowed, my body numbed. My right hand, still clutching the fire poker, swung up and stabbed him in the temple. My palm was slick with sweat, which loosened my grip, causing the poker to slide through my hand with the impact. But it was enough.

I lay there shocked, his now-still face resting on my chest, his teeth grazing against the suede covering my left arm. Thick, rotted blood seeped from his wound and covered my torso.

But I didn't have any time to recover because I could now hear the crunching of leaves and the low rattling growl of Jill.

Maybe, I thought, if I stayed still, my scent would be covered by Jack's corpse, which was leaking all its fluids all over me. That's a trick that sometimes works. I know I said you can't play dead when it comes to zombies, but the one exception is if you are covered with their stink.

Well, apparently I wasn't covered enough because before I knew it, she was on me. Teeth bared, jaw snapping.

Jack was heavy and slick with sloughing skin and oozing bile. I could barely move from under his dead weight. The smell crawled up my nose and I could barely get a breath in without gagging.

But somehow, some fucking miracle from a God who I know doesn't exist, I was able to wrench the poker from his skull and swing it at Jill's face. She stumbled back from the impact, half her face ruined, but she was still on the move. I only had seconds before she was back, but it was enough to slide half my body free. Jack's full weight was still on my left leg, but I had stashed the knife in my right boot.

I grabbed the knife, with its long thin blade, and held it up. Maybe it was because a knife is lighter in weight, or the handle designed for gripping, or maybe it was pure dumb luck, but when Jill lunged at me, even with my hand shaking and my mind feeling as thick as mud, the blade went cleanly through her eye, puncturing her brain and stilling her body. I could feel the tip hit the back of her skull, and as her head lolled forward, my arm couldn't hold her weight, and soon I was laying under two dead monstrosities.

The deed is done. I'm still alive. And that's something.

DAY 12:

A flushing toilet would be nice. Have I mentioned that?

So would electricity.

When I was outside I realized that there are solar panels on the roof. I wonder if there is a way to fix them.

I'm also pretty sure that this cabin is on well water and has a septic. I found some owner-manuals and handbooks and such when I was going through the meticulously organized files. Pretty sure if I can get the electricity working, that means I can get running water.

Running water means flushing toilets.

I should probably also set up some defenses around the perimeter. Make this place liveable for the long term. If I got the garden up and running again, and if I am really responsible with the rations, I just might be able to live in some sort of comfort for the foreseeable future.

Just got to keep this place to myself.

There's not enough to share.

DAY 13:

Pretty sure I can figure out how to fix the solar panels. Just a loose connection. The shed has a lot of neat stuff, but not what I need.

I think I saw a hardware store a mile or two down the road. Maybe tomorrow I'll make a trip.