DAY 14:

The solar panels are connected to each other in a series. At least that's what I determined after a few hours standing on the roof under the burning sun. Each panel is connected to each other by one thick wire, making a complete circuit without parallel connections. One wire then disappears down over the side of the roof to what I can only assume is some sort of electrical meter.

So, they are like Christmas lights. If one connection is loose, then the whole thing goes dark.

Clara loved Christmas decorations. When she was little she got such a kick out of just driving around different neighborhoods to see what people put up. There was one block that was notorious for their holiday spirit. One house even had lights that twinkled to the beat of Christmas jingles.

When she was a little older–6? 7?–we started to decorate our own house over the top. Bought some blow-ups to put in the front yard and strings upon strings of lights. I'd hang them from the gutters, make a design on the roof, and cover the squat shrubbery that stood in front of our house.

Nothing was more annoying than a string of lights going dark after everything was all set up. I'd go crazy jiggling wires and replacing dead bulbs.

At least then I sort of knew what I was doing. This? This is a whole other level. I'm a little league player trying out for the MLB. The basic principles might be the same, but I'm in a much larger ballpark.

There's rust built up on some of the connections, but if my Christmas light theory is correct, then what I need to focus my efforts on repairing is one wire that has been completely torn away. I think I can repair it if I have some copper wire, wire cutters, pliers, and electrical tape.

That is of course, if the problem is with the panels and not with the transmitter or converter or whatever connects the panels to the fuse box.

What I don't know is, what will happen if I actually correctly connect the wires? Am I going to fucking electricute myself? Do I need special gloves or something? Special tools?

I found the fuse box, but I'm pretty sure that only turns off the electricity inside the house. It doesn't turn off the sun.

Speaking of the sun... how do solar panels work when it's dark outside? Like, are there batteries somewhere that get charged and then last through the night?

Modern technology might as well be magic. I know it's real because I've seen it work, but the next generation? Any soul ill-fated enough to be born into this world? Will they ever believe their parents' stories about television and smartphones? Or will that sound as far-fetched as witch's brew and unicorns?

DAY 15:

Before he became a zombie, Jack had one of those tool cabinets in the shed. Not just some run-of-the-mill tool box like I used to have. No, he had an honest-to-God tool cabinet with all sorts of pull out drawers. He had all sorts of ratchets and saws and pliers. Stuff I can only imagine the use for.

But you know what he doesn't have? Electrical tape or copper wire.

The wire isn't the problem. I could strip that from any chord, really. (At least, I imagine so.)

Actually, the tape probably isn't a problem either. There's always a work around for these types of things.

What I really would like are some rubber-coated work gloves. The kind that–I think–will keep me from electrocuting myself if I actually connect the wires in a way that creates electricity.

Is that worth a scavenging trip for?

I could think of some other useful things to have:

Barbed wire to put around the perimeter.

A deadbolt for the door so I can lock up when I leave.

Batteries, because, well, I sort of doubt my plan will work and I would like some light at night.

Weapons. Anything. I can be creative.

A bike helmet to use as armor.

Packets of seeds to restart the garden. Maybe a book on how to garden.

I finally have a safe haven, but it's logical that I want to make it more secure. To improve what I've found. Right? I can't just sit pretty and slowly eat away all the rations, can I? That would be irrational. Like slowly driving toward the edge of a cliff in a car without brakes.

Leaving to go on a scavenging run is the rational choice.

It's not that I'm stir-crazy.

I'll secure the door when I leave. Take some provisions with me. If I leave early in the morning then I can make it down the road and back before nightfall.

Remember when a trip to the store was no big deal? Just hop in the car and go? Seems so long ago, yet in reality, it's only been around two years. Two trips around the sun. Half the time I spent in high school. Only 1/20th of my whole life. A fucking blink of an eye. Yet sometimes I feel the pang of nostalgia as deep as my eighty-something-year-old grandfather reminiscing about the days when men were men and women were women.

If I was born male–assigned male at birth, rather–would I feel more confident about fixing things? Working with my hands? Does the patriarchy live on, even though almost everyone is dead?

DAY 16

This was a mistake.

What was I thinking?

This morning I filled a canteen with water and threw some food into my pack. Two protein bars, a pouch of tuna, and a partially-filled canister of peanuts. I put on my heavy boots, sturdy jeans, and a light windbreaker. I slipped the knife into my boot and took along the fire poker. Then I walked around the cabin, ensuring all the windows were locked, and I closed the door tight behind me. I don't have a key, so for added security from animals or the undead, I dragged the porch bench over to block direct access to the front door. A human intruder could easily break in, but that's a risk I had to take.

As I left, the air was thick with the scent of lilies. Funeral flowers, my mother called them. The heat was already oppressive, even as the sun had barely peaked above the horizon. Both were bad signs that I ignored as I blissfully made my way back down the long driveway, sticking to the shadows of the tall trees.

I saw the first roamer as I turned out of the driveway. One foot was dragging and its cheeks decayed away, exposing snapping yellow teeth. It snarled at me, but was easily evaded.

There were more roamers as I made it to a wider road. More than I've seen in a long time. A dozen, at least. Their raspy-throated growls–some more like a high-pitched whistle, others low and gravely–seemed to harmonize on the wind. I picked up my pace and tried to ditch them, but some of the walking corpses were rather fresh, their muscles less-decayed, and they were able to pick up a brisk pace.

My lungs burned. My spit was thick in my mouth. My brow was beaded with sweat. But I made it to the small hardware store that I remembered seeing. The front door was open, swaying in the light mid-morning breeze. I rushed in and slammed it shut.

That was a mistake.

As soon as the door was shut, closing out the sounds of the monsters behind me, I heard the rustling of the monsters now trapped inside with me.

This time I got lucky, though. Or maybe with Jack and Jill's kill under my belt, I'm just getting better at it. Because I killed the first one in one smooth swipe, grabbing the knife from my boot and swinging it at its eye. I side-stepped as it went down, taking my knife with it.

I was able to grab my poker before the next two got close. It wasn't as easy to put the other two corpses down as the first. But the deed is done.

But now I'm stuck in here. In a hardware store that has already been combed over by countless hoarders and scavengers. Stuck in here with three dead decaying rotters and no easy way out.

Stuck in here because there is a fucking herd of walkers banging on the glass-plated front door.

Not sure what to do, except lock myself in the staff bathroom for the night.

At least I found some work gloves that might keep me from frying myself to death. If I ever make it back to the cabin, that is.

DAY 17

I refuse to feel guilty.

This is mine.

The cabin. The food. The electricity that I am about to fix.

All mine.

My life is no less valuable than anyone else's. I was lucky that the roamers had disappeared in the night and it was easy enough to get out of the hardware store. Nothing else was going to stop me from getting back to the cabin.

So when she stepped from the shadows, eyes downcast, a little boy at her feet and a baby on her hip, I ran.

Run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the ginger beard man!

And she didn't catch me. No one did. No one alive or dead. I made it back to the cabin in one piece and everything was exactly how I left it.

Besides, what chance does she have to survive? Nevermind those kids? Sallow-cheeked and developmentally stunted from malnutrition? It would be a waste of resources. I, on the other hand, am earning my keep... by keeping what I earn.

It's late now. I'm going to sleep.

I refuse to feel guilty.

DAY 18:

I dreamt of Clara. Janie was there too. It's been weeks since I've remembered one of my dreams. If this was a dream journal, your pages would be very blank. But not this morning.

It was about the day that Matt sent us away. The bastard. Supposed to be family. But guess we weren't family enough for him when push came to shove.

In my dream we were getting into our car. Our 2015 Toyota Rav4, the silver bordering on gray. Clara was crying that her seatbelt was too tight. I was telling her we had to go. Had to run. Had to find somewhere safe. But she wouldn't let me close the door and kept kicking at me. There was a roamer coming towards us and I could feel this build up of panic. Then, suddenly, Janie was driving away. I hadn't even noticed her before. But the car was leaving. And I was running. And then I woke up, cold sweat pasting my shirt to my skin.

Do you think this was because I ran from the mother?

I still refuse to feel guilty about my decision to run. It was the right choice for myself. People only think about themselves these days. Matt only thought about himself. That's why Clara and Janie are where they are, and not here with me.

It's not my fault that woman was out there by herself with two little ones.

They were probably bait. A trap.

Gangs do that, you know. They'll steal from people dumb enough to let their guard down. That's why I stay away from groups.

Are there power in numbers? Sure? But there is only comfort if you are in charge. I'm fine being in charge of myself.

Fuck this.

Thinking about this is a waste of time.

I'm taking what I found at the hardware store and I'm going to go fix those solar panels, and hopefully not electrocute myself in the process.

Day 19:

LET THERE BE LIGHT! Not to be too punny, but I feel so powerful! I've harnessed the sun! And, halle-fucking-lujah, I have running water. I can shit in a toilet and then flush it down! Sure, I don't have toilet paper to wipe my ass, but now I can pretend to be European and clean myself with water. Better than leaves. And very civilized, indeed.

I just need to figure out a sustained way of getting fresh food and there'll never be any reason to leave again.

Today's goal: figure out how to plant a garden.

DAY 20:

This is so stupid, I don't even want to admit it. But I keep having this thought. It's itching at the folds of my brain. Working its way into my consciousness like a splinter. I am so pissed. Irrationally so. But I keep thinking–and I don't want to admit this, even to you–but I really regret throwing away my cell phone. Using it as a distraction. If I had it still... Well, I now have working electricity. There are several chargers around the cabin. I would be able to look through my old pictures. See my old life.

Maybe that would be torture. But it would be worth it.

I had another dream last night. This time it was the mother with the two children who were in my dream. But then the mother's face became Janie's. But she wasn't Janie, it was still just that stranger. You know how dreams are. Weird. And I kept staring at her face, but even though I knew it was Janie's, it wouldn't stay in focus. It was fading away.

Even now, when I close my eyes, I'm losing the details.

All over the walls of this cabin is evidence of Jack and Jill's life. Framed photographs hang along the hallway. Their relatives. Their vacations. Their special moments. But I don't want their memories. I want mine.

I know that phone is long gone. Threw it as a distraction when I was cornered outside a grocery store. A Stop and Shop, I think. At least two towns over and several months ago. Even if it was still there where it fell, it's likely the screen cracked when it landed on the hard asphalt. And then there's been plenty of days of hard rain. It was probably water damaged or swept away down a storm drain. It's not worth thinking about.

Yet, I can't help it. What would I do to see their faces again?