As evening descended, I huddled in my sleeping bag, my mind racing with thoughts of escape. The chaos below had died down somewhat, but the zombies remained, I knew I could not stay on the roof forever. Supplies were limited, and my sanity was hanging by a thread. I needed a new plan, something that would get me off this roof and away from the horde.
The noises and commotion concerned me. I could only imagine what could make those sounds and the craziness that was happening. The only thing that came to mind was a pack of wild animals. I was scared to look over the edge and get out of my sleeping bag, but the thought of not knowing what was happening and spending the night in ignorance was worse. With sore and stiff legs, I crawled over to the edge and peeked over. It looked like two gallons of red back paint had been splashed everywhere. The smell struck me like a punch to the gut, and I quickly fled back to my sleeping bag, vowing never to end up in one of those feeding frenzies. I noticed most of the zombies were now covered in gore. However, I did see that Patricia still remained clean, which lightened my heart a bit and gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, she was still somewhat in there.
Despite my uncertainty, I decided it was time to break my fast. I wasn't sure if eating the dehydrated food was smart, as it was high in sodium and could dehydrate me further. It also required two cups of water to prepare. But my stomach was unsettled, and I thought a hot meal might help. I set up my stove and boiled some water to pour into the dehydrated meals. The thought of a hot meal helping me sleep through the night and keeping me warm as it digested brought a semblance of routine and normality that eased my mind. I knew I had some melatonin tablets in my miscellaneous pill bottle, and while the water was boiling, I took them. I walked over to my pants, which were sun-drying, and put them on. I sat at the peak of the roof, wearing one shoe, and ate a Mountain House lasagna dinner, thinking about the end of the world.
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As I ate, I couldn't help but remember having daydreams about how cool it would have been to be in a zombie apocalypse. Kicking ass and taking names. Loading up your AR-15 and mowing them down like tenpins. Never having to worry about a Monday morning meeting. But as the reality of this struck in—being treed up on a utility building with my girlfriend and the love of my life chasing me—I realized how stupid and boyish those thoughts were.
I finished my meal and made sure I got every morsel of nutrition and moisture from the inside of that package. Next, I drank a few sips of water and realized that I hadn't needed to piss for the whole day, which somewhat concerned me. I needed to come up with a plan to get rid of the zombies and to get off this fucking roof, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. After putting my spoon away and folding up the garbage and putting it in the side pouch of my rucksack, I crawled back into my sleeping bag.
I slept only as you would imagine someone on a hard tin roof, surrounded by real nightmares would, and woke up or realized it was starting to become twilight.
