Day Seven

It’s been a while since I updated my journal. Sorry about that to anyone who may read this in the future. There’s been a lot going on around here since I last updated so this may be a long one. The world-ending zombie apocalypse has now been here for three months. Truthfully, I didn’t think I’d survive these three months and probably wouldn’t have had Sam and Doc not agreed to help me.

We’d left the last camp we set up on the roof of that one place last month because too many zombies had started to gather around, and supplies were getting further and further away which meant more risk for us. We made a group decision to move closer to the city, but we still stayed on the outskirts near the wooded parts so fewer zombies would be around. Sam decided that we should build a treehouse and that’s what we did. It took a long time since we had to scavenge for the materials, find books that may have the knowledge we needed, and of course, find the tools that we were gonna need to make this happen. It’s been two months and we only just now fully finished that part but now we must worry about construction attracting zombies to our location.

Surprisingly, that’s where I now come in. Over the time we’ve been fleeing and scavenging, I’ve been practicing my shooting with both a handmade longbow and the rifle we’d found earlier. It's now my job to watch their backs as they build the treehouse that we all designed. The college textbooks we found on architecture and carpentry have been helpful so far. I offered to help but with my back, they told me not to, so I didn’t argue.

The downside to all that has happened is that the diet I need to follow is becoming harder to find. When people are starving, I guess even the gluten-free foods look appetizing. Especially the easy to carry snacks and the meds that I need for my lupus are also coming up harder to find. They’re not good for treating anything else so I don’t know why people have taken them, but I need to find some soon, the ninety-day supply that I had on me from before is nearly gone. I’ve been skipping doses to conserve the medicine as long as I can, but I don’t know what I’m going to do when I have none left. I’ll become so weak and frail that I won’t be useful to the group anymore and I’m sure they’ll get tired of helping me eventually. I’ve already heard them talking about me when I sleep, I don’t know about what, but I’m sure it’s about kicking me to the zombies.

It’s so hard to tell what day it is anymore. We think it would be a Friday, but even we don’t know anymore. Not like time matters much anymore. We don’t need it or keep track of it, we just watch the sunrise and fall to give way to the moon. That’s the way we tell time now. We saw some other survivors a few days ago, we traded some ammo for some antibiotics to gain their trust, but then Sam sent them in the direction of zombies. We watched them be torn apart before killing any walkers and scavenging the supplies. Doc didn’t like we did that, but he knew that we needed to. Helping people isn’t the way to go anymore and now we have more to worry about than a common cold. Survival is harsh and we do what we must.