Chapter 9: The Cabin


Ugh. Never drinking again.

No, don't eat that. Stupid dog.

Let's ride on the bike and get some fresh air.

Dallas, let's split a Snickers. Oh wait. Sorry.


I need to up my motorcycle end times look. Like more leather and a mohawk.

Almost hit a turtle shell a few km back. It's like Mario Kart up here.


I hate when I can't find a bed by dark and I have to sleep on a sofa. #endoftheworldproblems

I hate when I have all the money in the world and I can't make a normal hamburger. #endoftheworldproblems


I wonder how many people died on their birthday.

Manitoba is gorgeous.

I hit something in the road and flipped the bike. I think my leg is broken. My dog is ok. I'm walking to the cabin that way --->

That took way too long to walk across the road and down a driveway. Leg is killing me. Dallas followed me unhelpfully optimistic.

Dammit, I can't walk or ride on this leg. The bike's smashed, anyway. I'm stuck.

I just walked into a summer home prepped for November. Just a couple cans of food and some stale cereal. And my can opener is by the bike.


I didn't sleep all night. My legs hurts so bad.

I'm starving. Gotta drag myself back to the wreck and get my smushed up food and tools.


I've got no medical dictionary, no google, no doctors. It could be a town just down the road or total wilderness. I've got nothing.

There's a 1940's Boy Scout handbook on the shelf. Give me something.

So I know all about poison ivy and bee stings now. Also I need to wrap my leg tight and never use it again.

Dallas, want some Wheaties?


Dallas and I are sharing some tuna. We're gonna have to learn to forage soon. On one leg.


The books here are old and sucky.


Already almost through the last of our food. Something's gotta happen soon.

It's make-your-own-crutch day at the cabin. God bless the Canadians for having hockey sticks laying around.

Two hockey sticks, some PVC, and some duck tape and I'm up to limping around.

You know, fetch isn't so bad when there's a breeze and there's plenty of land to run on. Dallas looks happy.

Dallas didn't freak out when I made a handicapped campfire. We're all making strides. Right before we starve alone.


No animals to hunt, so my last shot is just to start walking and see what I can find. Tomorrow.

May as well pack now. Sword and shotgun are superfluous, but I'll strap on my handgun. Multi-tool, can of beans, and water. Bare minimum.

Dallas is killing me at tic tac paw. And I'm really trying.

End of the world Clue: you'll need alcohol, gun, sword, etc. Get hammered and attack a scarecrow or something. Next day figure out how.


No more waiting, the death march starts now. Limping down a country road until I find food or die. Bye, cabin.

Been moving at 5 kph all day. Only saw one rotten piece of roadkill. Thought about starting a fire... for a second.

My armpits are raw from crutches and still no civilization- just hills. I need to crash for the night.


Sleeping on the ground only made things worse. My armpits are burning and my leg is killing me. Dallas is running and jumping like a dick.

Something in the way she barks. Annoys me like no other creature.

A miracle! A rusty old gas station with a snack machine! Can peanuts expire? Don't care!

Have never appreciated dry cheesy sandwich crackers so much.


There's a bicycle out back with a broken chain. If I can fix it, I can one-foot pedal/coast back to the cabin and get my stuff!

I'd better feed Dallas before she gnaws off my good leg.


Kick, push, kick, push, coast. Cause I broke my leg.

My bag is full of junk food, waters, smokes, and painkillers for my leg. It's heavy.


Home sweet cabin.


I guess I'm putting my foot up today.

I'll never know if Casablanca was any good.


Dallas keeps pawing at the door. It takes me ten minutes to get up. Go pee in the basement.


That dick Neil told me to break a leg back in the school play. This is all his fault. Fifteen years later- screw you, Neil.


It's pretty windy outside. If that sandstorm comes back, I'm screwed.


Sorry, pal, can't really take a walk with you. I'll tell you a story when you get back from pooping, though.

Told Dallas all about my childhood and my struggles as a youth. She kept getting distracted and leaving. Maybe she had it worse.


Man, I miss internet forums and YouTube commenters.

Live, Laugh, Loaf


Woke up in the middle of the night to a full moon. Some things will never change.

I don't know what's worse, the pain in my leg or days of boredom.

I think this place smells permanently like dog. I'll never be able to rent it.

Running out of food again. Might need to do an awkward one legged bike trip. Again.


Time to change the homemade bandage on my leg.

I wish someone was here, just to smell how rank my foot is.

Holy crap, my leg is purple.

I better not have to 127 hours my leg.


End of the world Simon. You'll need: a dog. Repeat whatever it barks, or something.


Kinda regretting my tattoo from The Crow. No one knows what that is anymore.

What's up, dog?


Ok, girl. Let's get out of here.

Can't carry everything on the bicycle with me. Not leaving my sweet sword, though. I'll make it work.

Sara- I'm heading down the highway west. Going to find food and somewhere to heal. I won't be hard to catch up to.


If I left behind my shotgun just to be trampled by a moose in mating season, I'll be pissed.


The worst thing about the middle of nowhere is no TP.

Oddly enough, riding an old bike with a broken leg for days is making me feel worse- not better.

Dallas keeps passing me and having to slow down. I get it.


I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Don't know if I ever did.

How do you cope, Dallas? Do you have a mother and a daughter somewhere that could be alive or dead?


I wish my Wilderness skill was high enough to find and harvest tobacco leaves, or an extract from the rare Red Bull plant.

I never actually got to see Knoxville.


SHADY VALLEY MOTOR LODGE Thank GOD. Let's get some continental.

A bed. Smelly, but a bed. A ratty recliner. I'm in heaven.

The sign outside said color tv, but this one is just black.

Wheat bagel? I'm asking you, dog. Take it. Take it. Get back here.

ICE water



This room has a radiator.

I miss milk with cereal.


Extreme Makeover: End of the World edition. Today we're going to be knocking out some walls, making some suites out of these single bedrooms

Dallas, I'll need you to start marking where to sledgehammer with some chalk. I'm on one leg here, so make yourself useful.

I'm clearly doing all the work here. It's like my dog doesn't care.

Guess I'll just make a mural on the back of the building.


It's been nine months since the world ended. Are these messages reaching anybody?


Am I a prophet now that I've written something on the wall of a Subway?


Welcome to the Motel Manitoba

What a freakin hole (What a freakin hole)

But my leg is swole (But my leg is swole)

Guess I'm stuck in the Motel Manitoba

For at least a year (For at least a year)

Wish I had some beer (Wish I had some beer)

These days all blur together as I stare at pastel pink floral wallpaper. If I wasn't marking a calendar, I'd be lost.


Used up the last Advil from the vending machine today. Whatever. I think I got used to them, cause my leg hasn't felt any better anyway.

My dog just dragged in a rabbit. Scrawny little half-dead, level one rabbit. Good on you, anyway.


I miss hot showers. Still not used to cold.

I hope Sara's kicking butt in some new society where they all respect her and she has access to free medical treatment.


I miss my apartment. My nice, post-Flash one. Not the one from my crappy old life.


Starting to realize I may not be able to walk for the rest of my life. Which could be three weeks if nothing changes.


What is the point of my life


I miss the U.S. of Apocalypse

September means it's starting to cool down. Maybe I can head south soon. Or could, if I could walk.


Whoever is playing me in the role playing game of life is definitely on a beer run. Nothing is happening to me.

Waiting for all the woodland creatures to come in and do the dishes and make the bed. Little mutant squirrels and zombie bluebirds.

Then seven radioactive midgets come back to find me sleeping in their place. Only they kill me on sight, because you can't trust strangers.

Or maybe I can walk through this mirror to an opposite world where no one died except for one person, who had it all together and was loved.

Any minute now the sandstorm will pick up my motel and drop me in the middle of a yellow brick strip with fully staffed restaurants.

I'll meet a surgeon, who'll fix my leg, a therapist to return my sanity, and a traveling folk singer who will fill that hole in me.

And I'll turn to my dog and say "We're not in Canada anymore."

But most likely my leg will get infected and spread to my heart.


My leg is almost looking a black color. I really don't think I could cut it off. I'd just die from that anyway.

Dallas, you better leave me. When I die, you'll have to start walking, anyway.

The greatest trick the Four Horsemen ever did was convincing the world it didn't exist.