Once there was enough daylight, I began making breakfast. I had worried that the amount of water I had boiled through the night and for previous meals might have emptied my bottle, but I managed to have enough left to boil water for breakfast. I reached into a special reserve pocket of my backpack and retrieved some instant coffee. Eating curry chicken for breakfast, accompanied by a hot cup of coffee, wasn't my first choice, but it hit the spot and helped me stop shivering.

  My poncho did a decent job of keeping the rain off, but the damp clothing underneath still sapped my body heat. I had heard that you lose heat 20 times faster in wet clothes compared to dry ones, and now I truly understood what that meant.

  It was time to tackle the last of the bolts and try to pry up the sheet so that I could get into the utility station below. I knew this last bolt would be a challenge, as I couldn't manage it last night.

  I had come up with a plan during the night while I was shaking and freezing. I had dismantled my walking pole and stripped out the locking mechanism so that the two parts would slide apart. Basically, I now had a long, hollow aluminum tube with a handle. Knowing how weak it would be, I had the idea of hammering in tent pegs to reinforce the hollow center.

  Each peg became more difficult to hammer in, and after the third peg, I knew I would probably destroy it if I tried to add any more. But this was somewhat fortunate because I now had half a tent peg sticking out of the pry bar, which I could use to hammer under the sheets. I was excited to give it a try.

  The new pry bar worked even better than I expected. With the two other pegs, I was able to knock that last screw out. I used the pry bar and my knife to try to remove all the glue. With an incredible amount of effort, which I was thankful for, as I started to warm up. As the weather was still drizzly, I noticed that the shirts and pants I was wearing were starting to dry from my body heat. After maybe about two hours of prying and cutting, and once I thought I had dislodged the bottom edge of the plate, I was careful not to be too rash with my improvised lever and pry bar, knowing how fragile aluminum really is.

  Cylinders, like my makeshift pry bar, are strong when force is applied along their length (compressive force) because the shape distributes the force evenly along the cylinder's axis. This makes it resistant to bending or buckling under such pressure. However, when force is applied to the sides (lateral force), the cylinder is weaker because the shape can more easily deform, and the material can buckle or bend under this kind of load. It's kind of like a pop can: they are very strong, and you can basically stand on them, but if they get any damage, ding, or dent while you're standing on them with that much force, they instantly crumple.

  With all the screws removed from the edge running along the eave of the roof, I needed to start tackling the purlins that went up the slope towards the ridge. This was a lot more difficult because the further back the screw was, the more difficult it became. I managed to start in the corner of the sheet at the midpoint of the roof panel, as I could approach this from the side. My method worked well, and I was able to remove about five screws.

  However, when I moved to the next purlin, the sheer weight of the panel and the difficulty of prying made it impossible to remove even the second screw, no matter how hard I tried. Since the steel purlins were spaced about 16 inches apart, there was no way to lift the sheet enough to slide it out without probably removing three rows of screws.

  I tried using the plier ends of the multitool to grasp the hex bolts of the screws and twist as hard as I could, but they would always just slip off. I couldn't get enough force and turn, and eventually, I ended up with a very stripped, ugly round nub.

  Next, I had the idea of using the saw blade, laying it down flat, and trying to saw the screw head off. Unfortunately, the stronger screw material won out over the blade, as it was probably designed to cut wood and not steel screws. If only I had a chisel and a hammer, I could just whack them off quite easily.

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  I tried using my knife and hammering it with the Leatherman's hammer end, but there wasn't enough grip or weight. I needed something heavier. After struggling and using it on the screw that I damaged with the saw, I managed to make enough progress that it was probably loosened. What I really needed was something heavy, like a rock.

  The rain was intermittent as I worked, so I decided it was time to take a break, get some water, and maybe fill up on some trail mix. Now that I knew I needed something heavy, I started to look more closely into the fenced area.

  At the far end of the corner of that fenced area, I spotted something that could be a baseball-sized rock. I couldn't really tell from this distance, but it seemed like my best option. I considered my choices: was it worth going down into that area to retrieve the potential rock, or should I continue to struggle with the limited tools and methods I had been using?

  I grabbed the pry bar, now shorter and sturdier than my previous makeshift spear. Peering down at the fenced area, I assessed the safest route for my descent. At the back of the building, there was a gap of three and a half feet between it and the retaining wall, which rose about six feet and then was topped with fencing that extended another three feet above the roof. This area offered some strategic advantages over the side exposed to the zombies. The exposed corner had two sturdy-looking fence posts and only a three-foot section of chain link, which would certainly hold well but also posed a risk with too many reaching hands potentially stirring up the mob. Instead, I opted for a middle path down the back wall. My plan was to climb down the chain link, spread my legs wide on both sides of the wall, and slide down as much as possible. If sliding proved too difficult, I was prepared to hang from the bottom of the wall and drop the remaining few feet to the ground, although getting back up would present its own challenges.

  It worked surprisingly well, even with wet shoes. I was able to grip the wall effectively, slowing my descent significantly. I took periodic breaks to ensure I wasn't causing too much commotion that could alert the zombies. They could see me through the corridor, and any noise might provoke them to push hard against the fence. However, as I mentioned, it was quite solid. I peeked around to the other side of the building where the fence gate was located to make sure there was no commotion there, as I was aware they could potentially break through if riled up. I contemplated taking out a few zombies that were pressed against the smaller section of the fence with my spear, but I concluded that it would be like a drop in the ocean—unlikely to make a significant difference and not worth the risk.

  Nearby, there was an electrical substation box or something similar, about six feet from the wall, approximately six feet tall and spanning seven or eight feet wide, forming a square shape. This provided a potential hiding spot. I could sprint to it, crouch down, and use it as cover before making a dash for the rock, or I could simply run straight for the rock and then back without taking cover. I found myself hesitating, caught in a bout of indecision. After weighing the risks, I concluded that minimizing the time I was exposed was the safest strategy. Bracing myself, I prepared to make a straight dash for the rock, hoping to grab it and return as swiftly as possible.

  I dashed for the rock, the sound of excited zombies echoing behind me, their frenzy evident in the shuddering of the fence. Without a glance back, I sprinted to where the rock lay, snatched it up, and swiftly turned around. As I reached the crest of the fence, I headed for the electrical station breaker box, seeking cover from the impending chaos. A loud snap reverberated through the air as the gate buckled under the strain.

  In the heat of the moment, my focus was solely on reaching the rock, my mind consumed by the urgency of escape. Yet, as I clutched the cold stone in my hand, a sudden realization struck me—I hadn't thought about what to do with it. With both hands needed to scale the retaining wall, tossing the rock onto the roof was risky; its round shape could cause it to roll off. However, with the weight I'd lost, there was just enough space to tuck it into my pants and secure it in my underwear. The chill of the rock against my skin served as a jarring reminder of the urgency of my situation.

  As I scrambled up the wall, my foot slipped on the first attempt, but with determination, I pressed both hands firmly against the surface and made progress. By the time the first zombie appeared around the corner, I had reached the height of the chain link. A striking woman with fiery red hair leaped towards me, aiming for my groin, but I was relieved to be out of reach of her hand.

  I ascended the rest of the wall at a more measured pace, the adrenaline of the escape now ebbing away. The rock pressed against me, its cold bite a sharp contrast to the urgency that had propelled me moments before. It was a close call, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. Reaching the safety of the roof, I took a moment to catch my breath and reflect on the narrow escape. The daring