Chapter Eight: The Refuge in Mount Isarog

The journey from Daraga to Naga felt like an eternity, each step accompanied by the persistent growls of my protesting stomach. "Ugh, I'm starving," I muttered, my childish complaints echoing through the empty surroundings. The world had become a desolate place, and my survival hinged on satisfying the most basic of needs.

My salvation came in the form of a small city in Naga, a place that promised respite from the hunger that gnawed at my insides. With a mix of desperation and resourcefulness, I found myself stealthily acquiring essentials—food, an axe, a bolo, nails, wood cutter saw, and rope.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," I reasoned, my voice carrying a hint of defiance. Survival was a relentless teacher, pushing me to bend the rules in the face of an unforgiving world.

Mount Isarog became my sanctuary—a place where the echoes of the undead seemed distant, and the solitude of the forest provided a veil of safety. Despite its challenges, the mountain offered a refuge, and I decided to build a tree house, a fortress in the treetops where the undead couldn't easily reach.

As I toiled day and night, the tree house began to take shape, a testament to my determination to carve out a life amidst the chaos. The sound of hammering and the rustle of leaves became a rhythm of survival.

"Four months of non-stop work," I mused, reflecting on the time and effort poured into this makeshift haven.

The crowning achievement was a rope bridge that stretched from my tree house to a nearby cave, a hidden passage leading down to the city below. Dangerous as it was to venture into the urban jungle, necessity spurred me into the danger zone, scavenging for supplies and fueling the construction of my sanctuary.

"City, cave, rope bridge, then my tree house," I recited the sequence, a mantra of survival etched into my mind.

With the completion of the tree house and the interconnected network of passages, I found a delicate balance between safety and necessity. From time to time, I descended from my perch in Mount Isarog to brave the dangers of the city, knowing that the risks were outweighed by the essential resources I could acquire.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, my once-desolate tree house became a symbol of resilience. I had created a haven.

I stood on the platform of my tree house, surveying the land around me, as a new idea sprouted in my mind—a water wheel to harness the power of the nearby stream and bring a hint of luxury to my humble abode.

"I need a steady source of water," I muttered, my eyes settling on the pristine flow of the stream near the base of Mount Isarog. The prospect of having running water in this desolate world ignited a spark of motivation.

The forest became my workshop. I scavenged for sturdy pieces of wood, forming the structure of a makeshift water wheel. "Nature, meet engineering," I chuckled to myself, as the pieces began to take shape under my hands.

With a sense of accomplishment, I secured the water wheel to the platform of my tree house, the creaking of the wooden structure a reassuring melody. But the challenge didn't end there. I needed pipes to channel the water, and the city, with its abandoned remnants, held the key to my next endeavor.

Venturing into the urban wasteland, I sought out the materials I needed. My heart raced as I pilfered pipes from deserted buildings, the echoes of my steps resonating through the silent streets. "I hope the undead don't mind a bit of resourceful scavenging," I quipped to myself, the weight of the stolen pipes a testament to my determination.

Back in the tree house, I began connecting the pipes from my newly crafted bathroom down to the stream. The sound of rushing water became a soothing symphony as the water wheel turned with a newfound purpose. I marveled at the resourcefulness that had led me to this point—a functional bathroom in the midst of a world unhinged.

"The Malabsay Falls are now my personal water source," I exclaimed, marveling at the cascade of water that flowed from the pipes. The clear stream transformed my makeshift bathroom into a sanctuary, a touch of comfort in the midst of chaos.

As I stood beneath the falling water, I felt a sense of accomplishment wash over me. The water wheel and stolen pipes had become symbols of resilience, a testament to the human ability to adapt and survive even in the most challenging of circumstances.

With a newfound luxury in my treetop haven, I looked out over the expanse of Mount Isarog, the sound of the water wheel a gentle reminder of my resourceful journey through a world that had lost its way. The forest embraced me, and the water flowed—a testament to the tenacity of one determined survivor in the face of an undead apocalypse.