The Lost Journal (A Secret Apocalypse Story) (5 page)

Because the testing site was so large, the majority of our forces would be deployed out there in the absolute middle of nowhere in five separate temporary bases. The area would also be patrolled by helicopters and predator drones.

Basically, our main objective will be to secure the quarantine around these two facilities and the town itself. Sounded easy enough. Sounded boring enough.

I must admit I kind of tuned out after a few minutes. I think they started talking about the virus, how they’ve tested on lab rats and rhesus monkeys, and how the only way to prevent a carrier from spreading the infection was to destroy certain areas of their brain. I know I should’ve been paying better attention but I couldn’t help it. I’m not sure if it was the heat, or the jet lag but I just couldn’t focus. And I couldn’t stop thinking about Rebecca.

This is going to sound weird. But deep down I think I’m a hopeless romantic. Actually, I know I’m a hopeless romantic. I was convinced it was fate that had brought me here. Fate had given me a chance to find her, to tell her that I was sorry, tell her how I feel.

The shrink said something about seeking forgiveness. Redemption.

Well, maybe this was my chance.

After the briefing we settled into our barracks.

On the one hand I still thought that it was a mistake to have brought this many troops here to this peaceful and isolated part of the world, especially since we still had a job to do in Afghanistan. Insurgents were still striking out against us. They were getting bolder. Smarter. And they were continuing to attack and operate even in the middle of the cold winter months.

But we had been given new orders. And there was nothing I could do about that. We were here to enforce the quarantine. I guess we should all consider ourselves lucky. Afghanistan is a dangerous place.

This babysitting job will be a walk in the park.

January 20th – Opal Mine

We had two straight days of boredom and patrolling the small township. For the most part of those two days I was waving flies away from my mouth and eyes - seriously no one ever mentioned anything about the freakin flies out here. I bet they don’t put that on any tourist brochures.

But yeah, after two straight days of boredom we received a call for help.

It’s funny. During those two days, I was hoping and praying for some action. Something to do. Anything.

There’s a reason people say, ‘Be careful what you wish for’.

There was a situation about five miles outside of the township of Woomera at a small, privately owned opal mine. It was a father and son operation. The mine had been in the family for a couple generations.

Apparently there was a tunnel collapse or something. Gordon, Franco, Drake and I were to escort a rescue team down into the opal mine.

I thought this was going to be a simple assignment. In all honesty, I thought maybe the father had bumped his head on a rock or maybe someone had broken their arm. I thought we’d be in and out in no time.

And besides, the actual rescue guys would be doing most of the work. We were just there to supervise.

I was wrong.

As soon as we arrived at the small entrance to the mine I quickly realized it wasn’t going to be a simple job.

Leading up to the mineshaft was a trail of bloody footprints. And right next to the entrance was a dead horse. It was a mess. The horse was lying on its side. It’s stomach; its entire mid-section had been ripped open. Its guts had spilled out on the ground. It was completely covered in flies.

The stench of it was incredible. Franco threw up. One of the rescuers was gagging, trying to hold it in. I had to look away and take a few deep breaths.

"Gotta be wild dogs, right?" Drake said. "Dingoes or wolves or something?"

No one answered him.

The horse had been carrying some saddle bags across its back. The bags contained large rocks. At first glance the rocks were rough and plain looking. But upon closer inspection we could see bright green and blue sections, as well as red and violet. They were like veins running through the rock.

It was raw opal.

"Jesus Christ," one of the rescuers said. "That would have to be worth thousands. You don’t just leave that kind of find lying around."

Bloody foot prints led towards the entry to the mine. Dark blood. It looked black against the dusty, red ground. Thick. Coagulated. Brown chunks of horse flesh were scatted on the ground near the mine shaft as well. Then again, maybe it was human flesh. I don’t know.

It was a puzzling scene.

"Has anything like this ever happened before?" Gordon asked the rescue guys.

"No way. Nothing like this."

"Any reports of wild dog attacks?"

"Years ago we had some reports of dingo attacks. Back when their population was getting out of control. But I don’t think there’s ever been a case where a pack of dingoes have brought down a horse. They wouldn’t even bother. This doesn’t make sense."

Gordon told Drake and Franco to remain up top. Keep an eye out for any wild dogs or dingoes or whatever. Gordon and I were going down into the mine.

The rescue guys told us to take our packs off because the tunnels were narrow. They led the way and Gordon and I followed them in. The entry to the mine was a small, narrow tunnel about three feet in diameter. It led straight down into darkness. Hand and foot holds were fixed to the rock, like a ladder built into the wall.

I don’t consider myself to be claustrophobic but as I descended down that tiny, vertical tunnel, I started to freak out. It was a good thing the rescue guys told us to take our packs off. There’s no way we would’ve fit.

We climbed down to a depth of about fifty feet. When we reached the bottom I discovered that the tunnels of the mine were just as narrow as the entry shaft. They weren’t even high enough for us to stand up properly.

We had to move around hunched over.

The rescue guys turned their hard-hat torches on. Gordon and I did the same with our rifles.

It was then we noticed the pile of flesh and blood at the foot of the entry shaft we had just climbed down. Again, it was hard to tell if the flesh was from the horse or if it was human.

To my left there was a clump of hair and some blood on the wall of the entry tunnel. And something else that looked like a graft of human skin. I got the impression that someone had fallen down the mine shaft and cut themselves up pretty bad.

The rescuers had never been down here so no one knew where to go, or where to even start looking. I was about to call out to see if anyone answered. But I stopped myself. Would calling out cause one of these tiny tunnels to collapse? I did not want to find out.

In the end, we followed the blood trail.

As we moved along I noticed some marks in the tunnel walls. I looked closer. They were marks caused by bullets. Small arms fire. Had there been a shoot out down here?

We moved slowly around a bend in the tunnel. Gordon took the lead and I followed closely behind. Up ahead we found a revolver lying on the ground in a pool of blood. It had been fired recently. Six empty bullet shells lay on the ground next to the revolver. The barrel was still warm.

Further ahead was a shotgun. Gordon moved ahead and picked it up.

"Hasn’t been fired," he said.

He unloaded the rifle, placing the shells in his pocket. He handed the weapon back to me.

We continued further, deeper into the mine. After a couple of minutes I was completely disorientated and the feeling of claustrophobia intensified.

At that point I sort of forgot why we were down there. I was just hoping we weren’t lost. I really wanted to get the hell out as soon as possible. I did not want one of the tunnels to collapse. The walls were solid rock. We’d be crushed with no hope of survival.

Gordon held up his hand, motioning for us to stop.

The blood trail ended.

"What is it?" one of the rescuers asked from behind.

"Blood trail ends here," Gordon answered as he shone his torch at the dusty ground.

The other rescue guy said something about how maybe whoever had been bleeding had bandaged up their wounds. Apparently mines like this have first aid kits located throughout the tunnels.

I was about to ask him if that was the case then where the hell was the first aid kit? But then I thought I heard something coming from further down the tunnel.

A scream.

I held my breath and strained my ears. Did I just imagine it? Was the scream real? But then I noticed everyone was silent.

We had all heard it.

"Ah, was that a scream?" I asked.

No one answered me.

A few seconds later we could hear moaning. Someone was in pain. Someone was trapped down here, probably bleeding to death.

We continued forward, hunched over, moving as fast as we could in the confined area. We turned down another bend but then Gordon came to an abrupt stop. I actually ran up the back of him.

The mine broke off into a fork but they were both collapsed in. It was a dead end.

We quickly searched the collapsed pile of rocks for any gaps but there were none.

The rescuers lowered their heads. This was bad news. There was no hope for the miners.

I’m not sure what had happened. Why was the revolver fired? Who was doing the shooting? What were they shooting at? Why was the shotgun dropped, fully loaded? Why would you bring a shotgun down into a confined mine like this?

Or any weapon for that matter.

And what the hell happened to the damn horse?

We sat there in the fork of the tunnel for awhile. We listened for any noises. Any cries for help. But there were no sounds at all.

The rescuers had some equipment, heat sensors to pick up human body heat. And sound equipment that could pick up and faint noises, like cries for help or breathing. But they found nothing. There was no sign of life.

After a couple of hours we gave up hope. All we knew was that something bad had happened.

A struggle.

Maybe an argument over the opal find?

I don’t know.

But something bad had gone down. And then the tunnel had collapsed, probably crushing both the father and the son.

It was tragic. But there was nothing we could do.

And now I’m hoping, praying for more days of boredom.

January 21st – Outbreak.

Things are starting to get weird. Yesterday it was the incident in the mine. And now today. Wow. I mean, I really have no idea what the hell happened today. I’ve tried to think it through logically but I can’t.

Everything that happened keeps playing over and over in my head. I have to be up in three hours, but I can’t sleep. It’s just so messed up. Even more messed up then that damn mutilated horse carcass we saw yesterday.

We were on patrol in the town center. We were the closest team to the incident so we were ordered to go and investigate.

Apparently there was a robbery at the local doctor surgery. Command suspected it was probably someone trying to rob the joint for pain meds.

When we got there the receptionist was crying. She was hysterical. She was pointing at the back room. It was the room they used for minor procedures, like giving shots and removing stitches and stuff like that.

Apparently there was a patient in there who had an abscess. Apparently that patient had gone bat crap insane.

"He was about to have it lanced," she said.

"Lanced?" Franco asked.

"Yeah. The abscess had become inflamed and swollen. The guy was complaining of fever and body aches. He was shivering. Doctor Grant assumed it was because of the infected abscess."

From behind me, Drake asked, "What the hell is an abscess?"

"It’s like a boil," she answered.

"Oh, right. Yeah, I knew that."

"He actually had a few of them," she continued. "A couple on his arms and some on his torso. To lance them, you inject a local anesthetic into the boil and wait for the area to become numb. Then you make a small incision with a scalpel and drain the puss and the fluid from the wound."

"Gross," Franco said.

"But something happened. I heard screams. Not just from the patient but from Doctor Grant and the nurse as well. Something is wrong. I know there are a lot of rumors circulating about the virus outbreak in the immigration center. Do you think this is related?"

The receptionist looked scared. Actually she looked down right terrified. Her hands were shaking.

We told her not to worry. Just relax. Just breathe. We told her that everything would be all right.

We were lying.

We moved over to the back room. The receptionist had jammed a chair up against the handle. Gordon moved it out of the way and knocked on the door. He called out to Doctor Grant. But there was no response.

"Is this door locked?" Gordon asked the receptionist.

She shook her head.

Drake moved up alongside Gordon. They didn’t say anything. They gave each other a quick look and Drake gave a slight nod. They didn’t need to say anything. They know each other so well, it’s like they can read each other’s minds. Gordon opened the door and Drake stepped into the ‘operating’ room with his rifle shouldered and ready.