The Lost Journal (A Secret Apocalypse Story) (9 page)

Drake opened fire with his m249 machine gun. I could see the puffs of dust where the bullets hit the ground. He nailed one of the infected – the woman but it didn’t stop her. It was like she stumbled for a bit, like someone had pushed her. But then she regained her footing and kept sprinting.

"Oh God," Franco said. "They’re not going down!"

Franco was freaking out. He took a few single round shots before he switched to full automatic.

I was stunned. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. These people were taking fire; they were being shot with high-powered assault rifles. But they weren’t going down.

They weren’t human. They were monsters.

I took aim again and rested my index finger on the trigger.

Inhaled.

Exhaled.

I took the woman out first. She had actually over taken the men. She was in front by a few feet.

The bullet passed through her temple, her head snapped to the side and she fell to the ground, her momentum causing her to roll head over ass.

The two old men did not stop or even acknowledge that the woman had been killed. They just kept running.

They were a hundred feet away from Franco now.

Drake was still shooting, trying to provide support. But his aim was getting more and more erratic. And when the old men got within fifty feet of Franco, Drake stopped shooting altogether from fear of hitting Franco.

I fired again and took out one of the men.

There was one guy left. I reloaded. Took aim. Fired.

Clipped him in the shoulder. But he kept running. I fired one more shot.

Missed.

I saw Franco stand up from where he had been lying down. His rifle was raised up to his shoulder. He fired at point blank range.

He would’ve had to have hit the old man but he was so close I couldn’t tell.

The infected man crashed into Franco, tackling him to the ground. I stood up and sprinted over. When I got there, Franco was lying on his back. He was breathing hard.

The infected old man was face down in the dirt. He was not moving.

A few seconds later Drake arrived. "Jesus, man. Are you all right?"

Franco slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off. "Yeah, I’m fine. I think."

"That was messed up," I said.

"Yeah, I freakin nailed that old lady," Drake said. "Didn’t drop her. She didn’t even stop running. It was like nothing had happened."

"They weren’t lying when they said a head shot is the only way to stop the infection," Franco added between deep breaths. "This virus is messed up."

Franco called back to command and reported the incident and requested reinforcements. He was denied.

They couldn’t spare the men.

"You’re kidding," I said. "What the hell?"

I checked my watch. We still had a couple more hours until we were scheduled to be relieved. And unfortunately this incident was just the beginning of our worries.

Complications. Yeah, it gets worse.

We were standing around, trying to catch our breath, trying to make sense of the situation.

I was struggling to come to grips with shooting and killing these old people, an old woman for crying out loud.

I guess I was in denial. Even though deep down there was a part of me that knew these people were infected. How else could they have escaped from the old folk’s home? How else could these geriatrics get through the perimeter? How else could they run barefoot through the desert?

We were just about to call it in but off in the distance a van approached. It appeared to have a satellite dish on top of its roof.

It was a goddamn news van.

"What the hell?" Drake said. "Is that what I think it is?"

Reporters? Out here?

It was the last thing we needed.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but my first thought was that we'd have to shoot them.

I mean, these guys were obviously not infected. At least, I don’t think they were. But what would happen if we refused to follow orders? Would we be court marshaled? Locked up? Would they send in the gunships now and take us all out?

I know it sounds crazy but all these thoughts were running through my head as that news van pulled up to us. Once again we held innocent people’s lives in our hands. We had the final say. I feel sick just thinking about it. For all we knew, these guys were just lost. Maybe they were going to ask for directions. Maybe they were going to tell us how much they appreciated us soldiers and what we do for our countries.

But the situation was about to get real tense, especially if they saw the corpse of the old man that Franco had just shot. The body of the old man was lying on the ground a few feet behind us. He was lying face down in the dirt, tangled up in a low lying scrub.

Drake, Franco and I stood between them and the corpse, hoping we had sufficiently blocked it from their view. We were just praying that they reporters didn’t look passed us and see it, praying they didn’t get out of the van.

The news van drove up alongside us and came to a stop as the driver wound down his window.

I could only see a driver and the cameraman sitting in the front passenger seat. But there could’ve been more in the back.

"Good afternoon, soldiers," the driver said. "Do you mind if we ask you few questions?"

Franco was waving them back. "This is a restricted area. You can't be here."

"Where are you boys from? The states?"

"Are you deaf?" Franco said. "This is a restricted area. You need to leave immediately."

The reporters didn’t understand the severity of the situation. They just kept asking questions.

"What’s going on in Woomera? Rumor has it that people are being kept inside their own homes against their will. And why is the U.S. military involved?"

"Look, we’ve been authorized to use deadly force in this area. You need to leave right now."

"Deadly force? What the hell for?"

They weren’t taking the hint.

Drake moved up to the van. "You guys ever heard of Guantanomo Bay? Camp X-ray? You know why they call it Camp X-ray? Coz no one knows what goes on there. You wanna get locked up? The military police are on their way here right now. And believe me, once they get here, they will lock you up. And all your expensive equipment, including that pretty looking satellite dish will become property of the United States Military. Please, gentlemen, get the hell out of there."

The reporters gave each other worried looks. I guess they were trying to figure out if Drake’s threat was serious or not. But in the end, they decided it wasn’t worth the risk. They apologized for the disturbance and drove off.

I guess at that point we were distracted, scared of the possibility of shooting more innocent people, scared and sick that we were all thinking like that. And because we were distracted, we didn't see it.

The thing.

It was infected.

Another reason we didn't see it; it was crawling on its belly.

Maybe it got out with the others. I don’t know.

But it managed to sneak up on us. It grabbed Franco by his leg and bit into his flesh. He jumped back, yelling in shock. At first I thought he'd been bitten by a snake.

But then I looked down and saw it.

Another old man. Well, half of an old man. He was missing his legs. His legs looked like they had been amputated some time ago. Maybe a war injury. Maybe diabetes. It was hard to tell because they were torn up and bleeding.

He must've crawled all the way from town.

His dressing gown was torn up. As was his belly and chest from crawling all this way over rock and gravel.

Before we could react, before we could put a gun to his head and put him out of his misery, he had already grabbed Franco by the leg and bit into his calf muscle.

And the old man did not let go.

Franco fell back screaming. He was trying to shake it off. But the man had locked his jaw around Franco’s leg and he wasn’t letting go.

Franco continued to scream and shout. "Get it off me!"

Drake grabbed the thing by its hair and put his sidearm up to its temple. He blew its brains out all over the desert.

Franco had gone into shock. He threw up. He was shaking and shivering. There was a huge bloody wound in his lower leg where the thing had bitten into him.

I called it in.

The containment crew chopper showed up five minutes later. A team of guys in yellow HAZMAT suits piled out. Two of them strapped Franco to a stretcher and got him into the chopper.

The rest got to work securing the area.

They located the three other bodies and threw them into a shallow ditch. They doused them in fuel and set them on fire.

They watched them burn for a few minutes before they got back in the chopper.

And just like that, they were gone.

As Franco was airlifted away I watched the helicopter until it disappeared over the horizon. It was headed somewhere towards the military testing site. Complete opposite direction to the hospital. Maybe there was another hospital. Maybe they wanted to keep him separate from the public and the soldiers because he had been bitten. I don't know.

Everything happened so damn fast. We didn’t get a chance to ask where they were taking him.

Way off in the distance, I could also see black smoke rising up into to sky. It looked like it was coming from the Unofficial Immigration Center.

I looked to the east. There was nothing but miles and miles of flat, desolate land. For a fleeting moment I thought about running away, off into the desert.

Walking away from all this madness.

But then Drake said, "Come on. We still got a job to do. Stay frosty."

He patted me on the shoulder and went off to find a spot to watch for anyone else trying to escape the quarantine.

He was putting on a brave face but I knew he was just as worried.

Gordon

It had been a long day.

Franco’s injury and his immediate evacuation had left me shaken up. And I couldn’t get the image of those old people sprinting across the desert out of my head.

A cold shiver ran down my spine whenever I thought about it.

And just how the hell did they break out? How were they running barefoot through the desert?

It didn’t make sense.

I needed to talk this over with Gordon. I had to go and see him.

I asked Drake if he wanted to come to the hospital but he said he was going to grab a shower and get some food because he was starving. I can’t blame him. We’d been out in the sun all day. We hadn’t had much to eat. Normally I’d be starving as well but after what had happened, I’d completely lost my appetite.

I probably should’ve forced myself to have something. I should’ve at least showered. It had been such a long couple of days. But everything was a mess.
And I needed to see Gordon. He was a level headed guy. I needed to hear him speak. I needed him to tell me it was going to be all right.

I finally found him in an isolated wing of the small hospital of Woomera. It took me awhile though because there were barely any nurses. Looked like they were understaffed. The nurse who did point me in the right direction was extremely stressed out.

I walked into Gordon’s room. He was lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. His head was bandaged. It sort of looked like his face was drooping on the left side. His head had been shaved. A long line of stitches ran down the side of his scalp. There may have been more but I couldn’t see under the bandage.

And for some weird reason, his hands and feet were bound to the rail guards of the hospital bed.

Despite all that he seemed to be in good spirits.

When he heard me enter the room he opened his eyes and smiled. "Got the afternoon off?" he asked.

"Yeah. We've been out on patrol all over the place."

"Jeez. They’re working you to the bone. What's the deal?"

"I don’t know, man. It’s getting pretty crazy. We’ve been supervising the testing procedures for the town and the immigration centers."

"Centers?"

"Yeah, there’s a secondary immigration center. It’s located out in the military testing zone. It's pretty messed up. It’s basically a slum out in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh wait. Yeah I heard about that," Gordon said. "I had a roommate in here yesterday. He wouldn’t tell me his rank, but I’m guessing he was pretty high up because he seemed to know a lot of stuff. He probably should’ve kept his mouth shut but he was well and truly doped up on pain meds."

"What did he tell you?"

"Apparently they’re on the verge of rioting at the immigration center."

"Which one?"

"Both of them."

"I can’t say that surprises me."

"Why not? What the hell is going on out there? I’ve been hearing a lot of gunfire."