The Lost Journal (A Secret Apocalypse Story) (6 page)

We all followed him in.

And here’s where it gets weird. And messy.

In the far right hand corner of the room was the patient. He was leaning over Doctor Grant, who was lying down on his back.

The doctor was lying down in a massive pool of blood. The patient was kneeling in the blood, leaning over Doctor Grant. He was oblivious to the mess.

I can’t be totally sure but it looked like the patient was digging his hands into the doctor’s torso, into his stomach. And it looked like he was shoveling the contents of the doctor’s torso into his mouth.

But I can’t be sure.

The reason I can’t be sure is because I couldn’t see clearly. And because it sounds so crazy. A patient, a person, eating another person’s intestines? There has to be some other explanation right? There just has to be.

The patient heard us enter the room. He turned to face us. Blood stained his mouth, his chin. Flesh was stuck between his teeth.

He was chewing.

We were stunned into silence. We stood there for a few seconds, staring blankly.

The blood was everywhere. It was all over the patient’s face and his chest. He was totally covered in it.

A few more seconds ticked by. But no one said or did anything. We were definitely in shock.

There was no way this was a robbery. A junkie looking for some pain meds? No freakin way.

Gordon took a small step forward. He was about to say something. But then the patient charged at us. Gordon raised his rifle and put two bullets in the patient’s chest and one in his head.

And here’s another thing I can’t stop thinking about. Gordon shot him in the chest. He shot him in the chest twice! But the patient didn’t react. The bullets tore right through him but he kept coming. He kept charging. It was only after Gordon put a round in his head did he finally drop.

But he fell forward. Not backwards.

Usually, taking a point blank round from an M4 carbine will send anyone or anything flying back. But not this guy. It defied logic. And thinking about this has kept me wide awake tonight.

The patient’s momentum sent him crashing into Gordon and knocked him off his feet. Gordon was pushed back into the wall. He cracked his head.

I reacted immediately. I wasn’t thinking. It was just a reflex. I grabbed the patient by the hair and pulled him out of the way, throwing him to the other side of the room. Gordon’s eyes were closed. I checked his pulse. He was alive but he had been knocked out cold.

The receptionist heard the gunshots and moved up to the door. "What the hell’s going on?"

"That patient," Drake said. "He completely lost it. He attacked us. He charged us."

The receptionist stood in the door way, with her hands covering her mouth. She was in a state of shock. We all were.

It happened so fast. We had no time to stop and think things through. No time to warn the patient that we were authorized to use deadly force if necessary. He was too quick.

We called it in right away. Requested a containment crew ASAP.

They arrived in a couple of minutes. A whole group of guys in yellow HAZMAT suits.

They secured Gordon to a stretcher and took him away for overnight observation at the hospital.

After the shock had worn off, Franco moved outside to give a full report to the containment crew.

The gunshots must’ve aroused the suspicions of some the locals because there were a few people milling around the front of the reception area, trying to get a look. Drake told everyone to back the hell off. He didn’t bother with politeness or courtesy. He just started yelling and swearing at people.

I found myself alone in the bloody, messed up operating room. It was only then, when everything had calmed down that I noticed someone else in the room. A nurse. She was lying in the opposite far corner, behind the doctor’s desk and an overturned patient bed.

She was lying on her back. Her breathing was rapid. Her chest was rising and falling in short sharp breaths. Her head was resting in a pool of blood. Her blonde hair was soaked red.

I looked around for someone, anyone. But I was alone.

The other guys had moved back out of the room. Franco and Drake were still talking to the containment crew. I was about to go and get someone, maybe the receptionist, or another nurse or another doctor.

But then I heard the woman whisper to me.

I walked slowly towards her. Her neck had been ripped open. You could see her throat, her esophagus. Blood was flowing and oozing out on to the floor. It was very dark. It seemed to be coagulating right before my eyes.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

Yeah, as soon as the words left my mouth I felt like such an idiot. I can’t believe I said that. Of course she wasn’t all right. Half of her neck was missing. She was bleeding out. She was dying a slow and painful death right in front of me. But I said it anyway. I don’t know why.

She whispered something again.

I couldn’t hear her, so I leant in closer.

"Please," she said. "Please."

"It’s going to be OK," I lied. "A medical team is on their way. They’ll be here in a couple of minutes."

"Please," she repeated. "Kill me."

She began shivering, her legs started to twitch. "Please, kill me."

Strangely, the wound in her neck had stopped bleeding altogether. The pool of blood around her head had turned black, almost solid.

Her eyes were becoming more and more blood shot.

"Please, kill me."

I stood up and took out my side arm and aimed the barrel at her forehead. I thumbed the safety off. I hesitated.

Franco entered the room with a couple guys dressed in yellow HAZMAT suits. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"She’s hurting," I answered. "She’s dying."

The guys in the HAZMAT suits stood at the entrance to the room, refusing to come any closer.

"Has she been infected?" one of them asked.

"What?"

"Has she been infected?" he repeated.

"I don’t know."

"Has she been bitten?"

I looked back at her neck. It was a complete mess. "I... I don’t know. Possibly."

"Dispose of her."

"Excuse me?"

"Kill her. A headshot is the only way."

The woman looked at me with her blood shot eyes, pleading. I placed my index finger on the trigger of my sidearm. I held my breath.

I’m looking at my watch right now, counting the seconds. It’s three in the morning. But I can’t sleep.

Whenever I close my eyes, I see this woman. I see her blood soaked blonde hair.

She was young. Attractive. She was dying.

I can hear her whispering to me. Like her head is right next to me, resting on my pillow, like she is whispering into my ear.

Please.

Kill me.

And just as I’m about to fall asleep, I hear the gunshot.

January 22nd – Testing

Unfortunately the attack at the Doctor’s surgery was not an isolated incident. There had been other reports of violence throughout Woomera. The virus was beginning to spread through the town as well as the immigration center. It was starting to get out of control. And after everything I saw today, I’ve got a bad feeling that this situation is about to get a whole lot worse.

We were woken up an hour early. Not that I minded. I was still wide awake. I knew I was probably going to crash hard later on in the day but I was hoping adrenalin would help me get through the patrol. Some strong coffee wouldn’t hurt either.

The briefing was quick. But it put all of us on edge.

Today, everyone, all the civilians were to be tested. The whole town. All 1,348 people. The township of Woomera was being put under an ‘unofficial’ quarantine. This basically meant they weren’t going to announce this quarantine to the media.

At least, not yet.

We were ordered to wear flak jackets, body armor and gloves during the testing process.

The troops let out a collective grown. No one wanted to wear body armor. Let alone flak jackets and gloves. Not in this heat. Especially when we weren’t even being shot at by enemy forces.

The townspeople were to be gathered up and herded through testing gates. Like cattle, I thought.

The testing gates measured core body temperature.

Apparently a low temperature reading was bad. If a person had a lowered core body temperature, the alarm on the testing gate would flash red.

If this happened the person was to be escorted away to an isolated wing of the local hospital for more testing.

This was the quickest way to identify any possible infected or carriers of the virus.

They also had sniffer dog teams patrolling the lines for some reason. They were mean looking German Shepherds. I don’t know what they were trained to smell or detect or whatever. But every person the dogs singled out had a lowered core body temp. Every single one of those people were taken away at gun point.

Testing was conducted in the main street, out the front of the small town hall. Drake, Franco and I were situated on the rooftop of the town’s one and only bank. We had a bird’s eye view of everything.

Throughout the day most of the people were pretty cooperative. Even when the light flashed red and they were taken away at gun point, most people remained calm.

There were a few incidents, a few guys freaked out when the light flashed red. Initially they refused to go, forcing the soldiers on the ground level to get rough. But when they realized there was no point in fighting back they eventually calmed down and cooperated.

So yeah, for the most part everything was going smoothly.

We were nearly done. We had managed to process everyone in a couple of hours. We only had about a hundred people left.

Franco, Drake and I were getting a bit bored with our supervision duty. At that point I was a little jealous that Gordon was still in the sweet air-conditioned comfort of the hospital. It was well over a hundred degrees today. And up on the roof of the bank it felt a lot hotter.

We had been scanning the lines all morning, making sure everyone remained calm during the testing process.

Like I said, for the most part people had been well behaved.

Until this one guy had to go and ruin everything. This one act of stupidity has put the whole town in a state of panic. Thanks to this guy, the whole town is on the verge of rioting.

He was one of the last to line up. We were so close to finishing up for the day.

Drake saw him first. He pointed down to the street, towards the back of the line. "Check that guy out. Looks jumpy as hell."

I looked through the scope on my rifle down at the street below. The guy Drake had pointed out kept checking over his shoulder. He kept looking back down the road, and then up at the sniffer dog team that was slowly but surely making their way towards him.

"Yeah he looks pretty nervous," I said, agreeing with Drake’s assessment. "You think he’ll put up a fight?"

Before Drake could answer me, the guy bolted.

The troops on the ground shouted out to him, ordering him to stop. But the guy ignored them and kept running. Even when they told him they would shoot. He kept running.

I aimed my rifle at the man. I had a clean shot. I could take him out if I wanted to. Not that I did want to.

I lowered my aim slightly. I was confident I could clip him in the leg. Put him down without seriously injuring him. Yeah, I thought. That was the better option. There was no need for more bloodshed. Not after what happened yesterday.

I was just about to squeeze the trigger. But I never got the chance. The soldiers on the ground opened fire. They didn’t lower their aim. They didn’t fire a warning shot.

The man fell in the street, face forward. He skidded for a few feet before coming to rest in the gutter.

The other people lining up were all shocked into silence. A few of them ran out of fear. They just took off. Most of them were tackled to the ground and taken away. But a couple ran down the side streets and completely disappeared.

News of the shooting spread quickly through the small town. Anger and panic followed.

Security has been increased throughout the township. By night fall we had a squad on every block, making sure everyone kept indoors. Making sure there were no riots.

People have been ordered to remain in their homes, or risk being shot on sight. The perimeter of the quarantine area was reinforced with more troops. Machine gun bunkers were set up right around the outskirts of the town.

This is bad. The whole town is on edge. So are the troops.

This isn’t a babysitting job anymore.

January 24th – Hell on Earth

We’re back.

Finally.

And after a grueling two days on patrol the last thing I feel like doing is writing in this goddamn journal.

But I have to.