The Lost Journal Part 2 (A Secret Apocalypse Story) Read online

  The Lost Journal

  Part 2

  A Secret Apocalypse Story

  By James Harden

  Attn: Commander Satoru Yoshida

  Subject: Transcript Interception

  Classification: Above Top Secret

  Commander Yoshida,

  We intercepted a communication between two high ranking U.S. military officials. The communication contained a partial transcript of a journal. We believe this is the journal of your son. The journal gives extreme detail of the effects of the Oz virus and the military’s operations and movements within Sydney. It also describes the operation codenamed – ‘Project Salvation’.

  Our theory about the dust storm appears to be accurate.

  The journal also confirms that Maria Marsh survived the failed rescue attempt by Seal Team Zero.

  However, the last entry in your son’s journal is March 2nd. As a result we cannot confirm if Maria Marsh is still alive.

  We do not know if your son is still alive.

  We recommend continuing our research.

  A team of Evo Agents has been deployed at your request.

  Feb 10th - Fate and the choices we make.

  I read this book a few years ago that I found in my dad’s study. It was about a man chained to a wall in a prison. He was being tortured. Pretty gruesome stuff. The skin on his back and his arms and his torso and his legs, every part of his body had been flayed off with a splintered bamboo cane. His eyes were sealed shut with his own blood. And yet through all the pain and the screaming in his mind he realized he was a free man.

  He had choices.

  Hate.

  Forgive.

  Love.

  Accept.

  He talked about fate. And he talked about the choices people make in their lives. In an instant he understood that even though he was chained to a wall, he was still free. He was free to hate the people torturing him or free to forgive them. This book had a profound effect on me. Mostly because I did not believe someone could be that strong. And that understanding.

  To forgive the people torturing you?

  To accept it?

  To love them?

  I don’t know, man. I don’t think anyone could be that strong.

  I can’t remember who wrote the book. I think it was an autobiography. I think it was based on a true story but I can’t remember.

  I’m trying hard to remember who wrote it, like somehow if I remembered who wrote that book it would give me strength or courage.

  I’m trying to think but I can’t.

  I’m too exhausted.

  Too damn scared.

  We’ve been running for our lives for the past week now. I’ve been running for longer. Much longer. I’m starting to feel like a drifter. A homeless person. No fixed address. No name. No belongings.

  I think it’s important to write down what I’ve been doing and who I am. I do not want to just disappear and fade away into nothingness.

  So who am I?

  My name is Kenji Yoshida.

  I’m a soldier.

  I’m a trained sniper.

  And I’m slowly but surely starting to lose my mind.

  When I was on tour in Afghanistan, I had a little freak out. Wow. Afghanistan. That seems like a dream. A lifetime ago. It happened when we returned to base after a patrol in the Hindu Kush mountain range. We had received a distress call from a small village. We went to investigate. We saw a boy. He was sick. They said he’d been poisoned with a neurotoxin. But seeing this boy. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like he represented everything that was going wrong in my life. I don’t know. It sounds kind of selfish when I think about it like that. But I can’t help it. It messed me up.

  I saw the psychologist on base and she told me to keep a journal. She said I needed to get my thoughts out of my head and my heart. She said if I kept them bottled up, they would eventually kill me. From the inside. Infect me. Like a virus.

  Now that I look back it’s weird that she’d used the word virus. Flash forward one month and here I am, trying to survive an actual killer virus. Something more destructive than any gun, rifle, missile or bomb. In a matter of days it has brought the major city of Sydney to its knees. This virus has caused untold damage and chaos. I don’t know how many people have died. I don’t want to think about it.

  I don’t even want to think about why I’m still alive.

  Why me?

  I should be dead.

  And yet here I am. Still breathing. Still writing in this journal. Still running.

  I served in Afghanistan. I survived fire fights in the isolated Hindu Kush mountain range. I was part of an emergency quarantine force sent to the Australian outback. I survived the outbreak there in the town of Woomera. And the surrounding Immigration camps. I survived when in all honesty, I probably should’ve died. I survived when other soldiers, men that I consider to be my brothers, died around me.

  Drake.

  Franco.

  Gordon.

  Together we formed a small four man fireteam. We served together in the Middle East, in Iraq and Afghanistan and Australia.

  They were better soldiers than I was. Better men.

  I don’t know why I’m still alive when these men are dead.

  I haven’t had a chance to grieve for them yet and as a result I think they are starting to haunt me.

  The dead are talking to me. Man, I really am crazy. It’s kind of like that kid in that movie. But not really. You can see why I think I’m starting to lose my mind.

  I haven’t written a journal entry since I fled Woomera. I haven’t had time.

  I’ve been on the run. Running and fighting and struggling for my life. And the life of my friends.

  Rebecca.

  Jack.

  Kim.

  And Maria.

  Apart from Rebecca, I’ve only know the others for a couple of days. But I already consider them my friends. I can already tell what kind of people they are. They are the best kind of people.

  They are loyal. Strong. They are always prepared to offer a helping hand.

  They would make good soldiers. This is a good thing because the situation we find ourselves in right now is a war like situation. A battle for survival. Our enemies are the innocent people who have been infected by the Oz virus. And the military who have been authorized to use deadly force.

  The Containment Protocol.

  This is the military’s contingency plan. A final solution to stop the spread of the deadly Oz virus. Their last roll of the dice. It won’t work. They are too late.

  As I write this, the whole of Sydney is a warzone. A crumbling, ruined city. Artillery fire, and mortar rounds and bombs and air to surface missiles have all left their destructive fingerprints on the city, on the buildings and the roadways. Even now, in the absolute dead of night, I can still hear the constant chatter of machine gun fire. There are soldiers somewhere in this city. They are fighting for their lives. They have been left behind to hold off the infected while the rest of the force retreats. They are going to die.

  We have been lucky enough to get off the streets. We’ve found a hiding spot in the upper floors of the Sydney Tower. Up here we are safe. We are high above the reach of the infected. The tower is connected to a shopping center. Earlier, we decided to go down there to look for food and water. And I also wanted to find another notebook so I could write this stuff down. My original journal went for a swim with me when we were thrown off the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Most of the pages are all stuck together. Some of the ink has been ruined. I’ve kept it anyway. Maybe I could eventually dry it out or unstuck the pages or something.
Maybe they could be saved. I think they need to be saved. In those pages are details of some of the finest soldiers I have ever known. Drake, Franco and Gordon. Their story needs to be preserved. People need to know how they served their country and their fellow man.

  It was a risk to move down to the lower levels of this tower to look for supplies and a notebook. But I figured it was worth it. Like the doc told me, I couldn’t afford to keep everything bottled up. Now was not the time to lose my head. Especially since I have a responsibility to look after Maria. Keep her safe. Keep her alive.

  This is important. Maria is important. She is immune. Maybe the only person in the world who is immune to this virus.

  Maria had failed to be extracted from the city. She was moments away from being rescued by an elite Special Forces team before everything went to hell. I can’t believe the team that had captured her had met their end so swiftly. But then again, it seems to be the way things are going around here. Yep everything is going to hell. And it’s going really, really quickly.

  I’ve never witnessed anything as destructive as this virus.

  When I was redeployed from Afghanistan to Woomera they briefed us on the virus. I should’ve paid more attention. They gave us a briefing document so we could study up on the symptoms. I didn’t give it much attention when I first received it. But since the outbreak I’ve read the document closely. Studied every word. Every sentence.

  Virus symptoms - (Observable)

  facial hemorrhaging

  skin discoloration

  cloudy and bloodshot eyes

  dilated pupils

  aggressive behavior

  loss of motor skills

  speech impairments

  loss of sensitivity in limbs

  symptoms similar to concussion

  memory loss

  I put the folded up pages back in my pocket.

  The odds are stacked high against us. The Oz virus is designed to find life and destroy it. It is designed to turn human beings into mindless, psychotic hosts.

  And here we are, trapped in a city, surrounded by the infected.

  We are safe for the moment, in our tower, our castle in the clouds. But if this place becomes compromised then we will have to make a run for it.

  And I’m sick of running. I’ve been running for the past two years. I haven’t stopped. No time to look over my shoulder. No time to catch my breath. I ran away from home. And Rebecca. I left her without even saying goodbye. I ran away to the U.S. Marines. Ran all the way to the freakin Middle East. Now I’m running from a plague, a virus and the military that have been ordered to enforce a containment protocol.

  There’s no time to stop running. Not now. Stopping now would mean certain death.

  How did I get to this point? How did I get here?

  Does everything happen for a reason? Is this fate?

  I thought it was. And I hope it is.

  Being sent to military school. Running away. Joining the marines.

  Being re-deployed in Australia.

  The Oz virus.

  I guess it’s lucky my skills were honed. I can kill a man from two miles away. This gruesome skill has come in unbelievably handy these past couple of months. This skill has no doubt saved my life.

  So I try and convince myself that I’ve done the right thing.

  Fate and the choices we make.

  When I made the decision to leave my post, to flee from the operation in Woomera, it was because I genuinely believed the military had last control. Command had begun ordering the deaths of the town’s people and the refugees. Shoot to kill were our orders. Air strikes. Nuclear strikes. It was bad. And I wanted nothing to do with it. The only thing I wanted to do was warn Rebecca about the plague.

  That was my only goal.

  And I think I accomplished that.

  I found Rebecca. I warned her. She got out of the city before it was too late.

  Job done.

  So how did I end up here? How did I end up trapped in the city with Jack and Maria?

  To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.

  Maybe it was pure luck.

  Maybe it was fate.

  Maybe it was Jack’s strength.

  Maria’s strength.

  They’re asleep now. It’s a deep sleep that can only be brought on by absolute exhaustion. They are sleeping in each other’s arms. A tight embrace. A lover’s embrace.

  I look out over the dark Sydney skyline. I can see the skeleton of the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Smoke that is darker than the silvery moon light billows up to the starry heavens. Orange spot fires that are the devil’s eyes populate the city. Looking at me. Watching.

  I scribble in this notepad.

  It gives me strength

  Feb 8th - Darling Harbor

  Two days ago I was stranded and trapped and surrounded and alone in Darling Harbor. The harbor was a picture of chaos. It was the definition of chaos. And I kept telling myself I did the right thing.

  "I did the right thing."

  Staying behind on the jetty while Jack, Rebecca and Kim made their escape in the speed boat. Providing a suppressive cover fire. This was the right thing to do. The only thing I could’ve done.

  Yeah.

  I did the right thing. They would’ve been killed otherwise. Their boat would’ve been shot to pieces.

  They would’ve been shot to pieces.

  I kept telling myself I did the right thing. I had to make sure they got away clean.

  "I did the right thing."

  I mean, what was the alternative? The pursuing soldiers had the high ground, the numbers, the fire power. They would’ve been torn to shreds. It would’ve been a bloodbath.

  "I did the right thing."

  Why does doing the right thing suck most of the time?

  And Rebecca.

  I couldn’t get the look on Rebecca’s face out of my mind. Her face. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. She has never considered herself attractive but goddamn it, she is. She’s beautiful. She has these big chestnut brown eyes. Wide like saucers. It’s like she has this constant inquisitive look about her, like she is always studying everything around her. Taking everything in. Reading you and your thoughts.

  You could lose yourself in those eyes for hours. Days.

  I should know.

  Her lips. Her smile. They way she played with her hair when she was nervous.

  Everything about her.

  All of this. I can’t get her out of my head. I should’ve been focused on staying alive. I should’ve been focused on the soldiers closing in on me. I should’ve been watching out for the infected. But at that moment I was thinking about Rebecca.

  A volley of bullets whizzed over my head and smashed into the wooden jetty I was crouched on. More bullets smashed into the surrounding boats. All of the boats were completely wrecked. They had been destroyed by a missile strike the day before. A missile strike that was part of the military’s containment protocol.

  Yeah, I should’ve been focused. I should’ve been taking aim, returning fire. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Rebecca’s face. It was scrunched up in pain and anguish - it was the realization that I wasn’t coming with them.

  Her voice.

  She screamed at me. Swore at me and cursed me. She was about to jump overboard. But Jack stopped her at the last second. He wrestled with her. Overpowered her.

  I continued to provide cover fire as they made their escape.

  I told myself it was the only way.

  "It was the only way."

  I tell myself I did the right thing.

  Surrounded

  The cold, hard reality is that Jack, Kim, and Rebecca may very well have been blown to bits as they made their escape. It would only take one gunship, just one Apache attack chopper in the area. Or F22 or A10 bomber.

  Just one.

  And it would be all over for them. But I convinced myself they’d made it. I convinced myself they were too fast to track. I convinced myself they were long
gone, that they’d made it to the open waters. Safe from the military and the containment protocol. And the infected.

  The boat they had found was fast. In a matter of seconds it was out of Darling Harbor. Out of sight and harm’s way.

  I forced myself to focus on my surroundings. Concentrate.

  Live.

  I wiped a tear from my face and got back to the business of staying alive. The men in black were closing in on my position, flanking me. These soldiers were probably Special Forces, like Navy Seals or British SAS. Some of the weapons and rifles they were using I didn’t recognize at all. Their black suits looked different. Way more advanced than anything I’d come across in my limited time in the armed forces.

  And they had me surrounded.

  My mind was working at the speed of light, trying to figure a way out of this situation. I needed to get off the jetty and the marina. Get out of the harbor. Find a place to hide. My mind was working through any and all possibilities.

  It took me a second to realize there was a voice shouting at me.

  Yelling and cursing me.

  Like Rebecca did.

  It took me another second to realize this voice was in my head. The voice was my own.

  Rebecca once told me that after her father disappeared, she started hearing this voice in her head. The voice would speak to her, clear as day, as if someone was standing right next to her, speaking into her ear. She said it was the voice of fear and self doubt. She said she had never told anyone about that voice. Not even her mother. I don’t know why she chose to tell me. But I have a bad feeling that I am starting to hear a similar voice.

  The voice spoke to me as I was huddled behind the wreckage of a luxury yacht, on the jetty in Darling Harbor. The voice told me I was done for.

  It asked me, "How the hell are you gonna get out of this?"

  "You’re out numbered. Out gunned."

  "They’ve got the high ground."

  "The infected are coming."

  "You can’t fight a war on two fronts."