Torn Apart (27 page)

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.”

“
Not you.”

“
Not with one rifle.”

“
Two magazines.”

“
Sixty bullets.”

“
You’re a dead man.”

I shook my head. Slapped my face.

It was time to focus on staying alive.

The men in black were closing in on both sides.
Squeezing me in. These guys were good. Methodical. They were
closing in fast. I was running out of options and out of time. I
had two points of cover within crawling distance of each other.
From these two positions I could cover the soldiers making their
way across the Darling Harbor footbridge and the two soldiers who
had made it across the bridge. They were to the right of my
position. Getting closer. They were my priority. I had to take them
out before it was too late. If they got the jump on me, it really
would be all over. And if these guys were indeed Special Forces
soldiers (which I’m pretty sure they were) it wouldn’t take them
long to make their move.