Read Online The Lost Journal Part 2 (A Secret Apocalypse Story) by James Harden - Free Book Online
Authors: James Harden
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need to
make a move," I said as I desperately tried to erase that memory from my mind.
"The center point shopping complex," I continued. "Does it have any super
markets? Grocery stores? Anything."
"I don’t
know," Jack answered. "You would think so. I mean, it would have to have some
sort of food store."
"Maria?"
"I don’t
know. We always did our grocery shopping online. Home delivered. I only ever
came in here to shop for clothes."
It was
getting hard to think straight. Hunger and dehydration were setting in. The
brain stops functioning. Planning and problem solving become near impossible.
I knew there
would be dangers. But we had no choice.
"We move," I
said. "First thing in the morning. We make our way to the Center Point Tower.
We move together. We move in silence."
Feb 10th - They’re back
It was a few minutes after dawn. I had made my way out to the balcony again. I
hadn’t been able to sleep.
The city was
quiet. The sky was this weird pinkish, orange color. Smoke and haze lingered
over the buildings.
I looked to
the east, down one of the main roads of inner Sydney, and realized that I might
have few more sleepless nights ahead of me. The reason? At that moment, a massive
horde of infected were stumbling back into the city. It was like a river of
people, or a parade or a pilgrimage or something. The street was packed.
"The virus
is designed to find life," I whispered to myself.
The warning
of that crazy doctor was being demonstrated right before my very eyes. These
infected people had no doubt chased the retreating soldiers, chased them all
the way to the coast. Those soldiers were most probably dead. And now the
infected were coming back, searching for more hosts.
I looked
through the crowd. I don’t know why I was looking. I should’ve ducked behind
the railing of the balcony. I should’ve crawled back inside immediately but I
couldn’t help myself. I rested my rifle on the edge of the sandstone railing
and looked through the scope.
Again, I
don’t know why I did this. I guess I just wanted to watch them. To see what
they were like when they weren’t chasing anyone, or eating anyone. I could see
all kinds of people.
Police officers.
Business men
and women.
School kids.
And
soldiers.
Lots of
soldiers.
These were ordinary
people who had been infected and turned into sick, twisted monsters.
I focused on
one soldier. A marine just like me. His rifle was still slung around his neck.
His cammies had been torn to shreds. His head, his skull had been cracked wide
open. I could see his brain. His jaw was broken. It was snapped at the mandible
so that it was hanging down near his neck. His entire face was covered in
blood.
And then he
looked at me.
His head
just snapped in my direction.
The range
was more than half a mile. There was no way he could see me. But he continued
to stare.
I ducked
behind the balcony. And to my surprise, crouching next to me was Drake. He sat
down, resting his back against the balcony railing. He then loosened his belt,
removed it from his pants, and tied if off around his bicep.
He took out
a syringe. He looked at me. "Morphine. Eases the pain."
I blinked.
Shook my head. This wasn’t real.
"Pain is
real," he said. "Well, sort of. You know I used to be terrified of needles. Not
anymore."
"What are
you doing?" I asked.
"What am I
doing? The real question is; what are you doing?"
"Reconnaissance."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
He nodded
towards the horde of infected. "They’re back. You’re screwed."
"Drake,
please. Don’t."
"You were
looking at that marine down there. Come on. Put him out of his misery. He
deserves that much. Or that little."
Drake stood
up and pointed the syringe down towards the approaching horde. He pointed it at
the marine. "Come on. Do it. Do it for me. Remember when I asked you for help?
I begged you. Begged. And you pussied out. Do you remember that?"
"We could’ve
saved you," I said.
"No. No. No.
There was no saving me. I had been
make a move," I said as I desperately tried to erase that memory from my mind.
"The center point shopping complex," I continued. "Does it have any super
markets? Grocery stores? Anything."
"I don’t
know," Jack answered. "You would think so. I mean, it would have to have some
sort of food store."
"Maria?"
"I don’t
know. We always did our grocery shopping online. Home delivered. I only ever
came in here to shop for clothes."
It was
getting hard to think straight. Hunger and dehydration were setting in. The
brain stops functioning. Planning and problem solving become near impossible.
I knew there
would be dangers. But we had no choice.
"We move," I
said. "First thing in the morning. We make our way to the Center Point Tower.
We move together. We move in silence."
Feb 10th - They’re back
It was a few minutes after dawn. I had made my way out to the balcony again. I
hadn’t been able to sleep.
The city was
quiet. The sky was this weird pinkish, orange color. Smoke and haze lingered
over the buildings.
I looked to
the east, down one of the main roads of inner Sydney, and realized that I might
have few more sleepless nights ahead of me. The reason? At that moment, a massive
horde of infected were stumbling back into the city. It was like a river of
people, or a parade or a pilgrimage or something. The street was packed.
"The virus
is designed to find life," I whispered to myself.
The warning
of that crazy doctor was being demonstrated right before my very eyes. These
infected people had no doubt chased the retreating soldiers, chased them all
the way to the coast. Those soldiers were most probably dead. And now the
infected were coming back, searching for more hosts.
I looked
through the crowd. I don’t know why I was looking. I should’ve ducked behind
the railing of the balcony. I should’ve crawled back inside immediately but I
couldn’t help myself. I rested my rifle on the edge of the sandstone railing
and looked through the scope.
Again, I
don’t know why I did this. I guess I just wanted to watch them. To see what
they were like when they weren’t chasing anyone, or eating anyone. I could see
all kinds of people.
Police officers.
Business men
and women.
School kids.
And
soldiers.
Lots of
soldiers.
These were ordinary
people who had been infected and turned into sick, twisted monsters.
I focused on
one soldier. A marine just like me. His rifle was still slung around his neck.
His cammies had been torn to shreds. His head, his skull had been cracked wide
open. I could see his brain. His jaw was broken. It was snapped at the mandible
so that it was hanging down near his neck. His entire face was covered in
blood.
And then he
looked at me.
His head
just snapped in my direction.
The range
was more than half a mile. There was no way he could see me. But he continued
to stare.
I ducked
behind the balcony. And to my surprise, crouching next to me was Drake. He sat
down, resting his back against the balcony railing. He then loosened his belt,
removed it from his pants, and tied if off around his bicep.
He took out
a syringe. He looked at me. "Morphine. Eases the pain."
I blinked.
Shook my head. This wasn’t real.
"Pain is
real," he said. "Well, sort of. You know I used to be terrified of needles. Not
anymore."
"What are
you doing?" I asked.
"What am I
doing? The real question is; what are you doing?"
"Reconnaissance."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
He nodded
towards the horde of infected. "They’re back. You’re screwed."
"Drake,
please. Don’t."
"You were
looking at that marine down there. Come on. Put him out of his misery. He
deserves that much. Or that little."
Drake stood
up and pointed the syringe down towards the approaching horde. He pointed it at
the marine. "Come on. Do it. Do it for me. Remember when I asked you for help?
I begged you. Begged. And you pussied out. Do you remember that?"
"We could’ve
saved you," I said.
"No. No. No.
There was no saving me. I had been
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