The Lost Journal Part 13

d.a.m.n. I've got to stop running away. But I've got no other option.

This virus is out of control. And if spreads. If it gets out...

I need to warn Rebecca. I can't stop thinking about her.

What's that saying? 'Fortune favors the bold' or something? Well, I hope fortune favors the crazy. Because what I am doing right now is downright insane. There's every chance that I'll be caught.

There's every chance they'll shoot me dead and bury me out in the desert.

The virus was spreading faster than they could contain it.

How long before it reaches the next town over? Or the next city? Will the Apache guns.h.i.+ps get all of the infected? Will the containment crews be able to chase them all down?

I don't think so. The Australian outback is huge. There's no way.

And that thought terrifies me.

So I've got to warn Rebecca.

She's here somewhere. My parents said she had moved to Sydney. That was over a year ago. I have no idea if she's still there. I don't even know her address.

But this is my decision. To h.e.l.l with the consequences.

I'm on the run. I'm alone. I'm hungry. I'm dehydrated and scared.

But I have to try. I have to warn her.

Rebecca, I am coming for you.

OUT NOW.

The Secret Apocalypse (Book 1).

Extinction Level (Book 2).

Where The Dead Men Lie (Book 3).

The Lost Journal Part 2.

COMING SOON.

TORN APART.

Part 2.

Attn: Commander Satoru Yos.h.i.+da.

Subject: Transcript Interception.

Cla.s.sification: Above Top Secret.

Commander Yos.h.i.+da, 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 d.a.m.n 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 Yos.h.i.+da.

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 h.e.l.l. 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 h.e.l.l. 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 doc.u.ment 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 doc.u.ment 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.