by James Harden
Jan 15th – PAYBACK
Command called us in the next day. I assumed it was for another debrief.
I was wrong.
They were organizing a bombing mission and they wanted eyes on the ground for a battle damage assessment.
It was probably at the request of the Green Berets. I’m guessing they had searched the surrounding area with one of the local guides, like they said they would.
I’m guessing they had found something.
Gordon volunteered to lead the mission as usual. But Command said they only wanted a two man team. Basically, all they needed was a sniper and a scout.
Franco and I were chosen.
I had only been in the team for a short time but I had proven myself as the best marksmen. I was honored to be singled out for a mission like this.
Apparently, the Green Berets had discovered a hideout of insurgents. And according to their intelligence, this particular hideout was used by the Al Qaeda leadership. The plan was to fly two F16 jets into the valley and destroy it.
All we had to do was observe and report.
We took a chopper ride up into the mountains and dropped in just on the other side of the valley. We were pretty close to the target area but the mountainous terrain provided us with plenty of cover.
The chopper moved out and away from us. It then descended down into the valley that led back towards the base. The noise of the rotor blades, echoed off the valley walls, giving the impression there was more than one helicopter.
Franco and I waited for the chopper to clear out before we made our move. To get eyes on the target we needed to climb up and over the ridge above us. We would then need to climb down and get underneath the cloud cover.
The cloud cover was good for concealing us and keeping us hidden. But we needed to get below the haze and the mist of the clouds so we could see the target.
I checked my watch. We had about ten minutes until the F16’s would be here.
We climbed down to a vantage point. We could see a few buildings in the valley below. Like most of the buildings up in these mountains, they were little more than mud huts. But according to the intelligence of the Green Berets, these buildings were used for Al Qaeda leadership.
We decided to get a little closer. We continued to climb down. We came across a switch-back road cut into the side of the valley. Well actually it was more like a muddy goat track. I guess it wasn’t all that unusual, but the thing that freaked me out was that it wasn’t on any of the maps we’d studied.
It was enough to make me even more nervous than I already was. But ultimately there was nothing we could do about it.
We found a section of the goat track where a few low lying scrubs grew out between some huge boulders and took cover. Even though we were a fair distance away from the target we still took the time to make sure we were completely hidden from view. I did not want to take any chances.
We settled in. I positioned my sniper rifle and looked through the scope. Franco was acting as my spotter. The mud huts were pretty dilapidated. It wouldn’t take much for the F16’s to reduce these structures to complete nothingness.
I checked my watch again. Five minutes until the jets would be here. The excitement and anticipation was growing.
I was about to say something to Franco. I think I was going to ask him if he had ever done anything like this before, when we heard a noise coming from back down the muddy track. It sounded like a cowbell. Franco pointed to his eyes and then pointed back down the road, indicating that he had seen some possible enemies.
We hunkered down behind the scrub and the rock boulders.
Coming towards us was a malnourished looking donkey. It was pulling a rickety old cart. An elderly looking man was driving the cart, urging the donkey forward.
The donkey slowly but surely made his way down the track towards us.
On the back of the cart were two younger men. They were armed with AK-47’s. Lying down next to the men in the back of the cart was an RPG - rocket propelled grenade launcher. And several body bags.
My heart began to beat faster. I held my breath and prayed that our choice of cover was enough to keep us hidden.
I rested my hand on my sidearm and thumbed the safety off as quietly as humanly possible. I glanced across at Franco; he had his M4 rifle aimed at the men.
His face was a picture of complete serenity.
Franco out ranked me, so he had the say on whether or not we engaged. Basically, if he fired his weapon, I would fire mine.
The cart moved slowly, passing us by only a few feet. Just when I thought they were going to move on they stopped.
One of the men jumped off the back of the cart and looked around. He took a drag on a cigarette he was smoking and then threw it in the mud. After that he coughed up a bit of phlegm and spat on the ground.
My heart was beating so hard at this point; I was convinced they could hear it.
The man then had a real good look around. He couldn’t see us though. We were completely concealed. But if he came any closer we would have no choice but to open fire and get the hell out of this area.
Fortunately, he got back on the cart and they continued on their way.
The donkey climbed down the switch back road and they made their way into the valley. They moved slowly passed the mud huts and then disappeared on the opposite side of the valley.
They must’ve entered a cave, I thought. But we couldn’t see from where we were.
The whole incident seemed to last an eternity. But in reality it was only a couple of minutes.
I flicked the safety back on my sidearm and repositioned my rifle. I checked my watch. The F16’s would be here any second now.
I looked towards the east, the direction where the jets would come from. But there was no sign of them yet.
About a minute later or so the donkey cart remerged from the cave down in the valley. And weirdly, it was stacked full with bodies. There must’ve been a dozen or so.
The old man stopped the cart next to a massive ditch about a hundred feet away from the mud huts. Two men unloaded the bodies. From what we could tell, the bodies appeared to be fellow guerrillas. But we couldn’t be totally sure.
The bodies were dumped unceremoniously in the ditch.
Once the cart was empty, the old man and the cart disappeared from view. But then another cart appeared. A bigger cart. It was carrying even more bodies. They dumped these bodies on the ground in a heap. I noticed a couple more men next to the pile. They had begun to dig another mass grave.
Thirty seconds later, Franco tapped me on the shoulder and nodded back towards the east. “They’re here,” he whispered.
I turned my head to have a look. It took me a split second to spot them. The jets were so low to the ground I could barely see them. I actually thought they were helicopters at first.
But they came in fast. Too fast for helicopters. And way too fast to be flying at such low levels, through a rocky valley in a mountain range. The pilots were either extremely good or extremely crazy. Maybe both.
They were silent in their approach. A split second later, they dropped their bombs and climbed up and out of the valley and hit the after burners.
It wasn’t until they began their climb that we could hear the deafening roar of their engines. In the blink of an eye the jets had climbed out of the valley and disappeared over the mountain range.
Meanwhile the bombs and the missiles they had launched streaked towards their targets. The warheads erupted in giant orange fireballs. Black columns of smoke rolled up into the sky as if they were chasing the F16’s.
The once silent valley was now full of noise, full of death and destruction.
A few seconds later there was another explosion, as something, maybe an ammunition supply shed caught on fire and detonated.
The missiles and bombs they had dropped completely annihilated the mud huts. But we couldn’t see from where we were if the cave had been affected. Who knows how big that underground section was? It
could’ve cut right back into the mountain range.
The noise of the explosions continued to reverberate and echo throughout the valley.
It was impossible not to be humbled by the firepower of the air strike. I would not want to be caught in the middle of one. Not ever.
Several minutes later the smoke had drifted away. Franco and I scanned the area. As predicted, the mud huts were completely destroyed.
Once the smoke had cleared away, the survivors emerged. They seemed to be running around in a panic. Strangely, as some of the men searched the huts and the surrounding area for survivors, a couple of other men continued to dig the mass grave. Another cart emerged from the cave. It was also loaded up with bodies. There’s no way they were killed by the bombing, I thought.
The other men continued to search for survivors in amongst the ruins of the mud huts. But we knew they wouldn’t find any.
We had seen enough. Franco and I were just about to make a move and get to the extraction point, when all of a sudden one of the men pointed up to our location.
I looked over at Franco. I was confused. There was no way they could see us, right? If the guy on the back of the cart couldn’t see us when they rode pass, there was no way they could see us from all the way down in the valley.
But then it hit me. The guy pointing up at us was probably the guy on the back of the donkey cart. He had been spooked. That’s why he had a look around. And now the bombing had confirmed his suspicions. Suddenly, a whole squad of bad guys emerged from the cave. They began taking up positions around the ruins of their crumbled buildings. At least the intel was correct, I thought. It was definitely a hideout.
A few seconds later they opened fire. Fortunately they were lousy shots. At least they were to begin with. They slowly adjusted their aim. The bullets started landing closer, smashing into the surrounding rocks.
Then they started advancing on us.
At this point we had two options. Fall back or return fire.
Falling back was the nice, easy option. But these guys knew the terrain. They knew every rock and goat track and hidden passage. They would run us down in no time.
So we had no choice but to return fire.
At first Franco was acting as my spotter and I was able to take out a number of bad guys. But then they started getting closer, their aim was getting better. Franco had to put the spotting scope down and return fire as well. He unleashed with his rifle, laying down a suppressive line of fire, pinning them down so I could pick them off. He also pumped a few 40mm grenades down on them.
I’m not sure how long the fire fight lasted. Time seems to lose all meaning when I get jacked up on adrenalin. It’s like I become super focused. My eye sight turns into what I would imagine an eagle’s eyesight to be. Everything kind of goes into slow motion. I can see the enemy, my prey as clear as day.
I inhale. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger.
And move on to the next target.
I’m not sure how many we took out but after a while they stopped shooting at us. The valley fell silent and we made our retreat.
We reported the incident to Command. Surprisingly they didn’t seem too concerned with the actual fire fight. They wanted to know the specific details of the bombing, they wanted the damage report. We reported that the airstrike had completely obliterated the small buildings within the valley. But when we told them we couldn’t really confirm any battle damage for the cave section of the hideout, they didn’t look too happy.
They then asked us if any of the guerrillas got up after the bombing or after the fire fight.
It was a strange question.
“No, sir.” Franco answered. “I’m pretty sure we eliminated any of the survivors during the fire fight.”
“Good.”
They marked something on a map of the area and we were dismissed.
Jan 16th - New Orders
I can’t believe it. We’re being redeployed. A whole regiment. Over five thousand soldiers.
And we’re being sent to Australia of all places. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Australia is a peaceful country.
When they told us we were being re-deployed to Australia I initially thought there had been some sort of natural disaster, like an earthquake or tsunami. Or maybe both.
I was wrong.
Apparently there’s been an outbreak of a virus and we’re being sent to help enforce a quarantine.
Again, I can’t believe it. Re-deploying a whole regiment of troops to help with the quarantine and containment of a virus? It doesn’t make any damn sense.
We’ve heard rumors they want battle hardened Marines down there. Why? I have no freakin idea.
I mean, why the hell would they take us out of Afghanistan for a goddamn babysitting gig down in Australia? Shouldn’t the Australian armed forces be able to handle it by themselves?
I can’t figure it out.
They briefed us quickly. Apparently the virus that’s causing all the problems is an extremely dangerous and virulent strain. It is extremely contagious. It changes people. A person infected with this particular virus becomes violent and aggressive. They said there has been an outbreak within an immigration center in the Australian outback, at a place called Woomera.
The immigration center is where they process the majority of refugees and asylum seekers who had come to Australia in search of a better life. This is the place where they determine whether or not they are allowed to stay in the country or if they are to be sent home.
Basically, it’s the place where their fate is decided.
When we arrive there we will join up with the Australian Army. Our mission will be to contain the virus and enforce the quarantine by any means necessary.
We were flying out immediately.
It was worrying to think about. I mean seriously, why did they need us? Weren’t we better off here? Weren’t we needed here?
The news was shocking and unsettling. But ultimately, we had to follow orders.
Semper Fi. Always faithful.
And the weird thing is, now that I’ve packed my bag, I’m actually starting to accept that we are leaving Afghanistan. I’m actually kinda looking forward to this little adventure.
The main reason I’m looking forward to it?
Rebecca.
I know Australia is a huge country but I can’t help the way I feel. I’m getting excited and nervous. I can’t stop thinking about how I would be setting foot in the same country as her. I can’t stop thinking how there is a chance, a one in a million chance, but still a chance that I would see her. I have butterflies in my stomach. Giant, monstrous butterflies.
I wonder if it would be awkward if I saw her. I wonder if it could ever go back to the way things used to be.
All of a sudden I can’t stop thinking about being with her. Hanging out. Like we used to.
Hanging out with Rebecca was the best thing in the world. It felt right. Natural. I don’t know how to explain it but whenever we were together, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.
This one time my parents flew to Tokyo on business and left me at home. It was summer and I had the whole house to myself. It was awesome. It’s not like I was gonna go crazy and have a whole bunch of parties or anything like that. But it was fun. I could stay up late, watch movies; crank my music as loud as I wanted. And I could spend all day and all night with Rebecca.
I had only just met her but I was desperate to know more about her, to know everything about her.
I suggested we camp out in my backyard. It was a hot summer and I figured it would be fun to sleep out under the stars. I know it was kinda stupid and childish and as soon as the words left my mouth I was fully expecting her to laugh at my silly idea. But to my surprise she said she’d love to.
My heart skipped a beat and it took all of my concentration to contain my excitement. I played it cool even though I was jumping for joy on the inside.
Her mom was working a lot of night shifts so we’d sleep out in the tent in
the backyard and then Rebecca would wake up at sunrise and sneak back into her house before her mom got home.
During the night we would read comic books by torchlight and talk about who our favorite X-men were. Mine was Wolverine. Hers was Storm.
I’d say, “But Wolverine has claws and is practically indestructible.”
And she’d say, “Yeah but Storm can control the weather. She can make a class five tornado whenever she wants.”
Then I’d ask her who her favorite Ninja Turtle was.
“Definitely, Michelangelo. He’s a party dude. And nun-chucks are like the hardest martial art weapon to master.”
“But what about Leonardo?”
“He’s too straight edge. He’s too boring.”
The she’d ask me who my favorite Ninja Turtle was but I could never decide. I liked Leonardo because he was the leader and he had two samurai swords. But I also liked Raphael because red was my favorite color and he was a total badass.
So I could never decide.
During the night we would also scare the hell out of each other with ghost stories. They weren’t the urban legend type ghost stories, the ‘oh my god, the call is coming from inside the house!’ type ghost stories. They were more like what would you do if - insert horrifying thing - happened?
I’d say, “What would you do if the city was suddenly overrun by killer robots?”
And she’d say, “I’d hide in your basement. We’d be safe there.”
That made me laugh. Rebecca was in awe of all the training equipment my dad had set up down in our basement. So during the day, we’d go down there and I would teach her to shoot a bow and arrow and how to throw a knife and how to shoot a gun. We practiced karate and jujitsu for hours and hours.
I was always amazed at how quickly she learnt. She was like a sponge. She absorbed everything.
New York was in the middle of a record heat-wave that summer, so after a couple hours or so of training we’d both be drenched in sweat.
I couldn’t help but think Rebecca looked damn sexy when she worked up a sweat.
After cooling down, we’d lie out on the grass in my tiny backyard and get some sun. Then we’d ride our bikes to the store so we could stock up on MnM’s and Coke and corn chips and salsa for the night. When we returned to the safety of our tent we would spray each other with a water bottle to sooth our sun burnt skin.
After two weeks of camping in my backyard, the tent had killed the patch of grass beneath it. When my parents found out, they didn’t let us camp in the backyard anymore.
I can’t stop smiling as I write this. I want nothing more than for everything to go back to the way it was between us. I want to stay up all night with her. I want to talk about movies and comic books with her. I want to lay out in the sun with her.
I know it’s a long shot but I can’t help but think maybe it’s meant to be. Maybe this is destiny. I mean, what are they odds that I’d be re-deployed in Australia of all places?
I know it’s a big country but I’m going to do everything in my power to find her. I’m going to find her and say I’m sorry. I’m going to give her the letter I wrote for her, the letter I should’ve given her the day I left.
And whatever happens, happens.
But I’m not going down without a fight.
Yeah. Maybe this is destiny.
January 18th – The Australian Outback (The Red Center)
Wow. Sixteen hour flight time. Thank God they gave us sleeping pills. The wheels of our C17 Globemaster hitting the tarmac was what actually woke me up.
The first thing I noticed when we stepped off the plane was the heat. It was well over a hundred degrees. A hot wind blew in from across the desert, providing no relief at all. When you breathed in, it felt like the air was burning your nostrils and the back of your throat.
It was a shock to go from an Afghanistan winter to an Australian summer.
When I stepped off the plane I could see a lot of activity. The size of the military force that had been deployed here was ridiculous. In my opinion it was way too much for the tiny town of Woomera. The population was just over a thousand people. And we had a whole regiment. Five thousand troops!
Sometimes I question the sanity of the Command.
As soon as we stepped off the plane we were briefed immediately.
Apparently the immigration processing center just outside the town is where the outbreak of the virus first occurred. I’m not sure what the population of the immigration center is but there’s no way it warrants the amount of soldiers that have been deployed here.
It borders on comical.
We’ve got a whole fleet of transport aircraft, Humvees, tanks, Apache gunships, A10 bombers.
I mean, what the hell did they need A10’s for?
It’s complete overkill.
Apparently there are even a couple of aircraft carriers making their way into Australian waters as well. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m pretty sure the Australian armed forces could’ve handled this just fine on their own.
Afternoon Orientation – The Mission.
There were three main areas that we’d be required to patrol.
The town of Woomera.
The immigration center.
And the Woomera Military Testing Site.
The testing site was a huge area that was used for hazardous weapons and explosives testing. It stretched way out into the desert. Something like 50,000 square miles. Apparently it is the largest land-based weapons testing site in the world.
Because the testing site was so large, the majority of our forces would be deployed out there in the absolute middle of nowhere in five separate temporary bases. The area would also be patrolled by helicopters and predator drones.
Basically, our main objective will be to secure the quarantine around these two facilities and the town itself. Sounded easy enough. Sounded boring enough.
I must admit I kind of tuned out after a few minutes. I think they started talking about the virus, how they’ve tested on lab rats and rhesus monkeys, and how the only way to prevent a carrier from spreading the infection was to destroy certain areas of their brain. I know I should’ve been paying better attention but I couldn’t help it. I’m not sure if it was the heat, or the jet lag but I just couldn’t focus. And I couldn’t stop thinking about Rebecca.
This is going to sound weird. But deep down I think I’m a hopeless romantic. Actually, I know I’m a hopeless romantic. I was convinced it was fate that had brought me here. Fate had given me a chance to find her, to tell her that I was sorry, tell her how I feel.
The shrink said something about seeking forgiveness. Redemption.
Well, maybe this was my chance.
After the briefing we settled into our barracks.
On the one hand I still thought that it was a mistake to have brought this many troops here to this peaceful and isolated part of the world, especially since we still had a job to do in Afghanistan. Insurgents were still striking out against us. They were getting bolder. Smarter. And they were continuing to attack and operate even in the middle of the cold winter months.
But we had been given new orders. And there was nothing I could do about that. We were here to enforce the quarantine. I guess we should all consider ourselves lucky. Afghanistan is a dangerous place.
This babysitting job will be a walk in the park.
January 20th – Opal Mine
We had two straight days of boredom and patrolling the small township. For the most part of those two days I was waving flies away from my mouth and eyes - seriously no one ever mentioned anything about the freakin flies out here. I bet they don’t put that on any tourist brochures.
But yeah, after two straight days of boredom we received a call for help.
It’s funny. During those two days, I was hoping and praying for some action. Something to do. Anything.
There’s a reason people say, ‘Be careful what you wish for’.
There was a situation about five miles o
utside of the township of Woomera at a small, privately owned opal mine. It was a father and son operation. The mine had been in the family for a couple generations.
Apparently there was a tunnel collapse or something. Gordon, Franco, Drake and I were to escort a rescue team down into the opal mine.
I thought this was going to be a simple assignment. In all honesty, I thought maybe the father had bumped his head on a rock or maybe someone had broken their arm. I thought we’d be in and out in no time.
And besides, the actual rescue guys would be doing most of the work. We were just there to supervise.
I was wrong.
As soon as we arrived at the small entrance to the mine I quickly realized it wasn’t going to be a simple job.
Leading up to the mineshaft was a trail of bloody footprints. And right next to the entrance was a dead horse. It was a mess. The horse was lying on its side. It’s stomach; its entire mid-section had been ripped open. Its guts had spilled out on the ground. It was completely covered in flies.
The stench of it was incredible. Franco threw up. One of the rescuers was gagging, trying to hold it in. I had to look away and take a few deep breaths.
“Gotta be wild dogs, right?” Drake said. “Dingoes or wolves or something?”
No one answered him.
The horse had been carrying some saddle bags across its back. The bags contained large rocks. At first glance the rocks were rough and plain looking. But upon closer inspection we could see bright green and blue sections, as well as red and violet. They were like veins running through the rock.
It was raw opal.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the rescuers said. “That would have to be worth thousands. You don’t just leave that kind of find lying around.”
Bloody foot prints led towards the entry to the mine. Dark blood. It looked black against the dusty, red ground. Thick. Coagulated. Brown chunks of horse flesh were scatted on the ground near the mine shaft as well. Then again, maybe it was human flesh. I don’t know.
It was a puzzling scene.
“Has anything like this ever happened before?” Gordon asked the rescue guys.
“No way. Nothing like this.”
“Any reports of wild dog attacks?”
“Years ago we had some reports of dingo attacks. Back when their population was getting out of control. But I don’t think there’s ever been a case where a pack of dingoes have brought down a horse. They wouldn’t even bother. This doesn’t make sense.”
Gordon told Drake and Franco to remain up top. Keep an eye out for any wild dogs or dingoes or whatever. Gordon and I were going down into the mine.
The rescue guys told us to take our packs off because the tunnels were narrow. They led the way and Gordon and I followed them in. The entry to the mine was a small, narrow tunnel about three feet in diameter. It led straight down into darkness. Hand and foot holds were fixed to the rock, like a ladder built into the wall.
I don’t consider myself to be claustrophobic but as I descended down that tiny, vertical tunnel, I started to freak out. It was a good thing the rescue guys told us to take our packs off. There’s no way we would’ve fit.
We climbed down to a depth of about fifty feet. When we reached the bottom I discovered that the tunnels of the mine were just as narrow as the entry shaft. They weren’t even high enough for us to stand up properly.
We had to move around hunched over.
The rescue guys turned their hard-hat torches on. Gordon and I did the same with our rifles.
It was then we noticed the pile of flesh and blood at the foot of the entry shaft we had just climbed down. Again, it was hard to tell if the flesh was from the horse or if it was human.
To my left there was a clump of hair and some blood on the wall of the entry tunnel. And something else that looked like a graft of human skin. I got the impression that someone had fallen down the mine shaft and cut themselves up pretty bad.
The rescuers had never been down here so no one knew where to go, or where to even start looking. I was about to call out to see if anyone answered. But I stopped myself. Would calling out cause one of these tiny tunnels to collapse? I did not want to find out.
In the end, we followed the blood trail.
As we moved along I noticed some marks in the tunnel walls. I looked closer. They were marks caused by bullets. Small arms fire. Had there been a shoot-out down here?
We moved slowly around a bend in the tunnel. Gordon took the lead and I followed closely behind. Up ahead we found a revolver lying on the ground in a pool of blood. It had been fired recently. Six empty bullet shells lay on the ground next to the revolver. The barrel was still warm.
Further ahead was a shotgun. Gordon moved ahead and picked it up.
“Hasn’t been fired,” he said.
He unloaded the rifle, placing the shells in his pocket. He handed the weapon back to me.
We continued further, deeper into the mine. After a couple of minutes I was completely disorientated and the feeling of claustrophobia intensified.
At that point I sort of forgot why we were down there. I was just hoping we weren’t lost. I really wanted to get the hell out as soon as possible. I did not want one of the tunnels to collapse. The walls were solid rock. We’d be crushed with no hope of survival.
Gordon held up his hand, motioning for us to stop.
The blood trail ended.
“What is it?” one of the rescuers asked from behind.
“Blood trail ends here,” Gordon answered as he shone his torch at the dusty ground.
The other rescue guy said something about how maybe whoever had been bleeding had bandaged up their wounds. Apparently mines like this have first aid kits located throughout the tunnels.
I was about to ask him if that was the case then where the hell was the first aid kit? But then I thought I heard something coming from further down the tunnel.
A scream.
I held my breath and strained my ears. Did I just imagine it? Was the scream real? But then I noticed everyone was silent.
We had all heard it.
“Ah, was that a scream?” I asked.
No one answered me.
A few seconds later we could hear moaning. Someone was in pain. Someone was trapped down here, probably bleeding to death.
We continued forward, hunched over, moving as fast as we could in the confined area. We turned down another bend but then Gordon came to an abrupt stop. I actually ran up the back of him.
The mine broke off into a fork but they were both collapsed in. It was a dead end.
We quickly searched the collapsed pile of rocks for any gaps but there were none.
The rescuers lowered their heads. This was bad news. There was no hope for the miners.
I’m not sure what had happened. Why was the revolver fired? Who was doing the shooting? What were they shooting at? Why was the shotgun dropped, fully loaded? Why would you bring a shotgun down into a confined mine like this?
Or any weapon for that matter.
And what the hell happened to the damn horse?
We sat there in the fork of the tunnel for a while. We listened for any noises. Any cries for help. But there were no sounds at all.
The rescuers had some equipment, heat sensors to pick up human body heat. And sound equipment that could pick up and faint noises, like cries for help or breathing. But they found nothing. There was no sign of life.
After a couple of hours we gave up hope. All we knew was that something bad had happened.
A struggle.
Maybe an argument over the opal find?
I don’t know.
But something bad had gone down. And then the tunnel had collapsed, probably crushing both the father and the son.
It was tragic. But there was nothing we could do.
And now I’m hoping, praying for more days of boredom.
January 21st – Outbreak.
Things are starting to get weird. Yesterday it was the incident in
the mine. And now today. Wow. I mean, I really have no idea what the hell happened today. I’ve tried to think it through logically but I can’t.
Everything that happened keeps playing over and over in my head. I have to be up in three hours, but I can’t sleep. It’s just so messed up. Even more messed up then that damn mutilated horse carcass we saw yesterday.
We were on patrol in the town center. We were the closest team to the incident so we were ordered to go and investigate.
Apparently there was a robbery at the local medical center. Command suspected it was probably someone trying to rob the joint for pain meds.
When we got there the receptionist was crying. She was hysterical. She was pointing at the back room. It was the room they used for minor procedures, like giving shots and removing stitches and stuff like that.
Apparently there was a patient in there who had an abscess. Apparently that patient had gone bat crap insane.
“He was about to have it lanced,” she said.
“Lanced?” Franco asked.
“Yeah. The abscess had become inflamed and swollen. The guy was complaining of fever and body aches. He was shivering. Doctor Grant assumed it was because of the infected abscess.”
From behind me, Drake asked, “What the hell is an abscess?”
“It’s like a boil,” she answered.
“Oh, right. Yeah, I knew that.”
“He actually had a few of them,” she continued. “A couple on his arms and some on his torso. To lance them, you inject a local anesthetic into the boil and wait for the area to become numb. Then you make a small incision with a scalpel and drain the puss and the fluid from the wound.”
“Gross,” Franco said.
“But something happened. I heard screams. Not just from the patient but from Doctor Grant and the nurse as well. Something is wrong. I know there are a lot of rumors circulating about the virus outbreak in the immigration center. Do you think this is related?”
The receptionist looked scared. Actually she looked down right terrified. Her hands were shaking.
We told her not to worry. Just relax. Just breathe. We told her that everything would be all right.
We were lying.
We moved over to the back room. The receptionist had jammed a chair up against the handle. Gordon moved it out of the way and knocked on the door. He called out to Doctor Grant. But there was no response.
“Is this door locked?” Gordon asked the receptionist.
She shook her head.
Drake moved up alongside Gordon. They didn’t say anything. They gave each other a quick look and Drake gave a slight nod. They didn’t need to say anything. They know each other so well, it’s like they can read each other’s minds. Gordon opened the door and Drake stepped into the ‘operating’ room with his rifle shouldered and ready.
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.
