The Lost Journal of Private Kenji Yoshida

by James Harden

January 26th - Shoot to kill.

  The sun wasn’t even up when we made our way to the check point. They wanted us back out there, watching the perimeter as soon as possible. Our orders were simple. We were to keep a look out and make sure no one gets through.

  Infected or otherwise.

  If anyone stepped outside the quarantine area we were to take them out.

  Shoot to kill.

  Maybe that’s why we weren’t reprimanded yesterday, I thought. Maybe they figured our orders were too vague or confusing. Deciding whether or not a person was infected and then deciding on whether or not to use deadly force was too much for one little grunt to handle right?

  Well, now they were removing all doubt.

  Shoot to kill.

  No exceptions.

  We set up in the exact same positions as the day before. About a mile outside the perimeter, rifles pointed back towards the town.

  We spread out. We watched and waited.

  And waited.

  We waited out in the hot desert sun for about six hours before anything happened.

  At one point I thought I was going to die of boredom. And heat stroke.

  But then all hell broke loose.

  At first I thought maybe I was seeing things. Maybe the sun and the heat had sent me crazy. Maybe I was dehydrated.

  I could see three people off in the distance, back towards the town. Three figures on the horizon. Their bodies appeared to be distorted, shimmering in the heat. I couldn’t see clearly but they seemed to be staggering slowly towards us. They actually looked drunk.

  “Franco. Drake,” I whispered. “I got three people in my sights.”

  I had another look through my scope at them. As they walked closer I could see that there were two men and one woman. They looked old. One of the men was wearing a dressing gown that was untied at the waist, exposed for the whole world to see. The woman was wearing a night dress and nothing else. None of them were wearing shoes.

  “They look elderly,” I said. “Two men. One woman. The actually look like they’re intoxicated. Or maybe they’re medicated. Is there an old folk’s home in town?”

  “Ah, yeah I think so,” Franco answered. “It’s near the hospital.”

  They continued to stumble aimlessly through the desert.

  “So what do we do?”

  “Have you got a clear shot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take it.”

  “What?”

  “Take the shot.”

  “Franco. Dude, they’re old people. That’s somebody’s grandma. Somebody’s poppy.”

  “Kenji, we’ve got orders.”

  Franco then lowered his voice even though I’m not sure why. “You know they’re listening in,” he said. “Gunships will be here any second to do the dirty work anyways.”

  He was right. I knew he was right. Just like yesterday. If we hesitated, the Apache would show up and take them out in the blink of an eye.

  And our orders were shoot to kill anybody that broke through the quarantine. Anybody. If we didn’t take the shot we would be disobeying a direct order.

  But still, I did not want to kill these people. They were old, helpless. Maybe I could clip them in the legs? Take them down without killing them. Maybe if I could do that, then I could go and check them out. Show everyone that they are not infected. Maybe then we could get them back to the old folk’s home. Get them fixed up.

  I shook my head. That was a pipe dream. A fantasy.

  But I was desperate. My mind was racing through any and all possibilities, anything that would prevent me from shooting these people.

  I inhaled and steadied my aim. I lined up one of the old men in my sights. His legs were bent with age and arthritis. I was about to squeeze the trigger. But I couldn’t. This man was frail. A bullet shot to the leg would blow it apart and probably kill him.

  “Franco, I can’t do it,” I said. “These people need help.”

  “We got orders, Kenji,” Franco replied. “And look at them. They’re sick. There’s no helping them. You heard what the virus does to a person.”

  The old people walked closer. At first I couldn’t see them clearly but the closer they came, the more I realized these people were indeed sick. Their skin was a pale grey. Blood was dripping down their chins, staining their bare chests.

  “I’ve got a shot,” Franco said. “I’m taking them out.”

  I took my finger off the trigger. I couldn’t do it. I knew we had orders. I knew these people were probably sick. But I couldn’t do it.

  I guess I was scared.

  Franco got on the radio to command. He wanted to check our orders, make sure that we had to take the shot. He didn’t want to kill these people any more than I did.

  The reply came back immediately.

  Shoot to kill.

  NOW.

  Franco requested aerial support but was quickly denied.

  There would be no gunship to do the dirty work this time. No aerial support at all. They were probably busy elsewhere in the town or the immigration centers or maybe in the massive testing area. Whatever the reason, we were on our own. That much was clear. And we would have to make a decision on these people’s lives.

  Franco fired.

  The noise of the shot scared the hell out of me. He just went ahead and took it. No more hesitation. The time for discussion was over.

  His first shot missed. He fired again.

  Watching through the scope on my rifle I saw the bullet clip one of the old men in the shoulder. He stumbled back half a step, but then regained his balance. And then the weirdest thing happened. The old man started to run. He began sprinting towards Franco’s position. Old, arthritic legs pumping faster than any Olympic sprinter.

  The other old man, and the old woman followed closely behind. They were all running barefoot, faster than humanly possible.

  “Ah, Franco. I… I think they’re coming for you.”

  Franco swore. He fired again and missed completely. The infected kept running. They seemed to be gaining speed.

  Drake opened fire with his m249 machine gun. I could see the puffs of dust where the bullets hit the ground. He nailed one of the infected – the woman but it didn’t stop her. It was like she stumbled for a bit, like someone had pushed her. But then she regained her footing and kept sprinting.

  “Oh God,” Franco said. “They’re not going down!”

  Franco was freaking out. He took a few single round shots before he switched to full automatic.

  I was stunned. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. These people were taking fire; they were being shot with high-powered assault rifles. But they weren’t going down.

  They weren’t human. They were monsters.

  I took aim again and rested my index finger on the trigger.

  Inhaled.

  Exhaled.

  I took the woman out first. She had actually over taken the men. She was in front by a few feet.

  The bullet passed through her temple, her head snapped to the side and she fell to the ground, her momentum causing her to roll head over ass.

  The two old men did not stop or even acknowledge that the woman had been killed. They just kept running.

  They were a hundred feet away from Franco now.

  Drake was still shooting, trying to provide support. But his aim was getting more and more erratic. And when the old men got within fifty feet of Franco, Drake stopped shooting altogether from fear of hitting Franco.

  I fired again and took out one of the men.

  There was one guy left. I reloaded. Took aim. Fired.

  Clipped him in the shoulder. But he kept running. I fired one more shot.

  Missed.

  I saw Franco stand up from where he had been lying down. His rifle was raised up to his shoulder. He fired at point blank range.

  He would’ve had to have hit the old man but he was so close I couldn’t tell.

  The infected man crashed into Franco, tackling him to the ground. I
stood up and sprinted over. When I got there, Franco was lying on his back. He was breathing hard.

  The infected old man was face down in the dirt. He was not moving.

  A few seconds later Drake arrived. “Jesus, man. Are you all right?”

  Franco slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think.”

  “That was messed up,” I said.

  “Yeah, I freakin nailed that old lady,” Drake said. “Didn’t drop her. She didn’t even stop running. It was like nothing had happened.”

  “They weren’t lying when they said a head shot is the only way to stop the infection,” Franco added between deep breaths. “This virus is messed up.”

  Franco called back to command and reported the incident and requested reinforcements. He was denied.

  They couldn’t spare the men.

  “You’re kidding,” I said. “What the hell?”

  I checked my watch. We still had a couple more hours until we were scheduled to be relieved. And unfortunately this incident was just the beginning of our worries.