Part 12 (2/2)

The other day when Franco was bitten, I looked to the east and thought of running away. Maybe I still could. Maybe. If I got out of this slum alive, if we survived the air strike I could get out of here. I could warn Rebecca before it's too late.

”Yeah that's a great plan. Again, not that you're going to get out of this slum alive, but let's just say hypothetically you do make it out of here. Where are you going to go? How are you going to survive? You'll end up infected. Just like me. Just like these poor refugees. Oh, you think you'll run away? Run all the way to Sydney and warn Rebecca? How are you going to do that? How are you going to make it that far? Have you thought this through at all? And what is she going say to you when you get there? You think she's going to welcome you in with open arms and give you a big hug? You're a goner. You should never have joined the marines. You're not a warrior. You never will be. You're a coward. A lying coward. Not that it matters anymore what you are. Because in a couple of minutes you're a dead man. Just like me. Just like the rest of us.”

”Shut up, Drake.”

At that moment the Humvee ran over a pothole or a ditch or maybe even a crowd of people and my a.s.s momentarily left the seat. Maybe it was the first missiles of the air strike.

I don't know what it was.

But the ride was a b.u.mpy one. The speed the Humvee was travelling at was not safe for the narrow laneways.

The Humvee swerved and I was thrown back in my seat. The tires screeched and the brakes locked up. The Humvee spun out of control and I lost all sense of direction. Left or right, up or down. I had no idea what was happening. I didn't know where I was. The only thing I knew for certain was that Drake was shot, bitten, bleeding. He was dying right in front of me but he was one hundred percent right about everything.

January 27th Escape.

I woke up in a hospital bed. I was alone. There were five other beds in the room but they were all empty. The white sheets were all covered in blood.

No sign of Drake.

No sign of the pilots.

The one and only window of the room was open slightly. It was dawn. The first rays of suns.h.i.+ne were just appearing over the horizon.

I wondered where they were keeping Drake.

I went to get out of my bed but then I noticed both my right leg and my right arm were bound to the rail guard with Velcro straps. My left leg and wrist were not tied down.

I untied myself quickly and jumped out of bed. My head was throbbing and I was dizzy. I slowly made my way out into the corridor, using the walls for support.

I expected the hospital to be full. I was expecting to see nurses and doctors and patients everywhere.

But there was no one.

The hospital was deserted.

I checked a few other rooms and saw the same thing each time. Empty beds. Blood stained sheets.

But the last room I checked was different. The last room still had bodies in the beds.

Civilians.

They were all dead. Bullet holes in their heads.

The room stank of death. I felt dizzy again. I doubled over and threw up. I fell to my knees and crawled out of the room.

At the far end of the corridor was a team of guys in bright yellow HAZMAT suits. They were coming this way.

They were armed.

It dawned on me then that these guys weren't regular soldiers. They weren't U.S. Marines or Rangers or Special Forces. And there's no way they were part of the Australian Army.

There was something about them. Their weapons were different. Their radios were different. Even their HAZMAT suits were slightly different. They looked more advanced, less bulky, more mobile.

It was clear to me then. These guys were powerful.

And deadly.

And they were doing the dirty work of whoever was in charge of this mess.

I had no idea who that might be, still have no idea. But I sure as h.e.l.l wasn't hanging around to find out.

I stayed low and crawled around the corner of the hallway. Once I was out of sight, I bolted. I did not look back.

I made it to the main entrance of the hospital. To my surprise the news van we had seen the other day was parked directly out front. The hood of the van had been smashed in like it had been in a pretty serious accident.

The satellite dish on top of the roof had been shot to pieces.

All the tyres had been shot out. Bullets holes streaked down the side of the van.

I heard gunshots coming from back inside the hospital. The noise scared the h.e.l.l out of me, sent a cold s.h.i.+ver down my spine, forced me to keep running.

I've been running for days now.

I had to get out of their while I still could. We had lost control. The immigration centers, the town. Everything. The people in the towns weren't so much under quarantine as they were prisoners.

Prisoners on death row.

I have no doubt that Command were about to order a nuclear strike.

As Gordon said, sacrifice the few to save the many.

It doesn't matter if those people are innocent. Doesn't matter if they're healthy. Command weren't prepared to take that risk.

And it makes me sick to my stomach.

Their top priority is to contain the virus by any means necessary. Nuclear strikes included. And I wanted nothing to do with it. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

No way.

So I'm leaving. I'm running away.

Again.

Yeah I know.

I must be crazy. I could get court marshalled for this. They could lock me up and throw away the key.

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