The Lost Journal Part 2 (A Secret Apocalypse Story) by James Harden Page A
Authors: James Harden
Ads: Link
supermarket? Or would it just be a suicide mission?
I had a
feeling it would be the latter.
And I guess
that’s maybe the main reason I wanted to leave it for tomorrow.
I wasn’t
ready to risk my life again. Not yet.
Feb 9th - Grocery store raid. And more
conversations with the dead.
We moved upstairs into an office of some sort and spent the night. I slept with
my back against the door. At first light, we moved out to the main balcony on
the second floor. It was a huge stone balcony that looked out over the city and
the intersection below. Jack told me that across the road from the Town Hall
was another historic building – the queen Victoria building. Apparently it was
heritage listed or historically important or something. Recently it had been
transformed into a prestigious shopping center.
I looked
through the scope on my rifle down at the Queen Victoria building. The store
front windows had mostly been blown apart. Some were still intact.
The stores
were mainly for designer labels.
Louis
Vuitton.
Versace.
Gucci.
Five star
luxury brand names smack bang in the middle of a warzone. They were covered in
blood, damaged from small arms fire. Next to the Queen Victoria building was a
large bronze statue, probably of Queen Victoria. She was sitting on her throne,
ruler of her domain. Or at least this particular intersection.
The street
and the intersection were packed with abandoned cars. We couldn’t see any
infected.
This meant I
would have to go now.
Damn.
I told Jack
to cover me as best he could from the balcony. "Stay below the railing. Stay
hidden. If you need to shoot, rest the barrel on top of the railing. This will
help with your aim. Now, if you do have to shoot, it’s not that important if
you actually hit anything. But I’ll know if you fire this gun, that there’s
infected in the area and that I need to get to cover. OK?"
Jack nodded.
He didn’t say anything. He was too nervous.
"And don’t
shoot on full automatic," I added. "You’ll just waste the ammo. Single shot.
Nice and controlled."
He nodded
again.
"Just be
careful," Maria said.
I snuck out
one of the emergency exits on the ground floor. I sprinted across the road,
ducking between all the abandoned cars. I made it to the supermarket in good
time.
The sign
read:
IGA - Independent Grocers Association.
The
automatic glass doors of the entrance had been smashed in. My boots crunched on
broken glass as I made my way into the grocery store. It was immediately
apparent that the place had been looted. The shelves were completely bare. I
noticed some droplets of blood on the floor.
I made my
way to the rear, hoping to find some cans of food that had been left behind or
missed in the panic. Maybe a few bottles of water. Something.
The deeper I
made my way into the store, the more blood I saw.
The droplets
became long arching splatters of red. It looked like a deranged serial killer
had decided to get creative, using the floor as his canvas. Blood as his paint.
Remember how
I told you I was seeing dead people?
It happened
again. In the grocery store.
Sitting
against the shelves that lined that back wall was an employee of the store.
His uniform
was stained with blood. His name tag read:
Imran, Store Manager.
His skin was
a mess of wounds. Bite wounds. And gunshot wounds. His jaw was open. There was
a giant hole in the back of his head. He was sitting in a pool of his own
blood.
"Sorry about
the mess," he said.
I took a
step back. I am always surprised at how loud and clear the voice is.
"The place
was looted," he continued. "People went mad. What was I to do? This one guy, he
did not want food. He wanted money. He robbed the store. Why? Why would he do
that? Did he not know? Did he not realize what was happening? Money is no good.
Not anymore. Probably won’t be for awhile. We are going back to the dark ages.
Money means nothing. He was a fool."
"Are you
mad?" I asked.
"Mad?"
"Angry."
"No. Not
anymore.
I had a
feeling it would be the latter.
And I guess
that’s maybe the main reason I wanted to leave it for tomorrow.
I wasn’t
ready to risk my life again. Not yet.
Feb 9th - Grocery store raid. And more
conversations with the dead.
We moved upstairs into an office of some sort and spent the night. I slept with
my back against the door. At first light, we moved out to the main balcony on
the second floor. It was a huge stone balcony that looked out over the city and
the intersection below. Jack told me that across the road from the Town Hall
was another historic building – the queen Victoria building. Apparently it was
heritage listed or historically important or something. Recently it had been
transformed into a prestigious shopping center.
I looked
through the scope on my rifle down at the Queen Victoria building. The store
front windows had mostly been blown apart. Some were still intact.
The stores
were mainly for designer labels.
Louis
Vuitton.
Versace.
Gucci.
Five star
luxury brand names smack bang in the middle of a warzone. They were covered in
blood, damaged from small arms fire. Next to the Queen Victoria building was a
large bronze statue, probably of Queen Victoria. She was sitting on her throne,
ruler of her domain. Or at least this particular intersection.
The street
and the intersection were packed with abandoned cars. We couldn’t see any
infected.
This meant I
would have to go now.
Damn.
I told Jack
to cover me as best he could from the balcony. "Stay below the railing. Stay
hidden. If you need to shoot, rest the barrel on top of the railing. This will
help with your aim. Now, if you do have to shoot, it’s not that important if
you actually hit anything. But I’ll know if you fire this gun, that there’s
infected in the area and that I need to get to cover. OK?"
Jack nodded.
He didn’t say anything. He was too nervous.
"And don’t
shoot on full automatic," I added. "You’ll just waste the ammo. Single shot.
Nice and controlled."
He nodded
again.
"Just be
careful," Maria said.
I snuck out
one of the emergency exits on the ground floor. I sprinted across the road,
ducking between all the abandoned cars. I made it to the supermarket in good
time.
The sign
read:
IGA - Independent Grocers Association.
The
automatic glass doors of the entrance had been smashed in. My boots crunched on
broken glass as I made my way into the grocery store. It was immediately
apparent that the place had been looted. The shelves were completely bare. I
noticed some droplets of blood on the floor.
I made my
way to the rear, hoping to find some cans of food that had been left behind or
missed in the panic. Maybe a few bottles of water. Something.
The deeper I
made my way into the store, the more blood I saw.
The droplets
became long arching splatters of red. It looked like a deranged serial killer
had decided to get creative, using the floor as his canvas. Blood as his paint.
Remember how
I told you I was seeing dead people?
It happened
again. In the grocery store.
Sitting
against the shelves that lined that back wall was an employee of the store.
His uniform
was stained with blood. His name tag read:
Imran, Store Manager.
His skin was
a mess of wounds. Bite wounds. And gunshot wounds. His jaw was open. There was
a giant hole in the back of his head. He was sitting in a pool of his own
blood.
"Sorry about
the mess," he said.
I took a
step back. I am always surprised at how loud and clear the voice is.
"The place
was looted," he continued. "People went mad. What was I to do? This one guy, he
did not want food. He wanted money. He robbed the store. Why? Why would he do
that? Did he not know? Did he not realize what was happening? Money is no good.
Not anymore. Probably won’t be for awhile. We are going back to the dark ages.
Money means nothing. He was a fool."
"Are you
mad?" I asked.
"Mad?"
"Angry."
"No. Not
anymore.
Similar Books
