by James Harden
But again, I found it hard to sleep that night. Even after the exhausting trek, and spending the afternoon and most of the night testing people for the infection, even after getting everything out of my head and on to the page. I still found it hard to sleep.
Whenever I closed my eyes I saw a blur, a collage of frightened and helpless people.
They looked at me with scared fascination. Some of them were holding children. Some of them were on fire.
January 25th - Deadly Force
The next day they had expanded the outer perimeter of the quarantine to a ten mile radius. The quarantine now covered the town, the official immigration center and the unofficial immigration center.
It was a huge area.
But I’m starting to think the quarantine is a band-aid solution. I’m starting to think we’ve lost control.
Yesterday, the unofficial immigration center was partially destroyed by fire. A fire that was deliberately lit. Command isn’t telling us why. No one tells us grunts anything. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why they did it.
They locked up those poor people. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Then they cleared out and set them on fire.
They were burned alive.
I woke up that morning and my whole body was sore. My feet, my legs. Even my throat was sore from the smoke.
I was hoping today we would be given a chopper ride back to the main barracks. Grab a shower. Some real food.
Get some rest.
But no. We had been assigned to guard duty.
We were to set up at a checkpoint about a mile outside of the outer-perimeter and watch for anyone who had broken through.
The fire and the shooting in the town had put everyone on edge. And understandably, people were trying to get the hell out of here. Not just the immigrants, but people from the township as well.
I can’t blame them.
But no one was allowed to leave. Didn’t matter if you were healthy.
Our orders were to keep a look out for anyone trying to make a run for it. We were authorized to eliminate any probable threat or any persons we believed were infected beyond help. If they were infected we were authorized to use deadly force if necessary. They reminded us that a head shot was the only way the only way to stop a person infected with the virus.
If we couldn’t contain the threat, or if the outer-perimeter was breached by too many people, we were to call in the gunships for aerial support.
Usually we operated in pairs. One shooter and one spotter. But since Gordon was still in hospital and apparently they were running low on field experienced snipers, Command said we had to split up. They wanted to cover as much ground as possible. They wanted as many shooters as possible.
So we split up. We were about a hundred meters apart. The low lying scrubs provided plenty of concealment. We settled in and positioned ourselves. I was lying flat on my stomach, rifle pointed back towards the town of Woomera. Once Drake and Franco had positioned themselves, they completely disappeared from my sight. If anyone was walking through here, there’s no way they would see us.
I was praying that no one would be stupid enough to try and escape.
My prayers fell on deaf ears.
Two guys ran towards us, about half a mile away. They were hunched over, trying to keep low and out of sight. They had no idea they were being watched. They seemed to be running between the low lying scrubs and every now and then they would dive behind one and wait for a few minutes. Once they thought it was clear they would continue running to the next point of cover.
Out in the desert it wasn’t much but the shrubbery actually provided pretty good concealment. Unfortunately for these guys it wasn’t good enough. We could see them easily.
I spoke into my mic. "Franco. I got a couple of guys here in my sights. About half a mile away. Directly in front of me. They’re headed towards your position. Do you see them?"
"Ah, that’s a negative," Franco responded.
"Are you sure? They’re right there."
"Oh, wait. Yeah. I see them."
"What do we do?" I asked.
"We better call it in."
"But we don’t even know if they are infected."
"Why else would they be running?"
"Because they’re scared?"
"Look, we got orders to stop anyone from getting through here. Doesn’t matter if they’re infected or not."
"I’m going to talk to them," I said. "I’ll just tell them to turn around. Nobody has to get hurt."
"What? Kenji, no. Stand down!"
I turned my mic off. I don’t know what came over me. But I wasn’t going to sit there and call in the gunships. Who knew how those guys would react? And I sure as hell wasn’t going to take pot shots at innocent people. And for all we knew these guys were innocent. For all we knew they probably weren’t even infected.
I decided to take it upon myself then to save their lives. Tell them to turn around. Go back before they did something stupid like get themselves killed.
I stood up and started walking towards them. I looked over in the direction where I knew Franco and Drake were situated but I couldn’t see them at all.
I looked back to where I had last seen the guys trying to escape. They were standing up, looking right at me. They paused for a split second, frozen, like a couple of deer caught in headlights.
I waved at them, trying to get them to come over to me. But instead they started running away. They had panicked. They were not going to make this easy.
I was about to start running after them. I took maybe two steps before I heard the rotor blades of an Apache gunship. It flew in low over my head. I dived for the ground as the engine and the rotor blades roared on by.
It hovered over the area for a few seconds before locating the two guys. They continued to run, oblivious to the fact that it was useless to try an outrun an Apache gunship.
I got back to my feet and started running after them.
I actually shouted, "NO!" Not that anyone could hear me.
What’s that saying? ‘In space no one can hear you scream’. Yeah well, same thing goes here. In the outback no one can hear you scream.
The Apache unloaded with its minigun. The burst only lasted a second. The tracer bullets whizzed through the sky giving the impression they were shooting a bright orange laser beam.
The guys fell to the ground. They did not get up.
The Apache turned around and began flying right for me. It flew low, over my head once again, incredibly close.
I guess they were listening in on us before as we argued over these guys lives. I guess they were trying to send a message to us.
Enforce the quarantine.
We were probably going to get chewed out for hesitating when we got back to base.
Later in the day, when we finally did make it back for debriefing, I prepared myself to get reprimanded for compromising the quarantine. But to my surprise we weren’t in trouble. We didn’t even get a chance to debrief. Everyone was too busy. The regiment was stretched thin over the vast area of the twin immigration centers and Woomera Testing Site.
They told us to get a good night sleep.
We were going back out again tomorrow.
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 e
xceptions.
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 anymore 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 kiddin
g," 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.
Complications. Yeah, it gets worse.
We were standing around, trying to catch our breath, trying to make sense of the situation.
I was struggling to come to grips with shooting and killing these old people, an old woman for crying out loud.
I guess I was in denial. Even though deep down there was a part of me that knew these people were infected. How else could they have escaped from the old folk’s home? How else could these geriatrics get through the perimeter? How else could they run barefoot through the desert?
We were just about to call it in but off in the distance a van approached. It appeared to have a satellite dish on top of its roof.
It was a goddamn news van.
"What the hell?" Drake said. "Is that what I think it is?"
Reporters? Out here?
It was the last thing we needed.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but my first thought was that we'd have to shoot them.
I mean, these guys were obviously not infected. At least, I don’t think they were. But what would happen if we refused to follow orders? Would we be court marshaled? Locked up? Would they send in the gunships now and take us all out?
I know it sounds crazy but all these thoughts were running through my head as that news van pulled up to us. Once again we held innocent people’s lives in our hands. We had the final say. I feel sick just thinking about it. For all we knew, these guys were just lost. Maybe they were going to ask for directions. Maybe they were going to tell us how much they appreciated us soldiers and what we do for our countries.
But the situation was about to get real tense, especially if they saw the corpse of the old man that Franco had just shot. The body of the old man was lying on the ground a few feet behind us. He was lying face down in the dirt, tangled up in a low lying scrub.
Drake, Franco and I stood between them and the corpse, hoping we had sufficiently blocked it from their view. We were just praying that they reporters didn’t look passed us and see it, praying they didn’t get out of the van.