Note: This is a story written in the form of a journal, so if you are just joining me and want THIS blog to make any sense at all, go back to my blog of Nov 17 entitled "The Journal of 'Red' Chote - entry 1" and start from the beginning.

Journal entry: 4 December 2010 - 6.35pm  

I made it to the base the afternoon of 29 November. I couldnt write until today because the army guys that stopped me at a roadblock 2 kilometres from the base arrested me and put me in quarantine for 3 days. They confiscated all my possessions, including the ute, and locked me in a strange medical cell. An army doctor poked and prodded me, took my blood, and sedated me. Fuck. What an ordeal.  

After the quarantine they took me from the cell to a small mess hall where gave me a change of clothes, fed me a small meal of potatoes and meat with some bread and water, and then took me to a small interrogation room. I waited there for an hour until a Captain Boorman came in and sat down. He explained to me the need for the quarantine was to make sure I wasn't "infected" and that I posed no danger to the other soldiers and civilians on the base. He assured me my possessions would be returned to me. Minus the ute - he said they were keeping that, as I am now not allowed to leave the base. He said based on what's out there, I wouldn't want to anyway. He assured me I'm safer here. I asked him what was "out there" and he just looked at me a while, then said "Death." I asked him what he meant and he explained that an unknown toxin had been released into the atmosphere by a terrorist organisation, and it was causing people to violently attack other people without provocation. When I tried to get more information out of him, he just told me to go and get settled with the others, and he'd brief everyone at a later date.  

Boorman lied. They didnt give me back my shotgun, nor the food I brought with me. Just the clothes I had on when I got here - all washed and neatly folded, and the laptop and batteries. I'm housed in a large auditorium with about a hundred other people, all civilians. There's an MP posted on every entrance. It's hard not to feel like I'm in prison here. There's families, couples, single people. Black, white, Asian, European. Apparently all we have in common is that we're not "infected". As for Georgie, nothing. I wandered up and down the rows of bunks, past sleeping people, crying kids, and men with haggard, drawn faces. I couldnt see Georgie among them. I don't know what has become of her. I talked to a few of the other guys here, one in particular, Henry Dell. He told me he'd come here from Sydney. He said the "infection" theory is dubious. He saw his wife killed by a madman, right in the middle of the street. Some guy in a construction helmet and jeans just grabbed her and took a whopping great bite out of her throat. Her carotid artery sprayed blood all over them all as Henry wrestled the guy off her and managed to cave his head in with a plank of wood he ripped off the back of a bus stop bench. But then, Henry says his wife got up, just stoodf up like nothing was wrong, and came at him, trying to claw at his chest. She was spitting gobs of clotted blood at him, moaning and screaming and trying to bite him. Finally, he said (his throat closing up and his eyes pouring tears) he had to cave her head in, too. That's not an infection. That's a fucking waking nightmare. He said things like that were happening all over the city. The police were hopelessly outmatched by the size and severity of the problem. It was decided that the military would have to step in. So that's how Henry ended up here. I feel like I'm trapped in some horrible, low budget gore movie, only it's real. It's fucking real.  

It stinks in here. They provide us 3 meals a day, and shower and toilet facilities, but the whole room seems to writhe with disenfranchised humanity. So far, no briefing from Captain Boorman on what the fuck is going on. So I wait.