I can’t even really remember what happened next. Maybe it’s because I was essentially alone. I think I started to go a little crazy. Like Norman Bates said in the movie, ‘Psycho’, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes’. And being alone at sea is enough to drive anyone mad.

We travelled up the coast. I was too scared to go to shore. We eventually ran out of fuel so we floated with the current for a while. I found some plastic oars in the storage compartment of the boat, so I started paddling.

I was tempted to row into shore a few times to find help, or at least find drinkable water, but all up the coast, smoke was drifting into the air. It was an all too familiar sign of death and destruction.

I got tired quickly. I hadn’t eaten much in the past couple of days. I tried to drop anchor but it didn’t reach the ocean floor. We must’ve drifted further out then I’d thought. So we floated. We were lucky that the weather was fine, lucky that the swells were calm and there was no wind, no rain.

Eventually we were picked up by a massive coal ship. They wouldn’t let us on board because they were too scared we were infected. I couldn’t blame them. I would’ve done the same thing.

But fortunately for us they did throw down a rope so they could tow us along. I guess that was a miracle in itself. They even dropped food and water down to us.

Kim had been drifting in and out of consciousness. And whenever she did wake, all she would ask for was water. I didn’t think about it at the time but there’s no doubt we would’ve both been close to dying of thirst.

We finally made it back to dry ground. The coal ship had taken us to New Zealand because they had set up a quarantine facility for survivors. We were the only ones there.

They took Kim away for emergency surgery. Apparently her arm had gotten pretty bad.

I was isolated. I’m not sure what they did with Kim, but I was stripped naked and hosed down. They rinsed and repeated. They shaved my head, took blood samples.

After a week in solitary confinement they gave me the all clear and I was extradited back to America. I was screaming before I got on the plane. I was demanding to know where Kim was. What had they done with her? But they said she was still in quarantine. They said because she had an open wound she would be in there a lot longer. I had convinced myself that they were lying to me. I was so angry. They ended up giving me an injection of something to calm me down for the flight.

As soon as I stepped off the plane at LAX, I was pounced on by the media. The first thing that struck me was how little the rest of the world knew about what had happened. We live in the information age. The age of satellite television, the internet, social media, and yet they barely knew the half of it.

Reporters and journalists shoved cameras and microphones in my face as I was rushed through the airport.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Are the rumors true? Is there really a killer virus? Are people really coming back from the dead? Are people really turning into zombies?”

I don’t know if they were zombies but I guess it was just easier to call them that. “Yeah,” I said. “It was messed up.”

“And yet somehow you survived. The only survivor of the entire Australian population.”

“Yeah,” I said because I honestly thought everyone was dead, because I was already starting to distance myself from the others, and because I honestly thought that Kim had died in New Zealand.

“How did you do it? What was it like knowing you couldn’t leave? What was it like knowing there was no outside help allowed to come in?”

“It was awful,” I said. “The most terrifying experience of my life.”

The media storm was intense but I was glad for it. It meant that the military or whoever was trying to cover up the whole incident couldn’t just come and take me away and do whatever they wanted to do. It also meant that I could tell the world what had happened down there.

I don’t know how long I’d locked myself in the bathroom for. I tend to lose track of time a lot now.

They were banging on the door.

“Rebecca, please let us in! We have something to tell you.”

I think it’s the producer.

I look at the notepad in my lap. It’s completely full. Every page. The entire side of my right hand is covered in black ink.

“I don’t think I can do the interview,” I say.

“Wait. Before you make any rash decisions, I think you should listen to this.”

She plays a recording through the bathroom door. It sends shivers down my spine. I hold my breath.

It was Kenji.

“Mayday! Mayday! If anyone is out there, we are survivors of the Oz virus. We are not infected. Repeat, we are not infected. We are trapped in the middle of Sydney. We have a survivor here who has shown immunity to the virus. She may hold the key to a cure.”

My heart skips a beat and almost explodes in my chest. They’re alive.

I can hear a whole bunch of static. I can hear running footsteps. And then I hear the screaming howl of the infected.

“Kenji! We have to go!” It was Jack.

I can hear Kenji’s ragged, frantic breathing. “If anyone is listening, Please send help. Please.”

The recording ends abruptly.

I can’t believe it. Somehow they’ve survived. Against all odds they’ve made it deeper into the city, to another hiding spot. At that moment I want to get back there.

“Rebecca, please,” says Steve the journalist. “This story is huge. We need you.”

I stand up and open the bathroom door. The producer and the journalist look anxious, strung out. They look scared. It’s as if hearing the recording, hearing all the screams of the infected has made everything more real. “I’ll do the interview,” I say. “On one condition.”

“Anything you want. Name your price.”

“I don’t want money. I want you to get me back to Australia.”

“What? You want to go back?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“I need to get my friends.”

“We can’t make that deal,” says the producer. “You know we can’t.”

“As soon as I do this interview, as soon as the world hears that transmission, there’ll be a rescue mission organized. I want to be part of that rescue mission.”

I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Who do I think I am? I’m not Rambo. I’m not Superman. I have no idea what good I’d be on a rescue mission. I’d probably just get in the way. But I feel like I should be with my friends. It feels weird that I’m the only one who made it out. I sort of feel guilty, like I have abandoned them or betrayed them.

I convince myself that I need to get back there, that it’s the only way to make things right. I’ll do the interview and blow this thing, this secret apocalypse wide open. And then I’ll do everything I possibly can to help them. And if that means flying right back into the living hell that is now Sydney, then so be it.

There’s no place I’d rather be.

END OF BOOK 1