18 January 2024
Thursday. Recording this from Storeroom B, second shelf, between the paper towels and four hundred packets of biscuits. The horde got into the building at nine. The staff left at one minute past. I left at nine and thirty seconds, which I would like noted as leadership.
The lab is still running, down under Perth’s city centre. Lights on, vials glowing, the cure nine-tenths finished on the bench. And in the containment chamber, our last test subject, whom protocol says I must call by a number and whom I call Gerald. He looks like a Gerald. He did not take the evacuation well.
I can see it all on the lab cameras from up here. At two o’clock this afternoon, the most extraordinary thing happened. Strangers came in. Four of them, looking for shelter. They read my notes. They started finishing my cure.
Nobody asked them to. Nobody checked their qualifications. One of them was wearing thongs. And they were, I am sorry to say, rather good.
Gerald hammered on the glass the whole hour. I hammered on the storeroom door, more quietly. One of us was being dramatic.
— Dr Morrow, Storeroom B
