Page 32 of Outbreak Protocol

Our helicopter joins a formation heading northwest, away from the city.

The pilot informs me we're bound for a secure military facility near Berlin where we'll continue our research under NATO supervision.

Felix's stretcher is secured beside us, his chest rising and falling with mechanical precision.

At 1630, we're far enough away to see the perimeter of the containment zone—a ring of military vehicles and personnel surrounding Hamburg. Beyond that, more rings of containment, fallbacks in case the first fails.

"Look," Sarah says, pointing back toward the city.

A stream of military aircraft are approaching from the south—bombers and fighter escorts.

"They're starting early," Aleksandr murmurs.

"No," Colonel Santos says from his seat. "Those are evacuation flights for essential personnel. The containment operation doesn't begin until 1900."

I check my watch. Less than three hours remain.

At 1700, we land at the Berlin facility—a sprawling military complex surrounded by three rings of security.

Felix is immediately transferred to the medical wing.

Emma refuses to leave his side, so I stay with them both while Sarah, Yuki, and Aleksandr begin setting up our lab equipment in the designated research area.

"How much of our research did we save?" I ask when Sarah returns .

"About eighty percent of the samples. All of the critical data. And enough treatment doses for another four hundred patients."

"Not enough," I say.

"No. Not nearly enough."

At 1830, I step outside the medical building. The evening sky is clear and cool, with stars beginning to appear in the east. To the northwest, Hamburg lies just beyond the horizon, still unaware of its fate.

My phone rings. Marie again.

"They've started evacuating government personnel," she tells me. "The public announcement will come five minutes before the first strike, enough time to let them know what is happening but not so much as to let them escape their fates."

"The treatment works, Marie. Not perfectly, not for everyone, but it works. There's still time to change this!"

"I know, Erik. I believe you. But the decision has been made."

After she hangs up, I remain outside, watching the northwestern sky. Felix is improving hour by hour. By tomorrow, he might wake up. By next week, he might fully recover. Given enough time, we could refine the treatment, develop screening protocols, save millions.

But we've run out of time.

At 1855, my phone alerts with a message from Marie: "It's starting."

Five minutes later, the first flash appears on the horizon—a brief, silent flare of light. Then another. And another. Tactical nuclear weapons designed for "minimal" fallout, targeting the heart of Hamburg and its surrounding areas.

The sound reaches us ninety seconds later—distant, rolling thunder that seems to go on and on. Then the mushroom clouds begin to rise, three of them, expanding into the evening sky with terrible majesty.

I stand frozen, watching the destruction of a city where, just days ago, Felix and I walked the streets, ate dinner, made plans for a future. Where Anna lived and died. Where Emma went to school.

Sarah joins me outside, then Yuki and Aleksandr. We stand in silence as the clouds continue to rise, spreading and merging in the upper atmosphere.

"We were so close," Sarah whispers, tears streaming down her face.

"How many people?" Yuki asks, voice barely audible.

"At least 5.1 million," Aleksandr answers. "Probably more with the refugees from other areas."

I can't speak. Can't move. Can barely breathe. The scale of the loss is beyond comprehension. Beyond grief. Beyond rage.

My phone vibrates again. Marie.

"Secondary strikes commencing. Berlin is confirmed secure. You'll remain in lockdown for at least seventy-two hours."

I end the call without responding and continue to watch the distant apocalypse.

Eventually, I return inside to Felix and Emma. She's fallen asleep beside his bed, exhausted by fear and grief she doesn't yet fully understand. Felix's monitors show continued improvement. His brain activity indicates he's closer to consciousness.

I sit beside them both, take Felix's hand in mine, and finally allow myself to weep—for Hamburg, for its people, for the time we didn't have, for the lives we couldn't save.

Hours later, as the facility settles into uneasy silence, Felix's fingers twitch in mine. His eyelids flutter, then open. Confused, disoriented, but alive.

"Erik?" he whispers hoarsely around his breathing tube.

"I'm here," I tell him, squeezing his hand. "I'm right here."

His eyes search mine, seeing the grief written there. He can't speak with the tube, but his question is clear.

"Hamburg is gone," I tell him quietly. "We ran out of time."

His eyes close, tears spilling down his cheeks. I hold his hand tightly, our shared grief a bridge between us.

Emma stirs beside him, waking to see Felix conscious .

"Felix!" she cries, scrambling up to see him better. "You're awake!"

He manages a weak smile for her, reaching to touch her cheek with his free hand.

"We're at a special hospital," she tells him earnestly. "Erik says you're getting better. And he's been taking care of me just like he promised."

Felix looks at me over Emma's head, a world of questions in his eyes.

"Later," I mouth silently. "Rest now."

As Emma chatters to Felix about our helicopter ride, I step into the hallway and check my phone. Reports are coming in—Bremen, Hannover, and Kiel reporting new cases despite the containment operation. The virus had already spread further than anyone realized.

Hamburg's destruction was for nothing.

I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, phone clutched in my hand. Sarah finds me there sometime later.

"Erik," she says gently. "Felix is asking for you."

I nod, unable to speak.

"The military wants our team to continue research. They've prioritized our project now."

Now. After Hamburg is gone. After 5 million people are dead. Now they prioritize the treatment.

"We'll keep working," I finally say, voice rough. "We'll make it work for everyone. No more Maria Schmidts. No more Johann Webers."

"And then?"

"And then we make them acknowledge what they've done." I stand slowly, pocketing my phone. "But first, Felix needs me."

I return to his room. Emma has fallen asleep again, her head resting against Felix's side. He's more alert now, eyes tracking me as I enter.

The military doctors have removed his breathing tube, replacing it with a nasal cannula. He looks exhausted but present.

"Hamburg, are you sure?" he whispers, voice raw from intubation.

I sit beside him, take his hand. "Completely gone. Military containment protocol. Three tactical nuclear strikes."

He closes his eyes, absorbing this. "Anna?"

"We buried her, remember? Before..."

He nods slightly, his mind still confused by the aftereffects of the virus. "Emma's parents?"

"Her mother was Anna," I remind him gently. "Her father has never been in the picture, remember?"

"So she's..."

"She's with us now. You're her guardian, according to Anna's will."

He processes this, eyes moving to the sleeping child. "And the virus?"

"Still spreading. The treatment works, Felix. Not perfectly, not for everyone yet, but it works. We just needed more time."

"And now?"

"Now we continue our work. Make the treatment safer. More effective. Prevent this from happening again."

He squeezes my hand weakly. "Stay with me?"

"Always," I promise, settling in beside him. "Always."

Outside, the night continues, stars wheeling above the ruins of Hamburg, above the quiet facility where we work to atone for a failure that was never truly ours. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new grief, new determination.

But tonight, in this room, Felix is awake. Emma is safe. And for now, that has to be enough.