Page 70 of Outbreak Protocol

I process this. "All of Germany?"

"They're talking about full country containment. Evacuating essential personnel, then..." He doesn't finish.

"No," I say, the word sharp and clear. "We can't let them."

"The treatment isn't working fast enough. Too many adverse reactions, too much virus evolution." He runs a hand through his hair. "Felix, I don't know if we can stop this."

I reach for his hand. "We have to try. Emma's Germany. Anna was Germany." My voice breaks. "I'm Germany."

He looks at me, blue eyes fierce in his exhausted face. "Then we work harder."

Day 107

Two months since infection. My cognitive function improves daily, though I still struggle with complex calculations and occasionally lose words mid-sentence. I've graduated from consultant to active researcher, working alongside Erik and Sarah on treatment refinement.

Emma attends the facility's makeshift school with twelve other children—all families of essential personnel. She's made friends, adapted to our underground existence with remarkable resilience.

I'm in the lab when the news comes. Frankfurt has fallen. The German government has relocated to Brussels. ChancellorMeier announces the "National Sacrifice Protocol" on all channels, even as she herself is sick with the virus.

We gather around screens, watching as she explains the unthinkable. Germany will be sealed. No one in. No one out. Strategic elimination of all major population centres to contain the virus.

"Those who remain within German borders," she says, her voice steady though her eyes glisten with the telltale signs of the fever burning through her, "make the ultimate sacrifice for Europe and humanity."

The lab falls silent. We are Germans working to save Germany from outside Germany, now told our homeland is being sacrificed.

"They've given up," Sarah whispers.

Erik's hand finds mine, squeezes hard. "We haven't."

That night, Emma senses the shift in mood, though we've shielded her from the news.

"Are we going home soon?" she asks as I tuck her in.

"Not to Hamburg," I tell her gently. "But someday, we'll find a new home."

"With Erik too?"

"Yes," I promise. "With Erik too."

Later, I find Erik staring at satellite images of Germany, watching as dark zones spread across the map.

"They're starting with the border towns," he says without looking up. "Working inward."

I sit beside him. "The recovered patients. The ones without complications. They're showing immunity."

He nods. "Complete resistance to reinfection, even with newer strains."

"So we use their antibodies instead of the parrot's," I suggest. "Human-derived treatment."

He turns to me, a spark igniting in his tired eyes. "Humanized antibodies would reduce rejection rates."

For the first time in weeks, hope flickers.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Day 137

FELIX