The scream of the siren across the island was so unnerving to Commander Johnstone that he had to take a moment to compose himself before continuing. The day had come for him to fulfil his duty. A duty he must not fail.

He ignored the yells of panic and confusion surrounding him and marched to the western vault. Reaching the secured entrance, he entered his code and proceeded through the titanium bolted door. He held it for a moment as an out of breath lieutenant caught up with him, meeting his eyes with a panicked realisation of what was to come. He nodded stiffly as she gave him a rushed salute, and they continued, wordlessly, down the tunnel and spiral staircase leading to the vault below.

Reinforced with layers of concrete and tungsten the area was an underground fortress. An advanced structure unlike anything else on the peninsula – something Johnstone had, until now, thought was a wasted resource. But Yates had been right after all.

As he descended, he noted the sound of the door behind jolting open to let a lucky few seek refuge. Time was running out for anyone still on the other side. As soon as he reached the central control room and made the call, the clock would begin to count down and they would be locked here until the strike. He didn't want to think about it.

The lieutenant left his side half way down the corridor to make her way to her own position – he barely glanced as he was left on his own. He entered the control room on Level 2 with as much conviction as he could muster, sealing the door carefully behind him.

The quietness of the compartment made him pause. He alone was responsible for this stage. He felt like the world's fate was in his hands, a balance ready to tip one way or the other depending on his next actions.

A video screen and receiver stood in the centre of the room. Hands shaking, he reached and dialled the number. The standard receiver tone sounded at the end of the line.

He cleared his throat. 'Commander Johnstone. Identification 111. Code 212.'

There was a brief pause before the president's face appeared on the screen, with an expression that Johnstone could read as real concern.

'Commander. I did not think I would see Yates' code used. Well not so soon anyway.'

Johnstone had never spoken to the president personally before, but he tried to speak with as much confidence as possible, attempting to hide his own emotions. 'President Clark. I'm sorry that this call is not in error. We have a situation on the island.'

'You understand the implications of what you're telling me?'

Johnstone did indeed understand the implications. Authorising this protocol would unleash an act of extreme violence; the potential for retaliation, countless deaths. Women, children, animals. Why was he thinking about the animals at a time like this?

He had known this day would come. It was inevitable. And surely the alternative was worse? They had to contain this threat. If it were to spread, if the world were to know and understand what their mission was...their organisation and the world around it would fall apart. He had no choice. There was no other way.

He straightened his shoulders and spoke the necessary words. 'There's been an outbreak and security has been breached; there is no way to control the spread. Eternal is under threat. We have followed evacuation protocol and I recommend for Order 44 to proceed.'

'Very well,' President Clark paused. 'Are all senior personnel in position?'

'With respect, we don't have much time. Current data shows that 132 of the 170 with security clearance are in safety. They all understood and agreed to the procedure during initiation.' Johnstone hoped that one of the 38 still on their way was not Lucia, but he could not let personal feelings cloud his judgement. He had to trust she was smart enough to not let herself get left behind.

'I will implement Order 44 with executive authority. Seal the doors in ten minutes. I estimate impact time to be five minutes after that.'

Johnstone nodded. 'I'll sound the second alarm.'

'I expect to be updated as soon after as possible.'

'Understood. We have the best team working here. After the incubation period we will begin evacuation proceedings. I'm assuming Yates will have left instructions at the western control room?'

President Clark paused, apparently not hearing his question. 'My god, if the alternative was not so damning...I am condemning thousands of innocents.'

'Not all innocents. And think of what you are protecting. We cannot lose what we've started here.'

'You're right.' President Clark sighed. 'Thank you, Commander Johnstone. I await your call.'

The dial tone sounded ominous as the call was cut. He looked again at the personnel count: 148 now in safety. How can they not hurry?

Three minutes to isolation.

He checked the display screens for each room. His eyes wandered, subconsciously searching for the one person he wanted to know had made it. But there was no sign of her in the engineering facilities, tactical operations, or military command rooms. The everyday bunkrooms were quiet. The storage facilities with enough supplies to feed two hundred people for a year had been so far untouched. No one was in the gymnasium. Many of them had congregated to the common rooms and mess halls, awaiting their orders. The dual-function laboratory and medical surgery had a lone technician – he was bustling around the room, seemingly unsure what to do with himself. But Lucia's face was missing from the range of sombre looking individuals on the screen. Red lights began flashing jolting him from his search.

Two minutes.

It was time to make the announcement. 'Good afternoon. You will know by now that this situation is not a drill. Order 44 has been implemented and we will be sealing the door in ninety seconds. I thank you for your courage under these regrettable circumstances. Impact is set for around six minutes' time. You will then make your way to the briefing room for assignment of responsibilities and an estimation of the results.'

One minute.

Johnstone ended his broadcast and made his way to the displays showing the outer cameras. He saw a man sprinting towards the bunker, entering with a look of relief. The cameras positioned around the encampment caught images of people screaming and running, but not from the sirens, and not from the realisation of the impending strike. He couldn't watch the horror on the screens any longer, so he returned to pacing the room. How could Yates have let this happen? Was this the result of Lucia's experiments?

The thoughts were brief as the ten-second mark reached. They had all been prepared for a scenario such as this but suddenly the implications of it hit him. Though he tried his best to push the thought from his mind, he found himself imagining thousands of families away from their hidden peninsula, blissfully unaware of the danger. Maybe they would just be sitting down for lunch or would be sunbathing at the height of the day, or walking their dogs, or taking their children to the playparks. Those close enough would be wiped out straight away. For others it would be long and drawn out. The suffering was almost inconceivable.

Taking short and fast breaths, he moved his hand towards the button by the phone and positioned it, shaking, over the top. He closed his eyes.

5,4,3,2,1.

It was done.

He watched on the displays as the doors around the building sealed themselves with precision. Nothing was coming in or out now.

As he paced the room, glancing half-heartedly at the displays around, an image appeared at the outer door forcing him to do a double take. Lucia. He clutched the table with white knuckles to steady himself. She was outside the sealed building.

She started entering her security clearance in panic, and a look of alarm graced her face as she realised the futility of her position. She stared up at the camera and the way her eyes met his did more damage than any words could have. He wanted to yell at her, ask her why she had taken so long, what had delayed her. But soon all he wanted was to reach out and tell her everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't, and he knew deep down, she would be gone in less than five minutes. Try as he might, there was nothing he could do.

He saw her collapse outside the door. Helpless. She seemed to be muttering something to herself; he would have guessed a prayer had he not known she was not religious. Or maybe the sudden realisation of what was to come had forced her to believe in a transcendent being.

He watched her in those last minutes. Unable to utter a sound if he tried. One minute before impact. He saw her look up, seemingly hearing something he didn't. She stood and grabbed a syringe and phial from the box that she had been carrying with her. Was she trying to make the end less painful?

She injected herself with shaking hands, and within seconds she began to writhe on the ground uncontrollably. He felt sick, but he could not bring himself to look away.

He did not see her final moments for a flash struck at the impact of the bombs and soon the outer displays showed only grey screens, flickering out of focus.

He dropped to his knees. But he could only allow himself one minute to grieve. He switched the static displays off and moved to make his way to the briefing room.

He must not show weakness and he certainly must not show regret.

***