Doomsday Page #2

Or pound notes?

Chief Nelson,

would you join me

in my office?

If this is a bollocking,

make it quick.

I've got a job to do,

I need to be out there

on the streets.

Michael.

What we're about to show you

is highly confidential

and potentially

volatile material.

When the wall went up,

the government at that

time, naturally,

wanted to know

what was happening

on the other side.

So they re-tasked one of

their military satellites

to provide coverage

of Edinburgh and Glasgow.

For the past 30 years,

it's carried on

taking pictures,

sending down what you'd

expect. Empty cities,

deserted streets.

That is,

until three years ago,

when these turned up.

HATCHER:
People.

On the streets of Glasgow.

Survivors?

What else could it be?

And if there are survivors,

there must surely be a cure.

What we have to do

is get our hands on it.

We already have

a team standing by.

All we need is somebody

to lead them.

Someone to take them in,

find the cure

and deliver it into our hands

before it's too late

to turn the tide.

You don't know how many

survivors there are.

And the team might not find

them in time. They might

not find them at all.

And they could

still be contagious.

That's what the team's

going to find out.

You've known for

three f***ing years

that they were up there,

but you swept it

under the carpet.

Scotland's dead

have long since

been laid to rest.

Yesterday, if I turned up

on the 6:
00 news with

a survivor in tow,

they'd have strung me up

from the nearest lamp-post

by the balls.

But if, in 48 hours,

I arrive with a survivor

and a cure,

sure they won't

give a flying f***

about the survivor,

but they'll be lining up

to kiss my arse

for that cure.

In politics,

survival is timing,

and ours is running out.

We have 48 hours.

I need your best man

on this, right away.

All right.

I know someone who might

just fit the bill.

Get in the car,

it's pissing down.

How long have they known?

Long enough.

But that doesn't matter now.

Matters to me.

There are survivors

out there.

This is not some

personal quest

I'm sending you on.

Focus on your mission.

Who's behind it? Hatcher?

Hatcher's got the swagger

and the smiles, but it's

Canaris who pulls the strings.

He's the power

behind the throne.

And he's not someone

you want to pick

a fight with.

Who, me?

I'm serious.

If the truth got out,

it would bring Hatcher,

the government,

the whole f***ing

system down.

And there's no way

Canaris is ever gonna

let that happen.

Once you're over that wall,

there's no rules,

no backup.

Better that way.

Look after this for me,

would you?

Don't suppose

you got a cigarette?

There's no smoking

on the helicopter,

and I don't smoke.

Fair enough.

Dr. Marcus Kane,

he was leading

the research into the virus

when the gates were closed.

He was trapped

inside the hot zone.

His lab was located inside

the quarantine compound

in Glasgow.

If anybody was capable

of developing a cure,

it was him.

I suggest you start

at the lab. Pick up

the trail from there.

You'll rendezvous with

the rest of the team

at the wall,

then you'll proceed north

in two armored transports.

Scotland is still Why not fly in?

a no-fly zone.

Hatcher needs to keep this

as low profile as possible.

So if we don't make it out,

no one will know we went in.

You've got 46 hours.

If you don't make it back,

the city of London

and everybody in it

will be left to die.

If it's there,

I'll find it.

You'll need this. It's a GPS

locator beacon. It'll tell us

exactly where you are.

We'll have a gun ship

standing by to extract

your team.

So much for low profile.

Once you have the cure,

it won't matter.

What happens if I don't

find anything up there?

Then you needn't

bother coming back.

MAN ON PA:

For your own safety,

return to your homes.

East London

is under martial law.

(CAR HORNS HONKING)

(PEOPLE CLAMORING)

What the hell are we

going to do, Canaris?

Just calm down

and listen.

Even if,

by some miracle,

Sinclair finds

what she's looking for

and makes it back in time,

the fact remains,

this is our fault,

we made it happen.

Too many people crammed

into ghettos so tight

they can barely move.

We created the perfect

breeding ground

for a virus to take place.

And the more we save now,

the more chance there is

of the same thing

happening all over again.

Now, we have an opportunity

to buy ourselves

breathing room.

What exactly are

you suggesting?

We're at war, Prime Minister.

It's basic combat triage.

Leave the dying to die.

With the whole

world watching?

With a lie this big,

we can get away with

anything we want.

Major Sinclair!

Good flight?

Fine.

Sergeant Norton.

Welcome to no-man's land.

Why call it that?

There's not another living

soul for miles south of

that wall, except us.

What about

the sentries?

No, the whole system

was fully automated

about 20 years ago.

Nowadays they only

expend their ammo

on the local wildlife.

A team arrived two hours

ago. They're prepping

their gear inside.

Ask them to get suited up,

Sergeant. We're against

the clock on this one.

Yes, sir!

Has the team

been briefed?

I've given them

their assignments,

objectives

and the file

on Dr. Kane.

Major Sinclair.

Chandler. Armor division.

I'll be your driver today.

Yeah, they may be ugly,

but they move like

sh*t off a shovel.

Twin V12 engines,

two-inch armor plate,

and they'll take anything

from 30mm rounds to

chemical weapons.

Just the ticket for

a night on the town.

Where'd they

find these things?

READ:
They patrolled

the hot zone, just

north of the wall.

When the system was

automated, most of them

were sold off for scrap.

These are the last

two in service.

Major, meet Corporal Read.

Tank driver.

Major.

Carry on, Corporal.

Riflemen.

Miller, Carpenter.

BOTH:
Major.

What have we got here?

CARPENTER:
Bio suits.

Combat model. High impact

flexi-polymer.

Gives us total

freedom of movement

and 24-hour protection.

Just what a girl needs.

Prototype,

silicon foam grenade.

This is frontline equipment.

NORTON:
A going-away

present from Canaris.

Are we expecting

trouble?

Is there a problem?

No.

No problem at all, Major.

Good.

NORTON:
This is our cargo,

Doctors Talbot

and Stirling.

SINCLAIR:
You were part

of the task force set up

to study the virus?

That's right.

How do you do, Major?

I took over in '24.

Stirling joined me in '31.

Until Hatcher,

in his infinite wisdom,

decided to pull the plug

on the whole program

three years ago.

Tried everything, of course.

Just couldn't crack it.

I do hope this trip of yours

is worth the risk, Major.

Apparently, someone

thinks so.

All right, listen up!

I want everyone suited,

booted and strapped.

Back here in 10.

Open the gate!

MAN ON RADIO:

Sentry guns deactivated.

All right, Chandler.

Take us in.

Sh*t!

Chandler, what was that?

READ:
Chandler,

why have you stopped?

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