by Akart, Bobby
She froze, assessing her options. She wished she’d dressed differently. She’d have given anything to be in her Nike running shoes and sweats. The high heels were now a burden to her because she couldn’t jump out of the train with them on, nor could she run in the gravel with the heels digging into the rocks, or barefoot.
Hayden quickly turned and ran to the door that led to the next car. She hoped to find an ally or, at the least, make her way to the front, where the operator of the train was. Surely, he hadn’t abandoned ship like the rest of them.
She pulled the taut handle upward and the door slid to the side. Hayden glanced over her shoulder to see the man banging on the glass in an attempt to break it. Hayden knew better. During her many trips on the green line, she’d studied the operations of the train out of boredom. She knew there was a handle to the next car’s door concealed behind a panel near the bottom of the door. She’d watched DC Metro personnel access it many times. Once she was on the coupling between the two trains, she studied whether dropping to the ground was an option. The slope was steep, and her footing would be nearly impossible, especially against an assailant who could catch her within seconds.
She stuck to the plan and reached downward, using her illuminated phone to locate the handle. She ran her fingers along the door and found the seam. She pushed the panel in, it gave way before popping out, and the handle was revealed.
The man had broken through the glass. Now he was removing the bits and pieces that remained, so he could reach the inside handle. He would be upon her in seconds.
Hayden jerked the handle with all her strength, breaking the seal in the door and allowing her to enter the next car. She closed it behind her as she pushed her way forward in the dark. She immediately tripped over a body on the floor of the train.
She let out a gasp and scrambled to regain her footing. She used the light of her phone to see what she’d tripped over. That was when she saw it.
Blood smothered the train’s floor. The walls and ceiling were splattered in crimson. So were the seats. Everything and everywhere. And there were two more bodies on the floor, writhing in pain, incoherent but their pleas for help obvious.
Hayden tried not to be overwhelmed by the coppery smell of the victims’ blood or the sight of the dead body, which lay at her feet. There was no time.
She raced ahead and efficiently opened the door to the exit of the train car. She heard a thump behind her as the man chasing her slipped and fell in the bloody mess. Quicker than before, she exited the car and searched for the handle of the next door.
“I’m comin’ for you, baby! Make no mistake, we’re gonna party!”
Hayden popped open the door, and then she came up with an idea. She quickly made her way into the next car, which was also empty. Everybody left the train? Were they playing follow the leader or blind leading the blind?
Either way, Hayden slammed the door shut again and closed the latch. She hoped to buy precious seconds to move forward toward the next car. This time, however, she planned to fight.
First, to trick her attacker, she opened the door at the far end to feign her escape. Then she quickly removed her heels, jacket and briefcase, and stowed them under a seat. Armed with her mace and her defensive skills, she vowed not to be a victim.
Just as before, the man decided to bust through the glass rather than find the exterior handle. This gave Hayden an opportunity to use the darkness, and surprise, to her advantage. He was using a large rock to crack the glass, and then he began to kick the window with the bottom of his boot. With his final thrust, his boot and leg pushed through the glass.
Hayden was waiting for him. With her left hand, she grabbed the man’s pants near his ankle and pulled him forward, causing him to lose his balance and fall against the door. When his face hit the corner of the window frame, she doused his eyes with the pepper spray.
He was screaming in agony as he recoiled from the blast and spun away from the car until he landed on the coupling with his legs spread apart. The pain to his groin only surpassed the burning impact of the direct hit of the pepper spray to his eyes for a moment.
Hayden didn’t stop to admire her accomplishments. She swung around and gathered her belongings. Following the same procedure as before, she made her way to the front of the train until she reached the operator’s cab.
There was no operator tonight, as the trains were running on their computer programming from the central station. Hayden quietly cursed herself for not remembering this, but she had to keep moving. The door to the cab was locked and she had no way of breaking in. She had no choice but to make her way to the tracks and the railbed.
The groans and obscenities she heard from the man she’d left in agony two cars back could be heard as she stepped down a steel ladder to the railbed. She gingerly found her footing and then thought about the best way to travel under the circumstances.
One by one, she took her Bruno Magli pumps and snapped off the three-inch heels, leaving awkwardly shaped flat shoes, but ones that were better equipped for her long walk home.
Chapter Forty-One
Mercedes-Benz Stadium
Atlanta, Georgia
Will started toward the exit, hoping his kids were waiting for him outside the stadium. Then, suddenly, there was darkness except for the faint glow of battery-powered EXIT signs and emergency lighting inside the arena’s concourse. The lights could barely be seen through the haze of smoke that filled the building.
Over a span of thirty seconds, the sights and sounds of cell phones coming to life resulted in phone calls being answered and placed as news of the stadium evacuation reached the outside world. In our interconnected society, the panicked mob just kicked it into overdrive.
“The news said it’s terrorism!”
“The whole country is under attack!”
“Get out! They say it’s a bomb threat!”
“Run!”
The voices rang through Will’s head. An already volatile situation just erupted like a supervolcano. Thousands of people crushed each other as they fought their way toward the exits. Will joined in the exodus when he felt his phone vibrate. It was Ethan calling.
“Where are you?” he shouted so he could be heard over the mass panic.
Ethan tried to respond, but all Will could discern was the word stage. Frustrated, he pushed himself out of the way and leaned against the plate-glass windows outside the exit. At least now he could breathe.
“Ethan, I can’t hear you. Watch for my text!”
Will disconnected the call and quickly sent a text to his son. Did you say stage? Are you near the stage?
Will rubbed his hands through his hair, nervously tapping the display of his iPhone. “Come on, son. Where are you?”
Ding! The phone announced a response.
Yes. Front of the stage. I got hit on the head. I’m bleeding.
Will didn’t hesitate in his response. Stay! Don’t move!
He caught his breath and glanced up at the entrance signs to get his bearings. He looked to his left to assess the obstacles in his way. He was at the south side of the stadium. In order to avoid the crowds on the floor, the most accessible access point to the stage at field level was from the east.
Will tucked away his phone and began to push his way along the perimeter of the stadium. His job was made easier by the fact that the crowd was running away from the exits as soon as they hit the open air. At each exit, he pushed through them and then was able to scamper to the next one.
He and his son texted each other one more time to confirm nothing had changed before Will forced his way back inside and into the dark, secured stairwell leading down to the field level. Using his SureFire tactical flashlight, he lit up the stairs and scurried down, being careful not to slip.
The smoke pouring out of the air vents had begun to dissipate. He cursed himself as he realized he’d not taken any precautions to cover his mouth and nose. As he reached the bottom, he shook his head, chastising himself for not
warning the kids to cover their faces either. It was too late now.
He used his flashlight to find his way along the base of the stage.
“Dad, is that you?” He heard Ethan’s voice.
Will rushed past a couple of stragglers, who seemed disoriented. He shouted at them as he passed, “Get out of here, now! What are you waiting for?”
“We’re lost, man.”
“And we can’t see.”
Will shouted back at them over his shoulder, “Just go behind the stage and look for the exit signs. Hurry!”
He turned back around and immediately crashed into Skylar, who’d run toward him. He lifted her up, and she wrapped herself around him, squeezing so hard that he asked her to loosen her grip so he could breathe.
“Baby girl, are you okay?”
Tears streamed down her face as she managed a smile and a nod. “Ethan’s hurt, Daddy.”
He set her down and walked over to his son, who was still bleeding from his forehead. Will removed his uniform shirt and turned it inside out to avoid the garbage stains from earlier. He used it to dab the blood off Ethan’s cheeks and chin.
“Dad, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know—”
His son looked downward in a gesture of genuine remorse. He smelled like marijuana smoke, but then again, so did Skylar, although not quite as strong. His son’s demeanor was far different than what Will had seen in the airport and during the ride over to the stadium. Perhaps his son was high, not that it mattered at this particular moment. That was a conversation for later.
“Not now, son. Let me take a look.” He turned to Skylar for assistance. “Honey, can you light up Ethan’s face for me?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
He handed Skylar his flashlight and patted her on the head. Will placed the palm of his left hand on Ethan’s face and gently dabbed at the wound on his forehead. Ethan winced slightly.
“Well, son, I predict a gnarly bruise and maybe a slight scar. More than that, you’ll have a heckuva headache.”
“I can deal.” His son seemed to feel better.
“Yeah, you can. Now, let me ask you a few quick questions so I can make sure you don’t have a concussion, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Did you pass out after hitting your head?”
“No.”
“How about ringing in your ears?”
“Dad, it’s hard to tell. The music was so loud that, um, I don’t know.”
Will wiped some more blood off his son’s face and then folded his shirt over. He applied gentle pressure to the wound and held it there. “Can you hold this firmly in place? You know, keep pressure on it?”
“Yeah,” Ethan replied as he took over for his dad. Will took the flashlight back from Skylar and illuminated Ethan’s face slightly. His eyes were already dilated, a possible sign of being under the influence of marijuana, or the lack of light might have caused it. Will was unsure and decided not to pursue it.
“Okay, do you feel nauseous, or have you vomited?”
“No.”
“Dizzy, confused, or just generally in a daze?”
“Um, no,” replied Ethan, and then he hung his head again. “Dad, I am very sorry. Um, I smoked a little weed.”
Will sighed. He knew that already, but hearing Ethan admit it caused him to be conflicted. He couldn’t decide whether he should be furious with his son for shirking the responsibility of protecting his sister. Or should he be angry that his fifteen-year-old was smoking marijuana in light of the difficulties he’d had at home with drug and alcohol use? Will adopted the third alternative.
He hugged his son and whispered in his ear, “It’s okay, buddy. I love you.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Delta Flight 322
Upon impact, the passengers were tossed violently around their seats. Most didn’t have the strength or concentration to hold their brace position. Heads were slammed against seat backs and windows. Necks were thrown back and forth in a whiplash effect. And a few passengers who were caught off guard by the timing of the crash had their seatbelts unbuckled, which forced them out of their seats and into the aisle upon impact with the water.
The overhead bins, primarily designed for ease of passenger use, failed to remain latched and were all flung open. Heavy bags, hard aluminum briefcases, and laptop computers became dangerous projectiles, pummeling the passengers, including Cort.
The metal edge of a laptop came whizzing by like a frisbee, spinning just right so that the corner caught him above the right eye, immediately drawing blood. He felt for the warm substance, which partially obscured his vision. He pulled his right arm up to wipe the blood away.
Incredibly, the passengers became calm for a brief moment, except for the sound of a crying baby. It was if everyone waited to see if it was over, or just beginning.
The two men in front of Cort began to vomit. Their lurching was uncontrollable, and the awful stench filled the stale air within the cabin. The gross smell reminded him that the cabin had limited oxygen.
He leaned over to the two women next to him to see how they fared. Despite being banged around, they were not directly harmed like he was. Then he pushed the sliding window cover up to look outside. He expected to see something. Lights along the shore. Rescue boats. Oil rigs.
Nothing. Nothing but water.
Just as Cort came to the realization that the plane was submerged under the surface, several other passengers made the same determination.
“Oh, my god! We’re sinking!”
“We’re dropping to the bottom of the ocean!”
“Everybody, we have to get out!”
The hysterical passengers of Delta Flight 322 lost their collective minds. They flooded the aisles in a panicked search for the exits. In their frightened state, some had forgotten where the nearest exit row was and tried to force themselves toward the front of the aircraft. Others pushed toward the rear, thinking the exit rows over the plane’s wings would be safest. The result was several immovable objects pushing against one another, resulting in a stalemate.
Several struggles were underway in which big, burly men lost all sense of decorum and chivalry as they shoved women and children back into their seats or onto the floor. An elderly man was being trampled as passengers forced their way toward rows twenty-four and twenty-five immediately in front of Cort.
Meanwhile, the plane was noticeably sinking, tail end first. Cort could sense that he was being pushed back against his seat by gravity. Then he heard shouts from the back of the plane.
“Water is coming in! Hurry. Get out. We’re flooding back here!”
Everyone’s sense of urgency came at once. One of the drunks fumbled with the emergency exit door. He shoved his large frame against the door while he opened the locking latch. Unaware of how the emergency exit door functioned, he undertook the task incorrectly.
The MD-88 had an escape slide built into the aircraft that automatically opened once the door was unlatched. The mechanism uses highly compressed air to inflate the slide, which doubles as a life raft.
Because the life raft was inside the aircraft, by inflating it, the door was forced open. But, when submerged, the process differed. The door was designed to act as a plug based on the highest pressure being inside the aircraft, which ordinarily forced the door outward in an emergency situation. Now, the greater pressure was outside, in the form of the Gulf of Mexico. The force was reversed, causing the emergency exit door to open inwards.
Much to the chagrin of the two drunks, as soon as the latch was released, the evacuation slide inflated and shot to the surface. The door, however, soared into the main cabin like an asteroid entering the Earth’s atmosphere, crushing the two drunks together and cracking their skulls, rendering them unconscious.
Water was rushing in now and filling the aircraft when suddenly a groan of metal could be heard followed by a ripping sound. The plane was breaking apart.
All of a sudden, the aircraft’s orientation in the water quickly shi
fted. The tail section began to rise until the plane was almost parallel. Then it broke away from the cockpit and the galley.
Water rushed to fill the opening, and the back of the plane shot upright, lifting the passengers backwards toward the surface. Cort, who had unbuckled his seatbelt with the intention of clearing the blockage created in the exit row, tumbled into the aisle and fell downward toward the front of the plane.
Gravity caused passengers to drop from the rear of the aircraft as the main cabin slowly rose to the surface. Cort struggled to hold on, using all of his strength to claw his way back toward his row. The front of the aircraft from first class to the exit rows was filling up with water as the open exit door provided a gaping hole for the Gulf to pour in.
The plane continued to rise, and when the tail section hit the surface, its ascent stopped, leaving rows ten through twenty-five, the exit row, full of water.
“This way! Come to the rear!”
A flight attendant began to shout instructions to the passengers from Cort’s row to the tail section. A rush of air entered the back of the plane as the aft exit underneath the tail cone was opened. Some ambient light from the stars gave Cort the ability to see the carnage.
“Hurry!” shouted another flight attendant.
Passengers began using the seat backs as ladder rungs, climbing upward through the rear of the aircraft toward the opening. Cort assisted the ladies in getting unbuckled and pointed in the right direction. In the row across the aisle from Cort, a college-age boy was about to head up the seat ladder when Cort stopped him.
Speaking calmly, he placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Listen, will you help these ladies get out of here? I need to go help a friend.”
The young man hesitated and responded, “Yeah, um, sure. Come on, y’all.”
Behind Cort in the lower-numbered rows, passengers were swimming toward the tail-section exit. Some had the presence of mind to use their seat cushions as floatation devices, while others pushed their way toward Cort’s location in search of air. Rather than wait to climb out the back, most of the passengers took a deep breath and swam through the doorways that were now open on both sides of the plane. One after another poured out into the fifty-seven-degree waters of the Gulf.