by Akart, Bobby
He wasn’t sure why he didn’t turn the lights on. In the moment, he felt like remaining in the dark.
“Why are you texting me again?” he muttered to himself as he fumbled through the cabinets to find two glasses. He unscrewed the wire holding the cork in the champagne bottle and grimaced. He continued talking to himself, oblivious to Donna’s conversation with Willa. “I don’t wanna get sucked back in again. I can’t help you anymore.”
Tom sighed, retrieved a kitchen towel, and moistened it to gain a firm grip on the cork. Just as he was about to pop the cork, a fist pounded on their hotel room door.
“Open up! Police!”
Chapter Nineteen
Hyatt Centric Times Square
New York City
The pounding on the door was relentless. It wasn’t the polite knock of room service personnel or a neighbor. It was the thump-thump-thump, three pounding knocks on the door, that was adopted by every law enforcement officer in America. Without saying a word, the person on the other side knew a cop wanted you to open the door.
“Tom, who is it?” shouted Donna from the bedroom. She switched on the wall-mounted lights above the nightstand.
Tom ignored her question and turned his attention to the intrusion. “Just a moment,” replied Tom, who was now dressed in his pajamas. He started toward the bedroom to retrieve one of the robes from the bathroom suite when the knocking persisted. Now Tom was aggravated. He turned around and put his eye to the peephole to view the hallway. What he saw was straight out of a pandemic novel.
He turned the bolt lock and the handle at the same time, allowing the door to open and the accompanying light to flood in. Three men and a woman stood in the hallway with a push cart ordinarily used by the housekeeping staff, but was now filled with white Tyvek hazmat suits, masks, goggles, and gloves.
“Sir, the mayor has ordered a mandatory evacuation of Midtown as a result of the attacks. All guests of the hotel must leave immediately.”
“Mandatory?”
The officer replied, “Yes, sir. May we come in so we can get you outfitted with a Tyvek suit and other protective gear?”
“Um, my wife’s in bed.”
“I’m here, Tom,” interrupted Donna, who had snuck in behind him, wrapped in her new robe. She flipped on the foyer light and hopped on one foot as she retreated into the living area to turn on additional lights.
“Come in,” offered Tom as he stood out of the way. One male and one female officer entered the hotel room while the others remained in the hallway.
They questioned Tom and Donna about where they had been when the drone strikes hit and how long they might have been exposed to any radioactive fallout. Donna became frightened at the brusque questioning.
Tom tried to calm her by pushing back against the officer. “Officer, isn’t it a little early to declare this to be a dirty-bomb attack? I mean, it’s been less than two hours.”
“The initial readings are conclusive, sir. We have to move quickly in order to—”
Tom interrupted with a question. “Wouldn’t we better off staying in this sealed environment, you know, to allow the material to dissipate?”
The officer became agitated. “Sir, our orders come from the mayor’s office with the added confirmation of the governor. Mandatory means mandatory. Now, where are the clothes you were wearing while outside?”
Tom pointed toward the closet in the master bedroom suite. “We stripped them off and wrapped them inside the comforter from the bed. We’d sat on it when we—”
The female officer interrupted Tom. Pointing toward Donna’s injured ankle, she asked, “Ma’am, do you need some assistance with getting into the Tyvek suit? I’d be glad to help.”
“No, I can manage,” replied Donna. “Where are we supposed to go?”
“Are the airports open?” asked Tom.
“No.”
“What about Grand Central Station? It’s not too far from us.”
“No, sir. It was hit as well,” replied the lead officer. “The City of New York has an evacuation plan in place. You are in evacuation zone six.”
New York was one of the most densely populated cities in America, both from a permanent resident standpoint, as well as visitors and workers. The New York City Emergency Management office had created a website called Know Your Zone. During any type of crisis, ranging from a major hurricane to a mass evacuation due to pandemic or nuclear attack, anyone could access the website, input their location, and be given directions to the nearest evacuation center.
“What does that mean?” asked Donna.
“You are to report to Norman Thomas High School at 111 East Thirty-Third Street between Park and Lexington Avenues. They’ll be able to explain your options.”
“Options?” asked Donna.
“Yes, ma’am. You’ll be evacuated from the city using a combination of school buses and chartered transportation. There are many destinations. They’ll be able to tell you more at the evacuation center.”
“Who’s going to drive us?” asked Tom.
The officers rudely chuckled at his inquiry. “Sir, there’s never been gridlock in the city like this in its history. You’ll have to walk.”
“I can do the math, Officer. That’s more than ten blocks. My wife has a sprained ankle. She can’t go anywhere on foot.”
“Bailey!” the officer shouted to one of the men in the hallway. “Get a wheelchair up here for this woman.”
“Yes, sir!”
Tom was incredulous. “You want us to push a wheelchair ten blocks or more in this madness? That’ll be impossible.”
“Sir, the evacuation order is mandatory. You’ll be fine.”
Tom and Donna felt helpless as they were being forced out of their hotel room. While they donned their Tyvek suits and associated gear, the officers stepped across the hall to contact another hotel guest.
Donna whispered to Tom, “Do we really have to leave? Maybe they’ll get distracted and we could wait, you know, at least until morning.”
“That might be worth a try,” he replied. “Let’s gather our things and try to stuff it all in a duffle. We’ll make it look like we’re cooperating.”
“Good idea.”
Tom retrieved their bags, and they picked through the essentials to take home with them. Donna was willing to leave behind the majority of her outfits in order to keep the plush robe Tom had purchased for her the night before.
They had just finished packing when Officer Bailey pushed the wheelchair into the room and waited.
The lead officer poked his head in to address the Sheltons. “Okay, are you two squared away? Do you know where you’re supposed to go?”
“Um, yes, we do,” replied Tom hesitantly. He was puzzled at the continued presence of Officer Bailey.
“Good,” said the officer in charge. He turned to the remaining officer. “Bailey, escort these folks down to the east side emergency exit. Remember, 111 East Thirty-Third Street. You head east about four blocks to Park Avenue, and then south a dozen blocks to the high school. Good luck.”
Tom closed his eyes and shook his head, as their plan had been thwarted. Donna reluctantly sat in the wheelchair, and Officer Bailey piled the two duffle bags in her lap. After an extended wait for the elevator, they arrived in the service hallways of the hotel, where a line waited to exit the Hyatt. The refugees were all dressed in Tyvek suits and were carrying suitcases and blankets.
Once they reached the exit door, a hotel security officer handed them two bottles of water and a printed map with the route to the evacuation center highlighted. He thanked them for staying at the Hyatt Centric Hotel, apologized for the inconvenience, and directed them out into the chaotic streets of Manhattan.
Chapter Twenty
Midtown Manhattan
New York City
Tom wheeled Donna into the middle of a dark alley amidst the dozens of hotel guests, who milled about in their white Tyvek suits like ghosts looking for a house to haunt. Most were confuse
d at the suddenness of their eviction from the hotel, while others were frightened at being thrust into the mayhem occurring on the streets.
“We stayed in our room for a reason,” began one man. “My wife and I didn’t want any part of this, and that was before the attack.”
“Do you think they’re telling us the truth?” asked another man. “You know the government. You can’t trust them. This could be some kind of false flag?”
“A what?” asked a lady in response.
“You know, that’s when the government manufactures a crisis in order to—”
Tom had heard enough and began pushing Donna through the confused guests toward where the alley opened up onto West Forty-Fifth Street. He put Donna in charge of navigation, and she used her pocket reading light to illuminate the map.
“Tom, let’s go with the flow of people whenever possible,” she suggested. “If we see a street that turns south that is less crowded, we’ll take advantage of it.”
“I agree, dear,” said Tom. Then he leaned down and kissed his wife on the cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
She touched his cheek and kissed him back. “Well, thank you, Mr. Shelton, but for what?”
He smiled. “For not falling apart, now or earlier. For being a great soldier during, you know, the last four years. For loving me for the last forty.”
“It’s because I love you and trust you that I can do all of those things. So, as the heroes always say, let’s roll!”
Tom laughed as he pushed her to the edge of the sidewalk. The mass exodus from Times Square had lessened considerably since they had fought their way back into the hotel hours ago. The pain and suffering, however, had not.
Revelers who’d been trampled sat against the walls of tall buildings or had sought shelter in doorways of businesses, complaining of injuries or crying because they were distraught. As Tom pushed Donna down the middle of the street between stranded vehicles, an occasional body could be seen—eyes open, heart stopped.
They both turned their heads to avoid seeing the dead, opting to put it out of their minds rather than dwell on the senselessness of what had happened. On one occasion, as they made their way past Bryant Park near the New York Public Library, a body blocked their narrow path between the parked vehicles. Tom gently pulled the older woman by both feet until she was out of the way. He knelt down next to her battered body, shut her eyelids, and said a prayer for her.
The solemn moment was a reminder of how lucky they were under the circumstances, and it gave Tom a newfound vigor as he pushed a little harder to get his wife to safety.
It took them an hour and a half to traverse the New York City streets toward the Norman Thomas High School. They knew they were close when they observed a military presence at the intersection of Park Avenue and East Thirty-Third Street. A roadblock consisting of two Humvees greeted refugees as the line wrapped around the tall office building that housed Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing.
After forty-five minutes, they turned the corner and were able to see the evacuation effort. Dozens of school buses, New York Metro Transit buses, and private charter buses were lined up on West Thirty-Third Street, facing in the direction of the East River and Queens.
The refugees standing in line were orderly, unlike the pushing and shoving of those fleeing Times Square. Tom surmised that the people in line were familiar with the city’s emergency plan, and he now considered the early, mandatory evacuation of the hotel to be a blessing. After these buses pulled out for destinations far away from Manhattan, it would take a lot longer to remove those who remained.
“We’re next in line, Tom,” said Donna in an attempt to get her husband’s attention. Exhausted from the mile-long trek through the madness, Tom had momentarily checked out from reality.
He pushed Donna forward through one of five rope lines that led to the buses. A woman with a clipboard, a communications headset in her ear and a sidearm on her hip, motioned them forward.
“Destination?” she asked in a curt manner. Her eyes darted from Tom’s face to Donna in the wheelchair. “No, first, I have to ask, ma’am, are you confined to a wheelchair? This doesn’t look like—”
“No,” Donna quickly replied. “I twisted my ankle, and the hotel provided us this for transportation. We had to travel fifteen—”
“Okay, good. Destination?”
“We’re from Charleston, South Carolina,” Tom responded.
“Here are your options,” the woman continued. “Let me warn you that all air travel in and out of LaGuardia and JFK has been cancelled indefinitely. These buses can take you east to MacArthur on Long Island, but the flights are booked up for six days. For that matter, flights are booked up everywhere at this point a minimum of five to seven days, depending on airport location.”
“What about bus travel?” asked Tom.
“The Port Authority bus terminals are located in the middle of the attack zone near Forty-Second Street and Eighth Avenue. Not an option.”
“Um, what are our options?”
“Long Island, as I mentioned. Then there’s Allentown or Scranton in Pennsylvania, Poughkeepsie or Albany in New York, or New Haven, Connecticut.”
Donna turned in the wheelchair and looked up to Tom. “None of the options are good for going home. Let’s just go to Long Island. It’s probably the closest, right?”
The officer nodded.
Tom’s mind raced. He wasn’t sure if it was feasible, but there were markers to be called in. Sure, it had been years, but it was worth a try.
“Sir?” The officer impatiently insisted on an answer.
Tom quickly replied, “We’ll go to New Haven.”
Donna studied his face. “Tom, why there?”
“I’ll explain on the bus. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-One
New Year’s Day
Six Flags Great Adventure
Jackson, New Jersey
Tyler Rankin made sure the kids were buckled up in the backseat of his Bronco and confirmed that they’d locked their doors. While his family waited for him, he took another moment to walk toward the exit of the Six Flags parking lot to look for potential obstacles blocking their escape.
The other park-goers wandered around the parking lot, displaying a variety of emotions. Most were puzzled and bewildered as to what could have caused their vehicles to stop functioning en masse. The vast majority of Americans were oblivious to the term electromagnetic pulse. The concept of an EMP destroying the power grid and the small electronics they relied upon never crossed their minds.
The emotions of the people standing around, comparing theories and speculating about what was going on, ranged from distress to agitation. Tyler had studied the devastating effects of an EMP enough to know Americans were not prepared for life without electricity, or vehicles without power. Soon panic would set in, immediately followed by anger.
It was time to go.
Fortunately, very few vehicles were departing Six Flags at the moment the EMP struck. The exits were clear, and the only potential obstacles were people standing in the way. He made his way back to the truck, where Angela gave him a smile of encouragement.
“Okay, babe, what’s the plan?” she asked as he settled in his seat. Tyler glanced in the backseat. In the short few minutes that he’d stepped away, their exhausted children had nuzzled against their pillows and fallen asleep.
“Good work.” He pointed in the backseat with his right thumb.
Angela chuckled as she snapped open the gun case and removed their handgun. She seemed to weigh the weapon in her hand before she expertly pulled the slide and confirmed the chamber was empty. Then she examined one of three magazines stored within the eggcrate foam of the case’s interior, all loaded with .45-caliber bullets. She slapped one of the magazines into the bottom of the pistol’s grip and loaded a round into the chamber.
“It was easy, actually,” she explained. “The kids asked me what happened to all the cars, and I started explaining to them
about pulses of energy and how electronics can’t take the short powerful bursts. I was barely into the how’s and why’s when I noticed they were both out.”
“Well, I hope they stay that way for a while,” said Tyler. “Listen, we’ve got a lot to talk about, including how we’re gonna get home. But first, we need to get away from all of these people.”
“I’m ready. Are you gonna just plow through them?” asked Angela as she pointed toward the groups of people standing in the way of the exit.
“Pretty much. Hopefully, they’ll be surprised when our truck starts and heads toward them. It’s about half a mile to the exit. Under the circumstances, that’s a long way. If I’m right, they’ll move out of the way, shocked at a working vehicle. If I’m wrong, they’ll block our exit in an attempt to catch a ride or worse.”
“Worse?” asked Angela.
“Yeah, steal our truck.”
Angela looked ahead and nodded. She slowly slid her hand onto the gun and cradled it in her lap.
Tyler noticed the subtle movement and smiled. “It’s gonna be fine. Just hold on.”
Nervous with anticipation, he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He glanced into the backseat one more time to check on their sleeping beauties. Then he turned the key in the ignition just enough to see if the dashboard lights and gauges responded.
“We’re in business,” said Angela as the vehicle started.
“Okay, here goes.” Tyler tried to start the motor, but it wouldn’t turn over.
“Ty, what’s wrong?”
“Um, it’s cold. The truck always has a hard time with a cold start in the winter.”
“Dammit, Tyler, people have already noticed the sound. Keep trying!”