Doomsday Apocalypse

by Bobby Akart

  For Donna and Tom, who were hesitant at first to enter the throngs of people, it was an experience that took them into a potentially stressful, uncontrollable situation. However, within minutes, they embraced the year’s biggest party as they bounced off other revelers and made their way through the crowd to the south end of Times Square, where the ball would drop.

  They talked about catching a glimpse of Ryan Seacrest or Anderson Cooper, sans Kathy Griffin. They found their way near music stages featuring performers they’d never heard of—Antonique Smith, Chyno Miranda, and Camila Cabello.

  None of that mattered as Donna beamed, her grin spreading from ear to ear at the spectacle. The smile on her face was priceless to Tom as he held her tight. She’d been through so much, fighting hard through the emotional and physical devastation of her breast cancer diagnosis. As the couple worked together to bring the cancer into remission, they felt they had a new lease on life. Their personal struggle, and forty years of marriage, had brought them to Times Square to ring in the new year.

  And they were all ringing it in. There were people as far as the eye could see, dancing, singing, and waving their arms in the air. Tom swore the ground was shaking slightly, as if the Earth itself was pulsating from the energy generated by those above it. The noise levels were deafening, causing conversation between the two of them to be near impossible. Donna’s normally soft voice couldn’t be raised loud enough to overcome the constant roar of yelling and the occasional shriek in delight.

  Tom had quickly determined they could approach One Time Square if they moved away from the middle of the crowd and hugged the Jersey barriers, the hard plastic modular walls that lined Seventh Avenue and Broadway as they came closer to merging together.

  Tom and Donna felt the rush, transforming them from sixty-year-old retirees to partygoers. They were surrounded by more than a million people, with another hundred million or more watching at home. They began to live in the moment, one filled with confetti and snow flurries and heart-thumping music.

  And the illusion. The illusion that New York’s Time Square was, in fact, the center of the universe. In that moment, Times Square felt like the right place to be for Tom and Donna Shelton.

  They finally stopped as their progress toward the front of the ball-drop stage appeared before them. They’d traveled several blocks to get the best view in the house through pushing and shoving of strangers, all of whom were experiencing the same excitement.

  Midnight approached and the anticipation was building. That evening, Tom learned that despite the differences he and Donna had with all of the revelers, whether it be age, race, or culture, they were all sharing the adventure of New Year’s Eve in Times Square together.

  He’d opened his mind to the phenomenon and threw caution to the wind to please his wife, and he was glad he did. For when you were spending time with the one you love, even an outside-your-comfort-zone night could turn out to be magical.

  Unless something went horribly wrong.

  Chapter 32

  Port Imperial

  Weehawken, New Jersey

  Just a few years prior, it would’ve been difficult to find a junior staffer in Washington who was interested in discussing the use of drones by terrorists. Then suddenly, the face of drone warfare changed. An entire division of experts was created at the National Counterterrorism Center after it was reported that Islamic fighters in Iraq and Syria had effectively deployed off-the-shelf quadcopters to drop grenades on unsuspecting targets below, including U.S. Special Operations forces. The experts opined that if terrorists could use the airborne devices in Raqqa, there was nothing to stop them from using drones on Americans’ homeland.

  The expectation was reached that the threat was both probable and imminent. Drones were easy to acquire and were virtually untraceable. With advanced technology, they were fairly simple to operate, nearly impossible to disrupt or monitor, and their range capabilities grew with each new product.

  While most drones sold in the U.S. were small short-range devices aimed at hobbyists and unsuited to carry cargo, technological advances had created commercial models to be used by companies ranging from UPS to Pizza Hut. These commercial counterparts were heavier and more powerful, capable of delivering a small package weighing up to twelve pounds for miles.

  Commercial quadcopter drones were nearly silent, easily maneuverable at low altitudes in all types of weather, and capable of bearing a small bomb or toxic material far above the metal detectors, police barricades, and SWAT teams that surrounded Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

  Drone technology had advanced with respect to their operation as well. For the average consumer, the drones were guided using a handheld device that resembled the Nintendo controllers of old. The antenna’s range was limited and, therefore, the drone became increasingly unreliable at greater distances.

  All of that changed as scientists adapted quadcopters with global positioning technology. Using GPS to identify package drop-off locations for UPS, for example, a commercial drone could be dispatched from a central warehouse facility with the exact coordinates of a home or business. With a small computer operating the drone autonomously, it could identify and survey terrain and potential obstacles, adjust accordingly, and steer itself between trees and power lines to its destination.

  The device could then navigate on its own to a home’s front porch, drop the package, and photograph it as it departed to create proof of delivery that was immediately emailed to the recipient.

  Once again, the wonder of science was created for commercial use to make the consuming public’s life better. And it created a new weapon for terrorists in the process.

  As was true with any new weapon, it was difficult at first to guard against. Law enforcement and the military’s best defense against the small low-flying quadcopters was radar detection, radio-jamming devices, and interrupting the GPS signal to the drone aircraft. The commercial advances took all of these security measures away. The only other option was to identify them in-flight and shoot them out of the sky—not one hundred percent accurate and certainly a potential danger to anyone caught in the line of fire.

  The winds were growing stronger as the muscular young man made his way from One World Trade Center through the Lincoln Tunnel into New Jersey. The eight-mile trip took him over an hour, but he’d allowed himself plenty of time to rendezvous with his team. From their vantage point, they’d need less than fifteen minutes to implement their operation from start to a chaotic finish.

  He arrived at the shuttered warehouse located in the heart of Port Imperial in Weehawken, New Jersey, a revitalized stretch of the Hudson River waterfront overlooking Manhattan across from Midtown.

  The building had been on the market for years at an outrageous price. Despite its prime location directly on the water, no one had risked their capital on the slowly dilapidating structure, not that the owners cared. Their financial resources stretched around the globe, and on this night, the hundred-year-old warehouse would serve a greater purpose than some more zeroes added to their bank accounts.

  He climbed the eight flights of stairs, working up a sweat despite the near-freezing temperatures. The precipitation had changed to mere snow flurries now, which lifted his spirits. He hadn’t been completely truthful with his benefactor during their conversation. Weather could negatively impact the drones’ operations if the precipitation changed to a heavy snow that caused it to stick to the quadcopters’ rotor blades. Just like an airplane, if the snow accumulated on a drone, it could be weighed down, crashing before reaching its target.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced as he arrived on the rooftop of the warehouse.

  Two dozen people huddled together near the edge of the flat roof’s parapet overlooking the traffic on Port Imperial Boulevard. They turned around in unison and approached their boss.

  He was still dressed in a short-sleeve shirt, considering the need for a coat as a sign of weakness. He continued. “First, I need a weather update.”


  A smallish woman stepped forward with an iPad opened to Wunderground, a weather website known for its accurate forecasts and variety of storm predictors, including radar. She responded, “Not much change, sir, although the precipitation has remained to our south toward Philly and Baltimore. The cold air has arrived as expected.”

  “What is our ice potential?”

  A man in mechanic’s coveralls stepped forward. He replied in his proper British accent, “Based on the temperature drop, we should be fine, but I’ve taken some measures to ensure our success.”

  “Such as?” the leader asked.

  “Quite simple, actually. I anticipated this obstacle, so I created a mixture of glycol and water to simulate the deicing fluid used on airplanes.”

  One of the team interrupted. “I thought that only applies to preflight. What about while in the air?”

  The Brit nodded and quickly responded, “Ice usually accumulates in flight when small droplets of precipitation freeze on the front surfaces—the leading edges like the wings of the aircraft. This changes the shape and texture of their wings and flaps, thus interfering with the flow of air.”

  “Quadcopters don’t have wings,” interjected another member of the team.

  “True, but ice buildup on rotor blades will change the shape of the airfoil and, consequentially, the quadcopter’s ability to produce lift. This is not unlike helicopters except our drones have the benefit of four rotors instead of one. Losing one or two rotors might slow the quads down and even reduce their altitude, but it won’t stop them from advancing.”

  The team leader pushed through the group to admire the twenty-four quadcopters that rested silently on the rooftop awaiting their mission. Each carried a specific payload designed to unload its package at precise, strategic locations for maximum effect. He turned back to the group.

  “What is our longest travel time?”

  “Twenty-six minutes, sir. That’s to reach the easternmost targets. Per your instructions, we’ve routed those quads around Times Square to avoid the sniper patrols on the hotel rooftops.”

  “What if we modified them for a more direct route?”

  Several members of the group conferred until they arrived at a unanimous answer. “Sixteen minutes, sir. That’s if we fly them right down the pipe along Seventh Avenue.”

  “I don’t like it,” the team leader said. “If detected, those few minutes saved could mean the difference between mere annoyance and our success.”

  “Sir, if I may?” the Brit interrupted.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Sir, the glycol mixture is not just a deicing agent as it was originally intended for aircraft. I’ve also added a viscous fluid to bind the glycol ever so slightly to the rotor blades.”

  “Speak English, mate!” shouted one of the drone operators from the rear of the group. It drew a chuckle from everyone except the team leader.

  The Brit continued. “A viscous fluid, or non-Newtonian fluid, does not follow Newton’s law of viscosity.”

  He was interrupted again.

  “Sir, I’m gonna knock this guy out if he doesn’t explain what the hell he’s talking about!”

  “Hold on, and everyone calm down,” replied the team leader. He walked over to the British man, who hung his head sheepishly, kicking at the gravel on the roof. “What was the solution you used? Salt?”

  “No, sir. It would fall off at speed. I used shampoo. It will gently coat the rotor blades, together with the glycol mixture, to prevent icing.”

  The head of the operation smiled and patted him on the back. Every team needs a science nerd, and he was glad he had this one on board. The other two dozen people involved in this operation were expendable, as they’d soon learn.

  “Okay, people!” he shouted. “Let’s get this show on the road. By my watch, we’ve got about twenty minutes to liftoff.”

  It was 11:11 p.m.

  Chapter 33

  Six Flags Great Adventure

  Jackson, New Jersey

  Temperatures had dropped into the forties as darkness set in at Six Flags, but the Rankin family didn’t notice. The vacation together was such a rare event due to the demands of their parents’ jobs that the kids were thrilled to be chilled as they rode one heart-stopping roller coaster after another.

  Many of the park’s attendees that evening found their way to the Polar Point section of the park to listen to a rare outdoor show performed by Mannheim Steamroller together with the Blue Man Group.

  The entire park was illuminated with Christmas lights, fresh-cut pine trees, and whiffs of peppermint spray delivered by their misting system, which was ordinarily used to keep attendees cool during the summer. Six Flags also had their snow machines turned on to ensure that a touch of winter filled the air as snowflakes fell throughout the park.

  The family saved the best ride for last as they kept pace with Kaycee’s regimented schedule. “The wait time for Kingda Ka is only forty-five minutes,” she explained her approach to the final event. “We’ve got cookies and hot chocolate to keep us warm while we wait in line. The ride takes about a minute, and—”

  “That’s a short ride,” interjected Tyler.

  Kaycee was quick to correct him. “No, Dad. It’s not short, just fast. You’ll see. I’ve watched it on YouTube dozens of times.”

  “Okay, I see,” said Tyler with a laugh as he took another sip of hot chocolate. He silently cursed the Founding Fathers for not doing all of their American Revolution stuff in sunny Florida, where it was warmer.

  “Anyway,” continued Kaycee, “after the ride, we’ll have time to find a good spot for the New Year’s Eve fireworks!”

  “And champagne, too?” asked J.C.

  “What do you know about champagne, young man?” asked Angela as she scruffed her son’s hair.

  “That’s what they do on New Year’s, Mom,” he replied.

  “Well, they, being the adults, can do champagne. Eight-year-olds cannot.”

  Kaycee chimed in, “Mom, can I since I’m in double digits?”

  Angela laughed and rolled her eyes. “No, Peanut. Double digits, such as eleven-year-olds, don’t qualify. You can wait until you’re thirty.”

  “Thirty! No way!”

  Tyler grabbed his daughter by the neck and pulled her close. He’d felt guilty for years after the near-death accident. As a lifeguard, he should’ve been more aware of the helicopter being in distress. He’d failed to react quickly enough, and it had almost killed Kaycee. It was a seminal event that gave him a completely different outlook on life—one that placed the safety of his family above all else. During her recovery, he’d prayed and made a promise that he’d never allow anyone, or anything, to take away or harm his family.

  They made their way through the long queue and approached the front of the platform, where riders were boarding the coaster. The kids insisted in riding in the first car, so they stepped aside until the ride operator motioned them forward.

  Tyler glanced up at the security cameras pointed at them. “Hey, check it out,” he said as he put his arm around Angela. “Big brother is watching.”

  She laughed. “Isn’t he always? Listen, if you’re afraid, it’s not too late to bail out.”

  Tyler laughed and slid her hand onto his butt. “Feel that? Still dry after the twenty-story drop on the Nitro ride. I can handle Kingda Ka.”

  Angela looked at the vertical lift rising to the apex of Kingda Ka. “This is over forty-five stories. That’s taller than any building in Virginia.”

  Tyler leaned in to his wife’s ear and whispered, “You want me to fill my pants, don’t you?”

  Angela started laughing. “No, I guess not, especially since we’re sitting together. Say, are you gonna film it for the kids on your phone?”

  “Does that mean I can only hold on with one hand?”

  “Um, yeah,” she replied.

  “Oh, sure. Great idea. Ugh.”

  The next section of cars pulled up and the riders spilled out.
Some of the faces were white from fear with bright red cheeks from riding at over a hundred miles an hour in the cold evening air. Others were laughing hysterically as the nervousness of the intense ride forced out their emotions.

  The caravan of five cars carried eighteen passengers. The family loaded in the first car, which was a four-seater with a bright green hood in front. Angela and Tyler were seated immediately behind the kids in front of a car that contained two girls in their late teens. Tyler rolled his eyes as he saw them slide into their seats, knowing full well ear-piercing screams would be breaking his eardrums throughout the ride.

  Once they were settled in, the cars moved forward to ease behind the two sets of cars in line in front of them. Tyler pointed to a sign that read:

  Attention Riders. On occasion, Kingda Ka’s train will not travel over the hill. This is a normal occurrence. The train is designed to safely roll back and reset to be launched again.

  “Nice of them to let us know that after we’re stuck on board this thing.”

  Angela laughed and squeezed his knee. “Just record and the whole thing will be over before you know it.”

  Tyler got his cell phone ready, and their section of cars moved forward until they were first in line. He was getting nervous. “The other car is barely at the top of the loop before they fire off another one.”

  Angela laughed and shook her head as she ignored Tyler’s continued protestations. “Okay, kids. Who’s ready?”

  The mechanical announcer issued its final warning to the riders before the ride commenced.

  Arms down. Head back. Hold on.

  To which Kaycee replied, “Let’s go!”

  With the blast of a cannon firing, the ride took off on what was once the fastest roller coaster in North America. The upside-down U-shaped track bolted up forty-five stories, reaching one hundred forty five miles per hour in just three and a half seconds.