by Bobby Akart
“We have breaking news from New York.”
Hayden tilted her head and said, “New York? Don’t you mean Washington?”
She spun around, and the chaotic scene that filled the screen was unfathomable.
Chapter 54
Hyatt Centric Times Square
New York City
With the presence of the Clintons in the hotel, Secret Service protection was extraordinary. Now that New York City was under attack, the Hyatt had been placed on lockdown. They were refusing to grant access to anyone except registered guests. Tom had their room key card in his pocket and was also able to use his phone to show the email confirming their reservation. He was certain he could get inside except for the crowd of people in his way, cramming themselves against the glass entry.
Most of the crowd was not staying at the hotel. They were only panicked revelers seeking a safe haven. The security personnel at the single entrance door next to the revolving doors, which had been locked, were growing increasingly frustrated with the interlopers. He threatened to close the hotel to everyone, causing an immediate uproar from those guests like the Sheltons who were trying to gain entry.
“Out of my way!” shouted a man from the rear of the pack on the far side of the entrance.
“If you’re not staying here, go somewhere else,” yelled another.
“Screw you! We need help!” a woman near the front responded.
“Screw me? No, screw you!” the second man bellowed before grabbing the woman by the back of the coat and pulling her onto the ground. The pack immediately inched forward to fill the void left by her flailing body, which was getting kicked and stepped on.
People began pushing and shoving. The security personnel started screaming at them to calm down. Tom looked back and forth to assess his options. All he needed was an opening, just enough to push his way to the front so he could show the security guards his key card and identification.
They say you should never shout fire in a crowded theater to avoid causing an unnecessary panic. In this day and age, fire didn’t frighten anybody, but yelling gun did. Tom took a risk that might backfire, but it was all he had.
He turned to Donna and whispered, “Dear, be ready to follow me. We’ll only have a few seconds.”
Donna stared in his eyes and nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Keep your hands on my shoulder for support. Here we go.”
Tom took a deep breath, studied the people blocking their access to the door one more time, and then he shouted as loud as he could to be heard over the scrum gathered around the entrance.
“Gun! Everybody run! He’s got a gun!”
His gamble paid off. Shrieks of fear filled the air as those at the back of the pack immediately ran into the oncoming masses of people still fleeing Times Square.
As some of the people gathered around the door repeated the word gun, those close to the door followed their lead, assuming that the gunman was in close proximity to Tom’s voice. They created an opening, and Tom and Donna shot the gap, slipping between the wall and the group trying to escape his voice.
Within seconds, he’d reached the plate-glass door and pressed his room key card together with his driver’s license against the glass door.
The security guard scrolled through an iPad and found Tom’s name on the guest list. He shouted above the fracas, “Room number?”
“Twenty-six twenty-six!” Tom shouted back.
The security guard turned the key in the lock, opening it slightly. He grabbed Tom by the arm to pull him inside. Donna hopped along behind her husband just as the security guard forced the door shut on a man who tried to force himself inside.
Donna groaned in pain as her injured ankle got caught in the door, but she quickly shook it off. They were safe, for now.
Tom helped his wife through the lobby filled with suddenly sober hotel guests discussing the evening’s events. Many were speculating the nation was under attack based upon the news reports. Tom glanced at the monitors in the lobby bar and noticed CNN was broadcasting from several locations around the country.
He decided there would be time to catch up on what had happened after he and Donna were safely in their room. They stopped by the front desk and requested an ACE bandage out of the hotel’s medical supplies. The staff also provided him a bottle of ibuprofen. After the assistant manager reminded Tom and Donna about the RICE method of dealing with sprains—rest, ice, compression, and elevation—they made their way to the room and quickly found the bed, where the two collapsed in exhaustion.
After several minutes of relative silence in which the only noise they heard was the sound of screaming coming from twenty-six floors below, Tom suggested they get out of their clothes. He didn’t want any radioactive particles on their other belongings.
Once they’d changed, he bundled the clothes up in the duvet cover and stuffed it into the closet. Then he wrapped Donna’s ankle and slipped out of the room to retrieve a couple of buckets of ice—one for the ankle and the other for the champagne they’d intended to drink at midnight.
“Tom, are we gonna talk about what’s going on? How could terrorists miss detection by Tommie and the government?”
Tom walked to the window to look down at the chaotic scene. A gust of cold wind rattled the window, some of which penetrated the window jamb to blow the sheer curtain panel to his right. Alarmed, he grabbed the plastic rods and hurriedly closed the sheers and the heavy drapes. Then he leaned over and turned off the ventilation to the room.
“Tom?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “Just a precaution.”
He sighed and sat on the bed next to her, staring at the television monitor mounted on the wall above the dresser. He’d hesitated to turn it on. In a way, he wanted them to decompress for a minute before taking on any more bad news. Tom chuckled to himself as he wondered if sometimes the ostrich’s head in the sand concept was a good one.
Donna persisted. “Tell me what you think, honey.”
He was about to answer when he heard his iPhone vibrate on the round table sitting in a corner near the window. With a slight grunt, Tom lifted himself off the sofa and retrieved his phone. He stared down at the display, using his thumb to scroll through several messages he’d received from their daughters. But those were not the text messages that grabbed his attention.
Tom read it to himself. It wasn’t designated eyes only, a phrase he’d grown accustomed to seeing while at Joint Base Charleston. This came from another source, one that he’d avoided contact with for years.
The real danger on the ocean, as well as the land, is people.
Fare thee well and Godspeed, Patriot!
MM
Chapter 55
USA Health University Trauma Center
“What do we have?” asked a male surgeon as he pushed through the curtain in the emergency room at the USA Health University Trauma Center in downtown Mobile.
The trauma nurse was quick to reply, “Doctor, we’ve cleared the airway and the patient is experiencing mildly labored breathing. We’ve trialed him with oxygen by face mask at a rate of fifteen liters of oh-two per minute. Initially, our goal of SaPO2 will be ninety-two to ninety-six percent.” Monitoring the SaPO2 levels allowed trauma personnel to check a drowning patient’s pulmonary functions and blood-oxygen saturation levels.
“Has he regained consciousness?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, continue monitoring him. If you detect a decline in his ventilatory status or SaPO2, find me stat. We’ll move on to endotracheal intubation if necessary.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Oh, one more thing. If he comes to and is able to increase his breathing efforts without requiring extraordinary support, we’ll need to move him out of the ER. We are seeing patients on gurneys in the waiting room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cort was alive, but unconscious. He was unable to breathe without the assistance of the face mask and mechanical ventilator. Oblivious t
o what was going on around him, he lay in the emergency room for more than an hour on the respirator. And nobody knew his identity.
When he first regained consciousness, he had been moved to a recovery room on the second floor. Although he was still breathing through a face mask, he had awakened long enough for the trauma team to determine that he was going to fully recover.
He recalled nothing of what had happened after he’d blacked out somewhere near the sunken aircraft. Sore and exhausted, Cort tried to open his eyes to observe his surroundings. He couldn’t.
He tried to raise his arm and then he attempted to wiggle his feet. Although he had feelings in his extremities, he felt like he was wrapped in a cocoon.
Cort’s conscious mind was returning. He recalled the plane crash and being underwater. He’d swum for an eternity until he couldn’t. He couldn’t remember if he gave up or if he was helped. It was all pushed to a dark corner in the back of his brain.
He heard voices and tried to open his eyes again. Suddenly, his eyelid was opened and a flashlight rudely blasted his retina. The sudden intrusion of light triggered nerve impulses that passed through the optic nerve to his brain, resulting in a knee-jerk reaction.
Cort simply squirmed. But that was all it took to bring smiles to the three health care providers huddled around his bed.
“Well, sir, welcome back to the land of the living. I am Dr. Kenny Wayne.”
Cort tried to talk, but his throat hurt. He subconsciously tried to reach for his throat and relieve the pain, but couldn’t.
“Hang on, sir. Let us help you. Nurse, go ahead and remove his face mask.”
Cort’s eyes were fully open, and he glanced around the room, searching for his wife and daughter. He mouthed the word wife. Enough air passed over his larynx that one of the nurse’s smiled and nodded her head.
“Wife?” she asked.
Cort nodded.
She continued. “Sir, do you also have a lovely daughter? Around six to eight years old.”
Cort managed a smile and nodded. Tears began to flow from his eyes. He blinked rapidly as the salty fluid flooded his eye sockets. He’d had enough salt water for one day. Or a lifetime, for that matter.
The nurse took a tissue off the table next to Cort’s bed and dabbed his eyes. Cort smiled and nodded in appreciation.
“Are you Michael?”
He nodded again.
She dabbed his eyes again and whispered to him, “I know exactly where to find them. Now, you listen to the doctor while I go downstairs and fetch them for you.”
For the next five minutes, the doctor explained the ins and outs of Cort’s near-drowning experience. He was told about how he had popped up out of the water unexpectedly near the life raft full of people. Nobody knew how to perform CPR, but the rescue boats from both Mobile and Pensacola had surrounded the area within minutes of the airplane crashing into the water. Cort was lucky. It was not his time.
“Of course, we’ll keep you overnight for observation to see how you do now that you’ve been removed from oxygen. If your vitals continue to stabilize, your lungs hold up as they appear to be, and your mentation remains normal, we should be able to get you out of here tomorrow.”
He tried to focus on the doctor’s words and instructions regarding his care, but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes kept darting toward the door, hoping that each set of footsteps he heard were Meredith and Hannah.
The doctor sensed that Cort wasn’t paying attention and finally congratulated him on surviving. He promised to check back in on him, and Cort smiled and mouthed the words thank you.
The room was empty again, and Cort became somewhat depressed, as the nurse had not yet returned with his family. Cort wiggled around under the blanket and pulled his arms loose. He hated being confined, and his body was nice and toasty, too much so, in fact.
He reached around the side of the bed until he found the wired remote, which allowed him to adjust his bed positioning and operate the television mounted in the corner of the room. Cort pushed the button that raised him up to a more seated position. Then he turned on the television.
CNN filled the screen, and images of emergency rescue vehicles with their lights on and first responders scrambling about depicted a chaotic event. Cort expected to see the plane crash on the news. Instead, the scene was in New York’s Times Square.
The chyron read Dirty bomb attacks in NYC.
Then the screen switched to Atlanta. The scene there was similar. Possible terrorist attack at Atlanta concert.
A split screen then appeared showing Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in complete darkness without power. Cort turned up the volume.
“As midnight approached, residents along the New Jersey and Pennsylvania border reported seeing a bright streak of light followed by the power grid collapsing. Local and state authorities have not issued any formal statements although we’ve learned through the Department of Homeland Security that this collapse of the grid was caused by some type of electromagnetic pulse.”
Cort heard footsteps running down the hallway, and he quickly turned down the volume. He focused his attention on the doorway. Hannah rushed through first and raced to his bedside. Her smile stretched across her face and drew his attention away from her red, bloodshot eyes caused by her crying. He hugged her and then looked over her shoulder to his darling wife.
Meredith stood in the doorway with one arm folded in front of her, and the other dabbing at her wet eyes. She looked down shyly and then the waterworks opened up. She couldn’t contain her exuberance as she rushed to Cort’s side.
The three of them held each other, transferring their love to one another without speaking.
After a moment, Hannah broke their embrace and spoke first. “Happy New Year’s, Daddy. I brought you some champagne gummy bears. Mom said they were your favorite.”
Cort grinned and looked at Meredith. He motioned for Hannah to come closer to him so he could whisper, “Mom was fibbin’. Those are her favorites.”
Hannah bent over and kissed her father on the cheek. “I know, Daddy. I knew it would make her smile if I said that. She was very worried. I wasn’t. I knew God would protect you.”
Cort touched her sweet cheek and smiled. He then motioned for Hannah to lean over and speak to him. As she came closer, he took another glance at the television, which showed cameras and reporters gathering in the White House briefing room.
Meredith followed his eyes and then frowned at him. “You shouldn’t be seeing this, Cort. Let’s turn it off.”
Cort shook his head side to side. He motioned her closer and whispered, “New York, Philly, Atlanta.”
Meredith closed her eyes and sighed. “Can’t we talk about this—”
Cort squeezed her hand and pulled her closer. “No. What happened?”
“It’s much worse, Cort. DC got hit. Detroit. Chicago. LA.”
Cort raised his eyebrows. “Who?” he asked in a barely audible whisper.
“They don’t know. It’s obviously coordinated,” she replied.
Cort leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes. He thought about the timing of his flight and the limited information he had from the newscast. The total power loss on an aircraft, completely obliterating all backup systems, was unprecedented in his recollection. He immediately wondered if there was a connection to these other events.
His mind wandered to Congressman Pratt. A powerful, influential leader in Congress, now dead from some unexplainable airline catastrophe. Then he thought of himself. He had almost been killed too.
Cort’s eyes grew wide and he glanced around the room before looking at the television coverage again. He didn’t believe in coincidences.
Meredith noticed that he was becoming agitated. “Cort, please calm down. You have to get your rest. Please.”
Cort grimaced and pulled her close to his face. He whispered again so only she could hear him.
“I have to tell you about the Haven.”
Chapter 56
S
ix Flags Great Adventure
Jackson, New Jersey
It took another hour to get the family out of the coaster and down to safety. Medical personnel were on the ground to check on J.C.’s injuries and also counsel the family on the emotional trauma he might sustain. Angela, being polite, allowed the local EMTs to advise them, rather than disclose that she was fully capable of helping her son through this. Nonetheless, it did help to have J.C.’s bruises checked out by other experienced medical personnel.
The next challenge the family faced was finding their car. The only lighting in the theme park was held by park security in the form of a flashlight. They were guiding visitors to the exits and onward to their vehicles. As they walked through Six Flags, there was evidence of looting within the park.
Stores and restaurants had been trashed. J.C. picked up a Superman cape, and Kaycee found a miniature basketball with the Batman logo on it.
“Look at this place,” whispered Angela. “It looks like Hurricane Michael blew through here.”
Two teenage girls rushed past them, holding bundles of tee shirts under their arms. One of the security personnel flashed his light on them and began blowing a whistle, but they took off undeterred.
“Looters already,” added Tyler. “You’d think people would have more important things to be concerned with.”
They made their way around the turnstiles at the front and continued to walk toward the parking lot. Tyler held Kaycee’s hand, and Angela kept her arm draped around J.C.’s shoulder as they walked.
As they pushed through a crowd of people standing in front of them, they overheard some of the conversation.
“One dude said we were attacked with missiles.”
“Yeah, I heard the same thing.”
“Nah, man, that’s stupid. Ain’t nobody gonna take on the good ole U.S. of A. I think it was one of them solar flares.”
“No, dude. It wasn’t a solar flare. If it was, the sky would’ve gotten really bright. I think it was a nuke.”