The ABC newsroom in Portland is a frenzied blur of activity. Springing to life shortly after losing all contact with their sister station in Seattle, producers and reporters stride through a maze of desks, shouting at one another over the screaming of police scanners. Rows of televisions line the walls and assignment area, each tuned to what’s left of the major news networks.
“Jeff’s going live!” the news director yells.
A graying, midday producer snatches up the telephone on his desk. “Anchors to the set please,” he barks into the paging system. “Anchors to the set!”
Another producer lunges past, stopping to yell through the doorway of the dark graphics department. “Where’s that animap?!”
* * *
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Jean runs up to the news van in KOMO’s underground parking garage and stuffs a script into Kevin Green’s hands. The reporter’s eyes scan down through the official AP statement. Dave kneels inside the truck beside him, his deft hands working the broadcast switcher controls.
“What?!” Kevin asks. He looks back at Jean in disbelief.
Her eyes are beyond emotion. The executive producer moves past him and leans inside the open sliding van door, laying a hand on Dave’s shoulder. The young engineer pulls the headphones up off his left ear and squints back.
“We’re cutting in! Two minutes,” she shouts, motioning two fingers at him.
“I can only give you audio,” Dave yells over the static in his ears. “Our stinger barely has enough power to hit the translators from here. We won’t have the bandwidth for video.”
“Just give me what you can.” Jean quickly plugs a hard-wire mic into the audio board and passes it to her reporter.
“Mic check. One, two,” Kevin says.
Dave eyes the VU meter, riding the levels up to -12 DB. “Good to go!” He gives a thumbs-up to his producer. The engineer glances behind him, hearing feedback growing in his headset. “Close that!”
Kevin climbs inside and slams the van’s sliding metal door.
* * *
Static hisses and pops for what seems like an eternity. The gathered survivors of Flight 661 look at the wreckage around them, waiting for answers to emerge from the noise. But the small radio’s hiss just bounces across the silent Seattle freeway.
“There have been reports of men of Arabic descent on planes bound for those cities,” the national news anchor returns. “But there has been no confirmation of whether terrorists were the cause of today’s events…”
Chris’s eyes drift coldly down to Abd. Flickering images of Darius flash through the teenager’s mind. His dead friend’s eyes stare back into his soul. The dazed look of invincible finality is carved into his face.
“What?” Abd shouts. His sunken eyes shoot around, returning stares from the survivors now turning at him.
In an instant, Chris is on the Arab. He swings vengeful fists like lightning through the air. “Son of a bitch! You did this!” he bellows. He catches Abd’s chin with a hooking blow and sends him reeling backwards to the ground. The towering basketball player lunges down at him.
The crowd is silent. They watch the ferocity with a vicarious thirst, eager for equal blood.
“You killed them all!” Chris’s dark hands tear upon flesh and pavement, feeling neither.
“We don’t know that!” Devin shouts. He reaches out and tries to grip the huge teenager around the chest. The pulsing, sinewy body continues on, refusing to slow his advance. The firefighter’s arms tighten and lift, arching his entire body back. Veins strain to the surface of his arms.
“Stop it, Chris!” Isabel screams, stunned by the normally gentle boy’s fierce and insatiable fury.
Slowly at first, the surging athlete inches away. The brief distraction allows the jarring blows to finally miss. Abd rolls from under the black man, his wild eyes looking like game in the mouth of a lion. The Arab’s right hand darts out for traction to pull himself along the rough asphalt. Instead, it finds a sharp metal remnant from the plane. Without hesitation, he whips it up and into the stomach of his attacker.
“You will not touch me again, black dog!” Abd spits. Blood and words both spew from his mouth as he stands.
“Easy!” Devin barks. Chris falls backward into him, sending them both to the ground.
Abd turns, brandishing the weapon at all the other eyes still upon him. “I didn’t do this!” he yells.
They slowly back away, unsatisfied. Hungry for vengeance.
The radio signal begins to pop in and out. The shrill roar of noise cuts through the crowd. Their attention turns to the tiny radio speaker, the hissing sound like a siren’s call.
Abd drops heavily to a knee. He tucks the shiv into a frayed pocket, wiping the blood from his face.
“This…” a staticky voice fades in. The words are broken and choppy through the interference. The survivors edge closer, information now their only solace. “This is Kevin Green reporting…from the ruins of the KOMO newsroom… I’m not sure how long…we’ll be able to broadcast, but we’ve just received…new details about the tragedy that struck Seattle this morning…”
The reporter’s words begin to fade away. Electrical noise from the radio speaker returns in the silence.
“This is insane,” someone whispers.
“I’m now going to…read you a statement…just prepared by what’s left of the Associated Press…” Kevin’s voice cuts in.
Devin’s heart pounds. He cocks his head, straining to decipher words through the interminable static.
“At 12:22 P.M….Eastern…Standard Time…a…” the voice starts. The noise begins to swell again all around it. The hissing words cut off abruptly. An alert tone suddenly begins to blare through the three-inch speaker.
“What?” a choir of survivors gasp.
“Who did this?”
“Quiet!” Devin shouts impatiently.
The single tone continues to blare defiantly across the ruins of the freeway, its piercing cry echoing off the death and devastation resting so peacefully along it.
* * *
“No, no, no. Come on!” Dave yells from inside the KOMO news van. He taps the green-hued waveform monitor and the solid audio line now splitting the screen beside him. He slams the metal door open. “We’ve lost our link, Jean.”
“What?”
“It’s gone. Out of juice, or cut off,” the engineer says. He turns back to retest the levels on his audio board. “I’m not sure which. But it’s gone.”
“We can get cut off?” Kevin asks. He sets the news script down with shaking hands.
“I think we just did.”
Chapter 16
Loose water shoots from Katherine Bane’s minivan as she hits a speed bump doing 60. Shock fills her hazel eyes, cutting lines of fear along her forehead. Cars pack the streets. Panic flies with them down Portland’s teeming roadways. Even in the heavy traffic, Katherine’s attention keeps drifting uncontrollably down to the dark words emanating from her stereo.
She passes an accident pushed off to the shoulder. Two drivers get out and exchange heated words, then punches, before one pulls out a crowbar. Without hesitation, he slams it into the other man’s face. Katherine cries out as the dead man crumples to the ground.
“To maintain order in the affected regions, martial law has now been declared nationwide,” the news reporter says. “Local law enforcement and military officers will be implementing those orders…”
Katherine glances worriedly up at the black skies covering the entire northern horizon. Darkness stretches into the heavens, bathing the city in a panicked dusk. She jerks the wheel onto a side street.
Please, God. Let Devin be okay, she prays.
“We are also starting to hear…unconfirmed reports of hostiles being…spotted in…” A swell of static suddenly turns into an alert tone sounding loudly through her speakers.
The single note is piercing, shriller than anything she’s ever heard. The vibrating sound waves rattle the change in her a
shtray. Hairs on the nape of Katherine’s neck begin to tingle. “What the hell?” she says, switching to a different channel. The alert tone plays back from every station on her presets. Nothing? Her eyes go wide.
Turning back onto 82nd, she guns it. People swarm down sidewalks and streets. Katherine taps the AM button, her finger pausing.
Static…
She scrolls past several other presets. Searching. Hoping. “Come on!” The need to know grows into a consuming desperation, almost overwhelming her fractured nerves. Katherine’s heart jumps.
“…infrastructures in those cities have been completely destroyed,” a voice returns. “The New York Stock Exchange is gone. Completely gone…”
Katherine passes her local U.S. Bank branch on the corner, watching on while they forcibly close and lock their doors. A large mob of people cluster around the entrance. Hands pound on the glass, but the security guard just shakes his head from inside. Bodies beg to be let in. Terror presses against the windows. The savings of generations, built from a lifetime of blood, sweat, and sacrifice, stays trapped securely within.
“Financial markets still active around the world are in free-fall, taking massive losses as investors pull whatever money they have left out of banks and institutions…”
People push in and out of a grocery store on the other side of the street. Their carts overflow with water and piles of food. A green-smocked employee puts a large, hastily-scrawled sign up on the front window. WATER: $6/GALLON.
“Food and supplies, we’re told, will run out quickly in locations closest to the impact zones. The Federal Emergency Management Administration says relief aid has been mobilized but might not arrive for some time. They warn outlying areas to brace themselves for an influx of refugees fleeing the damage…”
Sirens get louder as she flies over a familiar crosswalk. She eases slightly on the accelerator, veering her minivan to the right. The BMW in front of her barely yields when the ambulance screams past. The wailing sound gets lower and lower, its tragedy receding into the distance.
“Major cities all across the U.S. have been put on high alert,” the anchor continues. “With our leaders…refusing…to…” But the odd emergency tone again overtakes the news report. Its sharp pitch slices through freedom like a knife. Katherine hits the search button over and over, but only the piercing tone blares back at her from all frequencies. No music, no commercials — only the monotonous shriek of silence broadcasting oblivion over the airwaves.
Katherine jumps on her van’s parking brake with both feet. It skids to a stop beside a row of cars along Columbia Academy’s curb. A cloud of white smoke billows behind the vehicle, carrying the stink of melted tires with it.
People are running everywhere. The blaring of sirens and emergency vehicles booms through the air.
Kat throws the door open and lunges out of the van, hurtling steps two at a time up the walkway. Kids and parents dart across the grounds, searching and shouting for each other in the chaos. Katherine spins. Her eyes frantically hunt for her children, but the sea of blue uniforms blur identities and faces together. Her heart is pounding.
She sees a young boy and a teenage girl with blue backpacks running at the edges of the crowd. “Tyler! Haley!” she shouts. “Over here!” She runs several feet toward them before the children turn. Their real mother is already there to sweep them away.
Katherine pivots and starts moving against the crowd. Dread knots in her stomach. Nausea chokes her throat. She pushes against the sea of people, but her babies are gone. “Haley! Tyler!!” she screams. Gasping, she hunches over, hands on her knees.
“Mom!” a familiar voice shouts in the distance. Her head snaps up. Katherine glances from face to face, trying to pinpoint the sound. She pushes into the pack again. Even as the cries of a hundred other voices fill the yard, her maternal instincts somehow direct her toward the sounds of her own.
She stretches her 5’8” body while she walks, straining to look over the crowd. Her head whips from side to side. A single lock of pink-streaked blond hair shimmers in the light behind rows of blurred faces. That color is the most beautiful shade Katherine has ever seen.
“Mom!!” Haley shouts, locking eyes with her mother.
The air thunders out of Kat’s chest, almost sending her to her knees. She stumbles forward and forces her way through the mob. “Thank God,” she cries, pulling her daughter tight.
The crowd coming in and out of the school’s front doors pushes through them in search of their own happy reunions. Katherine hesitantly lets go. She looks around, new worry filling her hazel eyes. “Where’s your brother?!”
“I don’t know!” Haley screams. “I couldn’t find him. What happened? They wouldn’t tell us anything!”
“Just help me find Tyler!” Katherine yells. She grabs her daughter’s hand and pulls her into the running horde. They work their way through the entrance, looking uncertainly down both crowded halls.
“Tyler Bane!” Kat’s voice echoes down the hallways. “Has anyone seen my son?” Blank faces continue on without slowing.
“Tyler!” Haley shouts.
They push over to a frantic teacher still trying to maintain order within the busy hallway. “Slow down!” the stern Catholic woman yells to the children around her. “Stop running, please!”
“Have you seen Tyler Bane?” Katherine asks.
The teacher’s head swivels back and forth, counting heads while she ushers her class out of the chaos. “What grade?” she asks without looking up.
“Third.”
The nimble Catholic woman deflects a thrown ball of paper as it approaches, quickly spotting the troublemaker. “Knock it off!”
“Have you seen him?!” Katherine screams into the woman’s face. The teacher’s scared eyes finally dart back to Kat’s.
“No. But third and fourth are at the end of the hall,” the woman gestures to their left. “That way!”
Katherine and Haley take off again, deeper into the school. Rumbling voices fade behind them. The fire alarm begins to sound overhead as they move, its loud bells adding to the madness.
They slide to a stop on the smooth tiles at the end of the corridor. “Check over there!” Kat shouts, pointing Haley to the other side of the hallway. Katherine yanks open the door on the right and darts inside. “Tyler!!”
“Tyler!” Haley echoes behind her.
Both are greeted with empty rooms. There’s no sign of the 8-year-old. Katherine takes another step in, craning her head. Her stomach drops to the floor when she hears the horrible scream.
“Mom!” Haley’s voice shudders from across the hall.
Katherine spins and bursts into the room like a lightning strike.
“Over here!” Haley calls from the back of the class. The teenager’s eyes are terrified. The look sends shivers through Katherine’s body.
She sprints to the back of the room, but her feet stop short. An icy paralysis instantly shoots into Katherine. Tyler is lying on the floor behind a desk, deathly pale and starting to shake.
Please, no…, her heart screams out. She looks down at her baby boy, unable to move. Her body heaves.
Katherine closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to summon the strength her family needs. She kneels, smoothing back Tyler’s hair. “It’s going to be okay, honey,” she chokes. “Mommy’s here.”
Haley’s rebellious eyes crack. Tears run down her face as she watches her gentle brother convulsing violently on the floor.
“Haley,” Katherine says, wiping at her own tears. “Get the insulin kit in my purse.”
“Come on, Ty,” Haley whispers. The teenager stares down at her brother’s twitching body, unable to look away.
“Haley!” Katherine shouts. She grabs Haley’s arm and forces the young woman to look into her eyes.
They’re filled with a fear more crippling and uncertain than anything Haley has ever seen.
“Get the kit. It’s on the passenger side of the van,” Kat barks, squee
zing painfully on Haley’s arm. “Go!”
Haley wipes her eyes. She hesitates just long enough to nod before taking off as fast as she can into the school.
Katherine clutches her son’s head softly to her chest, rocking him back and forth. “Shh. You’re okay, baby boy. Just breathe. Nice and easy. I’ve got you,” Kat whispers. “I’ve got you.”
She glances up, watching the seconds each tick like an eternity off the wall clock. Tick… Tick…
The beating sound of life escaping echoes coldly across the colorful room. Katherine looks down at her son’s pasty, white skin, gently caressing the side of his face.
Tick….
“We’re gonna go on that trip to Disneyland you wanted,” she says. “Daddy’s taking some time off work. It’ll be so much fun. Castles and games and rides… You’ll love it, Ty.” Katherine tries to smile, imagining her children playing in the warm sunlight of a midsummer day.
Tick…..
Her smile quickly fades. Tears roll down her cheeks as she cradles her dying son.
Tick……
“Come on, baby,” she pleads. His thin body begins to shake harder in her arms.
Tick…….
Suddenly the convulsions stop. His body goes limp. “Stay with me,” she cries. Her son’s eyes are barely open. Unmoving. “Tyler!”
Tick……..
“Tyler!!” Katherine screams. His lips are blue, his breathing ragged and shallow.
Tick……….
Tyler’s eyelids twitch and flutter as Haley scrambles back into the room. The teenager fumbles with a black pouch, her hands shaking. She drops to her knees beside them. Looking back and forth from the kit’s zipper to her brother’s motionless body, the bag slips from her hands.
Tick…………
“Take his head!” Katherine orders. She lifts the boy’s head gently over to his sister and snatches the black pouch off the ground.
Tick…………..
She pulls out the syringe and quickly loads it with insulin. Katherine blinks back her tears, checking the needle one last time. She pulls up the boy’s shirt slightly and quickly administers the shot to her son’s still abdomen.
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