by Ray Gorham
Frank Lunde sat in a booth at a McDonalds in Boise, Idaho, nursing a diet Coke while his grandkids played on the slides. Their mother was getting her hair done, and Frank had volunteered to watch the kids for a couple of hours. When the lights in the restaurant went dark, his attention turned briefly from the play area. The kids, oblivious to the problem, continued to climb through the giant orange and purple tubes. As he looked around the restaurant, Frank felt an ache in his chest and rubbed just below his sternum in an effort to relieve the pain. Through his shirt he felt the scar where the doctors had inserted a pacemaker the year before. He hadn’t experienced any problems since his surgery, but now he didn’t feel well. Frank’s fingers started to tingle, and sweat broke out on his forehead. “Lexie,” he called out, “don’t shove your brother! Be a good girl, and come here and help your grandfather.” Lexie turned towards her grandpa just as he slumped forward onto the table, then fell sideways off the bench.
George Bush International Airport, Houston, Texas 16:08 EST
Kyle looked out the window as the ground rushed by. The roaring engines straining to propel the airliner down the runway, the acceleration pressing Kyle firmly against his seat. Kyle enjoyed flying, but the takeoffs and landings always made his heart pound a little harder. He’d read once that the two most dangerous times for an airplane were takeoffs and landings, and that fact lingered in the back of his mind every time he flew.
The whine of the engines increased in pitch as the plane continued its race forward, rattling and jarring down the runway. Kyle could never figure out why airplanes rode so rough on the ground, like being towed down a city sidewalk in a wagon at 50 miles an hour, bouncing and rattling on every joint in the sidewalk. For a quarter of a billion dollars, or whatever outrageous sum an airplane cost, Kyle figured that the manufacturer should have throw in a set of shock absorbers. The nose of the plane lifted off the ground, and Kyle knew it would only be another second until the rough ride would be over.
Then, without warning, the pitch of the engines changed drastically and Kyle felt himself thrust forward against the restraint of his seatbelt. The nose of the airplane plummeted back to the ground, striking the runway with a spine-wrenching crack, the impact brutally jarring the aircraft. Overhead storage bins burst open and ejected their contents into the aisle and onto the heads and laps of the passengers, eliciting a panicked chorus of screams that rose over the rumble of the airplane. Kyle heard a child screaming hysterically a few rows behind him and her father trying to calm her.
Kyle saw his seatmate lean forward and wrap his arms tightly around his legs. Ed’s face was turned towards Kyle, the terror evident in his eyes.
Frozen with fear, Kyle tried to remember the instructions the flight attendants had given just minutes earlier.
“Grab your legs!” Ed shouted.
Ed’s voice was barely discernable over the uproar, but Kyle picked out the words and did as Ed instructed.
“Please, God, don’t let me die,” Kyle whispered as he thought of his wife and three kids. The idea that he might never see them again raced through his mind, and he again repeated the words of his abbreviated prayer.
Kyle could feel the plane slowing, but it wasn’t like a typical landing. The engines weren’t thrusting, and it didn’t feel like there was any actual braking. He wondered how much of the runway was left and what might be at the end of it, then wrapped his arms even tighter around his legs.
The chorus of sobs and shouts blending with the roar of the airplane was deafening. The plane had barely slowed when it ran out of runway. The front wheels bit into the soft ground where the asphalt ended, causing the plane to shudder as the landing gear snapped and the airplane collapsed onto its belly. With no perceptible slowing, the airplane continued its forward rush, tearing a deep furrow in the ground and throwing clouds of dirt high into the air.
Traveling at nearly 140 miles an hour, Flight 17 struck a large, earthen berm a hundred yards from the end of the runway and launched awkwardly into the air. The crippled airplane made a feeble attempt at flight, hanging in the air for a moment, then twisted and fell defeated back towards earth. The tip of the right wing contacted first and pitched the plane to the right where the body of the plane struck with an earsplitting crash. The fuselage bounced and skidded another 200 yards, finally coming to a stop in a cloud of dirt and smoke, the nose of the broken airplane protruding through a chain-link fence that marked the boundary between the airport and an empty two-lane road.
The screaming inside the cabin ceased briefly, and for a moment, all that could be heard was the twisting, scraping and groaning of metal as the airplane settled into the dirt.
A baby’s cry was the first sound that Kyle heard and was quickly followed by a chorus of wails and moans. Soon there were dozens of voices, some calling for help while others cried out in panic, pain, and fear. Above the din, a single, authoritative voice yelled instructions to open the exits.
Stunned and disoriented Kyle sat up and looked around, noticing that most of the overhead bins were open and their contents were strewn haphazardly around the cabin. He caressed a spot on the back of his head where he’d been struck but didn’t feel any blood. Ed was hunched forward with his head on his knees, but wasn’t moving. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of Ed’s face
“Ed! You alright?” Kyle shouted as he reached out and pushed against him.
There was no response.
Kyle clawed at his own seatbelt and managed to unhook it, then slid to the middle seat and grabbed Ed by the shoulder and shook him. “Ed! Ed! You all right?” he shouted, straining to be heard over the chaos that surrounded him.
He looked for someone to help, but people were fighting their way to the exits, shoving the slower ones out of the way, desperate to save their own lives. Kyle could smell smoke and his eyes began to sting. Glancing quickly out his window, he noticed that the wing had been sheered off, and the stump that remained was engulfed in flames. There was also an orange glow towards the rear of the plane, and flames licked around the windows a few rows back.
A shrill voice rose over the chaos of the cabin, and Kyle looked up to see the flight attendant who had welcomed him onto the flight pushing her way to the back. “Someone open the rear exit!!” she hollered, trying to be heard. Gone was the pleasant smile and perfect grooming. Instead, her face was bruised and swollen, and strands of hair hung limply in front of her eyes. The right sleeve of her uniform was torn and a crimson stain was spreading around a gash. “People! Let me past!” she yelled, desperately fighting her way to the back, her eyes wide with panic and determination.
Kyle watched her as he continued to try and rouse Ed. When the flight attendant reached the back, she helped a man force the door open. Kyle watched the proceedings and could make out the rush of air as the slide deployed.
“We need to get out of here!” Kyle shouted at Ed. Receiving no response, Kyle pushed Ed up and felt for the seatbelt. His fingers found the steel of the latch and he yanked it open. Thick smoke made it hard to breath, and Kyle gagged as he called for help. One man stumbled by carrying a child. Across the aisle an older woman sat in a daze, dabbing at blood running from her mouth and watching the scene around her through glassy, distant eyes.
As flames danced outside the windows, Kyle continued to shake Ed to no effect. With no one to help him, Kyle stepped past Ed and hurried towards the exit at the rear of the airplane. Three rows back the aisle was blocked by on older woman struggling with a girl about the same age as his daughter. The girl was screaming and holding onto the unconscious body of the man beside her. “Daddy!” she screamed. “Daddy!”
“Come on, sweetie. We need to go!” the woman shouted, pulling on the girl’s arm. “Your dad will have to come later. Let’s go find your mom.”
Watching the scene unfold, Kyle could see the light of the exit marking his way to life, and he fought the urge to force his way past the woman and child. Kyle reached forward and pried the girl’s hands
loose from the lifeless man and pulled her into the aisle. He took a deep breath and again choked on the thickening smoke. “Get off the airplane!” he ordered, shoving the girl down the aisle.
CHAPTER 4
Boston, Massachusetts 16:12 EST
Senator Christine George stood behind her mahogany desk and stared out the office window. Her staff was gone, most having left at lunchtime in order to get a jump on the last weekend of summer. She had stayed to contact a few more donors and review some committee reports, but was now anxiously waiting for the power to come back on. Irritated by the delay and worried about what she might have lost on her computer, Senator George noticed that traffic forty floors below had come to a stop and people were getting out of their cars in the middle of Hanover Street. It was a puzzling sight -- motorists wandering through the knot of vehicles, not at all concerned about the traffic. As she reached for her cell phone, one of the telephones on the desk rang, the shrillness of its ring in her silent office causing her to jump. She reached for the receiver, then realized the ringing wasn’t coming from the office phone, but from the secure line that had been installed four years before when she had become head of the Senate Intelligence Committee. This black, ugly paperweight didn’t ring often, but when it did, it usually meant the CIA was calling to warn her about some crisis before the reporters started calling.
She stared at the phone, trying to decide whether to answer it now or put the headache off for a couple of hours. Curiosity won out, and she picked the receiver up on the fifth ring. “Senator George,” she said, using her most official tone. She recognized the voice on the other end of the line instantly. “Yes. Hello, General Fletcher. What’s so urgent?” She checked her reflection in the mirror on the wall and adjusted her hair while the general spoke.
“Senator, I’m required to inform you that we have an extremely serious situation. America has been attacked.” His tone was even more sober than usual, if that was possible.
The Senator’s hand fell from her hair, and she reached out for her desk as she dropped into the imposing leather chair that dominated the space behind her desk. “Was it one of our embassies? Please tell me that people haven’t been hurt.”
“No, Senator, I wish it was that simple. The country has been attacked. The entire country.”
“What are you talking about, the entire country? Was there another terrorist strike? I haven’t seen anything indicating any new threats in my reports…”
“Christine!” The general cut her off, uncharacteristically calling her by her first name. “Senator,” he corrected himself. ”Do you remember the briefing we gave Congress in January, the one we give every January after an election? One of the things we discussed was an electromagnetic pulse, an EMP. Do you remember?”
“That’s been awhile, but yes, I remember. Why?”
“Look out your window, Senator. What do you see?”
“Not much, just cars and people. We’re having a blackout right now, so traffic lights …” she paused as the dots connected inside her head. “Michael?!”
“That’s right, Senator. We’ve been hit, and hit hard.” The general spoke in rapid fire staccato, a trait completely foreign to him, but that only served to give added weight to his words. “Missiles were launched off both coasts at exactly 1600 hours. There are also unconfirmed reports that there might have been a third missile down in the Gulf, but we’ve yet to see firm evidence on that. Of the two that we know about, it appears that one malfunctioned and broke up before it detonated. The other was successful. It has only been a few minutes, but it appears that things will be as bad as we were told to expect. The assessment could change, but there isn’t going to be a positive way to spin this.”
Senator George struggled to maintain her grip on the telephone. “How bad is it going to be? Where was the military?” she asked incredulously. “How could this happen?”
“We had no warning on this,” General Fletcher barked into the phone. “It was a complete surprise. As things stand, there is nothing we could have done. Perhaps if there had been some warning, or if we had other weapons in our arsenal, we could have tried. As for how bad it’s going to be, we don’t know, and we’re not going to know the full extent of the damage for years. One is all it takes to bring everything down.”
“Why wasn’t there any warning? I’m the head of the Intelligence Committee and I’ve heard nothing. How could this happen?”
“Like I said, Senator, there was no warning. They kept this one quiet. It had to have been years in the making, but it wouldn’t have taken many people to pull it off, a couple dozen at most. It’s likely that none of the perpetrators ever set foot in our country, and there’s only so much we can know. NORAD picked the missiles up just after they were launched; that was the very first indication we had. Both missiles were launched from non-military boats off our coasts. We had no chance to react.”
“What about shooting them down? I thought we had systems to protect us. That’s what we spend all that money on the military for, isn’t it?” Senator George spat the words into the phone, her temper rising as the magnitude of the problem sank in.
“We’ve been working on some systems, Senator, but you know what’s happened to our money. Those things aren’t free. Thanks to our elected officials, everything that can be cut has been, and then some. If we’d had even a day’s notice, we could have attempted something, but on this one, there was no chance to get a shot off, let alone two.”
The senator sat in silence, contemplating General Fletcher’s words along with her role in diverting money the military had said it needed. The scenarios the military had talked about, had even threatened congress with, seemed so remote, so unlikely. How could they justify spending billions on weapons that, in all probability, would never be needed? Surely the voters wouldn’t hold her accountable for this. At least fifty-seven other senators had voted with her on each measure to reduce weapons money.
“Senator,” the general said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’ve got other calls to make. I need to go.”
“Michael,” she said, barely able to choke out the words. “How bad do you think it’s going to be?”
“It’s hard to say, Senator,” the general answered in the steady, cold monotone that she was used to, the anger from seconds ago already dissipated. “Everything before today has, for the most part, been theory. My guess is that casualties will be around fifty or so. I might be wrong, but some of our estimate range to eight times that.”
“Fifty thousand?” Senator George gasped. “You’re kidding, right?” It was more of a plea than a question. “You can’t be serious. It’s just electricity. People will adjust.”
“Senator, the United States, Canada and Mexico have all been affected, and that’s close to half a billion people. By the time this is over, I think we are looking at fifty million casualties. I hope it’s much less, but that will all depend on how people react. The first wave is today: accidents, loss of medical care, fires, airplanes and such. Next will be weeks of chaos and lawlessness while people adjust to the realities of having no power, no functioning government, and no civic control. It will be much worse in the cities, so if you have someplace to go to, out of town, I highly recommend that you leave quickly. In this stage we’ll also lose everyone dependent on doctors and medicine to stay alive. That will be followed by a relatively quiet period of starvation as people run out of food and no longer have the energy to cause trouble and contribute to the chaos. In the north, people will freeze once winter hits. In three or four months, maybe not until spring time, we’ll be faced with large-scale anarchy as those who do have food and weapons try to piece together some semblance of tribal order.
“I just hope there’s a country worth saving after all of that,” the general continued. “I truly hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. We’ve game-planned this one out quite a bit.” The general paused to let his words sink in then continued in his gravelly monotone. “Have a good day, Senator. You know how
to get in touch with me if you need to, assuming this phone system that we’ve spent so much money on manages to hold up.”
The line went dead and Senator George let the phone drop from her hands. She knew General Fletcher didn’t care for her but had been obligated to call because she was the head of the Intelligence Committee. She didn’t particularly care for him either. He didn’t appreciate the difficult job politicians had of trying to keep constituents happy and making things work in Washington, all while working to get reelected. But despite her opinion of the general, she knew he was honest -- blunt, but honest, and not one to say things for effect. As she spun in her chair to stare out the window, Senator George tried to imagine how the chaos that General Fletcher threatened would descend on her beloved city. The images that came to mind sent shivers down her spine. Then she noticed a dark plume of smoke ascending skyward from an older neighborhood to the north.
George Bush International Airport, Houston, Texas 16:12 EST
Kyle returned to the row he had been sitting in and gripped the shoulders of the lady across the aisle who was still dabbing at her face. “Get off the airplane!” he yelled as he shook her and pointed to the exit. He then turned to Ed, still slumped over and unmoving. After confirming that Ed had a pulse, Kyle grabbed Ed under his arms and heaved him into the aisle. Dragging Ed behind him, Kyle backed down the aisle a half dozen steps when he bumped into someone and could go no further. He turned to see the flight attendant attempting to rouse the unconscious man who had been traveling with his daughter.
“Do you need help?” Kyle yelled.
The attendant shook her head. “I can get him. You get off now!” she directed, jerking her head towards the flames outside the window.