CHAPTER 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lawrence, Kansas 16:08 EST

High above the sun-baked prairies of Lawrence, Kansas, the missile reached its target. No one on the ground even noticed the blast. Perhaps had someone been looking at precisely the right location, at precisely the right time, they might have noticed a tiny, momentary spark in the bright afternoon sky. Had they seen the flash, it likely would have been attributed to the glint of sunlight reflecting off a passing airplane. From every vantage point below the detonation, there was no sense of the destructive capacity contained in that tiny speck of light. More than 300 miles above the earth, a nuclear explosion impacts nothing with the force of its blast. It is merely a large bomb going off in a vacuum, creating no shockwaves, no fireballs, no radiation, not even any sound.

Despite the lack of explosive destruction, this was now the most lethal weapon to be unleashed in the history of the world, but it was a weapon that would have had absolutely no discernable affect on mankind 200 years ago, other than creating a more colorful aurora. Upon detonation, the bomb expelled an intense wave of gamma radiation in every direction. The gamma rays traveling earthward interacted with the upper levels of the atmosphere and created a chain reaction of displaced electrons that rushed towards the surface of the earth at the speed of light. Most of the these displaced electrons passed rapidly through the atmosphere and grounded themselves harmlessly in the earth.

A small percentage, however, encountered conductive materials: metal, antennas, copper wiring, and silicon chips. As these conductors absorbed untold billions of free electrons, they experienced sudden surges in both voltage and current. In simple items, like a garden rake, this surge was manifested as a harmless static electricity-like spark. But in larger networks and sensitive objects, the consequences of the electron overload were devastating.

Across the country, millions and millions of miles of power lines absorbed these displaced electrons and delivered them to every home and to every power plant in the country, melting the electrical lines in the process. Safety systems designed to arrest voltage spikes were unable to react to the overwhelming size and speed of the surge, allowing this massive wave of power to flow unchecked throughout the grid.

 

In Akron, Ohio, Kevin Leishman was using his computer to look up driving directions as he prepared to head out for the long weekend. He watched in dismay as his monitor suddenly glowed brighter for a moment, and then faded to black, the smoke of his cigarette masking the smell of the melting electrical components.

Erika Smith was sitting at a traffic light in Winnipeg, Manitoba when the engine of her new Honda Accord simply shut off. Confused, she glanced up and noticed the traffic lights were no longer operating, then watched as a semi-truck turning across the intersection in front of her seemed to lose control of its steering and brakes and crashed into a corner gas station, knocking over two gas pumps and causing an explosion that hurtled pieces of burning debris across the intersection and onto the hood of her car.

Jefferson Harris was reading an old issue of Sports Illustrated during his break at Northern Sierra Power when the safety alarms went off. He ran to the control room and watched in horror as one monitor after another flashed warnings or shut down. Then the generators went offline and he heard an unfamiliar sound from the turbines across the compound. Jefferson knew that if something went wrong, the computers were programmed to shut down the plant in a safe, orderly fashion. What he didn’t know was that the system designed to handle the shutdown had also failed, and the control that maintained lubrication for the turbine was offline. In the thirty seconds it took Jefferson to determine the telephones weren’t working, the temperature in the turbines rose from 300º F to just under 1,100º F. As he stood with the dead phone in his hand, trying to decide what to do, Jefferson heard new alarms go off, alarms that drowned out the sound of shrieking metal. The ground rumbled in the moment before the generator building exploded. Shockwaves from the blast blew out the window behind Jefferson and propelled shards of glass in every direction. As he turned to run for the exit, Jefferson slipped in a pool of his own blood, pumped from a deep gash in his thigh, the first indication he had that he’d been mortally wounded.

Officer Greg Henninger was issuing a ticket on the shoulder of Interstate 70, just east of the Hays, Kansas exit. Traffic was busy, and the driver of the red Mustang he’d pulled over was voicing her displeasure. As Officer Henninger explained the details of the citation, he sensed that something was wrong behind him, and turned just in time to see a semi-truck smash into the back of his patrol car, launching it into the back window of the Mustang. Greg tried to run but was hit before he could move his feet, leaving his boots where he’d stood on the road as his body hurtled through the air.

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.