by Chris Pike
He popped open his eyes to the reality he had survived being ejected, only to face the horror of thick, black smoke wafting upwards from the open roof of NRG Stadium, which he floated perilously close to.
His legs dangled free after the seat had fallen away. He pulled on the cords of his parachute, desperately trying to guide himself away from the black smoke and jagged pieces of rebar protruding from the roof.
If he couldn’t control his parachute, within a matter of seconds he would become caught in the swirling draft of air and smoke, and be at the mercy of whatever peril was obscured from his vision.
He pulled the cords.
He yelled several obscenities.
The cords had been rendered useless, probably damaged during the ejection. His path was one in a direct line to the open roof where large chunks had been torn off.
All he could do was to take a big breath of air and pray he didn’t land in some burning inferno or get cut to shreds by the jagged edges of the roof.
He located the release clamps of the parachute, holding onto them for dear life because when he touched down, he’d have moments to get free of the parachute.
He sailed closer to the roof and was forced to close his eyes, caught in the crosshairs of the tug of war between hot air from the fire and the cooler air outside the stadium, Ethan was tossed around like he was in a boat on the high seas.
Unable to fight it, and needing to conserve his strength, he let his body move with the ebb and flow. He said a prayer to the Almighty to keep him safe, and if it was his time, then let it be quick. He wasn’t afraid to die, because he had made peace with his life and the things he had done, including some rather unpleasant acts – a necessary aspect of valor.
He kept his arms tucked in close to his torso and focused on keeping his knees slightly bent. If he was lucky enough to land on the field, he’d be ready to roll like he had been taught.
The smoke became thicker, and desperate for a breath, he covered his mouth with the flame-resistant material of his flight suit. He took a short breath, then another, waiting for his descent into the unknown.
He floated for a few seconds, letting his senses attune him to the environment. He heard the screams of terrified and wounded people, the crackling of raging fires, the creaking of joints fighting valiantly to hold together massive concrete slabs of the stadium.
He tasted the putrid smoke engulfing him, felt the heat of fires, heard the agonizing screams, sending shivers through him.
He rubbed his stinging eyes.
Closer he floated to the ground.
Taking a chance, Ethan opened his eyes to the mayhem beneath him. The jagged remains of a jet smoldered a thick plume of black smoke. A cacophony of mangled bodies of fans, players, cheerleaders, security personnel, coaches, football equipment, and unrecognizable pieces of debris littered the field.
The once green turf, decorated with the Super Bowl emblem and the teams’ names in bold colors on each end zone, had been reduced to a charred chunk of earth.
Ethan floated down to the field, and wiggling his body, he successfully diverted his landing to an area of the field, free of debris.
When he was on solid ground, he quickly extracted himself from the parachute and before he had time to take stock of his surroundings, he was immediately swarmed by a group of terrified survivors.
“The U.S. Airforce is here!” someone yelled jubilantly.
“Can you get us out?” a man pleaded. He held a rag to his forehead to stop the bleeding.
“What happened?” a teen girl asked, racing towards Ethan. Her face had drained of color, and she was hyperventilating. I need help for—”
“Can you help us get out?” the man with the head wound interrupted the girl, roughly pushing her aside.
“Whoa,” Ethan said, putting his hands up. “I’m as confused as you are.”
“Aren’t you here to rescue us?” The teen girl’s voice rose in anticipation. She reclaimed her space by stepping in front of the man who had pushed her away.
Ethan shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
The girl’s hopeful expression turned to one of defeat.
“All I know is that my jet was dead in the air a few minutes ago. I ejected, and landed here.”
“You’re responsible for all this?” the man asked. His face contorted into anger. “Do you know how many people have died!”
“Calm down,” Ethan replied. “I wish I had more answers.”
The crowd mumbled their displeasure because the U.S. government hadn’t come to their rescue.
The man who had accused Ethan yelled excitedly, “Over there! Maybe they know something.” He forgot about his anger towards Ethan and ran towards another group. The people clustered around Ethan followed the man, except for one person.
“Please,” the teen girl begged. “My brother is hurt. Can you help?”
“I, um…” Ethan muttered.
“Please. I have nobody else to turn to.”
“What’s your name?” Ethan asked.
“Kinsey.”
“I’m Ethan. Show me where your brother is.”
Kinsey led Ethan past the debris on the field, past bodies and parts of bodies, then up to the seats where she had been sitting with her brother.
Tyler sat slumped over with a trickle of blood running down the side of his face.
“Is he okay?” Kinsey nervously chewed on a ragged cuticle.
Ethan felt his wrist. “He has a strong pulse.”
“Thank God,” Kinsey said.
Ethan tapped Tyler’s arms and knees to test his reflexes. All were good. “Kinsey, I think he’s got a concussion. Once he wakes he should be okay, though he does need ice for the bump on his head. I’ll stay here and you go find some ice in the concession stands.”
“Umm, I don’t have any money.”
“Whoever is manning the concession stands isn’t worried about money. I doubt anyone will be there. Fill several cups with ice, and if you find any hand towels, bring those back. Can you do that?
“Yes,” Kinsey said. “You won’t leave my brother, will you?”
“I won’t. I’ll be here when you get back. Now go.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Ethan said. “Are you and your brother here by yourselves?”
“We’re with my mom.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She went to the restroom before this happened. I tried to find her, but so many people are hurt or dead.” Kinsey sniffled and glanced away. She swallowed, dropped her chin, then burst into tears.
Comforting a teen girl was way out of Ethan’s comfort zone. Flying close to the speed of sound was a piece of cake, but a crying teen girl? He had no idea what to do.
He glanced around, hoping to find a mom who could help. The people in the seats surrounding them on the rows above and the rows below had left. Drinks had been spilled, sugary liquid dripped along the concrete steps; hotdogs and nachos had been scattered around in the desperate rush when people fled. Ethan couldn’t blame them. He would have run too if not for his training.
“Kinsey,” Ethan said, “you’ll be alright. Take a big breath.” He hesitantly patted her on the back.
She hiccupped.
“Chin up. When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”
Kinsey cracked a smile, and glanced at Ethan. “My dad used to say that.”
“I’m sure your dad would be proud of the way you helped your brother. I personally promise I’ll get you back to your dad.”
Kinsey’s face turned red, and she sniffled again.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“My dad died several months ago. We were supposed to attend as a family.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ethan said. “Tell you what. Your brother is sleeping, and I doubt he’ll wake up in the next few minutes. You stay here and I’ll go get ice.”
“No!” Kinsey blurted out. “You won’t come back. I know it.�
�
“I’m not going to desert you. How about I come with you? What’dya think?”
“Okay,” Kinsey meekly replied. “Will my brother be okay by himself for a little while?”
“He will. Let’s go get some ice.”
“Wait a sec.” Kinsey fumbled around in her purse, took out a pen and a note pad. She scribbled a few words, tore off the paper, folded it then stuffed it in her brother’s jacket. “If he wakes up while we are gone, hopefully he’ll find this. I told him to stay put and we’d be right back.”
Kinsey and Ethan climbed the concrete stairs to the promenade and stepped into unadulterated chaos. Among the people running and shoving each other, several people were sprawled in unnatural positions, Ethan surmised was the result of being trampled. Other injured people had propped themselves against the walls, and many were testing their cell phones for service.
Chunks of smoldering concrete and pieces of the stadium littered the walkway. A pile of people had been caught in the shockwave of heat and metal now lay crumpled against a concrete wall. He quickly scanned the pile for signs of life. Finding none, he diverted his eyes.
Police were trying to keep control over the masses, and like a tide drawn to land, they were helpless to stop the wave of humanity.
“It’s every man and woman for themselves,” Ethan muttered.
“People want to get out of here and get home,” Kinsey replied. “I’d be going home too if I could.”
“Kinsey, do you have a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Let me have it,” Ethan instructed.
Kinsey slipped her cell phone from her back pocket. She pressed the power button, and waited for the familiar sign indicating it was powering on. “Strange.” Kinsey frowned. “I never turn it off.”
“Let me try,” Ethan said.
Kinsey handed the phone over. “We need some light in here. Why are all the lights off?”
“Good question.” Ethan mentally checked off several suspicious events. Communications went out, his jet lost power, cell phones weren’t working, and the stadium had lost power. The non-working cell phones were cause for the most concern. The other issues could be explained away due to mechanical failure, and since power outages were common on the Gulf Coast it wasn’t a cause for concern. The real issue of coordinated cell phone outage lent great concern to Ethan.
He guessed the reason, a scenario so frightening and horrible to comprehend that he didn’t want to accept it. If he was right, most of the people in the stadium were already dead. They just didn’t know it.
Chapter 6
“Where’s the nearest women’s restroom?” Ethan asked. “The one your mom might have used.”
Kinsey looked left and right, searching for the familiar sign of a block figure in a dress. “There,” she said, pointing. “It’s the one my mom said she was going to.”
“Go check if she’s in there. It’s possible she might have been knocked unconscious by falling debris. While you do that, I’ll get ice.”
“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” Kinsey asked. The thought crossed her mind it would be an opportune time for Ethan to slip away among the chaos. “You don’t even know me or owe me anything.”
“Kinsey,” Ethan said, “I don’t have a family, but you do. And if there’s one thing I regret in life it’s not taking the time to have one. There was always a mission for me to go on, or training, or any number of things. I never found the right time. After a while, I sorta forgot about it. What I’m trying to say is that you have a family, and I will help you anyway I can.”
Ethan purposely left out how he had a fiancé who was expecting his child. Tragedy struck when she contracted a virus, ending up in the ICU. While she lay intubated in ICU, the doctors told Ethan they had two choices: save the baby, or save her. In the end, both were lost, and Ethan never recovered, throwing himself into his work and becoming one of the most competent pilots in recent history.
“If I’m not here, I’ll be at the hotdog stand. Now get going. Check every stall, and if it’s locked break it open.”
Ethan didn’t expect Kinsey to find her mother in the restroom. If she had been in there, one of the most fortified parts of a stadium, and if she survived, the first thing she would have done was go find her kids. Her being a casualty was at the top of his concerns.
“Kinsey, one more thing,” Ethan said. “I’ll look around for your mom too. What was she wearing?”
“She had on a tangerine—”
“You mean orange?”
“Close enough,” Kinsey replied. “An orange top and jeans. She was also wearing a scarf.”
“What color hair does she have?”
“Like mine, a little darker. More like dark blonde. It’s shorter, above her shoulders. She’s forty-six, and has a few more pounds on her than me. I don’t mean that in a bad way. She looks great.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for anyone fitting the description. Go check the bathroom now. I’ll get ice also.”
Ethan dodged the panicked fans, screaming and running wild in all directions. When an opening appeared among the throng, he quickly side-stepped through the crowd. As suspected, the concession stand was deserted. He stuffed as many packets of peanuts as he could into his pockets and searched for bottled water. He opened the cabinets under the counter, searching for a backpack. As expected, he found one. He emptied the contents on the floor then jammed in as many bottled waters as he could. If they were here a day from now, this concession stand would have been looted, because when hunger took over people would revert to their basic needs of survival – food, water, and shelter.
He took a plastic tub out of the sink, rinsed it, then filled it with ice.
“She wasn’t in the restroom,” Kinsey said running up to Ethan.
“She must be somewhere close. Let’s get back to your brother, stabilize him, then I’ll search for your mom.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
“I’m sure she is,” Ethan said without much conviction.
He needed to stay calm for Kinsey, because Lord knew, he was as worried as she was. Ethan needed to get out of the stadium as quickly as possible before the place became a living hellhole.
In three days it would be worse than what happened to the Superdome in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Stranded people, surrounded by muddy flood waters, teeming with bacteria. They had no food, very little water, no sanitation, and the government was no help for days. The people had been left to fend for themselves, just like these people at NRG would be, except there was one glaring difference between the Superdome and this stadium.
The people at the Superdome were eventually rescued and provided basic necessities by the government and charitable organizations. They had been transported home or sheltered at FEMA housing.
The 330 million population of the United States wouldn’t be so lucky, except for the ones who died quickly. The ones remaining would slowly starve to death or succumb to disease and a myriad of other issues. Clean water would be scarce. Hospitals would shutter their doors. The infrastructure of the United States would collapse, and transportation would cease to exist. Money would be useless, and only the healthy ones would survive, but survive for what? Unimaginable hardship without an end in sight?
Ethan worried the most regarding the country-state responsible for unleashing an EMP on the United States. If those powers had no regard for human life and suffering, what empathy would they have for the survivors?
Millions would die and others could be imprisoned, and Ethan Crossfield had no plans on becoming a statistic.
He planned to live.
First, he needed to help one family.
Chapter 7
Joe Buck didn’t know what had happened.
One second he was watching Lexi Carter sing the National Anthem, the next second he woke to a chaotic scene worthy of a post-apocalyptic movie. Someone must have forgotten to include his name on the email announcing a movie was being s
hot at the Super Bowl.
Joe rubbed his eyes, reddened and irritated from thick, black smoke billowing upwards towards the stadium roof then swirling back down to the field before being sucked into the stands and beyond. Pulverized concrete filled the air. Survivors coughed.
Perhaps it was a big prank or some famous celebrity was getting punked. He thought he’d like to be on the show too. In fact, he had seen some A-list movie stars mingling with the owners of the two teams playing. That would explain things. Or perhaps not. His brain felt like it was surrounded by a fog bank, rolling inland from a cold Arctic sea. He thought about his childhood dog, euthanized due to old age and illness. He thought about the time he was in second grade when a class bully picked on him. He thought about his high school graduation where he was the only kid whose parents didn’t attend. He thought about when he enlisted in the army after his girlfriend dumped him. He thought about the buddies lost during missions. He thought about the first time he saw Lexi.
He shook the cobwebs from his head.
God, he was having trouble keeping his thoughts focused.
People were stumbling around like zombies, and dressed about as well. Faces showing the effects of an explosion, hair singed and brittle, open wounds.
WTF happened?
Joe had been blown backward twenty feet, lost consciousness, had lost his tools and his cap. He still had his boots on and located his cell phone. At least that was positive.
He expected to see a director and the light crew, the prop guy, a make-up artist, and a sound guy responsible for the soundtrack of screams and cries sounding much too real.
A young woman blown back by the force of the explosion lay feet away from him. Her face had taken on the color of old chalk, blood pooled around her torso, and a large chunk of concrete had pulverized her legs. It was then he recognized what had happened.
One of the jets from the air show must have crashed into the stadium. There was too much security for a bomb of the magnitude required for this much damage to have snuck by.
This was no movie.
It was real life.
