by Bobby Akart
The pilot of the aircraft, Arlie Hasselbeck, was considered to be something of a whiz kid within Delta’s ranks. He was the youngest pilot to be hired by Delta’s subsidiary, Compass Airlines, a regional airline headquartered in Minneapolis.
In very short order, he’d graduated from the Brazilian-made Embraer narrow-body jet to the McDonnell Douglas MD 88 aircraft flown by another Delta subsidiary, Endeavor Air. The MD 88, nicknamed Mad Dog within the airline industry, had over a hundred seats but was much smaller than most of the Delta jets. It was ideal for regional travel and short flights, like the trip from Atlanta to Mobile.
It had also gained a reputation for being a training ground for new, unseasoned pilots. Part of an aging Delta fleet, the MD-88s, the oldest aircraft in service with any major U.S. airline, were being sold off to discount airlines like Allegiant Air, and foreign carriers like Aeronaves and Bulgarian Air.
Over the past several years, young pilots were given the opportunity to rise through Delta’s ranks by flying routes in the Mad Dogs. Seasoned pilots who were relegated to fly the aircraft found themselves relearning checklist procedures and changing habits they’d grown accustomed to in newer planes.
For Hasselbeck, who was flying his third trip as the captain of an MD-88, everything was new and exciting. He’d logged plenty of hours in the flight simulators in Atlanta, as well as the requisite hours flying right seat as a copilot. He was willing to pay his dues despite the fact the Mad Dogs were being retired to the boneyard or sold off within three years. Hasselbeck had lofty goals for himself, and this was just one step in his ladder of success.
His copilot on this trip was a complainer. Hasselbeck loved flying and couldn’t believe Delta paid him for the privilege of doing it. His first officer, on the other hand, needed a job and cared nothing about the experience. He was content flying right seat, checking essential items off his list, and talking about anything but the wonder of air travel.
“Flying on New Year’s Eve just plain sucks,” the first officer groaned as he stared out the eyebrow windows of the MD-88, so-called because of their shape. The window design was also antiquated because it tended to let light glare in the pilot’s eyes and had been designed back in the days when many pilots navigated by the stars.
“Did you have a hot date in Hotlanta?” Hasselbeck asked jokingly as he checked his altitude. He was prepared to fly the aircraft without his copilot and would’ve preferred to do so if it wasn’t against FAA regulations.
“Nah, but I mean, everybody else gets to pop the bubbly or throw down a beer. We can’t even take a whiff of the good stuff because we have an early morning flight outta here.”
“Yeah,” said Hasselbeck, who glanced down at the digital clock in the cockpit. He was counting down the minutes to landing as well, primarily to get rid of his pissy first officer. The two had nearly nine hours of flying time that day, and a total of thirteen hours on this trip, which had sent them all over the Eastern United States.
The first officer continued to complain. “I mean, who wants a layover in Mobile freakin’ Alabama on New Year’s Eve. Say, do you think we can hit the lobby bar of the hotel tonight? Maybe a quick one will be out of our system by preflight check-in tomorrow morning.”
“Nah, you go ahead. Besides, I think we’re laying over at the Hampton Inn. I’m pretty sure they don’t have a bar.”
“Are you kidding me? I have no idea why I signed up for this trip. I would’ve been better off—”
Hasselbeck was fed up, but his good nature prevented him from blasting his first officer. He interrupted the man’s negativity. “Well, here’s the good news. I’ll be making our final turn in a moment, so we need to prepare this bird for landing. This flight’s almost over for you.”
Chapter 29
Metrorail System
Washington, DC
The silhouette of the train emerged from the dark subway tunnel, slowing as it rounded the final bend into L’Enfant Plaza. The passengers-to-be crowded toward the edge of the inlaid brick marking the transition between platform and rails. Metallic squeaks could be heard as the silver nose of the green line train arrived, drifting to a stop in front of the crowd.
The crowd began to chatter in excitement, as if the famed Polar Express had arrived to take them to the North Pole. Shoes shuffled on the brick as people toward the front started to back up, allowing disembarking passengers room to leave.
Hayden had a routine when she rode the nine-car train home. It was designed to occupy her mind during the trip and to ensure her safety. She had not been approved to carry a handgun within the District. Handguns had been illegal to possess until a Supreme Court decision struck down the law in 2008. Following the Court’s ruling, DC enacted a series of stringent rules and regulations for handgun possession, registration, and concealed carry. The regulations were challenged in the courts for many years as being tantamount to a gun prohibition.
Finally, in 2017, a set of standards was adopted that passed constitutional muster, so the District was forced to accept and issue permits. The process, however was intentionally tedious. The staff assigned to review the applications was considered bare minimum. In the first year, only a few dozen permits were issued. Hayden’s application had been waiting for fifteen months.
For self-defense, she adopted a two-prong approach. One was to avoid conflict. She adopted a demeanor that let others know she was fully aware of her surroundings and was ready to fight back against any attacker. She never flashed her jewelry or pulled cash out of her wallet. She sat alone, in the middle of the railcar near an exit, not making eye contact with others, but constantly scanning for sudden or hostile movements.
She kept her distance from individuals who appeared unstable or dangerous. On occasion, she’d gotten off the train a stop early because she felt uncomfortable with the interactions between some aggressive young men and the female passengers on board. In her mind it was better to arrive later, on the next train, than pulling out her pepper spray or having a physical altercation with a bunch of thugs.
As for the ability to engage in self-defense, Hayden was extraordinarily fit, and part of her exercise regimen included regular Krav Maga classes. The self-defense fighting technique was built on simple principles, instinctive movements, and practical techniques developed by the Israel Defense Forces.
Initially, she undertook the training as part of her fitness training. After a few years of watching the news reports and seeing the gradual collapse of society, she immersed herself in the curriculum so that she felt comfortable taking on any form of attacker.
The ride that evening was uneventful until passengers boarded at the second stop of her trip home at the Navy Yard Metro Station. A group of drunk tourists boarded the train and immediately caused a ruckus in her car. Because they were gathering near the entrance, Hayden gave up her seat and moved toward the front of the train, which also gave her a clear view into the car in front of hers.
It was only a minute after the train pulled out of the Navy Yard that the first sign of trouble began. At the Navy Yard station, the train cars became packed with exuberant, inebriated concertgoers headed for the late-night New Year’s gala at the Entertainment and Sports Arena near her stop at Congress Station. The concert featured the band Judah & The Lion and Grammy Award-winner Mary J. Blige.
The concert, and the crowd it would draw from the city, hadn’t even crossed Hayden’s mind until she saw the new passengers cram their way onto the train. Standing at the end of the car, she was able to see the scrolling advertising above the handrails, which included ticket sale posters for the event.
She took a deep breath and checked her watch. She was halfway home and had plenty of time to get home before the ball dropped. Catching an Uber to her home shouldn’t be a problem at this hour, especially with all of the additional activity at Congress Station. The train pulled away and Hayden held on to her strap as it accelerated with a sudden jolt, propelling it downward and under the Anacostia River.
> At its deepest point in the tunnel, the train lost power and abruptly came to a halt. When the lights went out, Hayden immediately thought of her earlier experience in the elevator. Logic took over, leading her to conclude that the periodic power outages in the District were due to the weather. Only, the snowfall had just begun, and it wasn’t anywhere near the ice storms they’d experienced in the past.
“Great,” she muttered in the dark, amidst the shrieks and laughter from the others in her train car.
“Hey! Watch where you’re stepping!”
“Get your hands off me, jerk!”
The only ambient light in the car came from cell phone displays being illuminated in an attempt to place a call or text. The depth of the Anacostia was known as a dead zone to regular riders of the green line between the city and the southernmost end of the District. Hayden reached into her saddlebag-style briefcase, not to grab her phone, but rather, to search for her mace.
Her fingers closed around the pepper spray as a series of morbid screams emanated from the car in front of her. She turned and pressed her face against the glass door, her eyes searching blindly from side to side, searching for the cause of the distress.
Pushing and shoving was occurring behind her as people became frightened, and others became angry at the prospect of missing their concert. Hayden squeezed the pepper spray for reassurance, trying to fight back a second bout of claustrophobia while keeping her head together to protect herself.
A shot rang out in the rail car in front of her, followed by another, and then a third. The shrieks of surprise turned into chaotic screaming as people pushed and shoved to get closer to the exit door. Hayden held her position and allowed the others to dictate what happened next. She was certain that once the doors were forced opened, the train car would empty, leaving her alone. She didn’t want to be wandering the tracks, in the dark, hoping for the power to come back on, while there were gunmen on the loose.
Her mind raced as she considered what had happened. The train had lost power completely, as had the inside of the tunnel. Were they connected to the same power source? Why weren’t there emergency lights?
These questions occupied her for a moment until a loud snap sound was heard, and the doors were forced open. As predicted, the frightened and unruly passengers jumped to the floor of the tunnel, sometimes landing on top of one another. Within a minute, Hayden was left behind, in the dark. And alone, or so she thought.
Chapter 30
Mercedes-Benz Stadium
Atlanta, Georgia
The AMBSE Security Management Team had a detailed emergency action plan for scenarios like this one, but Will never imagined it would have to be implemented. A full evacuation of Mercedes-Benz Stadium created an operational nightmare that was potentially deadly in and of itself.
The plan covered designated responses for all levels of employees within the stadium, from security to ushers. Each person filled an important role to ensure their safety and the safety of the event’s attendees. Like in life, people don’t pay attention to their surroundings when it comes to an emergency. They need guidance.
While driving, the operator of any type of vehicle must consider the possibility that an oncoming car or truck might swerve onto their side of the road. However, they don’t. They don’t pay attention to the exits in a theater to avoid an active shooter or the safety instructions given by flight attendants as a flight takes off. For most, if they hadn’t personally experienced a life-threatening event, they didn’t bother to consider safety measures to protect themselves.
That can’t happen to me.
Will knew better. First, he sent a text to his son.
9-1-1! Stay in your seat. I will come for you.
Then he entered the 200 Concourse and made his way to the handicapped seating along the rail of the balcony just as the performers were being removed from the stage without warning to the concertgoers.
The first reaction of the attendees was one of dismay. The harrowed look on Beyoncé’s face could be seen on the gigantic monitors, which filled the entire stadium. Shocked at the sudden stoppage of the performance, the adoring fans stood primarily in silence until a few began to yell.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
“Is it over? It’s not New Year’s yet!”
Others got angry and began to boo. Overall, the mood of the seventy thousand plus fans became surly. Will’s first inclination was that crowd control would be challenging as the announcement finally came on the public address system that the concert was over, and the stadium needed to be evacuated immediately.
The crowd was instructed to leave the stadium in an orderly manner, to seek out clearly marked exit signs, and to move away from the building as quickly as possible.
Will stood at the top of gate 208 and helped direct the departing concertgoers toward the ramps that took them to the ground levels and the exits. Despite the grumbling and complaining of a few, the exodus was mostly controlled, so he made his way toward the elevators designated for security personnel.
He was a rover, as the Security Management Team called his position. He was not assigned a specific duty or area during an event or an emergency. This freed Will up to respond to specific calls and emergencies as needed.
The first thing on his mind was to get to his kids and ensure their safety. Just as he reached the elevator located in the maintenance hallway, the first explosion sent blast waves through the 200 Concourse. Will rushed out to investigate.
Panicked, the once subdued crowd forced themselves back toward their seats, colliding with those attempting to exit. Young people were knocked down and trampled. Some were forced backwards into the railing, crushed under the weight of the retreating mob.
Will frantically searched for the source of the explosion. The frenzied crowd was racing toward him from the entrance of Harrah’s, so he pressed himself against the wall and pushed against the flow. He was just about there when the ventilation system caught his eye.
He keyed the microphone on his two-way radio. “We’ve got smoke coming out of the ventilation system on two hundred. Possible fire. Repeat. Possible fire on two hundred.”
Seconds later the high-pitched wail of the fire alarms sounded, causing everyone to cover their ears as the piercing noise filled the air.
Will pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the display. Ethan hadn’t responded to his text from earlier. He texted his son again.
Are you in your seats? Please confirm.
Will stared at the phone’s display for several agonizing seconds. The crowd was rushing past him, shoving bodies in his direction and bouncing him off the wall. He was oblivious to the madness as he nervously awaited a message from his son.
No response.
Now he was in a panic. He crashed into the crowd, knocking people to the side as he bulled past them to get to the nearest entrance to reach the maintenance hallway. He raced past food-service workers who were trying to cram into a service elevator. They were jockeying for position, knocking one another out of the way. Will opted instead for the stairwell, which led to the lower floors and the ground level.
Less than a minute later, he rushed onto the 100 Concourse and found the scene to be similar to the other level. Masses of people were pushing and shoving their way into the concourse in an effort to make their way to the exits. Screams of fear surrounded Will as he pushed his way through the sea of terrorized people.
He made his way to the gate where his kids were seated for the show. He prayed to himself that Ethan had heeded his instructions. He was concerned by the fact that his son hadn’t responded, but seeing their faces, safe and secure, was all he needed at the moment.
Will got tripped up in another man’s feet, causing them both to crash to the floor. Attempting to break his fall, he lost control of his radio, which was promptly kicked down the walkway leading to the seating in the 100 Concourse. Will crawled to the side of the entrance, getting kicked in the ribs and his hands stepped on
in the process. He was finally able to regain his footing and forced his way toward the kids’ assigned seats.
His eyes searched in all directions. Most of the seats were empty now, including the seats that his kids had occupied.
They were gone.
Chapter 31
Times Square
New York City
Like two teenagers, Tom and Donna had hustled back to their room and changed into their walking clothes, as Donna called them. Living in downtown Charleston, they had access to all of their doctors, favorite shopping spots and restaurants. They strapped on their sneakers, bundled up in warm, fleece-lined pants and bulky sweaters, and braved the cold air filled with snow flurries to join the madness in Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Unless you’re a wide-eyed tourist, on a normal day, New Yorkers look at Times Square as the unhappiest place on earth, the polar opposite of Walt Disney World, the self-proclaimed happiest place on earth. The traffic creeps along, the tourists wander into the paths of those who have a purpose in their foot travels, and then there are the creepy people looking for handouts or wearing disheveled clown suits, performing for a few bucks.
To many New Yorkers, Times Square was the city’s armpit. The capital of trickery. Nothing about it was real, at least to those who lived there. The glitter and glam portrayed on Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve was far from reality.
If there was one time of year that a New Yorker would rather be caught dead than visit Times Square, it was New Year’s Eve. On that glorious night enjoyed by millions on television worldwide, New Yorkers would rather be anywhere but on the streets of New York. But to the visitors, it was nothing short of one of the Wonders of the World, right up there with the Great Pyramid of Giza or the Statue of Zeus at Olympia.
