Doomsday Apocalypse

by Bobby Akart

  Tyler managed to film and hang on as the cars sped up ninety degrees into the first spiral before approaching the apex of Kingda Ka. At that speed, everything was a blur as his mind attempted to process something it had never experienced before.

  When placed under such intense stress, the human mind doesn’t count the seconds using the childhood way of saying one Mississippi, two Mississippi, and three Mississippi. The mind was far more advanced, acting like a high-speed computer capable of receiving and analyzing stimuli faster than any human could imagine.

  Tyler’s mind was in a heightened state of awareness when his vision transmitted his cell phone losing power just microseconds before it processed that everything around him disappeared into the darkness of the night.

  Chapter 34

  Delta Flight 322

  Slowly descending as it passed Panama City Beach on the Florida Panhandle, Delta Flight 322 flew over the open water, just three miles above the Gulf of Mexico. The pilots were several minutes ahead of schedule as they made their gradual descent in preparation for landing in Mobile, Alabama. The white aircraft with the red and blue markings of Delta Air Lines could barely be seen on the moonless night. They were just twenty minutes from touchdown.

  Eventually, the bumpy turbulence they’d encountered earlier gradually stopped as they cleared the cold front. The cabin continued to be filled with now-muted chatter, as the high created by preflight libations began to wear off. Fortunately for Cort, who was trying to relax from his stressful week, the inebriated men seated in front of him had dozed off, and the wailing infant three rows behind him had found solace in a milk bottle.

  He input his credit card information into the empty fields of the Delta in-flight entertainment website, which was displayed on his iPad. While the connection was being made, he inserted his Bose earbud-microphone combination into his ears and turned off the external speaker. Curious passengers could see his wife and daughter appear on the screen, but they would only be able to hear his side of the conversation.

  Colt’s face lit up as his wife answered the FaceTime request, and his daughter, Hannah, leaned in so she could be seen too.

  “Hi, baby!” Meredith genuinely greeted him with a smile. He missed her as much as she missed him.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Hannah was chipper as usual. She was always an upbeat, happy kid. But then again, she was only seven and hadn’t been jaded by the world around her.

  “Girls, I have really missed you. You have no idea.”

  “Oh, we believe you, don’t we, Hannah?”

  “Maybe a little,” Hannah added with a giggle. “But we have big plans for our New Year’s Eve party, Daddy.”

  His daughter was wide awake considering how late it was. He suspected Meredith had insisted she take a nap in exchange for staying up late, or Hannah was jacked up on sweet treats.

  “Do tell,” said Cort, who continued to beam during the conversation.

  Hannah and Meredith commenced to reel off the finger foods and desserts they’d created throughout the day in anticipation of his arrival. Hannah proudly took credit for recording the New Year’s festivities from Times Square on their Comcast DVR so that they could watch the ball drop together.

  After the family bemoaned the concept of time zones and Cort added his two cents’ worth about the media moguls of New York thinking the entire planet revolves around them, they talked about their long weekend together.

  “Girls, whadya think about watching some football with me tomorrow?”

  “Yale isn’t playing, Daddy,” Hannah complained. “I won’t be able to wear my Handsome Dan sweatshirt Grandpa got me for Christmas.”

  Meredith’s father had purchased Hannah a sweatshirt featuring the Yale mascot, an English bulldog, leaning up against a large Y. The tradition had been established in the late 1800s when a young Englishman who attended the university brought his bulldog to college with him. Yale became the first university in the United States to adopt a mascot, and now eighteen English bulldogs had proudly filled the position of Handsome Dan.

  “I know, honey, this time of year, high-quality schools like Yale don’t have to play football anymore. We’re stuck with the other guys like ’Bama and Notre Dame and Ohio State.”

  “Daddy, why does ’Bama have an elephant as a mascot?”

  Meredith laughed at the back-and-forth between her husband and daughter. “Yes, please enlighten us, Cort.”

  “Well, um, once upon a time Alabama was full of Republicans. So—”

  Hannah was having none of it and scowled into the camera. “Daddy, I know when you’re fibbin’. If you don’t know, it’s okay to say you don’t know. Mommy told me that everybody can’t know everything. Right, Mommy?”

  Meredith pulled the phone closer to their faces. “That’s right.” She tilted her head and smiled at Cort as if to say, the ball’s in your court, Daddy-O.

  “Actually, I do know one thing. Your mommy knows everything. We made sure that was understood the day we got married.”

  “You betcha,” said Meredith. “Okay, We’re almost to the airport. Do you want us to park and come inside?”

  “I don’t have any bags, so why don’t you guys just pick me up at departures.”

  “But, Daddy, you’re an arrival.”

  Smart kid.

  “I know, honey, but I think there’ll be less traffic at departures at this time of night. I can just walk—”

  Ding—ding—ding.

  The flight attendant interrupted their conversation. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten-seat-belt sign, indicating our approach into Mobile. As we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Also, please discontinue the use of all electronic devices. Thank you.”

  Cort turned his attention back to his girls. “Ladies, I hope you two are ready to party. I can feel my second wind kickin’ in, and there will be smooches covering your cheeks in just a few minutes.”

  “I’ll take ’em!” exclaimed Hannah.

  Meredith added to her daughter’s sentiment. “Me too, darling. I’ve missed you more than—”

  Then complete and utter darkness swept over Delta 322.

  Chapter 35

  Delta Flight 322

  As Delta Flight 322 cruised toward an uneventful landing, a continuous supply of conditioned air kept the temperatures inside the cabin at a comfortable seventy-two degrees. Outside the aircraft, it was a different story. Temperatures at a plane’s cruising altitude can drop to well below zero, especially when factoring in the windchill. Even in balmy climates like the Gulf Coast, the temperature differences were remarkable. The only thing separating the passengers of Delta 322 from this stark contrast in temperatures was a thin metal tube and a few inches of insulation that would soon prove to be no match for the fifty-degree waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

  Mobile tower personnel reported the conditions as they advised Captain Hasselbeck on his final approach. “Delta 322, you’ve got winds at three to five knots. Ceiling is twenty-five hundred, scattered. Visibility is four to five nautical miles.”

  “Roger that,” replied Hasselbeck. “Straight into runway 15-33?”

  “Affirmative,” replied the tower. “Delta 322 is clear on approach to runway 15-33.”

  Hasselbeck spoke aloud as he made his adjustments. “Altitude down to three-eight on approach. Wilco.”

  “I’ll advise the flight attendants,” said his first officer. He reached for the intercom switch and addressed the main cabin. “Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”

  The pilot continued. “Speed set, one-quarter flaps.”

  His first officer repeated the instructions as the two pilots worked in tandem to coordinate the routine landing. “Speed set, one-quarter flaps.”

  “Gear down.”

  “Gear down.”


  “Altitude two-eight.”

  “Confirmed.”

  The men rode the next sixty seconds in silence as the lights of Mobile came closer into their view. Hasselbeck pressed his face against the window and looked down to the hundreds of oil rigs that dotted the gulf waters to their left. The lights twinkled like thousands of Christmas trees floating on buoys. He turned his attention back to his instrument panel as the MD-88 continued its slow, gradual descent. Then the panel went dark.

  “What the hell?” exclaimed the first officer.

  “Where are the emergency lights?” asked Hasselbeck as he began to frantically flip switches, attempting to force a reaction on the instrument panel.

  “We’ve got nothing! Absolutely no power!” The first officer became panicked.

  Hasselbeck took a deep breath and recalled his training. Modern airplane engines were very robust pieces of engineering, and only rarely did a pilot encounter a dual flameout, the term given to the loss of both engines.

  Hasselbeck’s mind raced as he focused on trying to keep the aircraft in a glide while he ran through the emergency procedures to regain power.

  “Pull the guides out,” ordered Hasselbeck. “Now!”

  The reference guides for an aircraft provide guidance and checklists for a wide variety of operational situations, including the loss of power on all engines. But this was different.

  “I can’t see!” exclaimed the copilot.

  Hasselbeck kept his composure but was nonetheless firm with his frenzied copilot. “The flashlight is attached to the right side of your seat. Hurry!”

  Hasselbeck leaned up in the seat and looked for landing options. He recalled their altitude, which was now dropping rapidly. Mobile was still too far away. He began mentally preparing himself for putting the plane in the water.

  Normally, if a ditching of the aircraft was imminent, it was preferable to be at a higher altitude, allowing for a smoother approach to the water below. The higher altitude would give the pilot the ability to force the plane into a pronounced nose-down attitude in order to maintain enough airspeed to prevent the aircraft from stalling. Their low altitude on approach did not allow for this emergency procedure.

  There was an additional consideration to factor in. He had no instruments and no communications with the tower to tell him his precise altitude and speed. He was truly flying blind and unable to see the water. He only had the oil rig platforms below him to use to guide him.

  He also had to consider whether to hit the surface with the gear locked in position or tucked inside. The recommended position was to ditch with the gear in the up position. However, Hasselbeck recalled from a conversation with a senior Boeing 777 captain that having the gear down might prevent the aircraft from skipping along the water, which leads to multiple impacts against the fuselage.

  All of these things were running through his mind in those seconds before the aircraft began to lose airspeed and plummet toward the water. The chaos taking place behind him was beginning to enter his mind as a combination of flight attendants shouting and passengers screaming penetrated the security door.

  Brace! Brace! Brace!

  Hasselbeck couldn’t advise them, as their communications were down. Everything was dark and unresponsive.

  The first officer was holding the flashlight in his mouth, frantically thumbing through the pages of the manual. “Nothing works. There’s nothing in here about a total blackout!”

  Hasselbeck remained calm. “It doesn’t matter. We’re too low to initiate any engine restart procedure.”

  His copilot was not calm. “What are you gonna do?”

  “I’m going to keep flying this plane and do whatever it takes to drop it safely in the water.”

  The first officer finally became helpful. “I’ll get our life vests.”

  For the next twenty seconds, neither man spoke a word. The continuous chants of Brace! Brace! Brace! and the passengers’ screams permeated the aircraft, barely drowning out the high-pitched whistle created by the plane dropping rapidly out of the sky.

  Hasselbeck tried in vain to keep the nose of the aircraft up in an attempt to glide onto the surface of the Gulf. His eyes darted to his left. They were eye level to an oil rig. He took a deep breath.

  “It’s now. Hold on!”

  The wing’s flaps were the first thing to come in contact with the water. The left-wing tip caught the top of a wave first, and the plane yawed to the left. Then the fuselage slammed hard into the water. The first officer let out a bloodcurdling scream as they were slammed forward in their seats upon impact.

  Likewise, the passengers let out primal expressions of emotion and pain as the sudden deceleration threw them forward in their seats. Hasselbeck could hear galley equipment being tossed around behind them and overhead bins dropping luggage on top of the passengers.

  The MD-88 shook violently for several seconds; then it got eerily quiet. The vibration stopped and the plane seemed to be weightless as if it were floating in space.

  Inside the cockpit, it was pitch black. Hasselbeck regained his composure and pressed his hands against the windows. Then he heard them. The sound was imperceptible at first. Yet unmistakable.

  Bubbles.

  Bubbles were rising upward around the windows of the aircraft, and the faint trickling of water could be heard. The plane was underwater.

  Hasselbeck tried to get his bearings and orientation within the cockpit. His first officer had fainted and was dangling slightly above him in his protective harness. He surmised they were banking to the left because the left wing had caught the water first. Instinctively, he pulled the yoke to the right. Incredibly, the aircraft responded ever so slightly. The wings leveled, but they continued to sink.

  A loud crack caught his attention, and he immediately assumed the cargo hold had been breached on impact. Suddenly, reassurance swept over his body as the nose of the aircraft seemed to make a slow ascent toward the surface.

  Water began entering the cockpit. It dripped from the windows and rose around his feet from the floor panels. Hasselbeck studied the rise of the water. It wasn’t pouring in, but it was rising fast enough to have an impact on the buoyancy of the aircraft.

  He looked over to his first officer, who didn’t appear to be physically injured, but only limp as a result of fainting. Hasselbeck used the rising water to revive his copilot.

  “Hey! Wake up!” he shouted, scooping water out from around his feet and splashing the man in the face. The cold water worked to revive him.

  “What? What?”

  “Get out of your harnesses,” ordered Hasselbeck as he flipped the toggle on his instrument panel to unlock the cockpit security door. “We need to help our passengers get out. Hurry!”

  Hasselbeck was already unstrapped and making his way to the security door separating the cockpit from the galley. The rising water would make it difficult to open.

  “Come on, help me!”

  His copilot climbed around his seat and moved alongside Hasselbeck in the notoriously cramped cabin of the MD-88.

  “Turn the handle while I get my fingers in the crack to pull it open.”

  “Okay, got it.”

  Hasselbeck prepared himself to pull the door inward against the weight of the water around his legs, which now rose to his knees. As the copilot released the latch, they were both surprised by what happened.

  The door swung open violently and slammed into the head of the first officer, driving him backwards in a daze. Before Hasselbeck was struck by a wall of water rushing through the opening, he saw that the rest of the aircraft was gone.

  Chapter 36

  Delta Flight 322

  Cort, like everyone else on board Delta 322, suddenly grew deathly quiet. While everyone’s reaction to a traumatic situation is unique, there are certain common reactions innate to all humans. A trauma leaves its imprint on the human brain. The intense sense of fear causes the body to freeze as it processes the threat. Then it reacts. And the reaction aboard Delt
a 322 was almost uniform—panic, followed by crying, screaming, and praying.

  Initially, Cort assumed, like others on the flight, that this was a temporary glitch and would be remedied within seconds. When the emergency light strips along the floors failed to illuminate and none of the overhead signs lit up, he knew they were destined to crash.

  His mind raced as he tried to recall the preflight safety instructions given by the flight attendants. He silently cursed himself for not paying attention, and then he considered the fact that the two drunks sitting in the exit row in front of him certainly didn’t know what to do.

  The flight attendants tried to yell over the mayhem, but because they were all shouting instructions at the same time, the passengers became increasingly panicked. When the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling, full-blown chaos ensued as passengers scrambled for oxygen.

  “Hey, nothing is coming out!” shouted a man to his right.

  “They’re not working!” hollered a lady from the back of the plane.

  “Neither is mine!”

  The flight attendants stumbled through the aisles as the plane began to drop in altitude, looking for their seats. Cort reached for his oxygen mask, which also failed to function.

  No power. At all. Not even emergency backup generators.

  Finally, one voice took over for the entire crew, shouting over the mayhem, “Everyone, please fasten your seatbelts and tighten them around your waist. Think about your seat assignments. Remember where the exit rows are. They are located at the front of the aircraft where you boarded. Also, they are above the wings in exit rows twenty-four and twenty-five. At the right rear of the plane, there are exit rows at thirty-two and thirty-three.”

  Another flight attendant shouted from the rear of the aircraft, “We all need to prepare for an emergency landing. Please remove your life vest from the pouch beneath your seat. Slip the open end over your head, pull the straps around your waist, and adjust the tabs at the front. To inflate the vest, pull firmly on the red cord, but only—”