When the Stars Fell From the Sky

by David Spell

  New York, Washington, D. C., and Atlanta, Friday, 1515 hours

  Ali drove the non-descript, silver Nissan Sentra to Brooklyn, New York, arriving just before midnight on Wednesday. Usama had programmed the location of a parking garage into the car's built-in GPS unit. He had also given Ali the address for a small hotel two blocks away from the garage, run by a sympathetic Muslim, who simply handed Ali a key when he mentioned Usama's name.

  The Pakistani brought the young martyr his meals because Usama had made it clear he was not to leave his room for any reason until his mission. On Thursday, Ali studied the street and subway maps that he had been given. He read his Quran and prayed. On Friday morning he repeated the process. After lunch, he bathed, purifying himself with the ritual washing, and then strapped the white explosive vest around his body. His traditional long shirt went on next, concealing the deadly device.

  The detonator went into his right front pocket. Usama had rigged it with a metal cotter pin to act as a safety. It would not go off until the suicide bomber removed the pin and then squeezed the handles together. Ali slipped the Quran into his pants pocket and walked out of the room, leaving his few possessions behind.

  When he went to retrieve the car, the Muslim attendant did not charge him for parking, giving Ali a knowing nod. The next destination that Usama had programmed into the GPS was the 9/11 Memorial. As Ali drove across the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, he felt his sense of anticipation rising.

  His initial orders were simply to park as close as he could to the memorial, lock the car, and then walk away to the nearest subway station. The challenge was that there were very few places to park. The bomb in the trunk was set to go off at 1700 hours. Ali needed to make sure the police did not have an opportunity to tow the car away to their impound lot before it exploded.

  He had allotted himself plenty of time and drove around for over an hour, looking for the best place to park the car bomb. He finally decided on abandoning the vehicle behind St. Paul's Chapel of Trinity Church on Church Street. It was only one block from the 9/11 Memorial, the streets were packed with infidels, and the blast should do substantial damage to the church. The St. Peter Roman Catholic Church was also nearby and would be affected as well.

  Ali circled the block several times, hoping a parking space would open up. He finally saw a space in front of the large post office building at Church Street and Vesey Street. The car bomb was now between the two churches, a block from the 9/11 Memorial, in a densely populated area. Perfect, he thought.

  As he parked, he turned the emergency flashers on the car and put the handwritten note that Usama had given him on the dashboard where it could be seen from the outside. "Car trouble. Coming back with tow truck. Sorry."

  He locked the doors and started walking. The Chambers Street subway station was less than half a block away. A voice stopped him.

  "You can't park there. That space is for loading and unloading only."

  Ali glanced over. The words came from a young black man who was pointing at him. He did not have a uniform on and Ali did not know if he should stop and talk to him or not. There was no sign prohibiting parking there but Ali did not understand American laws.

  "I'm very sorry but my car is broken. I have to go call my friend to come and look at it."

  "Well, you're going to have to pay me to watch it while you go call him."

  "I...I don't have any money with me. I will bring some back and give to you." He rushed across the street towards the subway station.

  "I'll be waiting right here," the voice called after him, the tone threatening.

  Ali glanced at his watch. 1635 hours, 4:35 in the afternoon. You wait there, my friend, he thought. Yes. You wait there for me. He entered the subway station and was soon on the Northbound train.

  Since his target was in America's capital, Hassan did not have to travel very far and had the most time on his hands. His GPS sent him to another safe house in the northern part of Washington, D.C., near the George Washington University. An Iranian-born lecturer in Islamic Studies would house him for two days and give him a place to park his car.

  They spent hours in the evening discussing the Quran and the need to destroy the Great Satan, America, and their lapdog, Israel. Both agreed that after the United States was destroyed, Israel would be an easy target. Of course, after Iran's recent devastation at the hands of the infidel American military, it would require other nations uniting against the Zionists.

  On Friday, Hassan washed and purified himself. He read his Quran and performed his prayers. His new Iranian friend did not have to teach on Fridays and stayed home, preparing him a special meal and encouraging him in his mission. Hassan had not shared any details with the professor but he seemed to understand that his house guest would not be returning.

  At 1500 hours Hassan dressed, carefully put the explosive vest on, told his friend goodbye, and began driving towards the heart of the city. The GPS in Hassan's black Ford Focus took him towards some of America's most sacred landmarks.

  Ramzi had never seen so much traffic in his life. He was glad that he had followed Usama's instructions to the letter and started for his target at 1500 hours. By allotting him two hours to reach the target, Usama assured him he would be there with plenty of time to park the car and to make his escape to another part of the city. The closer Ramzi got to Atlanta, though, he was not sure that he had left early enough.

  As the terrorist drove his explosive-laden Toyota Corolla south on Interstate 85 into Atlanta, he felt his stress and anxiety rising. An overturned tractor-trailer blocked the middle two lanes, creating a nightmare for commuters. He was losing time. The clock on the dashboard read 4:05pm. The GPS unit indicated he should be at his target by 4:40pm, but with this accident, he was not so sure. Usama had set the timer on the large bomb in the trunk for detonation at 5:00pm.

  He had driven all night on Wednesday and arrived at 0400 hours on Thursday morning. The elderly Muslim cleric was waiting for him and raised his garage door so that Ramzi could pull inside. A guest bedroom had been prepared and the future martyr was soon asleep.

  When Ramzi had risen, food was waiting on him. The imam did not say much to the young man but left him to himself. He studied the maps that master-bomber Usama had provided, paying special attention to the different approaches towards his target. On Friday, however, the cleric read the Quran with him after he had bathed. They prayed together, had lunch, and then it was time for Ramzi to leave.

  The suicide vest was uncomfortable and he felt the sweat pooling beneath it. Not much longer, he thought. Traffic finally began to move after he got past the wrecked eighteen wheeler. After a few miles, however, Ramzi was forced to slow again because of a three car accident blocking the two left lanes. 4:36pm. Now the GPS was showing an arrival at 4:55pm.

  Ramzi did not know Atlanta. He had studied the maps but now he suddenly felt trapped, surrounded by stopped cars. Interstate 85 and Interstate 75 merged a half mile in front of him, continuing south through the city. Even with so many lanes, traffic was stop and go. 4:45pm. Estimated arrival time now was 5:05pm. He wasn't going to make it. Even with the air conditioning turned on high, the sweat dripped off of the terrorist's face.

  The primary target for his car bomb was Centennial Olympic Park in the heart of the city. As the two interstates merged, Ramzi could see more gridlock moving deeper into Atlanta. He knew he was going to have to abandon the car but if he just walked away from it on the highway, there was no place for him to escape to. He was not afraid to die but he wanted to complete his mission.

  In front of him, Ramzi saw the exit ramp leading off the interstate to 17th Street. He maneuvered the car over, almost striking a work van in the lane next to him, as he drove onto the exit ramp. The van's driver, a large black man, honked the horn and screamed profanities at Ramzi. 4:50pm. A long line of cars were stopped in front of him on the exit ramp. The traffic signal ahead where the ramp intersected with 17th Street helped Ramzi to decide his course of act
ion.

  A large, electronic sign indicated that the Atlantic Station Mall was on his right, visible from where he was sitting. This was not his primary target but it would have to do. A tall office building loomed in front of him. The blast here would throw shrapnel at the mall and it's surrounding buildings. The packed exit ramp would also assure that many vehicles were destroyed and their occupants killed or even worse.

  Horns blared again as Ramzi pulled onto the narrow shoulder of the off-ramp. He activated his emergency flashers, exited the Toyota, locked the doors and started running. He had to get as far away as he could before the bomb went off. 4:52pm.

  Atlanta police officer Tracy Sparks exited onto the ramp for 17th Street as well. She was responding to a call of a car accident in the parking lot at Atlantic Station. A witness had just recontacted the police and said that the two female drivers were now engaged in a fight. The caller said they were punching each other and trying to rip each other's hair out. Job security, Sparks thought.

  In front of her, a few cars up, Sparks saw a Middle Eastern-looking man hurriedly exit a Toyota Corolla and start running. That doesn't look right, she thought. He's running away from that car like it is about to blow up or something. It must be stolen, she concluded.

  Tracy turned on her blue strobe lights and had use her horn and siren to get around the stopped traffic and catch up to him. The exit ramp was full of stopped vehicles but the flashing blue lights and the siren motivated people to move to the right just enough so that Sparks could maneuver through. The fleeing man was almost to the top of the ramp, over a hundred yards from where he had left his vehicle, and he had not slowed his pace yet. Officer Sparks pulled up behind the runner and stopped her cruiser, turning the police car slightly to the left to keep the engine block between her and the suspicious man.

  The siren had startled Ramzi and he almost fell down as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the police car with its blue strobe lights flashing. Without thinking, he reached for the pistol tucked into the front of his pants.

  A female voice challenged him. "Police officer! Stop! Get your hands up where I can see them! Now!"

  Sparks was standing behind her open driver's door and she saw the man's hand reach for his midsection. Tracy drew her pistol without any conscious thought. She was less than ten yards from the man, her gun held in a solid two-handed grip.

  Tracy challenged him again. "Put your hands up!"

  Motorists watched the drama unfold in the heavy rush hour commute. The traffic on the exit ramp was still stopped because of the red light at 17th Street where they would all have to turn right or left. A few people had their cellphones out and began to video the scene of the police officer pointing her pistol at the Middle Eastern man, hoping to see something newsworthy. Three male motorists who were stopped behind the Atlanta officer got out of their cars to get a better look at what was transpiring, holding their phones up to get the best footage.

  The man wearing traditional Muslim clothing turned quickly with a Makarov pistol in his hand, firing at the infidel woman who had challenged him. Officer Sparks pointed her pistol at him as he turned but she had to be sure that the man was an actual threat and not just holding a cellphone. She saw fire come out of the muzzle of the suspect's gun, the round impacting the grill of the police car.

  Tracy fired back, her first 9mm round catching him in the lower abdomen. The suspect's second shot struck the windshield next to the officer's face. Spark's kept firing, her second round missing, hitting the concrete wall on the side of the ramp. Her third shot, however, caught Ramzi center-mass, piercing his heart.

  The police officer's bullet also triggered the explosive vest the terrorist was wearing. Usama had packed the vest to create maximum damage. Nails, screws, and ball bearings were used as shrapnel. The bomb maker had attached a thick glass container of radioactive waste and another of the zombie virus into both the front and back panels of the suicide garment.

  The explosion shattered the glass containers, blowing the bio-terror virus outward in multiple directions, along with the nuclear materials. Shrapnel ripped through the air, shattering car windows and ripping people apart. Officer Tracy Sparks was less than thirty feet from the suspect and was blown backwards by the concussion. Several pieces of shrapnel were stopped by her ballistic vest, but a ball bearing punched through her forehead, killing her instantly.

  The cars closest to Ramzi took the brunt of his explosion but the blast radius threw shrapnel and deadly materials over a hundred feet. The three men taking video were knocked to the ground and almost instantly became infected with the zombie virus. Within minutes, they had reanimated and were on their feet looking for victims.

  The initial explosion killed nineteen motorists and wounded another forty-seven on the exit ramp. Shrapnel was blown through the large glass windows of several floors of the Wells Fargo building less than a hundred feet off of the interstate, wounding twenty-six people and infecting them with the zombie virus, now mixed with radioactive waste. Within minutes, the wounded people in the office building had succumbed to the virus as their co-workers tried to help them. Those friends and co-workers who tried to be of assistance were the first to get bitten when the bio-terror compound turned those who were bleeding out into death machines.

  Within a minute of the detonation of the suicide bomber, two cars near the initial blast erupted as their fuel tanks ignited. A Toyota 4 Runner's gas tank exploded and the SUV flew into the air, landing on the Volvo wagon that was stopped next to it. A Honda Civic also blew up, sending the small car onto its side. The fire ball from the secondary explosions rose over the scene and another six people died.

  Motorists who were further down the exit ramp panicked and left their cars to run to safety. The three first zombies who had been out shooting video of the police officer's encounter with the terrorist chased down three more victims and killed them. Others who had been hit by poisoned shrapnel in their vehicles were struggling to get free of their seat belts. The concussion knocked open the doors of several older cars and new zombies stumbled out.

  The radioactive waste combined with the zombie virus was giving some of the infected almost supernatural strength. Some of those held captive by their seatbelt were able to rip them off and then force their way out of their vehicles and begin their search for new victims.

  When a human being is exposed to high doses of radioactive materials, the potential for serious health issues including death or cancer is greatly increased. For a human who was dead, however, the effects were completely different. The radioactive materials, working in conjunction with the bio-terror virus produced a change in the victim's DNA that enhanced their natural strength, speed, and power.

  The ramp was now completely blocked and drivers further away from the blast continued to attempt their escape by abandoning their cars and fleeing on foot. People ran in both directions looking for an exit. Those who had been infected by the zombie virus did not have to look far for their next victims.

  Since Ramzi had exploded near the top of the ramp, traffic on 17th Street was also affected. Eight motorists died and twenty-one were wounded near the bridge leading back over the interstate. Within minutes dozens more infected people climbed out of their damaged vehicles. Cars and SUVs slammed into each other in their haste to get away. The 17th Street bridge over I-85 and the exit ramp were both completely blocked. The time was 4:59pm.

  #

  CDC Enforcement Office, Washington, D.C., 1630 hours

  The new acting Supervisor for the Washington office of the CDC Enforcement Unit, Tu Trang, and new acting team leader, Jason Lewis, picked Chuck and Luis up from the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. They drove them back to their office, where all the CDC officers had assembled to be interviewed by the FBI and go through a thorough debriefing session. The shooting scene in Springfield was still being processed with Fairfax County police officers providing security.

  When they arrived, the interviews with the FBI were wrap
ping up and Chuck congratulated his guys from Atlanta on a successful operation. McCain saw Jimmy Jones and put his arm around his shoulder.

  "How you feeling, Marine?"

  "Nothing to it, Chuck. I went to the hospital this morning and the doc said he hadn't seen such a fine specimen of manhood in a long time. I've got a bruised sternum and some damage to the cartilage on the right side of my rib cage but nothing's broken. The AK bullet I took to the vest in Iraq was worse. You know us Marines are hard to kill."

  Jimmy had been a rifle platoon leader in the Marine Corps and had two combat tours in Iraq. The first had been as a lieutenant, the second as a captain. Jones had left the Marines after eight years of service to be with his mother when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. After she had succumbed to the disease a year later he had gone to work for the Alabama State Patrol. After a very successful five years as a trooper, he had been recruited to work for the new CDC Enforcement Unit.

  "Well, a blast of OO buck to the chest is nothing to sneeze at," said Chuck, with a smile, "but you'll be feeling it every time you sneeze for a while."

  After meeting all the DC agents, McCain asked Marshall, Walker, and Trang if they could talk privately. Tu led them into Bob Murray's former office, soon to be his own. Eddie and the two DC supervisors took McCain through the entire scenario of locating and capturing Hill and the subsequent shootout. Trang also filled him in about the unfortunate arrest of Bob Murray.

  "And, we just heard back from the FBI lab before you got here," said Jay. "Those containers of clear liquid in that fridge at the terrorist's house are positive for the zombie virus. They were loading up car bombs and suicide vests with radioactive materials and the virus."

  Chuck sighed. "That's what I figured. Let me tell you what some of our other guys got into today."