Even at a time like this, all Levin cared about was ratings.
Seeing Chad Palmer totally unresponsive, Johannsen said to Levin, “What should we, I, say?”
“I don’t know. Just keep talking,” came the stern reply. “Keep talking!”
BRIAN MULROONEY STOOD ON his seat clinging to his soft drink, shouting at the top of his lungs when it happened. Like everyone else inside Michigan Stadium, he was staring directly at the Griffin brothers when they suddenly vanished into thin air. Having consumed so much alcohol the night before, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.
When he finally realized his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, that the Griffin brothers really had disappeared—along with many others—he dropped his soda to the ground in total shock. Foam and ice scattered in all directions. What’s going on, he thought.
Instinctively, he turned to Justin Schroeder and saw that he, too, was gone. All that remained was the clothing he wore a few moments ago, his wedding band, cell phone, and what appeared to be tooth fillings.
Like most other remaining spectators, Brian Mulrooney was frightened to the core.
MEANWHILE, AT PRECISELY THE same time in New York City, just as Tamika Moseley was entering back into Manhattan, Richard Figueroa suddenly vanished inside her cab. Figueroa and Calloway were engrossed in deep conversation about Cell-U-Loss International, when Figueroa vanished! Everything he was wearing was still there, but he was nowhere to be found...
“Whoa! What’s going on?” screamed Charles Calloway.
“Whatchu mean, mister?” replied Tamika Moseley.
“Where’s Richard? What’s going on here? Is this some kind of sick joke?” Calloway was growing more terrified with each passing second.
“Whatchu talking about, mister?” Tamika responded in a cocky tone.
Glancing at her surroundings, the taxicab driver didn’t need a reply back from him.
Something wasn’t right. The car next to hers was suddenly driver-less. Tamika saw three more cars without drivers, yet they were still moving!
Moseley and Calloway were both jolted from their seats when one of them smashed into her front passenger door. It then went off in another direction, causing another accident, which, in turn, caused a major pileup directly behind them involving ten to fifteen cars.
Vehicles of all types were driving in all different directions, even against traffic, causing many more accidents. Some drove onto crowded pavements, stopping only after hitting something—a building, railing, mailbox, kiosk, fruit stand, hot dog cart or a body.
Some vehicles crashed through department store windows, decapitating mannequins showcasing the store’s top clothing lines. Others smashed through the windows of some of New York City’s finest restaurants, bookshops and coffeehouses.
Many inside those places were killed...
The impact from the collision caused the bullet-proof Plexiglas divider separating driver from passengers to unloosen and fall partly onto Calloway’s lap. One of the screws holding the glass in place ripped into his head, leaving a serious gash atop his right eye. It was badly bleeding.
Tamika somehow managed to maintain control of the vehicle, but it wasn’t easy. They narrowly escaped serious injury and could have easily been killed. Dodging and zigzagging around driver-less cars wasn’t something she learned in driving school. This was pure reflex.
Tamika gazed out her window in total disbelief. Accidents were piling up as far as the eye could see. The walkways of Manhattan were less cluttered than they were a few short moments ago. Dead bodies littered the sidewalks. And many appeared to be missing. All that was left of them was their clothing, similar to the man occupying her backseat just a few short moments ago.
Tamika pulled the cab to the side of the road, so she could think before making another move. Actually, she was halfway in the street and halfway on the sidewalk.
She took a few deep breath, exhaled, then freaked out, “Omigod! Omigod! What’s going on here?”
AT THE HORSESHOE IN Columbus, Ohio, cheers turned into loud desperate screams, after everyone watched their school heroes, Derrick and Darnay Griffin, vanish into thin air on the Jumbo-Tron screen. It soon became apparent that hundreds inside the Horseshoe also disappeared.
Pandemonium ensued...
17
AT CAMP DAVID, PRESIDENT Danforth had his feet propped up, shoes off, plate full of food on his lap when it happened.
He was taking his first bite of food when the Griffin brothers vanished into thin air. He stared blankly at the television screen, then blinked a few times to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
They weren’t. Whatever just happened, his mind couldn’t process what his eyes had just seen. There was loud screaming at Camp David and what sounded like a dish breaking.
The secret service sprung to action with their guns drawn. All but one: Bryce Davis. He disappeared. The only things left were his clothing, wedding band, watch, gold chain necklace and his secret service gear—two guns, ear-piece and his ID badge.
But agent Davis was nowhere to be found.
First Lady Melissa Danforth was dining with her two daughters, Erica and Janelle, discussing Erica’s pregnancy, when Erica vanished into thin air.
The First Lady started choking on her food. Janelle was stunned into utter disbelief. Melissa’s daughter-in-law, Christine was getting coffee at the beverage table when it happened. She didn’t see Erica disappear, but returned to find her mother-in-law turning blue in the face.
“The First Lady’s choking,” she screamed.
Special Agent Daniel Sullivan, the agent in charge of Camp David, positioned himself behind the First Lady to administer the Heimlich maneuver. Before he could begin, Melissa somehow dislodged the food herself, thus stabilizing her breathing again.
There were more screams. Melissa’s mother, Candice Stephenson, was eating with her four grandchildren, along with the President’s mother, when all four children suddenly disappeared.
“The children are missing!” screamed Candice.
Lydia Danforth went into cardiac arrest. Hands covering her heart, panicked expression on her face, she tried standing but instead collapsed onto the dining room floor.
Daniel Sullivan had no idea what to do. He wasn’t trained for this sort of thing. He tried to remain calm. What should I do? What should I do?
After ordering all remaining agents to completely-surround the premises, Sullivan barked, “No one’s allowed in or out, period!”
Save for the First Family—what was left of them—everyone else, including the press, were hurried into the living room. They were ordered to sit on the floor with hands behind their heads.
The two press members demanded that they be allowed to record the unfolding events but were denied. Even at a time like this, they bickered and moaned as cameras and mobile devices were confiscated.
The secret service could take no chances at this point. Something very strange was transpiring and no one knew what it was. Until they had a better understanding of what was going on, they couldn’t risk a thing.
White House chief baker Edna Brown was in the kitchen when it happened and was among the missing. Chief baker for the last four Presidents, she was the best pastry chef this side of the Atlantic Ocean.
A devout Christian for many years, every four years she would say, “If the new administration no longer needs my services, that’ll be my sign that God wants me to go back to Georgia.” God changed all of that in the twinkling of an eye.
Brown’s two assistants were the last ones escorted to the living room. Hands raised high above their heads, they were crying hysterically. Wanda Robinson and Sven Ulkelev were working alongside their boss when—POOF—Brown sudde
nly disappeared.
Brown was putting the finishing touches on her homemade peach cobbler pie, President Danforth’s favorite dessert, when it happened. Just as she was handing it to Wanda Robinson to put in the refrigerator until the President was ready for it, she vanished into thin air. Robinson screamed and dropped the pie, smashing the glass plate into a hundred pieces upon hitting the floor.
President Danforth was paralyzed with fear. His head was spinning. He was having an anxiety attack and couldn’t catch his breath. After a few moments, he somehow regained his composure, “What’s going on here, Sullivan?”
“I don’t know, Sir!” The stunned agent was frantic.
Something was terribly wrong.
“Is anyone hurt?” President Danforth asked, trying his best to forget the many screams already heard. He wanted to be in denial.
“As of right now, Sir, I don’t know. But people are missing.” Agent Sullivan sighed. “Sir, your daughter Erica is gone, along with her husband and your four grandchildren. They vanished or something.”
“What? This can’t be!” he cried.
Sullivan could see the pain etched on the President’s face. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Sir, your mother…”
No, not my mother too, he thought. “What is it Agent Sullivan?”
“She’s dead. Heart attack. Agents Hargrove and Ellis are with her now. But your son-in-law, Doctor Richardson, has already pronounced her dead.”
The President started trembling. What’s going on? He glanced back at the television. Cameras panned Michigan Stadium in total silence. Some strange eerie Phenomenon had just transpired not only at Camp David, but inside Michigan Stadium as well.
The President saw the Griffin brothers vanish into thin air with his own two eyes. But what had caused it? Was it a nationwide occurrence? Was it global? Not having answers to these troubling questions, the most powerful man on the planet was completely bewildered and didn’t know what to do next.
“It happened in Michigan too,” the President finally said to Agent Sullivan, pointing to the television screen with a growing tension in his voice. “Football players also disappeared, apparently along with many others.”
There was no reply from Secret Service Agent Daniel Sullivan, only utter confusion.
18
IN AN INSTANT, THE biggest game of the year, if not the decade, was suddenly insignificant. The crowd size went from more than 111,000 spectators to maybe 90,000 just like that.
But where did they go? Most could only wonder in silence...
It went from unbelievably loud inside Michigan Stadium to eerily quiet, just like that. After the initial wave of shock had passed, you could hear a pin drop inside the stadium.
Outside the stadium it was altogether different. Loud noises, crumbling and hissing sounds, car wrecks, explosions and sirens filled the moist air in all directions.
Brent Johannsen did his best to report the story to millions of stunned viewers around the world. But what could he possibly say to them at a time like this when he, too, had no idea what was going on? He was just as scared and confused as the next person.
Chad Palmer was even worse. It was evident he’d suffered a mental meltdown. And why not? These men were sportscasters, not newscasters. They were retired athletes. How could they possibly know what to do or say at a time like this?
Until Johannsen had a better understanding of what was happening, he dared not venture a guess. He sat in stunned silence along with everyone else as the cameras panned the stadium. It was eerie to say the least.
Most reporters lived for a story like this. Many brilliant careers were launched in this fashion. But Johannsen wasn’t thinking along those lines right now. He just wanted to get out of Michigan Stadium as quickly as possible.
Or did he...
AT JFK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, Craig Rubin was in line waiting to board his plane when the disappearances occurred.
He was staring at a girl who was doing her best to finish eating her pizza before boarding the plane, when she suddenly vanished into thin air right before his eyes, sending pizza crust and her bottled water to the floor.
One minute he was looking at her, admiring her beauty, then poof, she was gone. Clothing, two hair barrettes, a handbag, plane ticket and carry-on bag littered the area where she once stood. But she was nowhere to be found.
Startled, Rubin jumped back and tripped on what was left of the man standing behind him a few moments before. He lost his footing and fell to the ground hard, spilling his soft drink all over himself.
“What’s going on?” Rubin screamed to no one in particular.
Looking around the airport, it was far less crowded now. Something very strange and frightening had just transpired, and Craig Rubin hadn’t the foggiest idea what it was.
He wasn’t the only one.
Everyone still inside the airport was just as perplexed...
“MISTER PRESIDENT, WE HAVE to get you back to the White House immediately,” said Agent Daniel Sullivan, trying to somehow gain control of the situation. “I fear for your safety, Sir. Whatever’s going on needs to be addressed immediately. This is a matter of national security. We must get you back to Washington now!”
“What about the others?” the President shouted, trying to compose himself.
Agent Sullivan’s job was to protect the President, not everyone else. “For now, Sir, they’ll remain here at Camp David. I’ll leave two of my agents behind until we get things sorted out. For now, no one leaves this place except you and the First Lady.”
Melissa Danforth demanded that their two remaining children and her mother be allowed to accompany them. She wasn’t about to take no for an answer.
Agent Sullivan reluctantly agreed to her emotional wishes. He wasn’t about to argue with her at a time like this. The First Lady was clearly in shock. There was no need to make matters worse.
Melissa’s mother, Candice Stephenson lamented over and over again, “Not my grandbabies! Not my grandbabies!”
Within five minutes, the Danforths were whisked out of their Camp David retreat and placed on board Marine One, back en route to the very last place they wanted to be this day, the White House.
Fun Day was over.
Agent Daniel Sullivan had always admired and respected the First Family for treating him like a human being instead of just another secret serviceman. They treated his entire staff that way.
From what he’d heard about former Presidents, this wasn’t always the case.
For this reason alone, Sullivan would protect them to the best of his ability.
Even if it was the last thing he ever did...
19
BRIAN MULROONEY DIDN’T KNOW what to do, what to say, or where to go. He was too frightened to move for fear that one false move might cause him to vanish into thin air as well.
Mulrooney was sweating and shivering at the same time. He felt weak, faint. His thoughts shifted to his girlfriend, Renate McCallister. Did she vanish too? He blinked the thought away...
Suddenly, the P.A. system, which was silent for what seemed an eternity, roared to life, “Players and coaches, please go back to your locker rooms immediately,” the male voice crackled. “Those of you still in the stands please remain seated where you are. Do not attempt to leave the stadium. I repeat, do not leave the stadium! We’re trying to get immediate assistance. We’ll need all aisles and walkways cleared so we can better do our job to get you out of here as quickly and safely as possible. Until then, do your best to remain calm. Thank you.”
How could anyone remain calm when the voice on the P.A. system emanated sheer panic?
Few people listened. For most, it shook them from their shock. People dispersed in all directi
ons. But there was nowhere to run. The walkways leading up to the stadium and the aisles inside were completely full of people trying to get to their seats when the Great Disappearing Act took place. Even though thousands had disappeared, it was still gridlock inside the stadium.
It was suddenly loud again, but not with cheering. Instead, Michigan Stadium was filled with terror-laden screams.
Those who obeyed orders and remained seated exchanged looks of disbelief. Except for the constant sounds of weeping and sniffling, most sat in total silence.
Whether seated, or in a panic trying to leave, most inside Michigan Stadium were completely terrorized. The only ones who weren’t terror-stricken were those who were high on drugs and thought their imaginations were playing tricks on them.
Once they sobered up from their chemically induced la-la land and realized they hadn’t been cast into some Sci-Fi flick, the reality of the situation would hit them twice as hard.
Brian Mulrooney was afraid to touch anything or talk to anyone. He needed comforting, but who could possibly console him when they, too, were part of this unthinkable nightmare?
He reached for his cell phone and tried calling Renate, his parents, his work, anyone—but couldn’t get through to anyone. All circuits were jammed, compounding his fear all the more.
TAMIKA MOSELEY WAS TREMBLING so ferociously that she thought she might have a nervous breakdown. Her chest heaved up and down as she fought for every-last breath.
Charles Calloway wanted to somehow console her, but he was just as shaken himself, with a serious head-wound which needed tending to. Being such a strong leader and decision-maker in the business arena wasn’t helping him right now. He had no idea what to do or say to possibly improve the situation.
Chaos in the Blink of an Eye Page 9
