Charlie's Requiem Novella (4 page)

Chapter 5

Day 1

Officer John Drosky

On Patrol, Orlando, FL

Officer John Drosky keyed his radio and reported back to dispatch that he was going “10-6” or “Busy-Unless Urgent” to stop by the boy’s house on his way “back to the barn” at the end of his shift.

The boy lived just a few miles from where he had been arrested, and Drosky found the house with little trouble. The one story concrete block home sat in an older district of the city. The neighborhood was a combination of trendy and tired. Several homes had replaced their older jalousie windows with more modern double hung replacements. These homes showed signs of being well maintained, their lawns manicured and plant beds lined with plastic or wood edgers. Most of the open car ports were empty. It was mid-afternoon and the homeowners were still at work. The officer was pleasantly surprised that both car port spots were occupied when he found the young man’s home. But as he suspected, the home showed no sign of improvement or maintenance that would indicate a stable family life. It always seemed to be this way.

John stopped his car in front of the house, staying out of the driveway. He walked up the broken asphalt and down the weed infested concrete front walkway. He rang the doorbell and waited. After a minute, he rang it once again and followed it with several loud and resounding raps on the door.

After another minute passed, he cautiously strolled around the side of the house, shaking his head at the weeds and detritus that covered the overgrown yard. He cautiously approached the back door and knocked loudly, announcing himself.

“HELLO!” he yelled. “Orlando police. Please open the door!”

No response. The officer looked into the window and saw what appeared to be a living room and across from him, the front door. No lights were on. He retraced his steps and pressing his face to the next window, he stared in to the kitchen. It was remarkably clean and organized.
Surprising
!
He thought. He moved towards that back of the house where he had first walked around from the front and, shielding his eyes, he pressed his face once again against the pane of glass and stared into the back room.

It looked like a large bedroom. The mini-blinds were partially closed, limiting the light entering the room as well as his ability to see directly in. He pulled out his Surefire flashlight and held it against the glass, providing some light to see by. He looked once again into the room and saw two people under the cover, sleeping in the king-sized bed.

Damn it
, he thought.
They’re either assholes or drugged out
.

He knocked heavily on the window, yelling through the glass.

“ORLANDO POLICE!” he shouted. “OPEN THE DOOR NOW!”

No one moved inside the bed. Not a peep, not even a shrug or turn.

Officer Drosky got a sinking feeling in his gut. He knew what he was looking at, but his mind didn’t want to believe it. He had to force himself to return to the back door. He didn’t want to confirm his deepest fears. He tried the doorknob and found it open. He pulled out his Sig 226 and using his flashlight, he entered the house, announcing his presence.

“THIS IS THE ORLANDO POLICE,” he shouted. “IS THERE ANYONE HOME?”

The tired home refused to reply. Drosky cautiously cleared the large room and made his way back to the bedroom where the two bodies laid. By now, he knew they were bodies. He slowly made his way back to the bedroom and found two women under the sheets. Both wore hospital scrubs and their final embrace was marred by an open stab wound to the neck on one of the women, and a stab wound to the chest on the other. Their eyes had been closed and the smaller woman’s head lay on the other’s shoulder. Drosky thought of the kitchen knife the young man had in his backpack. The blade of that knife matched the death blows that stared back at him. He shook his head in sorrow. He hated to make the call to Beth. The kid was going in with the adults and with the death penalty alive and well in the state of Florida, Officer John Drosky knew the kid wasn’t in for a very happy future.

John tried his portable radio, but was only rewarded with a busy beep, so he walked back to his cruiser and stared back at the house.

Goddamn
it
, he thought.
Why couldn’t things just come out right for a change?
He sat down in his cruiser and turned on the engine. It was remarkably warm for November and the air conditioner would feel nice after getting out of the stuffy, tired old home.

Just as John grabbed the mic to his encrypted Motorola APCO 25 Digital Radio System, his car died. It just stopped working. He tried to crank the engine but got no response. His car had turned into a dead lump of metal. Nothing came on. It was as if someone had pulled out his car’s battery.

John shook his head, thinking that this was just one of those days. He grabbed his mobile phone and was just as surprised when he saw that it had no power either. He got out of his car, staring at the iPhone, jabbing at the power button on top of the phone. Nothing.

And that’s when he noticed it. The sound of nothing. The boy’s neighborhood was only a block from a major road. Traffic noise was heavy with commuters filling the four lane road on their journey home. Now, the noise was gone, replaced by birds and a faint sound an occasional yell or scream coming from the normally congested streets.

John ran up to the intersection and stared down the normally busy thoroughfare. Everywhere, cars were stopped. People were out of their vehicles, yelling at each other both in confusion and a bit of fear as they searched for an answer that made sense to them. Several cars had collided as they lost power, their drivers frantically trying to call 911 or whomever their closest loved-one was.

John instantly knew what had happened, or at least what likely had happened. Since 2010, the city had been integrating their terror units with the federal government. All of the officers had received training on CBRN (Chemical, Biologic, Radiologic and Nuclear) emergency situations. The OPD had been actively coordinating their efforts with FEMA’s Center for Domestic Preparedness (CDP) out of Alabama. Due to the city’s large tourist population, Orlando was considered a high priority target. Because of this training, John recognized all the symptoms of an EMP event. His initial exposure to this training inspired him to further his education on the subject. Because of this, he was pretty sure this attack was a big one. Not a car moved for as far as he could see.

Suddenly, he heard a scream and saw several people pointing to the sky. John couldn’t help but watch as a large commuter plane was slowly gliding over Colonial drive when it suddenly started to fall from the sky, spinning down from the heavens, it exploded not a mile away from him. Just as quickly, he could see almost a dozen more aircraft, some filled with hundreds of souls, rapidly descending from the clouds.
If this was nation-wide
, he thought,
tens-of-thousands of people were dying
right now!

It was too much for him to take, and he sat down on the sidewalk and silently watched. Armageddon had arrived and John knew that the city of nearly two million had no clue what had just happened. Seeing the metal tubes, tombs really, dropping rapidly from the sky reinforced his belief that there was little chance that these people would survive the next few weeks.

Chapter 6

Day 1

Delta Flight 2181

3000 feet over Orlando

Captain Kevin Stillwagon concentrated on his instruments as Delta flight 2181 was making its final north to south approach to Orlando International Airport. The cabin was silent as the captain and his first officer observed sterile cockpit protocol which mandated no conversation save necessary observations or recommendations which identified less than nominal events or environmental changes. In other words, the two pilots shut up unless something seemed out of sorts.

The approach into Orlando from their present northern flight pattern was one of Captain Stillwagon’s least favorite. Their approach brought them near the Orlando Executive Airport, which was less than 10 miles north of OIA. This meant that their approach to Orlando International had to be modified to not interfere with local civilian aviation traffic. This modified landing vector required that he maintain an altitude of 2500 feet until he passed the Executive airport, then a rapid descent to the sweet spot of 1000 feet during his final approach.

Originally, Orlando Executive was the civilian aviation hub of the city until the early 1960’s when civilian jetliners began to ply the skies over central Florida. Landlocked by the growing city, the tiny airport’s runways were insufficient to handle the new jet’s needs. Fortunately, just 10 miles south, the Air Force had a large and capable airfield and the federal government partnered with the city of Orlando to create a joint military-civilian airport using facility’s military designation, McCoy Airfield. For the next 12 years or so, Boeing 707 civilian jets shared runway time with B-52 Statofortresses and KC-135 Stratotankers. Both civilian and military jets played a critical role in the defeat of Communism. The military jets flew 24 hour, 7 day a week missions for NORAD as the military doctrine of MAD (mutually assured destruction) required that nuclear weapons be deployed and available at a moment’s notice as a deterrent to a surprise military strike. The civilian side allowed for the necessary economic growth in central Florida that led to Disney World and other money-making endeavors. This created a bigger tax base that could support the massive military costs needed to keep the B-52 bombers or “BUFFs” in the air. The inferior economics of Communism couldn’t keep up with the economic might of a free society and it eventually bankrupted the Soviet Union, ending the cold war.

In 1976, the last military flight had departed McCoy Airfield. The city and state renamed it Orlando International Airport, but to this day, the airport designation you see on your check-in bags has the old airfield three-letter abbreviation, MCO.

Now, about 10 miles out, Captain Stillwagon was fighting a stiff crosswind that cut southwest to northeast across his nose. A steady 25-knot wind was forcing him to use his considerable skills in keeping the nose of the jet on a steady trajectory. Having been a commercial pilot for over 20 years, the situation was far from dire, but required some skill to keep his passengers comfortable. His Airbus 320’s twin engines were powering them through the sunny skies. Were it not for the crosswind and his modified flight trajectory, the next few minutes would be a breeze.

His first officer, Tyler Landrey, was sitting in the next seat reviewing the approach checklist and monitoring their instrument readings. At 3000 feet and about 9 miles now from the airport, they were getting ready for the final and quick descent to the runway. To their right, Stillwagon could see Highway 50 cutting an east/west line through the city. The executive airport could be seen as well, just a few miles east sitting just south of the highway. In a few more seconds, they would begin to initiate their landing checklist: landing gear down, flaps at full and reduced power to the engines. At 2500 feet, their “Gip Wiz” or ground proximity warning system, would start counting down the feet above ground. In a normal landing, the mechanical voice would be the only “conversation” heard in the cockpit as they made their final descent.

All commercial flights are to make, what are called, powered landings. This means that no commercial airline would shut down the engines until 100 feet or less above the runway. When these engines are shut down, the restart time can exceed 15 seconds. If an obstacle were to suddenly appear on the runway such as a wayward luggage cart or vehicle, a powered landing would allow the pilot to instantly accelerate and keep the airliner in the air for another landing pass.

With over 30,000 pounds of thrust from each of its two engines, the A320 sliced its way toward OIA when the unthinkable happened. The entire jetliner lost power. Instantly, flight 2181 went from a modern, sleek passenger airline to an aluminum tube hurtling through the air with about 90 seconds of glide time before gravity brought it to the ground.

“FUCK!” Landrey shouted. “Engines off line, all power gone!”

“No shit!” Stillwagon shot back.

The entire control panel in front of the two men went dark. The modern jet was both blessed and cursed with fly-by-wire controls, which means that almost everything is computer controlled. Older planes and early jets used wires to control the aircraft’s yoke (pitch and roll) as well as the left/right or “yaw” movement of the plane. In older craft, the cables literally pulled on the flaps to create the proper movement. Now, computers sent an electronic signal that powered the flaps. With the power off, nothing happened. Everything was frozen in the last position that the computer had directed it to.

“Take the controls!” Stillwagon said to his first officer.

As commander of the aircraft, he was responsible for the lives of the souls sitting behind him. His first priority was to restart the engines which meant that he had to pass the control of the aircraft, what little they had, over to his co-pilot.

Within seconds, Kevin determined that he had no engine control and wouldn’t within the next minute or two, when gravity dictated that they would be on the ground. Their only hope was finding somewhere to set down, without power and with little control of the situation.

“We can make it to the field!” Landrey loudly said. “We’ve still got rudder and the trim wheel!”

All modern (post mid 1980’s) commercial aircraft are equipped with an emergency system known as the “RAT” or ram air turbine. When power is lost to the aircraft, a gravity latch releases and a turbine drops from the airframe. The 200 mile per hour wind rushing through the turbine spins its blades powering a small generator or APU (auxiliary power unit) to maintain hydraulic pressure and provide some flight control.

The pilots now had two controls available to direct their aircraft. The rudders to control their yaw, or left/right direction, and the one cable controlled instrument on the aircraft, their trim tab. The trim tab is a small tab or mini-flap which is part of the rear elevator. It gave them some elevator control or the nose up and nose down pitch of the plane.

“We have the airspeed to get to OIA!” Landrey said. “The hydraulics are responding but sluggish.”

“That’s the RAT kicking in,” Stillwagon replied. “Our airspeed is down to 190 and we are approaching 2500 feet.”

The only three controls that were still functional without electricity were the air speed, the altimeter and the attitude or “horizon”. Kevin could see his speed, how high he was and if the wings were level with the ground. That was it.

“We can’t risk the airport,” Stillwagon stated. “It’s pushing our glide path limits. That crosswind won’t let us stay on track either! It’s at least 25 knots. We don’t have the rudder control to compensate. We’ll drift left into wherever the crosswind pushes us!”

“Then what the fuck do you want to do?” Landrey replied.

The captain scanned the landscape in front of him. They were following a major roadway directly under their wings. The six lane road ran directly to the airport, but at rush hour, the roadway was full of cars and trucks. A quick look down showed a full thoroughfare, and as he continued to scan for some field or body of water to touch down onto, he could swear that the cars were all stopped on the street. Even the ones that weren’t at a traffic light.

No time for that now. Off to the southwest, Kevin noted two large bodies of water that would handle an emergency landing. He did a lot of quick math in his head and determined that Lake Conway was likely their best bet to set the aircraft down without creating any additional damage or deaths. First and foremost, Kevin was responsible for the over 150 souls on his plane. But he couldn’t risk killing more innocents if putting his plane down had little chance of saving his passengers while hurting others on the ground. If no legitimate option became available, Captain Stillwagon would find a field or spot where he would do the least damage and point his nose into the ground, minimizing collateral damage. It was a horrible situation to be in.

“Over there,” Kevin pointed to his counterpart. “Aim of those two bodies of water. It’s into the crosswind and within five miles.”

“You sure about this?” Landrey said back. Fear could be heard in his voice and Kevin couldn’t blame him for it. He was about to piss his own pants, but as captain, he couldn’t have the option of showing any hesitation or dread.

“Yeah,” Kevin replied. “I’ll take us in. Just line me up while I inform the passengers and crew.”

Kevin picked up a telephone that was directly wired into the passenger cabin. It wasn’t connected to any computers or other switches. He keyed the microphone and spoke to the souls riding behind him.

“This is the captain speaking!” the speakers blared to the horrified tourists.

When the lights went out in the plane, even the most white-knuckled travelers accepted the first few seconds. But when several people noticed that the engine noise had stopped, pandemonium erupted. It had been less than 30 seconds since the plane died, and terror had already set in.

“We have lost all power to the aircraft,” he continued. “This is a red emergency. We have 60 seconds to get ready. Flight attendants, prepare for ditching!”

Kevin had informed the flight attendants that there was a “red” emergency. It was one of three emergency landings that he could have announced. The first was a medical emergency, which is self-explanatory. The second is a “yellow” emergency, which indicated the aircraft was somewhat disabled but that no injuries or damage was expected. The third emergency was a “red” emergency. That meant all bets were off and to expect damage to the aircraft and possible injury or death. The fact that he informed them that he was “ditching” meant a water landing. Finally, he told them to expect this all to happen in about 60 seconds.

The attendants unstrapped themselves from their jump seats and rushed down the aisles commanding everyone to stay seated and get into a crash position. Children started crying and screaming, their theme park visit turning into a nightmare none of them could comprehend. Adult responses ran the gamut of being fearfully calm while organizing their family to outright screaming and crying as their imminent death seemed to be hurdling at them.

Kevin took control of the aircraft, adjusting the trim wheel and handling the foot pedals to keep the gliding behemoth on course for the two bodies of water in front of him.

Lake Conway, and its sister Little Lake Conway sat ahead. With the 25-knot wind gusting in his face, his airspeed began to taper off.

“I’m reading 170 knots,” Landrey said. “We are at 1800 feet and descending.”

“Count down from 1000,” Kevin shot back. “Let me know when we reach 130 knots.”

With a water landing, Captain Stillwagon had to keep his landing gear up. If he was to attempt an emergency landing on solid ground, dropping the landing gear would give him some last minute speed reduction and a bit more control over where he set down. But if the gear were dropped now, it would grab the water and flip the aircraft over and likely break the plane into pieces.

“Are those lakes long enough to bring us down?” Landrey asked.

The A320 needs a minimum of 6000 feet of runway to land, and the lakes in front of them looked to be just short of that, at least in the direction they were travelling.

“They are not quite a mile wide, but we don’t need that much for a water landing!” Kevin replied. “500 yards should get us down and floating.”

The A320, when brought down intact and under control, could float for almost an hour. Chesley Burnett “Sully” Sullenberger had done an identical maneuver in the Hudson River back in 2009. His U.S. Air flight 1549 Airbus A320 floated long enough that the only injury or damage any of the passengers suffered was wet shoes as they walked off the wing of the aircraft into the emergency boats that had been dispatched. Kevin loved that story and was grateful that he had a chance of repeating “Sully’s miracle on the Hudson.” If only his airspeed could hold out, they could have a chance at walking away from the mess they were in.

“Airspeed down to 130, boss.” The First Officer said.

“Damn,” Kevin replied. “That headwind is knocking us down hard!”

“Altitude 1000,” Tyler replied.

Kevin watched his airspeed rapidly bleed away. They were coming up on the southern lake, Lake Conway, and it was going to be close. Real close. The ground and trees were rapidly coming up to meet them. Sitting at the front of the metal missile he had control over just a minute ago used to be exhilarating. Now, with minimal control, the windshield seemed little protection and watching the landscape rapidly expand and rush up to meet him made him regret the panoramic view he was seeing.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it!” the co-pilot shouted.

Kevin had just a few seconds left and the trees were coming up at him more quickly than he had hoped. It was looking more and more like they were going to come up short.

“500 feet,” Perkins said solemnly. “400, 350, 300, 250, 200.”

As the final seconds ticked away, Kevin could see that the tree line was going to get to them before the water. The headwind was strong and their airspeed had gone down rapidly. He checked his trim wheel and found he had a bit more he could drop it. He spun the wheel drum back, dropping the trim tab down as far as it could go, raising the nose of the aircraft a few more feet. He had done all he could and as the altimeter read 100, he saw that they were just short. The tree tops loomed in front of him, rushing at the window like a freight train. He said a quick prayer and thought of his wife and daughter. They weren’t going to make it!

Lake Conway Estates

Jorge loved his house. Raised in Orlando by a poor Mexican immigrant family, his father had a small landscape company and his mother worked housekeeping at Disney World. He grew up in a large Catholic family with four brothers and three sisters. With the help of their church, they all went to St. John Vianney Catholic School. Private high school was financially out of the question so the eight children all attended Oak Ridge High School where he excelled in both baseball and academics, taking AP classes in English, Calculus and Psychology. Jorge was one of seven out of eight siblings to get a Bachelor’s degree or higher. He attended Rollins College in Winter Park on a partial baseball scholarship, just a few miles from where he grew up in Southeast Orlando. He worked his way through school getting jobs bussing tables and cutting lawns. It was hard work but like most students that had to work for their education, he rose to the top of his abilities. Jorge walked out of college with a degree from one of the finest business schools in the southeast United States. Within eight years, he had risen to vice-president of an international bank where his finance degree brought him a well-deserved position and salary.