The Third Secret of Fatima

Destruction of New York

9 Destruction of New York

A couple days later, Cap had a full day of appointments. As she poured her first cup of morning coffee, she watched the mist rise from a gentle rain. It would help the flowers.       

    At the same time, several hundred miles away, a non descript freighter was approaching the three mile territorial limit near New York Harbor. It was a beautiful spring day. The ship sailed beneath a Malaysian flag.  As the ship reached the limit, the crew opened the hatch and brought a large container to the deck. Four of the ship’s crew worked to remove the top of the container. Then they removed the sides. 

    On the platform stood a large covered object which had barely fit within the width of the container. The four carefully removed the tarpaulin.  Sunlight reflected off the fuselage of a long white object which looked like a mix between a missile and an airplane. It had short wings half of which were folded in an vertical position. It had a propeller and a tail assembly. There was no pilot compartment.

    Two other workers proceeded to fold the wings down and lock them into place. Once in position, the wings were about four feet long. Shorter and wider than a normal wing. It was mounted on a rail and had rocket boosters on the back sides.

    The leader executed a series of instructions on an instrument panel mounted on the side of the platform. He leaned over to listen to a low murmur from inside the body of the aircraft. He plugged in his computer and typed additional instructions. He tested the aerilons, flaps and rudder. A motor was activated. Gears began to engage. Then there was the high pitched whine of activated hydraulics as the railing lifted the nose of the missile upward. At 60 degrees it locked into position, two thirds of the way toward upright. The leader clicked the start motor command. It coughed a few times and then rapidly jumped in rpm. The crew stepped back. The unmufflered exhaust was nearly deafening. The leader nodded toward one of his men who stepped forward and pulled a charging cable out of the wing. The leader then stepped away and quickly climbed the stairs to the wheelhouse. 

      In the distance, a boat that was approaching at high speed. The leader looked in the direction of the boat, and made a call on his cell phone. When the boat pulled up alongside, he make a few more keystrokes and looked down again at the body of the missile. It’s tip was nearly at eye level. He typed a final command and ducked momentarily beneath the instrument panel for protection. A couple seconds later a fire erupted beneath the missile. He listened to the roar of the aircraft as it lifted off. He looked up to see it climbing into the sky and beginning to level off. The crew was stunned. His own men rejoiced and raised there arms in victory celebration. They were nearly in disbelief at what they just done. The leader watched the missile trail away. He took just a moment to bask in the glow of their accomplishment. As the cheers faded, he then methodically hurried down the steps toward the speed boat. His men are already climbing into the boat. They left the crew unmolested. They had been instructed to leave them as witnesses.

   

    As he crossed the railing, deep within the interior of the freighter a second ignition system completed its program. A little green light blinked on the circuit board. A massive explosion ripped the freighter apart like a giant hand grenade. The sudden violent outburst blew torn metal in all directions. The shock wave created an enormous crater in the water. The speed boat was crushed like a matchbox. Then the spray of water and metal began falling back and the sea rushed in to fill the crater. Soon, there was nothing left but foam and splashing waves.  

   The missile flew at low altitude toward the city. From it’s vantage point, New York presented a beautiful sight. It’s building rose higher and higher into to sky as the aircraft approached. Soon off its side was the shore where the sea met the America Urban skyline at its apogee. This was its last minute. It would not look this way again in the lifetime of any living creature. Perhaps it would never look this way again, ever.

   At the Statue of Liberty, visitors looked up at the loud noise as the missile passed overhead. Further on, a few passengers on the ferry watched the aircraft fly overhead. They thought it odd that an aircraft was flying so low. It  passed briefly over the New Jersey before curving north to approach Manhattan from the west. 

    In its final seconds, it crossed the Hudson flying east. It struck the center of Manhattan at ground level. A storm of debris exploded for miles. The buildings collapsed as they fell toward the sea. Manhattan was tumbled and flattened.  The intense flash of the blast ricocheted down the avenues of windowed office buildings. The light was many times brighter than sunlight. Along the sidewalks of the shadowed corridors, pedestrians  suddenly found themselves bathed in light. Then everything was quiet. No one moved for having been stunned. Cars stopped. Engines stopped. Fans stopped. Walking stopped. For a moment, time was effectively frozen. Then out of the silence, someone yelled “Nuclear bomb. Run for the basements.”

   Two miles from the the center, the blast arrived in eight seconds and lasted for three seconds. Three miles away it hit in 12 seconds. The words were repeated Nuclear bomb. Men and women ran for their lives in parking garages and into lobbies and down the stair wells. Even after the explosion hit, there was a brief time before the whole weight of the building fell down on them. 

   Brooklyn and New Jersey were soon in flames. Bridges were down or damaged. Tunnels were cracked and leaking from the shockwave.  Marble sized drops of black rain began to fall.  

    Emergency services were overwhelmed. There was no way to approach the city. The roads were all blocked with heaps of debris and fallen buildings. Even as far as New Jersey, cars and trains were tossed about like toys. With the tunnels closed and bridges down, there was no way to reach the city.

    A cloud of radioactive dust drifted across coastal New Jersey, then northeast across Connecticut. Residents of Connecticut heard the explosion. Then there were sirens. They could see the mushroom cloud in the distance. Cell phones were out but word spread quickly and people could feel that a light breeze blowing from the south. The roads were soon clogged with people traveling as far as they could on what gas they had in their tank. Gas stations were soon out of gas.

   Ultimately, a large part of Connecticut and Massachusetts would be uninhabitable. The fallout zone would be two hundred miles long and sixty miles wide. A larger area would be unsafe for children or crops. The worst areas would be radioactive for a thousand years.

Ghost Walkers.

   In the tumble of buildings, there were few survivors. In the subways, the trains stopped. The trains were noisy as they moved along. Then suddenly they came to a stop, the tunnels were quiet.  Emergency lighting systems came on. In the dim light, passengers disembarked and began walking toward the nearest platform. They could see in the distance that the platforms were shrouded in a thick mist. They could hear coughing and crying. Coming closer they heard the word explosion. The cloud was getting thicker and pouring into the tunnel. They met people walking away from the platform. 

   The two groups met and spoke briefly. The group from the platform told their story. Some had been on the steps when a great explosion knocked them down the steps. Those on the platform had been knocked off their feet. Several had seen a flash a light ricochet off the walls. They had all heard the sound of an unimaginably loud explosion. A cloud of dust poured down the exit stairs of the station. It was too thick to breath. They cautiously felt their way back toward the platform. They were lead by voices of the people ahead of them in the darkening cloud of dust. Then it became impossible to breathe on the platform. Helping each other, they climbed down and retreated into the still air of the tunnel. They were walking toward a midway point in the tunnel where the air would be the least effected. If the trains started again, there would be plenty of room to move to the side. They remembered pictures of the enormous cloud of concrete dust when the towers fell. They figured that it would be about four hours until the dust had settled.  

   After a few hours, a small group began walking toward the exit. On the platform they passed through a fine mist. The floor was white with dust. Those that walked toward the exit groped their way along the handrails, guided by the sound of the footsteps of those climbing stairs ahead of them. 

    The stairs were covered by debris. The higher they went, the deeper was the debris. Toward the top, it was like trying to climb up a steep pile of irregular gravel. They would slide back and pull themselves up by the handrails. Surprisingly, there was little light toward the top. When they turned the last bend in the stairs they saw that the exit was filled with debris. Like someone had dropped large beams and hunks of broken concrete into the stairway. Like a building had been demolished nearby and the edge of the debris pile had spilled into the stairway  A little daylight was visible. They had to climb their way through a tangle of debris.

   When they climbed their way past the last obstacle, they were stunned. For as far as they could see, there was a moonscape of broken buildings. Endless piles of concrete and twisted beams. There were no streets. Everything was covered with the tumble of broken office buildings. Where their once stood their favorite Starbucks, there was now a mountain of debris.  They stood there stunned. It was in comprehensible. Some would stand in disbelieve. They passed the word back down the hole. It had been a nuclear bomb. 

    Some went into shock. Where is my office? Where is my job. Where are my fellow workers. Some would sit on a piece of what was once an office building. One would find a thick piece of tiled concrete that had once been the lobby of an office on the twentieth floor. Another on a square hunk of concrete that had been a support beam high in the sky. 

      After coming to grips with the new reality. One after another they started hiking west. They knew that the hudson was several blocks away. Coming over one ridge of debris, they could see that New Jersey was on fire. Approaching the Lincoln Tunnel, they joined others who were making their way out.  Someone asked, where are the others. 

    Inside the tunnel, they walked past lines of stalled cars. On the other side, they and all the others who walked with them emerged into the daylight. They were covered with white dust. Their hair was white. Their clothes were white. Their faces were powdered. They looked like ghosts. There were not many of them.

Long Island Isolated.

   Long Island was cut off. The roads were closed. The trains were not running. Power and water were off. A few left on boats or private planes. Over the next few days a flotilla of sailboats from all across the east coast was organized. Fuel was in short supply. Rescue boats were given top priority. They were delivering supplies and taking away passengers by lottery. The military dropped supplies. It was a couple weeks before the military could clear an exit road to the mainland. Then nearly everyone left.

  The emp brought down the power system and there was a cascade of power failures across the northeast, much like the great detroit failure in the 80’s.   

May 2017 

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