Free Powerless by Tim Washburn

a human voice. The loss of the autopilot has the captain glued to his instruments, trying to maintain a consistent speed and altitude. They’re forced to navigate by compass and map, something neither has done since they were flying Cessna 172s back in high school.
    â€œHolding altitude and speed are fine, Steve, but what are we going to do when we begin the landing process?” Wilson says.
    The captain looks away from the instruments long enough to see the fear on her face. Cheryl Wilson looks younger than she is, with black hair streaked blond and cut in an even line just above the shoulders. “Pray, I guess. Other than that, we can only hope the home office is aware of our loss of radio contact and navigation abilities, and is working to establish communications with us on landfall.”
    â€œWhat if they can’t?”
    Henderson sighs. “You’re killing me with all these questions, Cheryl. All I can do is drive the damn plane.” He glances at the altimeter again. The air corridor they are flying is the main flight path for flights between Europe and the United States, often with jumbo jets within just a few thousand feet of one another. He turns back to his copilot. “Look, I’m sorry, babe. I’m a little stressed at the moment.”
    Cheryl says, “What if we detour north and put it down in Reykjavik?”
    â€œWhat if every other plane in transit has the same idea? Without radio communications or any way to navigate, that would turn into a clusterfuck. I think our best course of action is to continue on to the UK and hope we can reestablish radio contact.”
    Cheryl turns away to stare out the windscreen.
    â€œListen, Cheryl, we need to work together on this.”
    Cheryl nods and reaches over the console to rub his shoulder. “Should we inform the flight attendants about the situation?”
    â€œHell no.”
    Cheryl yanks her hand back. “Why not? You don’t think they have a right to know what’s happening?”
    â€œNot until we know what the hell’s happening. The last thing we need is an airplane full of distressed passengers.”
    She shakes her head and looks away.
    Steve turns back to the instruments, thinking: the last thing we need is a lovers’ quarrel in the cockpit of a plane flying blind .

C HAPTER 21
    The Oval Office
    Wednesday, September 29, 11:55 A.M .
    Â 
    A ll thoughts of an address to the nation are put on hold as the President and his advisors work the phones in search of a solution to the impending disaster in New Orleans. The entry to the Oval Office is a revolving door with people streaming in and out, but no one has come up with a viable alternative. If it were just an electricity issue they could use generators to power the pumps, but the motors themselves are shot. In between calls, President Harris keeps a close eye on the television where the coverage of the collision at the Seattle airport continues.
    The President hangs up the phone and looks over at his chief of staff. “This is just the beginning.”
    Scott nods. “We’re doing everything that can be done.”
    The President lowers his voice. “We’re fucked, Scott. Hell, we can’t even help one small area of the country. What’s going to happen when the entire nation is without power?”
    â€œWhat are we going to do to stop it? We can’t. We’ll just have to do the best we can.”
    One of the staffers turns up the volume on the television. The CNN reporter is speaking. “Susan, we’ve learned that the two aircraft involved were 737-600s, each capable of carrying a hundred and thirty-two passengers along with five crewmembers. No word yet on the number of injured, and firefighters are still trying to contain the fires that continue to rage from spilled jet fuel. We’ve just received word that all flights are now grounded. No reason was given for the grounding, but one would think the