Posted by: Thomas Drinkard | March 17, 2012

Sample from “Overload”

The book is complete. It now goes to editing and needs formatting. I’m hoping for a cover soon. The following sample is a scene that follows a Somali terrorist who came across the Southern Border. His suicide bombing was to be the first in a series of escalating strikes in the U.S. The protagonist, Frost, must find these terrorists and stop them before they kill thousands.
“Mohamed Gidr Adib was having a bad day.
His journey had been long and punishing, for a son of Allah. He’d dealt with scores of filthy infidels in several countries; walked with drug runners across Mexican deserts and eluded the dogs called police in the country of the Great Satan.
This morning, when his time of glory was at hand, he’d sat on his glasses and broken them. But, glory be to Allah, he wouldn’t need them. He could see well enough to find his target. He needed them only to read. Reading wasn’t necessary any more.
His home in Somalia had been in the dry tropics. This awful place, in Georgia, was wet. It had been raining for three days and he’d only been here six. Mohamed hated rain. Hated infidels and hoped the rain would help him in his task.
Allah be praised, Mohamed would strike. His glory ascending to meet Allah would be accompanied by the death of numbers of the filthy unbelievers. Maybe even some of their imperialistic soldiers, their wives, and spawn.
The Riverside Mall was new. It had opened only a month before and had attracted crowds from Alabama—across the river—Columbus, and Ft. Benning. The exhibition this week, especially exciting for kids (no matter the age), was biplanes. Half-size replicas of WWI SPADs, Fokkers and Sopwith Camels hung from the ceilings and seemed to fly thirty feet above the ground floor. If visitors went to the second floor, the planes were at, or below, eye level since they were in simulated combat. A crimson replica of the Red Baron’s Fokker—a triplane—swung from almost-invisible wires above a fountain.
Mohamed had his belt in place. He wore a loose white, short-sleeved shirt and black trousers. The shirt covered a chain of plastique explosive blocks and a detonator cable. The button that would take Mohamed to Allah and his virgins was in his left pocket.
His spiritual mentor, the Mullah Yusef, who had schooled him martyr’s tactics, had told him to wait until the mall began to fill, and then go to the second floor. He was to loiter by the guardrail until a crowd of infidels gathered below and then climb on the railing, leap in the air and trigger the explosives. Allah willing, he would kill scores of the filth.
He had ridden an escalator, the first he’d ever seen, to the second floor. As instructed, he’d found the spot the Mullah had designated and stayed there until hundreds of shameless women with uncovered skin congregated in the food court below him.
Mohamed leaped up on the railing, yelled “Allahu Akbar!” and launched himself into the air. His left hand was in his pocket on the detonator. He’d been trained to wait until he almost hit the floor to push the button.
He had not seen, with his faulty vision, the thin—almost invisible—wires holding the Fokker triplane. He hit the wires, bounced backward toward the mall’s inner walls, fell forward and hit a series of bronze dolphins spewing water into a fountain, then fell into three-feet-deep water.
His left thumb triggered the explosive belt when he splashed into the pool.
The eruption blew out the glass walls of the mall, on both levels, for more than fifty yards. The upper level buckled and sent shoppers falling to the lower level. The falling bronze statuary crushed three women at a table near the fountain. Flying shards of bronze and the fountain’s ceramic tiles killed twelve other people, hitting like misshapen bullets. Gushing, uncontrolled waters flooded the mall.
The water in the pool had absorbed much of the suicide bomb’s shock. The fountain shattered into shrapnel that killed, but its waters buffered the blast, sparing scores of people.


“From your twenty-four-hour, 365-day news source, this is the evening’s happenings.”

The blonde woman whose wide, electric blue eyes were fixed on the teleprompter, began reading.

“There was an explosion in the new Riverside Mall in Columbus. Authorities have not yet determined  the cause of the blast, which killed fifteen people, but channel 59 has learned that survivors from the mall report a suicide bomber yelling something in a foreign language as he jumped off a railing. The sheriff’s office of Muscogee County says the investigation is ongoing and refuses to comment.”


  1. This clip from your latest work instantly captures the reader’s attention. You vividly describe a very disturbing scene; made all the more so as it is one which could become a reality to us here in the States at any time, any where. Well done!

    • Thank you. I’m glad that it brought that reaction. Such a scene is all to possible these days.

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