Blue Moon

by James Ponti

  “By the way,” I protested, “I’m not hiding.”

  “If you athletes aren’t too exhausted by your big game, you might want to check out the marching band,” Natalie said. “Here they come.”

  Alex grabbed a pair of binoculars and Grayson used the telescope while Natalie started taking pictures.

  “I see band members in furry hats and flag girls,” Grayson said, narrating.

  “I don’t think he’s one of the flag girls,” Alex said with a laugh.

  “Check along the side and in the back for any adults,” Natalie said. “He might have slipped in with the chaperones.”

  They scanned all the faces of the people with the band and came up empty.

  “What do you see on TV?” asked Grayson.

  “Commercials,” I said weakly.

  He looked over his shoulder at me for a moment. “Just like being there in person. Thanks for all your help.”

  We completely struck out with the marching band, and after that, we also came up empty with a float called “Age of Discovery,” which sounded promising as a name but turned out to be about computers, and a group of Shriners riding in antique cars, including a DeSoto, which is a car named after the first European to explore the Mississippi River but was driven by someone who was most definitely not Ulysses Blackwell.

  With just a few more floats to go, we were discouraged.

  Grayson came back inside to get another cup of hot chocolate. “Maybe we missed him,” he said.

  “Or maybe this isn’t his Verify,” added Alex.

  I gave him a look. “If Liberty said it’s his Verify, then it is. There are still a couple more entries.”

  “I only see two,” Alex said. “The New York Police Department and Santa Claus.”

  “Are the police marching or on a float?” I asked.

  “Both,” he said. “Want to take a look?”

  The broadcast was showing another commercial, and despite my fears, I felt like I was in the position of defending Liberty. I took a deep breath and stepped onto the balcony.

  “Can I have those binoculars, please?” I asked Alex.

  “Get back inside,” he said. “You don’t have to prove anything. I was just playing with you.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  “You’re shaking.”

  “That’s because it’s cold. Can I have them, please?”

  The float was designed to be like the Statue of Liberty’s torch, with people standing around the flame and waving to the crowd. I used the binoculars to get a close look at their faces.

  “Well, I recognize the chief of police,” I said, “but I can’t tell with the other people. Most of them are looking the other way.”

  “What about the marchers?” Natalie called out as she took my spot on the couch. “Anything interesting?”

  “No,” I said. “They’re just high school kids.”

  Grayson put his hot chocolate down on the counter and rushed back out onto the balcony.

  “That’s it,” he said.

  Alex and I traded confused looks.

  “What’s it?”

  “The kids in high school who volunteer with the police,” he said. “They’re called Explorers.”

  Suddenly, Natalie was back on her feet, and all four of us were on the balcony.

  “Police Department City of New York,” Alex said, reading the name from the banner two of the teens were holding. “Law Enforcement Explorer Program.”

  We all searched the group, looking for Ulysses. Natalie used her telephoto lens to take photos of everyone so we could check them out later. Grayson went back inside to look at the computer and found something online.

  “Listen to this,” he said, reading an article. “Last month, a donation from a generous benefactor paved the way to break ground on a new learning center for the NYPD’s Explorer program. The donor’s name is Ulysses Clark.”

  “Lewis and Clark,” said Natalie, identifying the explorer connection.

  “Is there a picture with the article?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Grayson. “It’s small, and he’s surrounded by the Explorers, but you can get a good look at him.”

  Natalie popped back inside for a second and looked at the picture. “He’s definitely one of the guys on the torch.”

  She went back on the balcony and started snapping pictures of him.

  “At least he’s dressing better,” Alex said, peering through binoculars. “I wonder if he’s cleaning up his act so he can become the new mayor of Dead City.”

  “Yeah,” said Grayson. “And it certainly shows off his influence and power that he’s hanging out with the chief of police.”

  Once the float had passed by, we went back into the warmth of the apartment and relaxed. I was sipping some hot chocolate when it occurred to me that Natalie had disappeared into her room for a few minutes. When she came back out, she had changed clothes and was now wearing a dark blue winter coat, a scarf, and a beret.

  “Are we going somewhere?” Grayson asked.

  “Well, in about an hour, that float is going to reach the end of the parade at Herald Square,” she said. “I don’t know about you guys, but if there’s a chance that he’s going to take charge of Dead City, I want more than a picture. I want to follow him and see where he goes from there.”

  The Mysterious M42 and Track 61

  The Thanksgiving parade officially travels for two and a half miles before ending in Herald Square, right in front of Macy’s department store. But once the performers reach the finish line, they still have to turn onto Thirty-Fourth Street and continue for a few more blocks before they can park the floats and tie down the balloons. Our plan was to be there when Ulysses Blackwell climbed down from the Statue of Liberty float so that we could follow him and see where he went. The problem was that this area was closed to the public. The only way you could get in was if you were wearing a special admission pin that was given to all the parade participants.

  “We’re going in there,” Natalie informed us as she stood on her tiptoes to get a good look at it all. She said it in that superfocused way she gets when she won’t take no for an answer. But, considering none of us had a pin, I didn’t see how we could say yes. Talking your way past a guard at the Flatiron Building was one thing, but this place was swarming with security and police.

  “You know, I’m really looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner,” Alex said, “and I don’t want to miss it because I’m locked up in parade jail.”

  Natalie gave him the death stare. “You don’t think we should try to get in there?” she asked in disbelief.

  “No,” he replied, holding his ground. “I don’t.”

  She considered this for a moment before curtly answering, “Fine. I’ll just go by myself.”

  See what I mean? When she gets this way, there’s nothing you can say or do to stop her. She disappeared for a while, and we didn’t see her again until the NYPD float arrived. Ulysses Blackwell and the chief of police were still on the torch, waving to the crowd, and the high school police Explorers were still marching right in front of them. But there had been a small change, and Alex was the first to spot it.

  “Now I’ve seen everything,” he said, shaking his head.

  It took me a second, but then I saw it too. It was Natalie, and she was marching right in the middle of the Explorers just like she was one of them. It was only then that I noticed her coat and beret were almost a perfect match for their uniforms.

  The moment she got past the security guards and made it inside the restricted area, she split off from the group before anyone had a chance to notice her or question who she was.

  The three of us just stood there, stunned.

  “She did not just do that,” Grayson said.

  “Oh, she did,” Alex replied. “In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s going to—”

  He was interrupted by Natalie’s ring tone coming from the phone in his pocket.

  “Give me a call and tell me all ab
out it.”

  He answered the phone and listened for a moment before relaying a message: “Natalie says hello and wants everyone to know that she is okay and not in parade jail.”

  “Hi, Natalie,” Grayson and I said into the phone, laughing.

  Alex listened some more and slumped before saying, “Seriously?”

  Apparently, she was serious, because he got down on his hands and knees, placed the phone on the ground in front of him, and bowed repeatedly toward it while saying, “I’m not worthy of you or your Omega awesomeness.”

  Grayson and I laughed until we had tears in our eyes. Both of us were glad that even though we’d all thought it was a bad idea, only Alex had had the nerve to tell her.

  About ten minutes later, Alex’s phone rang again, and Natalie told him where we could find her now that she had followed Ulysses back onto the street. When he hung up the phone, he gave me a curious look. “It was loud, and I couldn’t hear her perfectly. But I think she said to tell you that we need to be careful because Ulysses is with . . . Big Red and Glass Face? Do those names mean anything to you?”

  They absolutely did.

  A few months earlier, Natalie and I had gone to the morgue to investigate three mysterious bodies that had been discovered on Roosevelt Island. When we got there, we were surprised to learn that the bodies were not actually dead. They were zombies, and we interrupted them right as they were trying to steal the Book of Secrets, which Dr. H had hidden there. Our fight with them was intense, and we barely escaped. At the time, we knew that one of the zombies was Cornelius Blackwell, but we didn’t know the other two, so we nicknamed them Big Red and Glass Face.

  I explained this to the boys and told them that when we were looking through the photographs of the Unlucky 13, we had been able to identify both of them. Big Red is actually Edmund Blackwell, and Glass Face is his brother Orville.

  I thought back to what we had typed out about them.

  5. Edmund Blackwell: Deceased

  Occupation: Sandhog

  Aliases: Edmund Vanderbilt, Edmund Stanford, Edmund Flagler

  Most Recent Home: Grand Central Terminal

  Role within the 13: “the Butcher”; security for Marek

  Last Sighting: New York City Morgue/Alpha Bakery

  6. Orville Blackwell: Deceased

  Occupation: Sandhog

  Aliases: Orville Barnard, Orville Pratt, Orville Fordham

  Most Recent Home: Hunter College

  Role within the 13: “the Enforcer”; security for Marek

  Last Sighting: New York City Morgue/Alpha Bakery

  “If I remember correctly,” Alex said, “aren’t Edmund and Orville the ones who beat up anyone who got in Marek’s way?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Their nicknames are the Butcher and the Enforcer.”

  Alex shook his head and commented, “This suddenly sounds much worse than parade jail.”

  We caught up to Natalie a couple of blocks away and congratulated her on her undercover work.

  “Tell me one thing,” I said. “Were you already planning on doing that when you picked out your coat and beret?”

  She looked offended that I would even ask such a thing. “Of course I was. Have you ever seen me wear a beret before?”

  Farther up the street, we saw Ulysses walking with Edmund and Orville. Orville had a serious limp, which was the result of the beat down Natalie had put on him in the morgue. She had kicked his leg so many times it almost fell completely off at the knee.

  “Did one of you cause that limp?” asked Grayson.

  I looked at Natalie, who smirked and said, “Maybe.”

  She took some pictures with her phone, and we continued to follow them from a safe distance. We now had new photos of three members of the Unlucky 13. Our work on the Baker’s Dozen was off to a great start.

  “Here’s something I’m wondering,” said Grayson. “According to the logbooks, Edmund and Orville always provided protection for Marek.”

  “Right,” said Natalie.

  “And now that he’s out of the picture,” he continued, “it looks like they’re bodyguards for Ulysses.”

  “You think it’s a sign that Ulysses is next in line to take charge of Dead City?” asked Alex.

  Grayson nodded. “That’s exactly what I think.”

  We followed them for about twenty minutes until they reached Grand Central Terminal. If you’ve never been there, trust me when I say that it’s amazing. It’s one of the world’s largest train stations, with over forty different platforms and a massive subway station, all of which are underground.

  “This is Edmund’s home station,” Grayson reminded us. “So I’m sure he knows every little twist and turn.”

  No kidding.

  Unlike when they were on the street and kept things nice and leisurely, they picked up the pace once they got inside. This made it harder for us to keep up with them. So did the fact that the station was clogged with tourists who had come into the city to see the parade. I could tell they were tourists because instead of looking where they were going they kept staring up at the chandeliers and the mural of the night sky on the ceiling. At one point, I was hurrying down the grand staircase when I ran smack into someone who had stopped so that he could take a picture of the concourse.

  We still managed to keep up and followed the three of them through a hidden door that led to the longest stairwell I’d ever seen. It was cut right into the bedrock, and its rusted steps seemed to descend forever. When we finally reached the bottom, we found a passageway that was part hallway and part cave. The floor was made of cement, but the walls and ceiling were jagged rock.

  “Do you think this is still even part of Grand Central?” Alex whispered.

  Natalie looked around and tried to get her bearings. “I’m not sure it’s still part of New York,” she joked while keeping equally quiet.

  Since we didn’t know which way the three zombies went, Natalie just picked a direction and we followed it. The hallway was curved in a way so that we couldn’t see very far ahead of us, which made each step just a wee bit nerve-racking. We never knew what we might be stepping into. Finally, we reached a dead end. It was a massive steel wall with a door that seemed like it belonged on a bank vault. It was old and rusted and looked as if no one had used it in decades.

  “Is it locked?” Natalie asked Alex.

  He tried to open it but couldn’t get it to budge.

  “Either locked or rusted shut,” he answered. He tried again, but this time we heard an electronic beep.

  “What’s that?” Alex asked, worried that he’d set off an alarm.

  A hand scanner lit up on the wall. It was off to the side, so we hadn’t noticed it at first, but it looked just like the ones we used to access the attic in the Flatiron Building.

  “Explain this,” Grayson said as he examined it. “What is something so high-tech doing down here?”

  Natalie studied the door and said, “My guess is that it was installed to protect whatever’s on the other side of this.”

  The nameplate on the door was covered in dirt and grime. Alex wiped it clean with his thumb.

  “M42,” he said, reading it. “Any ideas what that means?”

  We all shook our heads.

  “None,” I said.

  We poked around a little bit more, and Natalie took a picture of the nameplate and a few more of the scanner. When we didn’t find anything else that was interesting, we decided to follow the hallway in the opposite direction. Rather than a dead end, this way led us into a huge open space and a tunnel with a train platform and a single railroad car that was rotted and rusting. A faded sign on the wall read TRACK 61.

  “Is this another ghost station?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s not a subway track,” Grayson said, perplexed, as he tried to figure it out.

  “And this is certainly not a subway car,” Alex said as he climbed up onto its back platform.

  As the rest of us walked alongside the car, Grayson
reached up and rapped it with a fist. “I think it’s made out of armor.”

  Except for the fact that it was all beat-up, it seemed like something that belonged in a museum. Natalie pointed out an official seal mounted on the side of the car.

  “Check it out,” she said. “Seal of the president of the United States.”

  “What is this place, anyway?” I asked as I bent down to tie my shoe. When I did, I looked under the train and saw some rotted wood and a rusted-out panel. And then I noticed something else on the other side.

  Feet.

  “We’re not alone!” was all I was able to get out before the attack began.

  There were five zombies in all, although at times it seemed like there were more. They worked as a team and seemed to coordinate their attacks.

  The first two came running from the front of the train car and instantly engaged Natalie and Grayson. I had never seen Grayson fight before, and while he wasn’t as polished as Natalie or Alex, he had some impressive skills.

  I looked back to the rear platform of the train car, where a zombie had jumped Alex from behind and was now crushing him against the railing. I went to help but was caught completely off guard when a hand reached out from beneath the train and grabbed me by the ankle.

  I smacked face-first into the ground, and when I turned over, I could see the zombie about to body slam me like they do in professional wrestling. I rolled out of the way just in time and whacked him in the back of the head with my cast.

  It was total chaos as the fighting spread across the tunnel and platform.

  The fifth and final zombie was none other than Orville Blackwell, who stood on the roof of the train car and barked orders that made no sense to us but seemed to really motivate the undead.

  Despite the limp, he moved around pretty well for a guy who was over a hundred years old. At one point, he jumped off the car and landed on his feet as though it was nothing.

  “Watch out!” I called over to Natalie, who was now fighting her zombie over by the tunnel wall. “I think he’s looking for you.”

  Sure enough, Orville went straight for her, no doubt wanting revenge for what she had done to him during their fight in the morgue. When he reached her, the other zombie backed away and Orville sized her up for a moment.