by James Ponti
My first thought was that it was Natalie. I figured she had seen me digging around her backpack and followed me here to confront me about it.
“Listen, I’m sorry that I . . .”
That’s as far as I got. When I turned all the way, I realized that it was most definitely not Natalie.
“What’s that?” the man said, cupping his hand to the side of his head where his ear should be. “I couldn’t hear you.”
He cackled at his joke as he let the moment of surprise have its full effect. It was Officer Pell, my favorite one-eared member of the Dead Squad. He looked pleased to see me.
“Hello, Molly, what brings you here?”
The Blockhead and the Blockhouse
Pell was big and he filled the doorway, making it impossible to escape. When I didn’t answer right away, he asked me again.
“I said, Hello, Molly, what brings you here?”
“Homework,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I’m doing a school project on the Revolutionary War and I came here to check out the Blockhouse.”
“Really? Is that the best you can do? You and I both know why you’re here.”
Unfortunately, I really didn’t know. I was hoping to find something that made sense to me, but this was a fishing expedition. So, I decided to keep fishing.
“Okay, then why do you think I’m here?”
“You want to see where we supercharge,” he said. “Watch this, I’ll show you.”
He smiled and pressed his back against the wall of Manhattan schist. He sucked in a deep breath of air, and it seemed like he got even bigger.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “But I would like to go now.”
He chuckled. “You can’t go, Molly. Marek told you to stop messing around in the world of the undead. But you didn’t stop, and now you’re going to have to pay a penalty.
He took a step toward me and cracked his neck to both sides, loosening up for a fight.
“They tell me you’re tougher than you look,” he said with a grin. “I hope that’s true. Because I want a little challenge.”
As a place of interest, Blockhouse #1 was boring. As a place to fight a supercharged Level 2 zombie, it was a total nightmare. The four walls kept me penned in like a boxing ring. I decided that the key to my survival would be the flagpole. I tried to keep it between him and me, hoping that if he had to chase me around, he might leave an opening that let me get to the gate and escape.
“I don’t know what you think Marek said, but this has nothing to do with Omega. I really am just working on a class assignment. Here, let me prove it to you.” I started reciting the information I had learned during the subway ride. “Blockhouse Number One, which is the official name, was built during the Revolutionary War as part of George Washington’s defense of Manhattan.”
He didn’t wait for more. He charged right at me, and I dropped down to the ground and did a leg sweep that surprised him and knocked him over. I jumped up and threw two quick punches into the side of his head right where his ear once was. My knuckle cracked through the scar tissue and a small trickle of black liquid dripped out.
He seemed dazed, which was the chance I was looking for. I started for the gate, but while I was sliding the lock open he grabbed me from behind. He wrapped me up in a giant bear hug and lifted me so my feet were off the ground.
“You are a better fighter than I expected,” he said gleefully. “This is kind of fun. Let me demonstrate how well the supercharge works.”
While he still held me in the bear hug, he walked over and pressed his back against the wall again. The schist instantly made him stronger, which kept making his grip tighter and tighter. I kicked and squirmed as I felt him forcing the air out of me.
“Any last words?” he whispered into my ear.
Again with the whispering. I hate the way these zombies whisper. Although, this whisper did help me out. It let me know exactly where his head was.
“Sure,” I gasped. “Heads up.”
I slammed my head back into his face, which slammed his head right into the rock wall. His grip loosened and I was able to break free.
I had a sudden brainstorm. When I was studying jeet kune do, I went to a martial arts demonstration and a man showed us how to walk up a pole. It’s tricky but possible. You keep your arms straight as you grab it, and then you tuck your legs up toward your chest and sort of walk up.
I had never actually done it, but I decided this might be the time to try. Pell was giving himself a little recharge on the wall by the gate, which gave me just enough time.
He had no idea what I was doing until it was too late. By the time he got to the pole, I was up beyond his reach. Even so, I climbed a little bit higher just to be safe. He jumped a couple times but couldn’t touch me. Still, it was obvious he felt in control of the situation.
“What’s your plan, Molly?” he taunted from below. “Your arms are going to get tired really soon. And when they do, you’re going to have to come down.”
He had a point there, but climbing the pole gave me a chance to think. I was high enough that I could see over the wall. If someone walked by I could yell for help. The only problem was that out here in the wooded section of the park there was only a small path nearby. I didn’t see anybody walking on it.
Then it dawned on me. I could see over the wall, but he couldn’t. He had no idea what was out there. That’s when I crossed my fingers and hoped that Beth hadn’t gotten all of the family’s acting genes.
“Hello,” I called to a make-believe rescuer. “Hello! I need your help.”
Suddenly, Pell was concerned, although he tried to cover it.
“No one’s going to help you, Molly. Remember I’m a police officer.”
I looked down. “Yeah. But so is he, and he’s going to wonder why you’re harassing a twelve-year-old girl. He might even wonder what someone in the Departmental Emergency Action Deployment Squad is doing in Blockhouse Number One. It’s not exactly your beat, is it?”
Now he was really nervous. “Molly, stop it.”
“Officer, I need your help!” I called out. “Yes. Yes. I’m over here. Thank you so much.”
There was something about the thought of an outside police officer getting involved that worried Pell, which is exactly what I was hoping for. He frantically tried to climb up the flagpole to grab at my feet. And, while he didn’t get very high, he got just high enough for the next step in my plan.
I didn’t need my dad to take me to a firehouse in order to slide down a pole. I loosened my grip and slid down right into him. I jammed my heel into the top of his head and we both slammed hard into the rocky ground, although he broke my fall and I landed on top of him.
His walkie-talkie fell off of his belt and I picked it up and used it like a weapon, slamming it against his head a few times. There was more black liquid dripping out.
He was unconscious, but I don’t think he was dead. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out of there. I charged through the gate and sprinted through the park as fast as I could. I didn’t stop to catch my breath until I was on the subway heading home.
I plopped down into the seat and breathed a sigh of relief. Then I heard a voice crackle and say.
“Pell. Pell.”
It startled me until I realized that it was coming over the walkie-talkie. I hasn’t noticed that I still had it.
“Someone better let the chief know that Pell’s not responding,” the voice said. “We’re going to go look for him.”
It occurred to me that a walkie-talkie that could listen to transmissions of the Dead Squad might come in handy. But for the moment, I didn’t need to attract any attention. I turned it off and slipped it into my backpack.
There was no one in the apartment when I got home, which was a relief. I was messy from the fight and wanted to clean up before my father or sister saw me.
I had a couple of small cuts and bruises, and there was some of the black fluid on me. I was careful to make
sure none of it got near the cuts, and then after I got it all off, I dug out some rubbing alcohol and cleaned it some more.
Finally I staggered into my room and lay down on the bed. I felt the crinkle of paper in my back pocket, and I reached in and pulled out the poem that I had found in the Blockhouse. I scanned it for a moment, and the last two lines caught my eye.
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
I thought about the fact that my world almost ended with a whimper in the Blockhouse. I was lucky to have made it out in one piece. It was so stupid. I wasn’t even doing anything for Omega; I was just snooping around trying to figure out what was up with Natalie. I made two decisions.
Decision one: I would actually do what my mother said and avoid anything remotely related to Omega. I couldn’t risk getting hurt and, even worse, I couldn’t risk starting the all-out war that Marek had threatened. Those two words he said, “undead army,” still gave me panic attacks.
Decision two: I should give up trying to figure out what was going on with Natalie. If and when she felt like she could tell me, she would. Until then, I was determined to be the best friend that I could possibly be.
I felt good about both decisions and was about to take a nap when I saw that another envelope had arrived. Either Beth or my dad had left it on my dresser.
Like the first one, it was addressed to me with no name above the return address. I opened it and it contained a folded map of Manhattan. On the front was a picture of George Washington.
I unfolded it and saw that the map was made for visitors by the National Park Service and that it laid out a tour of places with some connection to the first President.
Just as there was with the first envelope, there was a piece of paper with a single sentence written in block letters with a blue felt tip pen. It said:
RESERVE A PLACE IN HISTORY
Thirteen Candles
The only reason I’m letting you get away with that outfit is because it’s your birthday.”
Beth was talking. But she was also texting. In fact, she was texting so intently I assumed she was just saying the words as she typed them, like movie subtitles but in reverse. That’s why I didn’t respond at first.
“Are you talking to me?”
“No, I’m talking to the total stranger standing over there in white shorts, black socks, and red sandals,” she said, shaking her head as she continued texting. “Of course I’m talking to you. It is your birthday, isn’t it?”
We were in Brooklyn at the corner of Stillwell and Surf Avenues. I have no idea how she could simultaneously talk, text, and keep track of peripheral fashion violations, but I was impressed. Unlike the man in the socks and sandals, however, I had actually put some thought and consideration into what I was wearing.
“What’s wrong with my outfit?” I asked.
“You mean other than the fact that those shorts and that top belong to me?”
Busted again. I thought I could get away with it because I found them in that sad box of clothes she hangs onto in case old trends come back into fashion.
“I figured when they go into the box, it means . . .”
She looked up from the phone for the first time in our conversation. “Just because I haven’t worn them in a while, doesn’t mean they’re forgotten.”
“I just wanted to look . . .”
“. . . like a teenager,” she said, completing my thought. “I get it. That’s why I’m classifying it as borrowing and not theft. No penalty.”
“Really?” I said, grateful. “Does that mean you might let me borrow them permanently?”
She considered this for a second and then shook her head.
“Not after seeing how good they look together,” she said. “I never wore them as an outfit. I think they may get promoted back into the closet. Not for school, but for weekend wear.”
As much as I wanted to keep the clothes, I kind of loved the fact that Beth was willing to wear an outfit that I had put together. Mark that as a first.
“You know, if you’re interested,” she continued, “we can look for some new clothes during spring break. I know a couple places in the Village where you can get something cute without spending too much money.”
“That would be incredible,” I said. “I absolutely would love to do that.”
Even though she immediately went back to texting, I considered it a total teenage sister bonding moment.
I had only been thirteen for half a day, but so far it was great. It began when my dad surprised me with my favorite breakfast—bacon pancakes. (That’s right, they’re pancakes with bacon mixed right into the batter so you get both tastes in every bite!) Now Beth was volunteering to take me to Greenwich Village to find cool clothes. And my friends and I were about to spend the day having fun at Coney Island.
“I’ve got wristbands and tickets,” my dad said as he approached, and waved them in the air for me to see. “The wristbands give you unlimited rides on everything but the Cyclone. And the tickets are for the Cyclone. It’s going to be great. I’m so glad I thought of this.”
My sister didn’t say a word. She just raised her eyebrow and he instantly corrected himself.
“I mean I’m so glad Beth thought of this.”
She smiled and continued texting.
He gave me a map of all the rides and attractions and I started plotting the day’s activities. The plan was for Alex, Grayson, Natalie, and I to ride the rides for a few hours while Dad went back home and did his miracle work in the kitchen to make dinner and a cake. Beth was going to hang out nearby with some friends on the beach in case we needed anything. The thought that we were going to be on our own made thirteen feel even cooler.
A few minutes later Alex and Grayson arrived.
Alex inhaled deeply before letting out an exaggerated breath. “Is that the best smell in the world, or what?”
“The salt air coming off the ocean?” asked Grayson.
Alex shook his head.
“Salt air’s nice, but seventy-one percent of the earth is covered by ocean,” he said. “No, I was referring to the singular place on the planet where you can breathe in the awesomeness that is the original Nathan’s Famous hot dogs.”
The “famous” in Nathan’s Famous is legit. It’s legendary. It’s a hot dog stand that fills an entire block and hosts the world championships of hot dog eating every Fourth of July. We were standing right in front of it.
“Happy birthday,” Alex said as he handed me a present.
Even though it was wrapped, the shape and feel kind of gave it away.
“I’m guessing . . . baseball cap.”
“That’s a good guess,” he said. “But do you know the team?”
For this there could only be one answer. “It better be the Yankees.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. You’ll have to unwrap it to know for sure.”
With my lack of birthday party experience, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to open it then or wait until later. I looked to Dad for guidance.
“Go ahead and open it,” he said. “I want to know which team it is too.”
I tore it open expecting to see the classic Yankee design of navy hat with an NY logo, but instead it was a lighter blue and had a white B on the front. I didn’t recognize it.
“The Dodgers,” said Alex.
“Then why is there a B?” I asked. “The Dodgers play in Los Angeles.”
“They do now,” he said. “But they used to play right here in Brooklyn. And it was on this date, your birthday, in 1947, that Jackie Robinson became the first African American to play in the major leagues. He’s my hero and was incredibly brave . . . just like you.”
Every now and then I’m reminded that Alex is totally awesome and thoughtful. I slipped on the cap and it fit perfectly.
“I love it.”
“And this is from me,” Grayson said as he handed me a card.
I opened it to fi
nd a pair of tickets to the new space show at the Hayden Planetarium.
“Greatness!” I exclaimed. “I want to see this so bad.”
Like I said, thirteen was off to a great start. Which is not to say that everything went exactly as I hoped. A couple minutes later I got a call from Natalie that dampened the mood a little. I knew there was a chance she wasn’t going to come, but in my heart I thought she’d make it.
I was wrong.
She called and apologized, saying that her doctors and parents wouldn’t let her. I understood, but I was still disappointed. I also felt bad because my dad bought four wristbands and it turned out we only needed three.
“Do you think you can get your money back?” I asked him. “For the extra wristband?”
“What extra wristband?” Beth said, taking the last one from my father.
“I thought you were going to meet your friends at the beach?” I asked.
Beth whipped out her phone and sent a lightning quick text.
“Done,” she said. “Now, are we going to have fun or are we just going to stand around and talk?”
It’s amazing how much of a difference one person can make. If it had only been Alex, Grayson, and me, I don’t think it would have felt as much like a party. But four was the perfect number. When we went on the go-karts, we raced boys against the girls. When we rode the roller coasters, no one ended up sitting alone. It was also cool because it was the first time Alex and Grayson got to hang out with her.
She told them about her plans to work at drama camp that summer and amazed them with her ability to do different accents. She could switch from Bronx to Queens to Long Island in the middle of a sentence.
The Cyclone was fun for everyone else, but with my dislike for heights I’m not really a big roller coaster fan. I was much more into the bumper cars because they have lots of excitement but stay close to the ground. And also because Beth turned it into a challenge.
