Watch out, Sherlock Holmes. There is a new sleuth in town. But, okay. Yes. I took an Uber to the weird floating park in the middle of the night. I am sure Sean, my driver, thought it was a strange ask, but I am equally as sure he has had stranger things happen while on ride-share duty. Either way, not super Sherlock sexy.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the gate to Dr. Seuss Island is locked. The sign informs me that it will reopen at dawn. Obviously, I can't wait until then, so I do what I do best: stealth ninja maneuvers. AKA: climb the fence. Also, I quickly remember how unbest I am at ascending chainlinks and gracefully dismounting into a superhero pose. Unsurprisingly, no 10s from the judges here. Surprisingly, I don't hurt myself on the landing.
In my head, running down the straight path that goes under the mushroom columns of the park is a better idea than the angled, uncovered way. It is shorter and easier to hide in the shadows if needed. As a sprint down the path, I'm not expecting it to take me directly to the spot where Slammer's signal was coming from. But it does.
I stop the moment I am on top of the icon on my GPS, but there is nothing here. All that surrounds me are the floating path and the underbellies of the park's stem-like stilts. It's like some alien garden with plants from another world. Strange and creepy white flower.
Speaking of flowers, my eyes land on some graffiti on one of the columns just out of arm's reach from the side of the walkway's railing. It is not the only pole to have street art on it, but this one is a tulip. A very specific tulip. It's the same flower in Tiptoe's insignia. It is too spot on to be a coincidence. Had I not followed a tracking device here, I would have thought that it was just some fan's homage to their idol. No, this has to be the "X" on my treasure map.
I fling my legs over the rail and balance on the four-inch wide ledge between the bars and the Hudson. There is something near the top of the tulip's stem, close to where it connects to the flower, that seems to produce a shadow when I shine my phone's light toward it. Stretching out over the water, my hand finds the dark spot. It is a hole the size of my four fingertips. In the history of great ideas, sticking my hand into an unknown hole is not the best one, but I laugh at the thought of the countless holes I may stick things in when I go off to college.
I scrunch my eyes almost all of the way closed as my digits slide all the way into the cubby. When my middle finger bumps into something round, I jab at it thinking it is a button. Nothing happens besides thinking I broke two of my fingers. As I fidget my appendages around, trying to shake off the pain and embarrassment, I notice the round button spins like a disk. I flick at it until I get a good rhythm and the dial turns, letting out a final pop.
With a hiss and a burst of musky air, a piece of the island's tube releases. Like a hydraulic lift, the metal panel lowers itself to reveal a dark tunnel and the top rungs of a metal ladder before extending like a drawbridge across the space between me and the secret entrance.
"Alright, Alice. Let's go to Wonderland." I say without hesitation, and I cross the plank, mount the ladder, and disappear from the city above.
The underground hideout is massive. It is a maze of corridors. The ambiance leaves a little to be desired. All cement. Grody water stains. Tetanus waiting everywhere. Whole walls covered in mold. I should have taken an extra allergy pill and vitamin C tablet before this little adventure. I can't risk being sick for midterms.
The next door on the left is ajar. I peek in and find a long table lined with chairs, and beyond that, someone stands at what looks to be a huge control center of some sort. It's a wall of monitors showing current news clips and CC footage from around the city. There are buttons and keyboards flashing and blinking. Though the figure is backlit in the glow of the screens, I know it is Slammer.
Slipping into the room, I pull the door closed behind me. The clink of the latch finding the strike gets Big Man's attention. His breath catches under his helmet when he finds me standing behind him. For some reason I chuckle. Why am I so awkward?
"So, this is your secret hideout. Great location. Needs some natural light," I say.
"The hell you doing here?" He closes the distance between us and now towers over me.
"So, funny story."
"Doubtful," he says. I can hear the teeth gritting.
"I put a tracker on you the night you and your friends stopped by my house."
It comes out so casually that it catches him off guard. His stance changes. For a moment he seems entertained. Slammer studies me as if I am not telling him the truth.
"You, Noah Brasso, put a tracking beacon on a vigilante that is wanted for questioning by the FBI, CIA, and HER?"
I go to point out how pretentious calling himself a vigilante sounds, but he is not done chewing me out.
"Then, you follow the signal to the headquarters of said vigilante, where he is in cahoots with the city's biggest super villain. Completely alone, weaponless, and without powers of any sort?"
Though he is right, in the sense of how stupid I am, I sidestep instead. I can't help it.
"Vigilante? Really. That is the definer you are using?"
He ignores me. "Noah, you are a moron. Did you think this through at all? You could have gotten yourself killed."
For a guy who doesn't talk much, I notice something different about his tone. Yes, he is agitated, but Slammer is clearly worried. I brush it off.
"But look I am fine."
"Dude! This place is crawling with Maniacs. Like as in this is where Sir Madness makes them."
This news is like a slap to the face. I bumbled my way into Sir Madness's Funny Farm Factory. Go, me. But something else suddenly hits me.
"It was Tiptoes's logo that is painted on the secret entrance."
He just stares at me for a moment. It is clear he is having some debate in his mind about something.
"Noah, Tiptoe is Sir Madness's daughter."
If the last piece of news was a face slap, this piece of information was like being hit by a bus. Slammer can tell I am spiraling.
"But–" he starts.
Before he can go any further, a notification sound effect from the control station behind us interrupts our conversation.
"Shit," Big Man says, turning to the technology and picking up a communication tablet from the dash.
Slammer presses the accept button, and I can see a video call open on the small screen.
"Intelligence Room," he greets.
"Slammer, hallway monitors detected an intruder." I know the voice. I have heard his deranged rants all over social media. Slammer is talking to Sir Madness.
"Haven't seen anyone out of place," he lies.
"Hmm. Strange, considering the security department thinks he may be in the Intelligence Room with you."
My whole digestive system turns into an ice luge.
"Let me look around."
Big Man slyly presses something on the tablet as he bends down to look under the conference table. Without looking up he gives me directions.
"From this room, go south–ah, left. Right at the 'T.' Next left. Last room on the right has an exit to Pier 57."
"Left. Right. Left. Right," I repeat.
He presses the tablet again and shouts, "Hey you! What the hell are you doing here."
This makes me jump. He throws the tablet to the ground, tossing it aside with one hand, and pushes me hard against the door. My teeth rattle against each other. WTF. Then he lets out a grunt and throws himself to the ground beside the cracked device.
I shake myself from my daze and realize he is putting on a show for his boss. This guy deserves a best actor Oscar. He dramatically tries to pick himself up and I know this is my cue. Flinging open the door, I turn frozen for a second. Slammer is already on his feet and at the commands. He lets out a sigh, and his shoulder slump. On the dashboard, he mashes a red button that sounds a siren.
Slowly shaking his head, into the facility's loudspeaker he announces, "Intruder in the south wing heading north."
I nod in thanks for the head start and turn to go. Sadly, I don't make it more than three strides before I hear the groans behind me. Over my shoulder, I see them. Three Maniacs rampaging my way. I am in full zombie movie mode, but not like campy zombies, this is World War Z shit. Their movements are jerky and fast. These hunters have no empathy or humanity left. They are shells controlled by their master. And I am their only target.
A weird, almost laughable, thought comes to mind as I run for my life. It quickly becomes the only thing that keeps me from totally giving up and curling into a ball in the middle of the corridor. All of the Maniacs sport this bright orange hair. They look like they belong in the Trolls Movie. For the first time, considering this is the closest I have ever been to these crazies, I can tell that they are wigs. Perplexing and intriguing. Why would Sir Madness take away from the ravenous facade of his hellhounds and opt in for goofy hairdos?
Taking the first turn, a half dozen more zombies join the chase, and I pick up my speed. The landscape of the hallway starts to change. It widens and the walls are lined with holding tanks, pipes, and stacked crates. This must be the utility corridor.
I swipe at a tower of boxes and they spill across the passageway. My attempt to make an obstacle course for my pursuers works. It seems to add an extra few yards to my lead, but the crowd of crazed has now tripled.
Checking behind me on their progress, I take the next left turn. Before I can turn my attention back to my path, I slam into something. The impact rocks me and I fall on my ass. I look up to find that the something is actually a somebody. A glowing, red somebody.
"Abe!"