Night of the Purple Moon (7 page)

Jordan steeled himself and began to search for walkie-talkies. He found a two-way radio on a desk next to Chief Ladd’s office. He turned it on, pressed the button, and brought it to his lips. “Test, test.”

He and Emily jumped when his voice crackled over the radio fixed to Officer Redmond’s belt.

Jordan searched in vain for more radios. He discovered a gun in a drawer. He was tempted to take it, but Abby would kill him. He said nothing about the gun to Emily.

Unable to find another walkie-talkie, Jordan had no choice but to somehow knock the one off the policeman’s belt. Light-headed, he crawled on his hands and knees closer to the mark. A rank odor made him want to gag. Sweat trickled down his brow. Emily stood by the counter, one hand reflexively on her mouth.
If Officer Redmond’s eyes were only closed…
Jordan tried pretending the policeman was a mannequin. But no mannequin had such lifelike eyebrows, lashes, blue pupils.

Jordan held his breath and reached out, as if he were leaning from the edge of a cliff, extending his hand until he was able to touch the radio with the tip of his index finger. He nudged it.

The phone rang.

Jordan stumbled back and gasped. His heart pounded. The phone rang again. He sprang and grabbed the receiver before the third ring. “Hello.” Someone was breathing as fast as he was. “This is the police station,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Help me.”

“It’s a kid!” Jordan whispered to Emily. He spoke into the phone. “Who is this?”

“Danny.”

The voice sounded like he was very young. “Danny what?” No answer. “Danny, what’s your last name?”

“Beal.”

Jordan told the name to Emily. “Look for a phone book,” he said. Beal was a common name on Castine Island. Beal Outboard Motors. Beal Fish and Tackle. Beal Storage.

“Danny, how old are you?” Jordan said into the phone.

“Four.”

“You’re four years old. That’s cool. Where are you?”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

“I mean, where do you live? Danny, where is your home?”

“I live on Castine Island. That’s in Maine.”

Jordan knew he’d find out where the boy lived. He just had to ask the right question.

“What street do you live on?”

Emily flipped through a phone book and stopped on a page. She glanced up and down. “There must be at least fifty Beals,” she said.

“He’s not saying anything.” Then into the phone, “Are you okay, Danny?”

“My mommy won’t wake up.”

Jordan hadn’t been ready for that, and he couldn’t speak for a moment. It was the worst possible time to cry. He took a deep breath. “Danny, where’s your dad?”

“My daddy drives a truck. It’s a diesel.”

“A diesel, huh? Where’s your dad now?”

“Burlington. That’s in Vermont.”

“His father doesn’t live with him,” Jordan said to Emily. “Look for a woman’s name.”

“Danny, do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have food to eat?”

“Cake.”

“Cake is good,” Jordan said.

“It’s my birthday cake!” the boy exclaimed. “I’m four years old.”

“Danny, listen to me. My name is Jordan Leigh. I’m not a policeman, but I’m going to come get you.”

Jordan didn’t have a clue how he would do that. But he’d set his mind on that problem once he solved the mystery of Danny’s address. Then he had an idea. He’d ask Danny to look out the window and tell him what he saw. Jordan might recognize some landmark.

“Danny, can you walk with the phone?”

“No.”

That meant it wasn’t a cell phone or a cordless phone. “Because it’s attached to the wall, right?”

“That’s right!” The tiny voice burst with pride.

“Okay, that’s no problem. Listen to me, but don’t do anything yet. I want you to put down the phone and walk to the window. Look out. Then come back to the phone and tell me what you see. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah.”

“What do I want you to do?”

“Look out the window.”

“That’s right, Danny. Then come back and talk to me. Tell me what you see. Danny, wait!”

Jordan heard footsteps padding on the floor.

He cursed his stupidity. Danny would go to the window and what would he see? Nothing but fog.

Emily sighed. “Six Beals are women. Maybe seven. Jamie could be a man or woman.”

Jordan clapped his head. “I should ask him what his mother’s name is. He’ll know her name.”

Half a minute passed. “Where is he?”

Jordan shouted into the phone. “Danny. Danny!”

The boy never returned.

Jordan’s jaw dropped. Danny’s telephone number was right in front of him, displayed on the screen of the police station phone. He had been staring at it all this time. He read it out loud, and Emily made the match.

“I got it!” she cried. “Eleanor Beal, 29 King Street.”

Abby swept the floor, ripped a sheet into strips to make more masks, fed Cat. The busier she was, the less she thought about the fact that Jordan and Emily had been gone for more than two hours.

But no matter how furiously she worked, she couldn’t shake the distressing image of one or the other tumbling off the dock. The water was shockingly cold this time of year.

Kevin did not seem the least bit concerned. “Think how much they’re learning,” he said. “Maybe they found someone old, like Mr. Couture. My sister is really stronger than she looks.”

He continued searching the internet for up-to-date news, keeping both his and Abby’s Facebook pages open in case Mel or Ajay, or any other friends or relatives tried to reach them.

Toucan awoke from her nap. That gave Abby more to do, another distraction. She changed her sister’s diaper and fixed her dinner—carrot slices, canned pears, and peanut butter. After cleaning up, she read to Toucan.

Toucan snuggled in her lap, turning the pages of
Good Night Moon
.

“Good night,
purple
moon!” her sister squealed with glee.

Despite reading aloud, Abby was inwardly making plans and debating the choices. They would have to go outside and search for Jordan and Emily soon. But who should go? She preferred for the three of them to stay together, but she was worried about keeping the dust off Toucan, who constantly fidgeted; her mask would never stay in place. That left either she or Kevin. She couldn’t imagine Kevin going. Based on their earlier trip to the Couture’s, she feared he’d panic and get lost. Only one option remained. She, alone, would have to step into the cold, clammy purple fog.

“Come here,” Kevin called excitedly. “Hurry up!”

She left the book with Toucan and rushed over to him. Her eyes immediately fixed onto a web page with an official looking logo and bold lettering at the top:

UNITED STATES CENTERS FOR DISEASE CONTROL

Emergency Bulletin 1.0

A pathogen, introduced into the atmosphere by Comet Rudenko-Kasparov, has resulted in a worldwide epidemic. Symptoms include high fever, fatigue, and cramps, followed shortly by death.

The most vulnerable populations are adults and post-pubescent teenagers. Early autopsy results indicate the pathogen attacks the endocrine system, including the hormones, estrogen and testosterone, resulting in pituitary and hypothalamus gland failure.

The extent of the outbreak is unknown. CDC scientists are working with counterparts in France, China, Russia, Australia, Germany, and the United Kingdom to isolate the pathogen and develop an effective course of action.

For future updates and instructions, refer to this website or emergency broadcast radio frequencies, 98.5 FM and 1500 AM.

Corpses and human remains should be handled by trained emergency personnel. Contact your local police department or state civil defense office for assistance.

“The link just popped up on my Facebook page,” Kevin exclaimed. “The pathogen is killing adults and older teens.”

“What’s a pathogen?” Abby asked.

Kevin shook his head in amazement. “To communicate during a national emergency, the government can push links to sites. That’s incredible. I never thought that was possible.”

“Kevin!”

“A pathogen is a germ. You know, a virus or bacteria. The CDC is in Atlanta, Georgia. Friends of my parents work there. They’re scientists who specialize in making vaccines.”

“How come the scientists aren’t affected?”

“I bet they’re quarantined underground. If they go outside, they wear special suits called HazMat suits. Abby, has your period started?”

She leaned back. A boy her age had just asked about her period as if he were talking about the weather. “No, Kevin, it hasn’t.”

“Emily hasn’t gotten hers, either,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Abby felt her face flushing. “Why do you want to know?”

He pointed to the screen. “Post pubescent teenagers. The germs attack the hormones that our bodies produce during puberty, testosterone and estrogen. For girls, menstruation is one of the signs that puberty has begun. Also your breasts develop. We get hair on our faces and other places. Our voices drop. If you haven’t entered puberty, you’re safe from the space germs. There’s nothing in your body for the germs to attack.”

Abby thought about her immediate family. Toucan, who would not reach puberty for a long time, would be fine for now. Jordan seemed okay, too. Some twelve-year-olds had wispy mustaches, but her brother had no facial hair. She didn’t know if hair was growing other places on his body. His voice, as far as she could tell, hadn’t changed.

Her body, though, was clearly changing. Abby had felt her pants becoming snugger at the hips, and she had been wearing a bra for almost two years, ready again to get a bigger size. She hadn’t gotten her period yet, but it could come anytime.

She remembered her mother explaining menstruation to her when she was in the fourth grade. Mom had showed Abby tampons and sanitary pads and said the arrival of her period would be a normal part of growing up. The thought of seeing blood every month had frightened her. But a year later, when one of her fifth grade classmate had started her periods, Abby and her friends had all been jealous.

“What will happen when we enter puberty?” Abby asked.

Kevin read her facial expression. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. The CDC will develop a vaccine by then. They have the best scientists in the world.”

She wished she shared his confidence.

Kevin drummed his fingers, thinking. “Why didn’t Mr. Couture die right away? He lived for a whole day longer than our parents.”

“Your cousin saw some really old people alive, too,” Abby said.

Kevin did a Google search and formulated an answer. “Old people have lower levels of those hormones.”

“Kevin, there must be millions of survivors. Who’s still alive on the island?”

“Everyone in our school, for sure,” he said. “Maybe some high school kids, too. But a lot of them have probably passed through puberty.”

“The green car that drove by, do you think?”

Kevin was nodding. “Yeah, some kid was driving.”

Out of nowhere, a siren wailed outside the house. Abby rushed to the window. A blue light pulsed in the fog. She couldn’t see the police car, though. Her mind raced. Some policemen were still alive. They had finally arrived to rescue them! But then cold fear gripped her heart. What if the police were here with bad news about Emily and Jordan?

Abby flung open the front door, fearing the worst.

Out of the mist a little boy appeared followed by Emily and Jordan.

“My daddy drives a big truck. It’s a diesel. He lets me blow the horn. I’m four years old. Daddy lives in Burlington. That’s in Vermont…”

Danny rarely stopped talking. Abby stayed in bed a little while longer, listening to him chatter.

“My mommy has a tattoo on her ankle,” the boy continued. “It says peace. P-E-A-C-E. That spells peace.”

Danny changed topics frequently, sometimes mid-sentence.

“I like cake,” he added. “My favorite is chocolate. What’s your favorite?”

Toucan’s eyes got big and she babbled. “Chocolate. Toucan. Chocolate.”

Danny and Toucan, despite the two year age difference, had become instant, inseparable friends. Last night, at bedtime, they had begged Abby to let them sleep next to each other. She had tucked the wild ones (Jordan’s name for them) into two sleeping bags on the floor in her room.

Finally, Abby got up and raised the window shade. In the first light of dawn the moon was hanging full and fat and pale purple in a field of fading stars, a scene at once beautiful and chilling.

Most importantly the fog was gone, which meant they would be able to leave the house to search the island for survivors, other children like themselves who had yet to enter puberty. The decision on their course of action had not been unanimous. Kevin had argued they should take care of themselves first. “We don’t know how long it will take the CDC to find a cure,” he said. “We need to store food, water, and medicine. We can’t save everyone!” Nobody could change his mind, but he had at least he had agreed to go along.

Downstairs, Abby discovered that she had slept the longest. Jordan and Kevin were already up, listening to the CDC radio broadcast. The robotic female voice repeated the web site bulletin. “Corpses and human remains should be handled by trained emergency personnel. Contact your local police department or state civil defense office for further assistance…”

Emily was up and dressed, too, gathering supplies to bring on their mission: coloring books, crayons, a flashlight, Saltine crackers, bananas, apples, and a jar of peanut butter.

After breakfast, they loaded up the trunk of the police cruiser and everyone piled in. Kevin and Emily sat in back with Toucan and Danny on their laps. Jordan climbed into the driver’s side. The top of his head was level with the top of the steering wheel. Abby claimed the passenger seat and buckled up.

They planned to drive straight to the house of Jordan’s friend, Eddie Egan. Eddie was a local. He’d likely know which families on the island had babies and toddlers. These younger kids, unable to care for themselves, would be in the greatest danger.

Before they left, Abby turned to face the kids in the back seat. “Want to play a game?”