Finally we found an unconscious courier leaning against a brick wall, still

straddling his red Vespa.

 

We dragged him off the scooter and laid him on the sidewalk.

 

"Sorry, dude," I said. With any luck, I'd be able to bring his scooter back. If

I didn't, it would hardly matter, because the city would be destroyed.

 

I drove with Annabeth behind me holding on to my waist. We zigzagged down

Broadway with our engine buzzing through the eerie calm. The only sounds were

occasional cell phones ringing — like they were calling out to each other, as if

New York had turned into a giant electronic aviary.

 

Our progress was slow. Every so often we'd come across pedestrians who'd fallen

asleep right in front of a car, and we'd move them just to be safe. Once we

stopped to extinguish a pretzel vendor's cart that had caught on fire. A few

minutes later we had to rescue a baby carriage that was rolling aimlessly down

the street. It turned out there was no baby in it — just somebody's sleeping

poodle. Go figure. We parked it safely in a doorway and kept riding.

 

We were passing Madison Square Park when Annabeth said, "Pull over."

 

I stopped in the middle of East 23rd. Annabeth jumped off and ran toward the

park. By the time I caught up with her, she was staring at a bronze statue on a

red marble pedestal. I'd probably passed it a million times but never really