No Stars - A Nico Di Angelo Love Story

13- Silver

By the time we reach populated grounds, my knees are wobbly and feel as if they've been replaced by jell-o.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle but thunder still rumbles in the distance, shaking the air around me. My sore feet, shoes lost somewhere in the thick mud we crawled through, are red and blistering, burning against the stabbing rocks of the gravel road.

My scrawny arms support most of Nico's weight as he limps along with the slow pace. His neck no longer supports the weight of his head, causing it to sway back and fourth and sometimes to rest on my shoulder.

The ambrosia was left on the train. When I tried to go back and retrieve it, that stupid cat tried to attack me. I think it was still mad about me tossing it across the sky.

Nico sure protested about me helping him. First he played all macho man, "I'm fine." He had said. I saw right through that of course. It took him a good thirty minutes before he accepted the fact that I would have to help him.

I think I make him feel uncomfortable.

As we approach the town, the smell of barbecue feels my noise and my stomach growls in response.

Now that I can eat again, I'm hungry all the freaking time. I haven't ate anything since lunch yesterday afternoon back at Camp Half-Blood.

I track the source of the smell to small diner at the end of the street. Despite the good aroma of freshly cooked food, my eyes revolt in disgust at the sight of the building.

The cracking walls are splattered with yellow, the ugly kind that looks like decaying teeth. Flowers that were probably once beautifully colored, lay dried and shriveled around the exterior of the building. Old dog poop is splattered across the dead grass, and I swear, the unidentified lump towards the entrance is a decomposing squirrel.

Nico stirs next to me. "Let's go in." He mutters.

"We have no money and I need to find a hospital." I try to get a better grip around his waist and he flinches when my cold fingers brush across his skin.

"No!" He protest, stumbling and trying to stand up for his own then miserably failing. "No hospitals. I'll be fine. You need to eat something."

My stomach feeling as empty as a bottomless pit, I nod then half drag him towards the diner.

Yep, defiantly a dead squirrel. I think, as we enter.

We arrived just in time. Back outside, the rain begins to once more pound against the ground and whip against the windows, sounding more like hail than simple water.

A series of ooh's echo the diner as heads take a peek towards the green-gray sky.

The place is surprisingly crowded. Around us, families and friends eat burgers and fries and drink sodas. Nobody gives us a second glance even though we reek and look homeless.

Nico jerks his chin towards an open booth, and after I've set him down, I say, "I'm going to go ask if they have a first aid kit."

"Mack, I'm fine." He leans against the window and his face turns green. His eyes flash to me before he jolts forward and vomits up nothing. His body jerks in violent motions as he grabs a hold to his stomach.

Spit sprays across the table and drips off his chin.

I'm deadly aware of the clock above the front entrance, and if Nico doesn't feel well soon, he along with everyone in this diner might as well be dead.

I've crossed the distance to the register where a young Asian lady stares at me with wide eyes. She sends a look of disgust towards Nico's direction.