𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 ✭

we find that toes are deadly (literally)

We started picking our way through the hills and valleys of junk. It seemed to go on forever, and if it hadn't been for Zoë's knowledge of the stars, we would've gotten lost. All the hills pretty much looked the same.

I was so sick of it.

Even the gods should have a working rubbish plan right? What happened to being  good recyclers, who also were eco friendly? Couldn't they just vapourise all this stuff instead of dumping it?

I'd like to say we left the stuff alone, but there was too much cool junk not to check out some of it.

Percy found an electric guitar shaped like Apollo's lyre that he immediately started messing around with.

Grover found a broken tree made out of metal. It had been chopped to pieces, but some of the branches still had golden birds in them, and they whirred around when Grover picked them up, trying to flap their wings.

I found tinted sunglasses and put them on, spending the next five minuted experiencing the world in pure red.

Finally, we saw the edge of the junkyard about half a mile ahead of us, the lights of a highway stretching through the desert. But between us and the road...

"What is that?" Bianca gasped.

Ahead of us was a hill much bigger and longer than the others. It was like a metal wall, the length of a football field and as tall as goalposts. At one end was a row of ten thick metal columns, wedged tightly together.

Bianca frowned. "They look like-"

"Toes," Grover said.

I nodded. "Really, really big toes."

Zoë and Thalia exchanged nervous looks.

"Let's go around," Thalia said. "Far around."

"But the road is right over there," Percy argued. "Quicker to climb over."

Grover lifted a rock and chucked it at the toe. I watched in curiosity.

Ping!

Thalia and Zoë sprung into action, lifting their spear and drawing their bow. Then they realized it was only Grover.

"Why did you do that?" Zoë demanded.

Grover cringed. "I don't know. I, uh, don't like fake feet?"

"Come on." Thalia looked at Percy. "Around."

He didn't argue.

Toes. Why would there be toes? Who in their right mind would carve a bunch of toes and stuff them in a junkyard. Just doesn't make sense.

After several minutes of walking, we finally stepped onto the highway, an abandoned but well-lit stretch of black asphalt.

"We made it out," Zoë said. "Thank the gods." She looked up to the sky with a smile. It fell quickly. Apparently the gods didn't want to be thanked.

At that moment, I heard a sound like a thousand trash compactors crushing metal. I whirled around. Behind us, the scrap mountain was boiling, rising up. The ten toes tilted over, and I realized why they looked like toes. They were toes.

The thing that rose up from the metal was a bronze giant in full Greek battle armor. He was impossibly tall-a skyscraper with legs and arms. He gleamed wickedly in the moonlight. He looked down at us, and his face was deformed. The left side was partially melted off. His joints creaked with rust, and across his armored chest, written in thick dust by some giant finger, were the words WASH ME.

"Talos!" Grover gasped.

"Talos?" I repeated.

"Talos." Zoë whispered.