𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 ²

Chapter 57

I - One
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Y/N

THE SNAKE-HAIRED LADIES WERE starting to annoy (y/n).

They should have died three days ago when he dropped a crate of
bowling balls on them at the Napa Bargain Mart. They should have died two days ago when he ran over them with a police car in Martinez. They definitely should have died this morning when he cut off their heads in Tilden Park.

No matter how many times (y/n) killed them and watched them
crumble to powder, they just kept re-forming like large evil dust bunnies.

He couldn't even seem to outrun them.

He reached the top of the hill and caught his breath. How long since
he'd last killed them? Maybe two hours. They never seemed to stay dead longer than that.

The past few days, he'd hardly slept. He'd eaten whatever he could
scrounge-vending machine gummi bears, stale bagels, even a Jack in the Crack burrito, which was a new personal low. His clothes were torn,
burned, and splattered with monster slime.

He'd only survived this long because the two snake-haired- ladies-gorgons, they called themselves-couldn't seem to kill him either. Their claws didn't cut his skin. Their teeth broke whenever they tried to bite him.

But (y/n) couldn't keep going much longer. Soon he'd collapse from exhaustion, and then-as hard as he was to kill, he was pretty sure the gorgons would find a way.

Where to run?

He scanned his surroundings. Under different circumstances, he might've enjoyed the view. To his left, golden hills rolled inland, dotted with lakes, woods, and a few herds of cows. To his right, the flatlands of Berkeley and Oakland marched west-a vast checkerboard of neighborhoods, with several million people who probably did not want their morning interrupted by two monsters and a filthy demigod.

Farther west, San Francisco Bay glittered under a silvery haze. Past that, a wall of fog had swallowed most of San Francisco, leaving just the tops of skyscrapers and the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge.

A vague sadness weighed on (y/n)'s chest. Something told him he'd
been to San Francisco before. The city had some connection to Annabeth-the only person he could remember from his past. His memory of her was frustratingly dim. The wolf had promised he would see her again and regain his memory-if he succeeded in his journey.

Should he try to cross the bay?
It was tempting. He could feel the power of the ocean just over the
horizon. Darkness always invigorated his body. Nighttime always worked best, under the glow of the moon, but the sea was perpetually dark. He'd discovered that two days ago when he had strangled a sea monster in the Carquinez Strait. If he could reach the bay, he might be able to make a last stand. Maybe he could even drown the gorgons. But the shore was at least two miles away. He'd have to cross an entire city.

He hesitated for another reason. The she-wolf Lupa had taught him to sharpen his senses-to trust the instincts that had been guiding him south.

His homing radar was tingling like crazy now. The end of his journey was close-almost right under his feet. But how could that be? There was nothing on the hilltop.

The wind changed. (y/n) caught the sour scent of reptile. A hundred
yards down the slope, something rustled through the woods-snapping branches, crunching leaves, hissing.

Gorgons.

For the millionth time, (y/n) wished their noses weren't so good. They had always said they could smell him because he was a demigod-the half-blood son of some old Roman goddess. (y/n) had tried rolling in mud, splashing through creeks, even keeping air-freshener sticks in his pockets so he'd have that new car smell; but apparently demigod stink was hard to mask.