Bloodlines: Ichor || [2]

CXXXIV. The Earth was Awake

ABOUT FIVE MILES EAST OF CAMP, a black SUV was parked on the beach. They tied up the boat at a private dock. Elizabeth and Nico helped Dakota and Leila haul Michael Kahale ashore.

The big guy was still only half-conscious, mumbling what Elizabeth could only assume were football calls: "Red twelve. Right thirty-one. Hike." Then he giggled uncontrollably.

"We'll leave him here," Leila said. "Just don't bind him. Poor guy ..."

"What about the car?" Dakota asked. "The keys are in the glove compartment, but, uh, can you drive?"

Leila frowned. "I thought you could drive. Aren't you seventeen?"

"I never learned!" Dakota said. "I was busy. What about you?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I haven't in years. I don't feel like testing my memory."

"I've got it covered," Nico promised.

The two Romans looked at him.

"You're, like, fourteen," Leila said.

Elizabeth could tell Nico enjoyed how nervous the Romans acted around him, even though they were older and bigger and more experienced fighters. "I didn't say I would be behind the wheel."

He knelt and placed his hand on the ground. "Jules-Albert. Let's go."

The ground split. A zombie in a ragged nineteenth-century motoring outfit clawed his way to the surface. Leila stepped back. Dakota screamed like a kindergartner.

"What is that, man?" Dakota protested.

"This is my driver," Nico said. "Jules-Albert finished first in the Paris–Rouen motorcar race back in 1895, but he wasn't awarded the prize because his steam car used a stoker."

Leila stared at him. "What are you even talking about?"

"He's a restless soul, always looking for another chance to drive," Nico said. "The last few years, he's been my driver whenever I need one."

"You have a zombie chauffeur," Leila said.

"I call shotgun." Nico got in on the passenger's side. Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at him and got in the back. Reluctantly, the Romans followed.

One thing about Jules-Albert: he never got emotional. He could sit in crosstown traffic all day without losing his patience. He was immune to road rage. He could even drive straight up to an encampment of wild centaurs and navigate through them without getting nervous.

The centaurs were like nothing Elizabeth had ever seen. They had back ends like palominos, tattoos all over their hairy arms and chests, and bullish horns protruding from their foreheads. She doubted they could blend in with humans as easily as Chiron did.

At least two hundred were sparring restlessly with swords and spears, or roasting animal carcasses over open fires (carnivorous centaurs ... the idea made Elizabeth shudder). Their camp spilled across the farm road that meandered around Camp Half-Blood's southeast perimeter.

The SUV nudged its way through, honking when necessary. Occasionally a centaur glared through the driver's side window, saw the zombie driver and backed away in shock.

"Pluto's pauldrons," Dakota muttered. "Even more centaurs arrived overnight."

"Don't make eye contact," Leila warned. "They take that as a challenge for a duel to the death."

Elizabeth stared straight ahead as the SUV pushed through. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn't scared. She was angry. The Romans had surrounded Camp Half-Blood with monsters. Her only home, the place where her cabin mates must've been gearing up for war.