"𝚟𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚗" | 𝚙. 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎, 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

The Dynamic Duo Plunge to their Death (Kind of, Not Really)

OR

Trauma Dumping Train!

third person omniscient

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THEY TRAVELED TWO days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hills, over rivers, past amber waves of grain. 

They weren't attacked once, but Percy didn't relax. He felt that they were traveling around in a display case, being watched from above and maybe from below, that something was waiting for the right opportunity.

Stelle had kept a cautious eye on things the first day, but after the sense of imminent danger faded, even she grew tired of the constant lookout.

Percy tried to keep a low profile because his name and picture were splattered over the front pages of several East Coast newspapers. The Trenton Register-News showed a photo taken by a tourist as he got off the Greyhound bus. He had a wild look in his eyes. His sword was a metallic blur in his hands. It might've been a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick

Strangely enough, Stelle's name and picture was kept off most media. Once or twice Percy had seen her name grouped with his, but specifics on her were withheld. On one newspaper clipping, the same picture of him getting off the Greyhound followed a caption.

'Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson, wanted for questioning in the Long Island disappearance of his mother two weeks ago, is shown here fleeing from the bus where he accosted several elderly female passengers.

The bus exploded on an east New Jersey roadside shortly after Jackson fled the scene. Based on eyewitness accounts, police believe the boy may be traveling with three teenage accomplices. His stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture.'

He tore it to shreds before anyone looked too closely at the picture. Annabeth, who had read it from over his shoulder told him, "Don't worry. Mortal police could never find us." She didn't sound so sure.

The rest of the day he spent alternately pacing the length of the train (because Percy had a really hard time sitting still) or looking out the windows. 

Once, he spotted a family of centaurs galloping across a wheat field, bows at the ready, as they hunted lunch. The little boy centaur, who was the size of a second-grader on a pony, caught his eye and waved. Percy looked around the passenger car, but nobody else had noticed. The adult riders all had their faces buried in laptop computers or magazines. 

Another time, toward evening, Percy saw something huge moving through the woods. He could've sworn it was a lion, except that lions don't live wild in America, and this thing was the size of a Hummer. Its fur glinted gold in the evening light. Then it leaped through the trees and was gone. 

Their reward money for returning Gladiola the poodle had only been enough to purchase tickets as far as Denver. They couldn't get berths in the sleeper car, so they dozed in their seats. His neck got stiff. Percy tried not to drool in his sleep, since Stelle was sitting right next to him. 

Grover kept snoring and bleating and waking him up. Once, he shuffled around and his fake foot fell off. Annabeth and Percy had to stick it back on before any of the other passengers noticed. 

Stelle came back with some bottled water in hand, looking down at them once they'd gotten Grover's sneaker readjusted. "I missed something." She noted dubiously.

"Yup." Annabeth said, "So, Percy. Who wants your help?"

"What do you mean?" Percy asked.

"When you were asleep just now, you mumbled, 'I won't help you'. Who were you dreaming about?"