If Percy Hadn't Caught Annabeth

Part 6: Wrapped Up

    Her vision was blurry and her stomach was in knots. Annabeth wanted to cry out in pain every time Arachne yanked her bad ankle over a rock or bump. She kept hoping the black-glass beach she was being dragged across would help cut the spider silk but she was out of luck; it remained unharmed.

    The atmosphere was about as healthy as a nuclear blast zone. Annabeth's throat felt as if it was blistering. She had to escape Arachne and find a way to survive-- and fast. Her hand was still clasped around her knife when she cried out.

    "My ankle!" She began to wiggling violently in her woven trap as if writhing in pain. "And my lungs; I can't breathe. I don't think, I don't think I-"

    She made her entire body go limp, pretending to pass out. Arachne stopped moving.

    "My sweet," she called out suspiciously. "Wake up!"

    She moved to inspect her prisoner. Annabeth could feel the monster hovering over her, the spider's hot breath on her face.  It took every ounce of Annabeth's self control to lie still and keep her breathing steady. Since they had stopped moving Annabeth had been purposely making her breaths slow and shallow, as if the binding around her chest was restricting her breathing. She figured Arachne wouldn't let her die before they reached wherever the spider was taking her. Luckily, she was right.

    "This better not be a trick," Arachne hissed.

    Annabeth continued to lie still. She could almost feel Arachne thinking. If Annabeth was actually dying, she wouldn't gain glory for providing Gaea with a demigod sacrifice. If she chose to loosen the webs, Annabeth could attack her.

    "You better not move, my sweet," she murmured as she began to unwind some of the extra webbing. Annabeth could feel the tension on her arms beginning to release. "If you do, I will kill you myself."

    For just a moment, there was nothing but the heat of Tartarus and the sound of Arachne unwrapping Annabeth. Then, with a speed that only years of Camp Half Blood training and half a dozen quests could have prepared her for, Annabeth attacked.

    The bronze dagger slashed through Arachne. A horrible wail escaped from the spider as she burst into a cloud yellow dust. It rained down on Annabeth like tree pollen. For a moment she was stunned. Then Annabeth began to frantically brush herself off, wanting to rid herself of any evidence of her tormentor.

    She scanned her surroundings as she dusted her clothes. Above, she couldn't see the cavern roof-- just blood-colored clouds floating in the hazy gray air. It was like staring through a thin mix of tomato soup and cement.

    The black-glass beach stretched inland about fifty yards, then dropped off the edge of the cliff. From where she stood, Annabeth couldn't see what was below, but the edge flickered with red light as if illuminated by huge fires.

    A distant memory tugged at her-- something about Tartarus and fire. Finally, it came into focus. She walked towards the edge of the cliff and felt her heart plummet as she looked at the eighty foot drop to the Phlegethon at the bottom. She would have to drink from the River of Fire to survive.

    Feeling hopeless, she wanted to sit down and curl into a ball. Annabeth knew that if she did, she would never get up. She was debating doing just that when an image of Percy flickered into her head; it was the look on his face as she was falling into Tartarus. Something shifted inside of Annabeth. Even if he wasn't here, she knew she had to go on for Percy and the others. She continued to stand, even if her legs shook, and began her descent down the side of the cliff.