The Last Boeotian (Percy Jackson)

Chapter 2: Maybe That Centaur Wasn't Just A Loon

It felt like hours until my legs gave out and I stopped running. I stumbled and fell on the forest ground, my bow hitting me in the side with the impact. Sweat dripped down my face, and my chest heaved up and down slowly as I caught my breath. Dirt and leaves stuck to my cheek as I lied face-down on the ground before pushing myself to my knees and brushing off the dirt and sweat.

The realization finally hit me.

I had lost my only home.

My body curled over, my arms wrapping around my stomach as my head reached down so far that my chin touched my chest. The clip in my hair had fallen out and my hair brushed in front of my face. My body shook and trembled as the pressure hit me.

I had nowhere to go. I had no family. No friends. I had nobody to talk to.

Most other demigods at the Base had family or friends. It would be strange not to. But even some demigods tried to stay away from me, I was the most reckless one, and I was the only child of one of the Megáli Treis. Some people even feared me. I had no close friends in the Base, even though most people were friendly.

Air filled my lungs with a deep inhale, and I rested my head facing up at the sky, peering through the roofs of the trees as my hand ran through my hair once before falling back to the ground. Birds and bugs flew in the air noisily, chirping and cracking and whistling.

I was no longer sure what to do. I never had a backup plan. I kept emergency supplies around in a bag just in case, but I never thought I'd lose my only real home. I had no plan, other than living on the streets again.

Opening the black bag on my shoulder, I began pulling out my supplies. The standard food, nectar, and ambrosia, along with clothes and water. A folded piece of parchment-like paper was pressed against the interior, and I pulled it out. The American map revealed itself as I unfolded it. It was completely accurate, but looked like it had been done in pen, and held no more than just the outlines of the states. Given to me by Pholos- the most well-known centaur at Euboea- I still had no idea why he said it was so important. He stressed that I should never lose it.

Well, if you're so important, I thought, it would be just great if you could do something now.

I stared at the ink, but nothing happened. Of course nothing would happen. It was just a map.

I folded the large parchment and slid it back into the bag, pulling out a small blue pouch next. Filled with money, I began counting out how many drachma and American dollars I had in the wallet to live on for now.

I pressed the wallet back into the bag next to a shining silver knife, then slung it over my shoulder. I picked up my bow and quiver, pressing them tightly against each other. The weapons became an intricately designed wooden-capped pen again, and I slid it into my pocket before setting off to find some type of road or town.

Once I had made it through the dense forest, I found a broken-down asphalt road leading down between the trees. Road signs and location indicators decorated the sides every once in a while, leading me to decide to travel West on the wide road, towards an apparent small town only miles over.

My body was sluggish and lethargic with each step, and I could see the sun beginning to creep down under the horizon. I kept walking and walking until I had no idea how long I had been hiking down the road. It had to have been at least hours.

Lights made a white stream that I could see over the hill I trekked up. I had to be nearly there. Once at the top of the hill, I paused to catch my breath and gazed out across the land with my hands on my hips.

I could see the small town, buildings close together, but not enough to be a city. The only problem was that it was still probably at least a mile from the hill I stood on.

My breath left me with a huff, and I dangled my arms at my sides lazily as I bit down on a granola bar from my bag. My feet burned with pain as I pulled myself to go down the road.

By the time I had finally dragged myself into the lamp-lit town, the bright white crescent moon hung in the sky, providing little more light. I passed under the streetlamps on the concrete sidewalk, gazing at the buildings. Some had lights coming out of the windows, some were completely dark. It wasn't long before I found myself at the entrance of a small park, then sat curled tightly on a small wooden park bench. My knees were pulled tightly to my chest, and I rested my forehead on my jeans with a tired sigh. Fatigue hit me like a wave once I had finally relaxed, and my breathing came in deep inhales and exhales.

It felt like only seconds until I opened my eyes to the bright rising sun. It was like I had only closed my eyes for a minute, but I felt more energized and rested. I sat on the bench with my feet on the ground, breathing in deeply. My back hurt and I sat up straight, arching my spine and twisting to let it pop and crack loudly.

I still remained in my position on the bench as if waiting for someone. I stared at the oranges and yellows overtaking the horizon. Minutes passed until I finally began to stand with aching feet after several minutes, bending and stretching my legs lethargically before travelling down the street to where I knew a Starbucks had been last night.

The coffee shop was already open, and people hustled in and out of the building. I stalked in the door, approaching the stand.

The bartender worked quickly. Three times quicker than any other to be exact, as he had six arms. Mortals walked past as if it was normal, the Fog covering anything monstrous to mortals.

"Can I get a large vanilla latte," I requested, sliding the money across the counter. "And add a shot of nectar." I added a few golden drachmas underneath the money. The bartender nodded and took the money, beginning to make the drink.

Once I had received my coffee, I sat outside against the building, pulling out the large parchment map again. If I knew which way to travel, I could find another state to stay in, if they had anything.

The map still had only an outline of the states in black ink, but I stared at the borders.

Maybe New York, I considered. I brushed off falling dust on the paper, still focusing on the states.

The ink in the middle seemed to move as I watched the paper. I blinked before looking back down, and I saw that the ink really had moved. Near the corner of the paper, in the body of water under a curve of land, was now a drawn pinpoint marker.

27° N, 91° W, Gulf Of Mexico.