NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

fifty four: the wilderness.

THEY WALKED OVERLAND for about an hour, keeping the train tracks in sight but staying in the cover of the trees as much as possible. Once they heard a helicopter flying in the direction of the train wreck, which gave Brooklyn the urge to steal it or something and fly it. Twice they heard the screech of gryphons, but they sounded a long way off.

As near as she could figure, it was about midnight when the sun finally set. It got cold in the woods. The stars were so thick, she was tempted to stop and gawk at them. Then the northern lights cranked up. They reminded her of better times — but naturally the world hated her, so she couldn't remember what those better times specifically were.

"That's amazing," Frank said.

"Bears," Hazel pointed. Sure enough, a couple of brown bears were lumbering in the meadow a few hundred feet away, their coats gleaming in the starlight. "They won't bother us," Hazel promised. "Just give them a wide berth."

Brooklyn, Percy, and Frank didn't argue.

As they trudged on, she could see why it was a land beyond the gods. Everything here was rough and untamed. There were no rules, no prophecies, no destinies — just the harsh wilderness and a bunch of animals and monsters. Mortals and demigods came here at their own risk.

She wondered if this was what Gaea wanted — for the whole world to be like this. Brooklyn wondered if that would be such a bad thing.

Then she put the thought aside. Gaea wasn't a gentle goddess. Brooklyn had heard about what she planned to do. She wasn't like the Mother Earth you might read about in a children's fairy tale. She was vengeful and violent. If she ever woke up fully, she'd destroy human civilization.

After another couple of hours, they stumbled across a tiny village between the railroad tracks and a two-lane road. The city limit sign said: MOOSE PASS. Standing next to the sign was an actual moose. For a second, Brooklyn thought it might be some sort of statue for advertising. Then the animal bounded into the woods.

They passed a couple of houses, a post office, and some trailers. Everything was dark and closed up. On the other end of town was a store with a picnic table and an old rusted petrol pump in front.

The store had a hand-painted sign that read: MOOSE PASS GAS.

"That's just wrong," Frank said.

By silent agreement they collapsed around the picnic table.

Brooklyn's feet felt like blocks of ice — very sore blocks of ice. Hazel put her head in her hands and passed out, snoring. Frank took out his last sodas and some granola bars from the train ride and shared them with Brooklyn and Percy.

They ate in silence, watching the stars, until Frank said to Percy, "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

Percy looked across the table. "About what?"

In the starlight, Frank's face might have been alabaster, like an old Roman statue. "About . . . being proud that we're related."

Percy tapped his granola bar on the table. "Well, let's see. You single-handedly took out three basilisks while I was sipping green tea and wheat germ. You held off an army of Laistrygonians so that our plane could take off in Vancouver. And you gave up the last charge on your magic spear to help some defenseless mortals. You are, hands down, the nicest child of the war god I've ever met . . . maybe the only nice one. So what do you think?"

Frank stared up at the northern lights, still cooking across the stars on low heat. "It's just . . . I was supposed to be in charge of this quest, the centurion, and all. I feel like you guys have had to carry me."