ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ✯

Memory of Home

From the mortal world... that made sense. Kinda. He saw half a hot dog, some grapes, a plate of roast beef, and a package of peanut M&M's.

"M&M's for Bob!" Bob said happily. "Uh, that okay?" 

Percy didn't protest. He went and got plate of roast beef, and wolfed it down. He'd never tasted anything so good. The brisket was still hot, with exactly the same spicy sweet glaze as the barbecue at Camp Half-Blood.

Wait... could it be from there? Camp? His home? The idea made Percy weak with homesickness.

 At every meal, the campers would burn some food to honor their godly parents or whatever. The smoke supposedly pleased the gods, but Percy had never thought about where the food went when it was burned. Maybe the offerings reappeared on the gods' altars in Olympus...or even here, in the middle of Tartarus. 

"Peanut M&M's," Percy pondered. "Connor always burned a pack for his dad at dinner." 

He thought about sitting in the dining pavilion, watching the sunset over Long Island Sound. That was the first place he and Annabeth had actually kissed. Tears welled up in his eyes. 

"Hey, this is good. Actual food from home, right?" He said, trying to convince himself. 

He finished eating in silence.Bob chomped down the last of his M&M's.

 "Should go now. They will be here in a few minutes." 

"A few minutes?" Percy reached for Riptide, then remembered he didn't have it. Instead, he placed his hand on his rib-bone sword.

"Yes...well, I think minutes..." Bob scratched his silvery hair. "Time is hard in Tartarus. Not the same." 

Percy crept to the edge of the crater. He peered back the way they'd come. 

"I don't see anything, but that doesn't mean much. Bob, which giants are we talking about? Which Titans?"

Bob grunted. "Not sure of names. Six, maybe seven. I can sense them." 

"Six or seven?" Percy wasn't sure his barbecue would stay down. "And can they sense you?"

 "Don't know." Bob smiled. "Bob is different! But they can smell demigods, yes. You smell very strong. Good strong. Like...hmm. Like buttery bread!" 

"Buttery bread," Percy said. "Well, that's great." 

He climbed back to the altar. 

Is it possible to kill a giant in Tartarus? I mean, since we don't have a god to help him? Traveling in Tartarus, fighting monsters here...it's never been done before.

 Maybe Bob could help him kill a giant? Maybe a Titan would count as a god? He didn't know, but he bet Annabeth would have. For years, he'd depended on her fo ranswers. Now, when he needed her most, she couldn't help. 

There was only one thing he was sure of: they had to keep moving. They couldn't be caught by six or seven immortals that wanted to kill Percy, and possibly Bob too. 

He stood, still disoriented from his nightmares, especially since they featured his Wise Girl, and he WAS her in the first one. Ugh, that was weird.

 Bob started cleaning up, collecting their trash in a little pile, using his squirt bottle to wipe off the altar. 

 According to Bob, the Doors of Death were through that stomy dark wall. Percy was still reluctant about trusting him, but he had saved his life, and what other option did he have?

 "Bob helps!" Bob agreed. "Into the Dark Lands. The Doors of Death...hmm, walking straight to them would be bad. Too many monsters gathered there. Even Bob could not sweep that many. They would kill Percy in about two seconds."

 The Titan frowned. "I think seconds. Time is hard in Tartarus.""

Right," Percy grumbled. "So is there another way?" 

"Hiding," said Bob. "The Death Mist could hide you." 

"Oh..." Percy suddenly felt very small in the shadow of the Titan. "Uh,what is Death Mist?" 

"It is dangerous," Bob said. "But if the lady will give you Death Mist, it might hide you. If we can avoid Night. The lady is very close to Night. That is bad." 

Percy didn't like the 'might' in that sentence, but what choice did he have?

"The lady," Percy repeated. 

"Yes." Bob pointed ahead of them into the inky blackness. "We should go."

 He was thinking about his nightmare—Thalia's tree splintered by lightning, Gaea rising on the hillside and unleashing her monsters on Camp Half-Blood. 

"Okay, then," He said. "I guess we'll see a lady about some Death Mist." 

Then, he thought of his dream about Luke and Thalia.He recalled the stories Annabeth had told him about his father, Hermes—god of travelers, guide to the spirits of the dead, god of communication. 

Percy stared at the black altar. He walked to the pile of trash and picked out a somewhat clean paper napkin.

 He remembered his vision of Reyna, standing in the smoking crevice beneath the ruins of Thalia's pine tree, speaking with the voice of Athena:I must stand here. The Roman must bring me. Hurry. The message must be sent. 

"Bob," he said, "offerings burned in the mortal world appear on this altar, right?" 

Bob frowned uncomfortably, like he wasn't ready for a pop quiz. "Yes?" 

"So what happens if I burn something on the altar here?" 

"Uh..." 

"That's all right," Percy said. "You don't know. Nobody knows, because it's never been done." There was a chance, he thought, just the slimmest chance that an offering burned on this altar might appear at Camp Half-Blood. Doubtful, but if it did work... 

Percy reached for his pocket to draw out his sword. Maybe he'd be able to find a way to write with- oh yeah. He'd lost it.

 He took out his bone. Did he want to do it? He had fought thousands of monsters, what was a little cut? It wasn't that different, was it? 

Before he could think about it anymore, he raised the bone and slashed it across his forearm, slicing open the skin. The blood pooled on the ground, and quickly, percy dipped his finger in it.

He flattened the napkin against the altar and began to messily drip the blood onto it as ink, using his newfound power to stop it from bleeding. He finished his note and folded the napkin. 

On the outside, he wrote: 

Connor, Give this to Rachel. Not a prank. Please do it unless you want me to die.

 ~Percy

He took a deep breath. He was asking Rachel to do something ridiculously dangerous, but it was the only way she could think of to communicate with the Romans—the only way that might avoid bloodshed. 

"Now I just need to burn it," he said. "You got a match?" 

The point of Bob's spear shot from his broom handle. It sparked against the altar and erupted in silvery fire. 

"Uh, thanks." 

Percy lit the napkin and set it on the altar. He watched it crumble to ash and wondered if he was crazy. Could the smoke really make it out of Tartarus? 

"We should go now," Bob advised. "Really, really go. Before we are killed." 

Percy stared at the wall of blackness in front of them. Somewhere in there was a lady who dispensed a Death Mist that might hide them from monsters—a plan recommended by a Titan, one of his bitterest enemies. Another dose of weirdness to explode his brain. 

"Right," he said. "I'm ready."

1703 words

~ 🌊