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If anyone were to ask, Drew would say their current predicament is all Michael’s fault.
“This is all your fault!” she shouts over her shoulder. Her legs burn as she sprints through the dense underbrush, the dried blood from tearing through thorny bushes making her skin itch. Behind her, she hears Michael groan, his breathing ragged.
“So you’ve said, like, a million times already,” Michael snaps back, cursing under his breath as he stumbles over an exposed root.
“Just wanted to make sure you don’t forget it, jerk,” she retorts. She tacks the insult on the end more for her own satisfaction, but if the affronted noise from behind her is anything to go by, Michael heard her.
For two kids traveling with no adult supervision from Maryland to New York, nothing to their names but a hundred dollars and magical powers they didn’t really understand, they were doing surprisingly well. Sure, they’d spotted a few creatures lurking in the shadows of bus shelters and on trains, and there was that one particularly nasty showdown with an overzealous baker in Pennsylvania (not even a monster in disguise—just a man who was very passionate about his cupcakes apparently), but they’d finally made it to Long Island in one piece.
With their last ten dollars, they treated themselves to a proper meal—a chicken sub that Drew was pretty sure would go down in history as the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten—and a taxi to get them as close as possible to the listed address of the so-called Camp Half-Blood. The cab ride was quiet, save for one extra aggressive game of I Spy. But it was as they stepped out of the cab, hearts pounding with anticipation, that Michael screwed up.
“Huh. We actually made it.”
Drew stops her trek forward, fixing him with a sharp glare. “You’re gonna jinx us now.”
Michael snorts, taking his time to shake out his legs. “Don’t be a baby, we’re fine.”
She scowls, stepping over and shoving him hard. “You’re so—go knock on that tree! That’s all you have to do!”
Michael blow a raspberry at her, and she shoves him again, frowning. Before he can respond, a loud slam of a car door makes them both jump. They turn just as the cab driver steps out, towering over the car at such a height that Drew wonders how he even got in the damn thing in the first place.
Drew glances to Michael, her stomach lurching. Before she can stop him, he cups his hands out and shouts, “Yo, dude. Everything good?”
The man doesn’t even look to them, head down as he circles to the back of the car. He pops open the trunk and steps back, and Drew stifles a yelp when a pair of legs swing out from inside.
As another man climbs out, the driver finally looks over to them, and Drew instinctively takes a step back. She hears Michael suck in a breath next to her.
“…Did he always have one eye?”
The man—cyclops?—from the trunk looks over to them as well, fixing them with his own singular eye. He turns and says something to his friend who shrugs and then they start to lumber over to them, their large steps quickly closing the distance.
“Oh my—you really couldn’t punch the stupid tree, huh?” Drew shouts. She doesn’t wait for Michael’s reply and they start to bolt blindly up the hill.
Behind her, Michael swear loudly enough that Drew pauses her mad dash for a moment to look back. He’s seemed to have tripped over a root, hitting the ground hard. She doesn’t hesitate to double back, yanking the boy up with all the strength she can muster before starting her run again. She has to drag Michael for the first few steps, but thankfully he seems to find his footing and starts running alongside her.
“Are we almost there?” She asks, gritting her teeth when low-hanging branch smacks her forehead hard. Michael grunts, struggling for a few seconds as he fumbles to pull his backpack in front of him and starts rooting through it till he finds the flyer. He squints at the paper, then at the surrounding woods.
“We need to find the tree,” he declares confidently, and if they weren’t running for their lives Drew would definitely punch his lights out.
“What tree? There are a million trees here.”
“This one,” he shouts, waving the flyer in her face. She scowls, reluctantly slowing herself to a jog to take a proper look at the flyer. Sure enough, there’s a clear photograph of a large pine tree, standing out proudly amongst the forest of maples and birches .
She glances around, fighting hard to tamp down her growing frustration. “Well, where is it then? We’ve been running for like ten minutes straight”
“Just keep moving. It’s got to be close,” Michael huffs, his eyes scanning the treetops as they weave between trunks and leap over roots.
They run and run for another five minutes—though the way Drew’s lungs are working it might as well be hours at this point. The woods seem to close in on them, the trees growing thicker and the shadows longer as they race through the underbrush. There’s no pine tree closing into their sight, the only oddity in their surroundings being the heavy footsteps of the monsters behind them, getting closer with every second. The ground beneath them trembles as the creatures draw near, their growls echoing through the forest.
“It’s still not here,” Drew yells, gasping for air. “What do we do?”
Before Michael can respond, a boulder the size of a small car hurtles past them, crashing into a nearby tree with a deafening crack. They both duck instinctively, narrowly avoiding with twin screams. More rocks and debris follow, the cyclopes hurling them with terrifying accuracy. Each near miss sends Drew’s pulse straight through the roof, but she forces herself to keep running, sparing a glance over her shoulder at the lumbering beasts that are closing in.
Michael suddenly slows to a stop, his breathing ragged. Drew grabs his arm, trying to tug him forward. “Mikey, c’mon, we need to go!”
For once, he doesn’t even protest the nickname, instead narrowing his eyes at the approaching cyclopes. "We can't outrun them forever. We have to fight,” he growls, yanking his arm away. "I can hold them off while you go get help.”
Drew opens her mouth to protest (for starters, she still has no idea where to even go to get the so-called help), but before she can argue, Michael’s already facing off with the oncoming monsters, bow fully drawn. His first arrow flies with a sharp whistle, striking the cab-driver-turned-cyclops in the shoulder. The monster stumbles for a moment, but otherwise it perseveres. Michael doesn’t hesitate; he fires again, and again, each arrow stunning the cyclopes for a moment as they’re forced to dodge or deflect the barrage.
She stands there helplessly, feet rooted into the ground. She could run and run and run, do circles around the darkening woods till she finds the pine tree.She could take a chance that this Camp place is, firstly, real, and secondly, actually cares enough to help her and Michael. But she can’t bring herself to leave him alone, especially as the cyclopes continue trekking forward, angered further with each piercing arrow.
“Michael, please, we need to go!” Drew shouts, flinching out of the way when one of the beasts tosses a medium-sized tree branch at her.
“Almost got it!” Michael insists. Another arrow flies, hitting the driver cyclops in the thigh. It stumbles hard this time, massive form almost sagging under the weight of the arrows embedded across its body. A smirk tugs at the corner of Michael’s lips as he swiftly nocks yet another arrow. He releases it, and it finds its place directly in the cyclops’s chest. The creature roars in pain, a terrified expression crossing its brutish face before it disintegrates, leaving nothing but a pile of dust and loose arrows.
Michael turns with a pleased smile, waving for Drew to start running as he sprints to catch up to her. She doesn’t move, or even return his smile, because all she can focus on is the burst of speed from the second cyclops, roaring in enragement at the sight of its dusted friend. In a flash, it’s close enough that it easily reaches out and seizes Michael by the back of his shirt. With a guttural roar, the cyclops hurls him aside like a ragdoll, his body hitting a tree with a sickening thud. He crumples to the ground as his bow skids across the dirt, coming to rest far from his outstretched hand. He doesn’t stir.
The world around her dims, the sounds of the forest fading into a dull roar in her ears. The cyclops looms over Michael, as if debating whether to deliver a final blow. Rage surges within Drew, hotter and more consuming than anything she’s ever felt before. She’s always a little angry—angry at her dad indifference to her in the best of times, angry at the creepy shoot producers who lingering looks made her skin crawl, angry at the kids at school who never let her feel like anything outside of an other. But as the cyclops raises a leg over Michael, her current rage burns hotter than the summer sun—obliterating every other thought, every other emotion, every instinct screaming at her to go.
“Step away from him,” she shouts. Her voice trembles under the weight of the magic-infused words as they claw their way out of her throat. Despite the waver, they hit their mark.
The cyclops freezes, its single eye clouding over as it stumbles backward. It turns its head toward her, expression blank with confusion. Before it can make another move, she presses on.
“Are you okay?” She takes a step closer, her voice dripping with mock concern as she tilts her head.
The cyclops stares at her, its murderous intent from only seconds ago replaced with bewilderment. It stands still as her words weave a spell around it.
“I don’t think you look okay. You look sick—like really sick. Are you breathing right?”
The creature’s chest stops moving, its breath caught in its throat as panic begins to set in. Its mouth opens wide, desperate for air, but nothing comes. Drew watches, satisfaction curling in her chest as the cyclops struggles for life, but it isn’t enough.
“You’re not feeling well,” she continues, voice raising with each new word. “You can’t get a single breath in right now. Every time you try, no air seems to enter your lungs.”
Her throat burns with each word, a metallic taste flooding her mouth, almost choking her. But as the cyclops falls to its knees, clawing frantically at its throat, she knows it’s worth it. Its single eye stares at her, crying for her stop—begging for mercy.
Drew swallows hard, gritting her teeth as she forces out the final, damning words. “You’re not breathing at all. You might as well be dying.”
The cyclops lets out a final, soundless screech before it falls with a shudder, eye rolling back. It crumbles into dust, leaving only silence in its wake.
Her heart continues to hammer hard in her chest as the world slowly comes back into focus. The metallic taste is unavoidable now, and she spits onto the grass, grimacing at the spots of blood that accompany it. She blinks hard, straining to keep herself upright as a wave of exhaustion plows over her. As her knees buckle, a barely audible whine from her left catches her attention. She whirls around, eyes finding Michael’s unmoving body as she sprints over and drops to her knees beside him.
Drew shakes Michael roughly, her hands trembling with panic. "Come on, Mikey, wake up," she begs, her voice cracking under the strain. She leans closer, her breath hitching as she desperately tries to will him back to consciousness.
Ignoring the scraping pain in her throat, she tries to summon her powers again, forcing out a command of open your eyes as a hoarse whisper. But no matter how hard she pushes, Michael remains still, his face pale and eyes closed tight.
The world around her blurs once more, this time the only prevailing sound being the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. She begs and screams and, to her own dismay, cries, trying in vain to wake him up. It's only when she hears the faint crinkle of leaves that her awareness snaps back, a flicker of movement catching her eye.
She spins around, fear seizing her as she shouts, "Stop moving!” The magic is weaker than before, but it’s enough that the intruders freeze in their tracks. She sidles around to Michael’s other side, positioning herself between him and the newcomers.
She studies them with a narrowed gaze. The first is a teenage boy, tall and tan, with a heap of dark blonde curls that brush his neck. He watches her with curious green eyes, the shade like a reflection of the surrounding foliage. He looks like he should be tending to a farm in the middle of nowhere, not standing on the edge of a forest on the East Coast.
Beside him is a girl, a few inches shorter but far more imposing. Her dark curls are pulled into a tight ponytail, and her brown piercing eyes seem to challenge everything they land on. She carries herself with the kind of aggressive energy that makes Drew instantly wary, as if the she might lunge at any moment. The girl’s muscles ripple under her skin, almost taut with barely contained power.
Drew doesn’t say anything further to the two—partially because she doesn’t care to and partially because her throat is on fire. She instead just stares them down as they stand frozen, eyes darting between her and Michael's prone form.
The boy is the first to speak. "It’s okay, we’re here to help you guys, if you’ll let us."
His voice is soft, wrapping her in a calming sensation, a feeling of you can trust me. And maybe it should have relaxed her, but she’d learnt time and time again that soft words can hide the sharpest intentions. Sure enough, his arm twitches slightly, and Drew's gaze snaps to the movement. “I told you: stop moving," she hisses, feeling a flash of joy as she watches his face screw up in fleeting frustration when his arm stills yet again. Her satisfaction dies almost immediately as the metallic taste of blood fills her mouth again—more than the taste, but the physical sensation too. She turns to the side, barely suppressing a gag as she spits out the crimson fluid.
The two intruders stay unmoving, but they whisper urgently to each other—impossible for her to catch through the rushing of blood in her ears. "—bring Silena to deal—make herself sick—no satyr—calm down—how am I—lots of blood, Clar—won’t make it if we don’t—“
Another wave of nausea hits her as she gags on the continuously blood pooling in her mouth. She tries to focus, forcing her eyes back to the strangers as they murmur to each other. The girl is still glowering, but Drew is starting to think that’s just her face.
“—get close—charm speak, I guess—get back to Camp—try your luck—arrow up your ass—”
"Camp?" she croaks out, latching onto the one word she might just recognize. Her voice is barely above a whisper, each syllable scraping against her raw throat, but the two teens immediately snap their attention back to her.
"Yeah, Camp Half-Blood," the boy replies, his voice still as soft and encouraging despite her previous stunt. "It’s just over the hill—we can help you and your friend once we get there, if you’ll let us take you."
Drew’s still wary, but the boy’s steady gaze and the promise of safety weaken her already pathetically-low resolve. She doesn’t stop them again when they take a cautious step closer. As she watches them, she suddenly remembers Michael’s quiver, now empty, and his remaining arrows scattered too far away.
She raises a hand wordlessly, relieves when the duo stop their approach. She pushes herself to her feet, stumbling as she scrambles to retrieve Michael’s discarded bow and arrows. She hastily stuffs the arrows into her bag and snaps the bowstring as Michael had shown her. The weapon shrinks, glowing briefly before transforming into a small ring. As she slips it onto her finger and waves them forward again, she barely catches the pleased look the boy shares with the girl.
The girl moves toward Michael, seemingly ready to lift him, but just her approach makes Drew’s panic surge again. "No!" she shouts, her voice cracking. The girl freezes, her expression souring as she looks to the boy for help.
"Hey now,," the boy says gently, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "She’s just going to pick him up, sweetheart. Is that—"
Drew doesn’t let him finish, shaking her head vehemently. She shoves past the girl, positioning herself under Michael’s neck and waist. The boy opens his mouth as if to argue but closes it with a resigned sigh, signaling for the girl to step back.
She heaves Michael up, her muscles protesting as fatigue drags at her limbs. He’s not exactly heavy (the street rat diet does that to a person), but she’s not at her strongest, and every step feels like a losing battle against her own body. Yet, she tightens her grip on him, refusing to let go. With a nod to the boy, she wordlessly begins follows his lead.
The scary girl lingers behind, much to Drew’s annoyance—the idea of someone she can’t see at her back doesn’t give her much peace of mind. But there’s no strength left to voice her discomfort. She forces herself to refrain from spitting again, worried that they might try and take Michael from her if they see more blood, but the taste in her mouth is nearly unbearable.
The boy introduces himself as Lee and the girl as Clarisse, mentioning something about their parents and Gods (plural?) and goats, but Drew barely listens. All her focus is on staying upright, on keeping Michael safe.
The journey feels endless. By the time she catches sight of the pine tree from the flyer, standing tall and majestic, she’s basically spent, losing her footing for a moment. Lee keeps glancing at her, concern etched on his face, but he says nothing.
As they reach the tree, Lee says something about a border that she doesn’t even blink at. It’s only once she steps past the tree that she understands it was a warning. A warmth envelops Drew, soothing her exhaustion—a strong sensation that tells her aching limbs to get comfortable. Too comfortable. Her knees buckle almost immediately, and she crumples to the ground, barely managing to safely lower Michael onto the grass before collapsing to a kneel beside him. Blood spills from her mouth as she struggles out a sound between a sob and a gag, that same, stupid, metallic scent filling her nostrils.
Lee shouts something, but Drew can’t understand. Nothing makes sense as her head spins and her vision blurs, a mix of gold and pink light blinding her. When she manages to look away from the ground, she almost throws up again because Michael is glowing. Golden light radiates from his still-unconscious form, as though there’s liquid gold passing through where his blood should be. The tiny cuts across his arms and legs seem to fade—the same way as when either of them eat those strange lemon squares.
Above Michael’s head, there’s some sort of hovering symbol, glowing the same gold as him. Lee and Clarisse are staring at it in awe, a large smile breaking out across the older boy’s face. Drew’s heart skips a beat as she tries and fails to distinguish the symbol. “W-what’s happening to him?” she asks, her voice faint.
“Seems like Tiny here just got claimed. And he’s not the only one," Clarisse replies, looking moderately less enthused than Lee. Her gaze shifts to Drew, and it takes her a moment to realize she’s not staring at her, but above her.
Glancing up, she flinches hard at the bright pink light radiating above her. She frantically looks back down at herself, relieves she’s not glowing from the inside out like Michael. Though, through the haze of exhaustion she realizes that the grime and blood caking her skin from weeks of travel are gone. Her nails are now painted an electric pink—her favorite color—manicured and shaped just like the fancy girls at her school used to have them. Even her clothes seem brand new.
She looks back to Lee and Clarisse, and she watches as Lee’s mouth moves, trying to tell her something. But before she can process what’s happening, her vision darkens. The last things she knows are a soft whisper in her ear, 'You made it, my dear,' and the warm scent of roses and myrtles, before everything goes black.