Yay! Here is chap. 11 finally! My computer is acting up on me, and I've been fighting it for the last couple days, so sorry for the long wait! Also, I usually don't reply to my reviewers, but SuzieQluvsU (did I spell that right?), you're review is worthy of notice. You're just a chapter or two ahead of me in terms of character background! I probably should have done a bit of that earlier, but I just couldn't find anywhere it could go. So next chapter or so we'll get to know Hawkeye and some of those others a bit better. Also, I do realize that monsters are supposed to go poof when they are touched by celestial bronze, but I find that to be a bit of a get-outta-jail-free card, don't you? I mean, all you would have to do is prick a monster in the paw or something and it'd explode into dust. I think that's a total rip off in terms of good action. So I dropped it completely. Besides, Christine, Kodiak, and some of those others wouldn't explode into dust anyway, because they're not monsters, they're mutants. But thank you so much for the great review! Keep reading!
Ch. 11
Do yourself a favor and, next time you happen to be involved in a war, don't get captured by the enemy. Trust me on this one. I've had some on-the-job experience here, and I know what I'm talking about. Just in case, you know, you hadn't figured that out yet.
But I was really screwed this time. It took me about a second and a half to figure that out, especially when I wake up in a cage. A. . . gods, dare I say it. . . An actual dog crate. Yes, a dog crate, like, with a latch and a plastic floor! Those demigods have the guts, the gall, to confine someone like me in a freaking dog crate! I was absolutely furious, at the very least. The problem was, I couldn't do anything about it.
Yeah, I know. The indestructible Christine Savage had finally hit bottom, had sunk to a level of weakness where I could barely lift my head, let alone bust myself out. That's called the pit of shame right there. I mean, it was just wire, and yet I couldn't free myself. It wasn't even worth considering, I was so weak.
Just as it didn't take me long to discover that I was screwed, it also didn't take me long to figure out where I was. Several minutes after rousing myself from unconsciousness, the smell hits my senses. The disgusting, festering scent of the gods and all things warm and fuzzy inside, flooding my nostrils and making me gag and choke. How could they live in this stench? In a place where the very ground radiates glory to the gods, and the buildings practically scream I AM PATHETICALLY LOYAL TO A FAMILY OF SELFISH IMMORTALES WHO DON'T CARE THAT I AM ALIVE!!! It's absolutely disgusting. I mean, even my dog crate had little Greek designs carved into the metal bars, no doubt preaching crap about the poetic abilities of Apollo and the glorious powers of Zeus and a bunch of lies like that. Even worse, I would probably end up becoming some sort of religious sacrifice to Ares if I allowed myself to sit here long enough, which was, in my opinion, the ultimate demise.
That was the first thing that crossed my mind, even before I had properly examined my surroundings. My sight was slightly limited, as I was incapable of moving much, due to my gaping side wound which was, without a doubt, the ugliest thing I've seen in years. But other than that, my cage was located smack in the middle of the Camp Half-Blood sword arena.
This was actually a pretty good idea on their part, as the sword arena always had a lot of people floating around; lessons for the new campers (the ones we hadn't gotten first), practice for the older kids, and kids who just wanted to escape from the bustle of the rest of the camp. With all those people around, and me unable to sit up, there was no way I could be getting myself out of this mess anytime soon; even now I could see several girls standing around chatting away on the edge of the arena.
I can also feel eyes on my back, but I'm so discombobulated that it takes me a while to figure out who's watching me. Finally I twist my head around to look behind me, and see Mrs. O'Leary the hellhound sitting maybe three feet away, watching me calmly. I meet her eyes, and several slow, silent seconds tick by as we regard each other with distaste. Then she gets up and turns her back on me, bounding off up a trail that leads deeper into the camp.
I sigh and lay my head back down on the plastic floor of my prison, cataloguing my injuries. Other than my side wound, I can feel a long gash across my jaw, and several claws on my back left paw have been torn out. I'm missing a fang of two, and one of my injuries from the demigod's raid on the Rebel camp has reopened. I've lost a ton of blood, most of which has plastered itself to my fur, and I'm also pretty skinny, drawing me to the conclusion that I've been out cold for four, maybe five days. I don't even bother trying to move; I can feel the stiffness that wracks my body.
All in all, I'm a mess.
I wonder what happened to Kodiak and the others. Xelta was dead, that much I knew, but I had no idea what had become of everyone else. Kodiak would probably have had enough sense to fly away when things got out of hand, unless his wings had been injured and he was incapable of flight. Fiona and Katrina probably would have bailed too, unless they were dead. I get the feeling that they hadn't been captured--they were too smart for that--but they could easily have been overwhelmed and killed.
I'm distracted by approaching footsteps. I raise my eyes to see Mrs. O'Leary leading Jackson, Chiron, Nico Di Angelo, and the Ares girl, the one who killed Kronos's drakon, over to my prison.
Jackson is glowering at me. He reminds me a bit of Hawkeye, with his hunched way of walking and the dark circles around his eyes. Di Angelo doesn't look much better, but being a son of Hades, he always looks like that I'd guess.
I quickly wipe my face clean of emotion as they approach me, letting my body go slack and staring straight ahead, trying to look as uninterested as possible. Mrs. O'Leary plunks down beside my cage, panting happily and looking very pleased with herself for alerting the management to my stirring.
Chiron folds his hands as he studies me. "Who do we have here?" he asks quietly, speaking to no one in particular.
"We still haven't identified it," Di Angelo says, crossing his arms over his chest. "She's been around, though. This is the one who set the forest on fire and fought us for Annabeth at their camp."
Chiron nods slowly, still watching me, then turns to Mrs. O'Leary. "Has she spoken to you?" he asks the hellhound, who shakes her head.
"She can talk?" barks the Ares girl. "I thought she was just a wolf."
"We believe that she has at least human-level intelligence, Clarisse," Chiron replies patiently. "And there are several reported instances where she has spoken, although only briefly. She has the problem-solving abilities equal to those of a human, and the lifespan. This creature has been on our records since even before the war. I first encountered her about ten years ago, and she does not appear to have aged much since then."
"I say we kill her," Jackson spits venomously, surprising all of us. From what I know, it isn't like Jackson to talk like that. That's more the kind of thing I'd expect the Ares girl, Clarisse, to say. But then again, he's probably still murderous about me threatening Chase during their ambush on the Rebel camp.
Chiron lays a hand gently on Jackson's shoulder. "I understand why you say that," he says gently, "but while she is here, I suggest we try to get some information out of her before we decide what to do."
"What's the use?" Jackson asks harshly. "She's not even a hostage, really. Monsters don't sacrifice anything for each other. They probably don't even know she's alive, and wouldn't care even if they did. And she won't talk. I mean, look at her."
I realize too late that I had been watching Jackson with a huge evil grin on my face.
Chiron frowns thoughtfully at me. "It is true that the chances of her willingly giving us information are nonexistent, and we do not practice torture methods on our prisoners. The fact that we have a captive at all is very rare itself; I don't approve of taking prisoners of war."
"I agree with Percy," Clarisse growls. "I say we leave her here to rot. She won't last long anyway. Check out that side wound Emily gave her. It's a wonder that thing didn't kill her right off the bat. Besides, she's gone at least four days without anything to eat--she won't last much longer."
Chiron looks sideways at Di Angelo. "Nico? What do you think?"
Di Angelo studies me with his dark eyes, and I stare fearlessly back at him. I hope he's remembering the final battle outside of the Empire State Building, where I'd taken a huge chunk out of his shoulder. "I don't have any preference," he says after a second, "but I don't believe she'll reveal any information to us, and killing her would be easiest. But it's up to you." He looks calmly at Chiron, who gives him a look that clearly says that his comment wasn't helpful.
"Very well," the centaur says after a moment. "Let's discuss this somewhere more private, shall we?" He watches me searchingly, as if he knows that I'll use everything and anything I hear against him. I can't help but smirk.
"That's what I was thinking," Clarisse says, giving me a filthy look before following Chiron as he walks off.
But Jackson doesn't move. He just stands there, his hands balled into fists, staring at me. Di Angelo makes to follow Clarisse and Chiron, but notices Jackson, and turns back.
"C'mon, Percy. You can't do anything about it," he says quietly. "She'll pay. You know that."
I turn my head to look at them. There's nobody else in the arena at the moment, besides Mrs. O'Leary. Looking at the venomous expression on Jackson's face, I allow myself to cackle. "Found yourself a new girlfriend yet, Percy Jackson? You might need one here pretty soon," I tell him.
Jackson bites his lip so hard I see a glimmer of blood on his teeth. I have no idea what he would have done to me if he hadn't been able to keep himself under control, but it wouldn't have been pretty. Di Angelo notices the danger signs and grabs Jackson's arm.
"Dude, don't do it," he says, trying to wrench Jackson away. "She's just baiting you. Come on."
Jackson allows himself to be drug back a step, and then another, but still doesn't turn away from me. His brilliant green eyes are impossible to read.
I shake my head at him, still sniggering as Di Angelo puts all his weight into it and manages to haul Jackson away. They both glance back over their shoulders at me as they march off, Jackson trembling with fury, but neither say a thing. I watch them until they are gone from sight, leaving me only with Mrs. O'Leary.
She growls at me, and I stick my tongue out at her. A bit immature maybe, but it makes a point. Of course, in retaliation I get a swift kick in the side of my kennel which rattles me painfully, but oh well. I replace my head innocently on my paws, and Mrs. O' Leary gives me one more dirty look before sitting down on her haunches just beyond the wire bars, her back turned to me. But then her fur bristles, and she seems to have a second thought. She turns back around so that she can see me properly.
I swallow back a scornful snort and close my eyes, ignoring her. I've got more important things to think about. An escape plan, for instance.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Unsurprisingly, escape was hard to come by in this hellhole. It took me almost four days to figure out a plan of escape, and even then it wasn't really a well thought-out plan. More of a, get-out-of-the-cage-and-make-everything-up-from-there kind of plan.
See, my escape methods are pretty darn limited. I'm not really a pleasant person to talk to, so using my rapier wit and charms to convince a passing demigod to open the cage door for me wasn't an option. Neither was using my stellar brain power to figure out a way to outsmart the magical padlock on the door, since I'm more of a 'jump first think about where you're jumping later' kind of person, and am not known for my knowledge of numbers and patterns. Morphing into a human is out for the count too, since not only would that give away my identity, it would also sap up my energy way too fast. So that leaves busting myself out.
I've been working on my balance the last couple of days cooped up in the kennel, and am now a bit more hopeful about this plan of action. Well, I can stand up anyway. It's a start, right? Anyway, this is by far my best bet, since raw physical power and endurance are naturally my two strong suits, way more effective than my persuasiveness or problem-solving abilities.
And believe it or not, this plan that I was concocting actually took a while to think out, due to how incredibly distracted I was. Jackson, unfortunately, insisted on practicing his swordsmanship in the arena in all his free time, never too far from me. Given the looks he shot me out of the corners of his eyes, it didn't take me long to begin to worry about how good of an aim he had, in case he every tried to use that sword of his like a large dart and skewer me like a giant-sized shish kabob. Nico Di Angelo and Chiron must have been thinking along the same lines, as they were constantly inventing distractions to keep Jackson away from me, and when that didn't work, insisted on watching him practice.
Along with the lingering threat of being stabbed by Jackson, there was also all the other demigods in camp, and Mrs. O' Leary. Unlike us Rebels, the demigods don't torment their captives quite as excessively as we do, but they did make me nervous. After all, I still didn't know what Chiron and the other head campers had decided to do with me, but I really don't plan on sticking around long enough to find out.
I figure they intend on keeping me around for a least a little while longer, since I was, thankfully, given a meal a day. This helped my strength considerably, but I was still in pretty bad shape. My side wound, being deprived of proper medical attention, was getting worse and worse, and I was beginning to suspect that it was infected. It had begun to heal up a bit and I cleaned it as best I could, but it still hurt like the dickens whenever I moved.
So, on my fourth conscious night as a prisoner in Camp Half-Blood, after the curfew had been called and the campers retired to their cabins (most of which had been restored since Katrina and I burned them down), I haul myself to my feet inside the little kennel, swaying back and forth in the darkness, getting used to my paws again.
Mrs. O' Leary gives me an annoyed look out of the corner of her eye. She's been guarding me around the clock ever since my arrival at the camp from what I know, and she's obviously not happy about it.
I get right up close to the flimsy wire bars of my prison, and spit at the hellhound. "What are you looking at?" I snarl.
Her hackles rise, and she bares her teeth at me as I sneer. "What's that look for this time? You're always complaining about something, do you know that? It's really a wonder these demigods keep you around, when you think about it," I say. "But then again, they're all so thick-headed I guess that's all I should expect from them, eh?"
Mrs. O' Leary growls, moonlight glittering off her pearly teeth.
"I guess you can't be much better either," I continue thoughtfully. "Sticking around this dump the rest of your life? You were doing way better with Daedalus, if you ask me. At least he had enough common sense to doubt the gods, unlike this pathetic bunch. Doesn't look like any of that rubbed off on you though, huh?"
That's the last straw for the hellhound. With a loud snarl, she lunges at me, thrusting her huge paws through the wire bars of my cage and bending them away slightly, much to my immense delight. I return the attack with gusto despite my wounds, and the entire kennel rattles fiercely, even threatening to tip over at one point. I sink my front claws deep into the scruff of Mrs. O' Leary's neck and snap at her throat through the bars while trying to keep out of range of her own huge paws, which would rip me open easily if given the chance.
Grimacing in concentration, I throw myself painfully forward against Mrs. O' Leary at the same exact same time she gets a claw in my shoulder and yanks back hard. Our combined momentum sends the dog crate crashing over onto it's side, partially trapping Mrs. O' Leary underneath. Without hesitation, I leap onto her head, slamming myself onto her as hard as possible through the wire bars, trying to knock her out. Like all hellhounds, she has a hopelessly thick head, so this takes a little while longer that I would like, but eventually her eyes roll back and she passes out as I bring my bodyweight down on her skull.
I want to finish her off, but I'm already losing precious time. We made more than enough noise to alert the harpies that patrol the camp after curfew, searching for demigods out of bed, and I can already hear them flapping closer.
Finding the weak point in the wire bars where Mrs. O' Leary first thrust her paws through, I use my teeth and shoulders to bend them further aside, making a hole just big enough for me to squeeze though. My side wound is throbbing as I escape my wire prison and emerge on the grass of the sword arena, leaping over Mrs. O' Leary and bounding off up the trail that leads past the Big House and towards the pine tree that marks the magical border.
The calls of the harpies ring out behind me as I race past the Big House, a single lamplight glittering from above it's door like a lighthouse beacon in the warm night. Up ahead of me I can see the dark outline of the great pine tree, silhouetted against the starry sky. At it's base, my main obstacle lies in wait: Peleus, the dragon hired to guard the pine tree in the absence of demigods.
I can see the dragon's eyes shining at me from beneath the boughs, never straying from my face as I approach at a pained run. Above the dragons head, a different reflection of light catches my eye. From a low branch of the pine tree hangs a large piece of material, shining softly in it's own self-generated glow.
The Golden Fleece.
Almost immediately, I get a brilliant, possibly suicidal idea (I'm good at those). Peleus must notice a change in my face, because he raises himself off the ground and narrows his eyes threateningly.
My side wound is beginning to bleed again, sprinkling the grass with drops of red and cutting into my side like the blade that put it there, but I ignore it, veering off the path and towards the pine tree, where Peleus waits for me. The flapping of the harpies is closing in from behind me, but I don't slow.
Silently cursing myself for my own habit of making dangerous snap decisions but still not the least bit willing to stop what I am doing, I close the distance between myself and Peleus and plow into him head first. I don't think that the dragon really believed I would have the guts--or the stupidity--to actually attack him, and he is knocked backwards several feet by my body-slam in surprise. But he instantly recovers himself and gives an expert twitch, throwing me right off his back and into the grass, sending me rolling.
I throw my paws up in the nick of time as the dragon bears down on me, and his teeth snap shut so close to my neck that he gets a mouthful of fur. Peleus slides off my body and over my head, and I leap to my feet just as he whirls around and snaps at me again. I yank my head back, but not quite fast enough. He misses my skull, but his teeth sink all the way through my ear, so as I pull back, my ear is shredded like a ribbon. I yelp and lunge forward at the dragon, clawing at his face.
Now I've had my fair share of experience fighting dragons, so I know that they're only big weak spot is their face. They're a bit less indestructible up there since the scales are softer, and without their eyes especially, they're really useless. Also, when you actually do make a dragon bleed, they're so surprised and angry with themselves for letting their guard down that they can't think straight or concentrate on a fight. Usually, dragons have so may heads this is pretty useless information, but when you get lucky enough to square off against a dragon like Peleus here, with one head, it comes in pretty handy.
So when I managed to weasel my way past Peleus's claws and get right in his face, I go for his eyes with my claws. Possibly out of sheer luck, I immediately strike a hit; my claws gouge deep into the skin above Peleus's right eye, and black dragon blood pours down his face. The beast yowls in a most undignified manner and shrinks away from me, pawing at his face with a clawed hand.
This is all I need to reel backward several steps, leap up, and grab the corner of the Golden Fleece in my fangs, flip it over the branch it dangles from, and haul tail away from the tree as fast as I can go. A harpy falls from the sky several feet in front of me, right on the border, and screeches loudly. The call is taken up by the other harpies at they circle around, warning the inhabitants of Camp Half-Blood of a crisis.
Without pause I shove the harpy out of the way, yanking the Fleece from her reach as she makes a grab for it, and throw myself from the top of the hill. As I go, the harpy stretches out and pokes a filthy yellow claw deep into my thigh, ripping open yet another wound for the record. I don't look back though, half running, half rolling down the hill as I escape my captors. Already I can hear voices ringing out as the demigods react to the harpies' warning call, awakening and bursting out of their cabins.
But by the time Jackson, Di Angelo, and Chiron reach the top of Half-Blood Hill, I'm long gone, disappeared into the darkness and the midnight bustle of the city with the Golden Fleece. I leave nothing but a trail of blood drops behind me, that glisten in the cold moonlight like little crystal beads.
_____________________________________________________________
My first priority, even before returning to the Rebel camp or cleaning my wounds, is to get rid of the Fleece. The demigods will be desperate to get it back, and if it's anywhere within easy access, they'll get it. At the moment, I don't need a permanent hiding place for it, just something temporary until Zane gets wind of what I've done and figures out a course of action.
I decide that dropping it into the Hudson River is my best bet. The god that lives in the Hudson feels no loyalty to the gods of Olympus, and has to be bribed to do anything. Plus, the Hudson is not sea water, so Jackson won't be able to locate the Fleece amid all that muck unless he practically steps on it, and all his little salt water fish buddies won't be able to find it for him either.
Of course, if Jackson can't find the Fleece in the Hudson, we might not be able to either, but right now that's the least of my worries. I just need somewhere that the Fleece can be hidden and eventually retrieved. As added bonus, the Fleece will probably help the pollution in the Hudson considerably, as did Jackson's sea star that he manipulated the River gods with during the war.
Another reason I turn to the river is because our Rebel runners that relay messages from Zane to the portal guards follow it for a length. I can tell as the river comes into view that my consciousness is not going to last me much longer, and there's no use trying to fight it, so if I have to pass out then I might as well do it where someone from the Rebel camp will find me before the demigods or the mortal cops.
Slinking out of an alleyway, I skitter across the street and limp into the murky waters of the Hudson River up to my chest. I toss the Golden Fleece as far out into the current as I can get it, grunting softly with the exertion. There is a momentary glimmer as the Fleece sinks into the river, and then it disappears, the only light on the water coming from the reflection of city lights on it's surface.
I stand still for a moment, enjoying the coolness of the river on my many burning wounds, watching the brown water around me turn red with my own blood. Then I turn and limp painfully back to the littered bank, dragging myself up to a brick wall as pain and fatigue begin to cloud my eyesight. I slump down against the wall, leaving a streak of blood, and go slack, collapsing once again into the cool relief of unconsciousness.
