(Book 1)The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan

Author:Rick Riordan
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2013-06-05T18:30:00+00:00

13 I PLUNGE TO

MY DEATH

We spent two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hil s, over rivers, past amber waves of grain.

We weren’t attacked once, but I didn’t relax. I felt that we were traveling around in a display case, being watched from above and maybe from

below, that something was waiting for the right opportunity.

I tried to keep a low profile because my name and picture were splattered over the front pages of several East Coast newspapers. The

Trenton Register-News showed a photo taken by a tourist as I got off the Greyhound bus. I had a wild look in my eyes. My sword was a metal ic

blur in my hands. It might’ve been a basebal bat or a lacrosse stick.

The picture’s caption read:

Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson, wanted for questioning in the Long Island disappearance of his mother two weeks ago, is shown here

fleeing from the bus where he accosted several elderly female passengers. The bus exploded on an east New Jersey roadside shortly after

Jackson fled the scene. Based on eyewitness accounts, police believe the boy may be traveling with two teenage accomplices. His stepfather,

Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture.

“Don’t worry,” Annabeth told me. “Mortal police could never find us.” But she didn’t sound so sure.

The rest of the day I spent alternately pacing the length of the train (because I had a real y hard time sitting stil ) or looking out the windows.

Once, I spotted a family of centaurs gal oping across a wheat field, bows at the ready, as they hunted lunch. The little boy centaur, who was

the size of a second-grader on a pony, caught my eye and waved. I looked around the passenger car, but nobody else had noticed. The adult

riders al had their faces buried in laptop computers or magazines.

Another time, toward evening, I saw something huge moving through the woods. I could’ve sworn it was a lion, except that lions don’t live wild

in America, and this thing was the size of a Hummer. Its fur glinted gold in the evening light. Then it leaped through the trees and was gone.

Our reward money for returning Gladiola the poodle had only been enough to purchase tickets as far as Denver. We couldn’t get berths in the

sleeper car, so we dozed in our seats. My neck got stiff. I tried not to drool in my sleep, since Annabeth was sitting right next to me.

Grover kept snoring and bleating and waking me up. Once, he shuffled around and his fake foot fel off. Annabeth and I had to stick it back on

before any of the other passengers noticed.

“So,” Annabeth asked me, once we’d gotten Grover’s sneaker readjusted. “Who wants your help?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were asleep just now, you mumbled, ‘I won’t help you.’ Who were you dreaming about?”

I was reluctant to say anything. It was the second time I’d dreamed about the evil voice from the pit. But it bothered me so much I final y told

her.

Annabeth was quiet for a long time.

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