Chapter 56: Chapter 56
The little hero, an amused voice echoed far down in the darkness. Too
weak, too young, but perhaps you will do.
The voice felt ancient—cold and heavy. It wrapped around me like sheets
of lead.
They have misled you, boy, it said. Barter with me. I will give you what
you want.
A shimmering image hovered over the void: my mother, frozen at the
moment she'd dissolved in a shower of gold.
Her face was distorted with pain, as if the Minotaur were still squeezing
her neck. Her eyes looked directly at me, pleading: Go!
I tried to cry out, but my voice wouldn't work.
Cold laughter echoed from the chasm.
An invisible force pulled me forward. It would drag me into the pit unless
I stood firm.
Help me rise, boy. The voice became hungrier. Bring me the bolt. Strike a
blow against the treacherous gods!
The spirits of the dead whispered around me, No! Wake!
The image of my mother began to fade. The thing in the pit tightened its
unseen grip around me.
I realized it wasn't interested in pulling me in. It was using me to pull
itself out.
Good, it murmured. Good.
Wake! the dead whispered. Wake!
Someone was shaking me.
My eyes opened, and it was daylight.
"Well," Annabeth said, "the zombie lives."
I was trembling from the dream. I could still feel the grip of the chasm
monster around my chest. "How long was I asleep?"
"Long enough for me to cook breakfast." Annabeth tossed me a bag of
nacho-flavored corn chips from Aunty Em's snack bar. "And Grover went
exploring. Look, he found a friend."
My eyes had trouble focusing.
Grover was sitting cross-legged on a blanket with something fuzzy in his
lap, a dirty, unnaturally pink stuffed animal.
No. It wasn't a stuffed animal. It was a pink poodle.
The poodle yapped at me suspiciously. Grover said, "No, he's not."
I blinked. "Are you…talking to that thing?"
The poodle growled.
"This thing," Grover warned, "is our ticket west. Be nice to him."
"You can talk to animals?"
Grover ignored the question. "Percy, meet Gladiola. Gladiola, Percy."
I stared at Annabeth, figuring she'd crack up at this practical joke they
were playing on me, but she looked deadly serious.
"I'm not saying hello to a pink poodle," I said. "Forget it."
"Percy," Annabeth said. "I said hello to the poodle. You say hello to the
poodle."
The poodle growled.
I said hello to the poodle.
Grover explained that he'd come across Gladiola in the woods and they'd struck up a conversation. The poodle had run away from a rich local family,
who'd posted a $200 reward for his return. Gladiola didn't really want to go
back to his family, but he was willing to if it meant helping Grover.
"How does Gladiola know about the reward?" I asked.
"He read the signs," Grover said. "Duh."
"Of course," I said. "Silly me."
"So we turn in Gladiola," Annabeth explained in her best strategy voice,
"we get money, and we buy tickets to Los Angeles. Simple."
I thought about my dream—the whispering voices of the dead, the thing
in the chasm, and my mother's face, shimmering as it dissolved into gold. All
that might be waiting for me in the West.
"Not another bus," I said warily.
"No," Annabeth agreed.
She pointed downhill, toward train tracks I hadn't been able to see last
night in the dark. "There's an Amtrack station half a mile that way.
According to Gladiola, the westbound train leaves at noon."
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