The Helm of Darkness - A Percy Jackson and The Lightning Thief Fanfiction

5 - I Become A Nation-Wide Fugitive. Again.

We spent two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hills, 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.

We tried to keep a low profile because Percy's 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 we got off the Greyhound bus. I had a wild look in my eyes. I was holding Percy's arm. His sword was a metallic blur in his hands. It might've been a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick. My knife was easily distinguishable though.

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 the teenage accomplices. His stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture. The girl next to him has been identified as eleven-year-old Maliha Al-Hasan. Dangerous to all civilians and a terrorist with possible connections to Hamas. She was wanted almost a year ago for the attempted murder of several English police officers and homicide of Aiden Davies. A then 14-year-old boy who was an angelic member of Mill Hill School in London, England before he was viciously stabbed to death by a 10-year-old Maliha.'

Great, I was a nationwide fugitive again.

And I had no connections to Hamas.

"Don't worry," Annabeth told us. "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 really hard time sitting still) or looking out the windows.

Once, I spotted a family of centaurs galloping 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 all 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. Once, Grover shuffled around and his fake foot fell off. Annabeth and I had to stick it back on before any of the other passengers noticed.

I curled up in my seat, tucking my legs to my chest and grabbed a small knife, only an inch larger than my index finger.

When I slept, I had a nightmare.

Of course.

...

We pulled into the Amtrak station downtown. The intercom told us we'd have a three-hour layover before departing for Denver. Grover stretched. Before he was even fully awake, he said, "Food."

"Come on, goat boy," Annabeth said. "Sightseeing."

"Sightseeing?"

"The Gateway Arch," she said. "This may be my only chance to ride to the top. Are you coming or not?"