𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒──𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯

[ IX. poison blade ]

Zehra could see the battle from miles away. It was after midnight now, but the bridge blazed with orange light. Cars were burning. Arcs of fire streamed in both directions as flaming arrows and spears sailed through the air.

Zehra and Percy slowed to a screeching stop and saw the Apollo campers retreating. The demi-gods were hiding behind cars and sniping at the approaching army, setting off explosive arrows and dropping caltrops in the road, building fiery barricades wherever they could, dragging sleeping drivers out of their cars to get them out of harm's way. But the enemy kept advancing. An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in the lead, their shields locked together, spear tips bristling over the top. An occasional arrow would connect with their snaky trunks, or a neck, or a chink in their armor, and the unlucky snake woman would disintegrate, but most of the Apollo arrows glanced harmlessly off their shield wall.

About a hundred more monsters marched behind them. Hellhounds leaped ahead of the line from time to time. Most were destroyed with arrows, but one got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. Zehra didn't see what happened to him next. She didn't want to know.

"There!" Percy called.

Sure enough, in the middle of the invading legion was Old Beefhead himself. The last time Zehra had seen the Minotaur was also the first time she had seen Percy Jackson. When Percy fought the monster last time, the Minotaur had been wearing nothing but his tighty whities. Zehra didn't know why. Maybe he'd been shaken out of bed to chase Percy. This time, he was prepared for battle. From the waist down, he wore standard Greek battle gear—a kiltlike apron of leather and metal flaps, bronze greaves covering his legs, and tightly wrapped leather sandals. His top was all bull—hair and hide and muscle leading to a head so large he should've toppled over just from the weight of his horns. He seemed larger than last time—ten feet tall at least. A double-bladed axe was strapped to his back, but he was too impatient to use it.

Michael Yew ran up to Zehra and Percy. He was definitely the shortest commando Zehra had ever seen. He had a bandaged cut on his arm. His ferrety face was smeared with soot and his quiver was almost empty, but he was smiling like he was having a great time.

"Glad you could join us," he said. "Where are the other reinforcements?"

"For now, we're it," Percy said.

"Then we're dead," Michael muttered.

"You still have your flying chariot?" Zehra asked.

"Nah," Michael said. "Left it at camp. I told Clarisse she could have it. Whatever, you know? Not worth fighting about anymore. But she said it was too late. We'd insulted her honor for the last time or some stupid thing."

"Least you tried," Percy mumbled.

Michael shrugged. "Yeah, well, I called her some names when she said she still wouldn't fight. I doubt that helped. Here come the uglies!"

He drew an arrow and launched it toward the enemy. The arrow made a screaming sound as it flew. When it landed, it unleashed a blast like a power chord on an electric guitar magnified through the world's largest speakers. The nearest cars exploded. Monsters dropped their weapons and clasped their ears in pain. Some ran. Others disintegrated on the spot.

"That was my last sonic arrow," Michael said.

"A gift from your dad?" Zehra asked. "God of music?"

Michael grinned wickedly. "Loud music can be bad for you. Unfortunately, it doesn't always kill."

Sure enough, most monsters were regrouping, shaking off their confusion.

"We have to fall back," Michael urged. "I've got Kayla and Austin setting traps farther down the bridge."