WINGED ₁

38

AT THE EDGE OF THE DUMP, THEY FOUND A TOW TRUCK THAT LOOKED ANCIENT. But the engine started, and it had a full tank of gas, so they decided to borrow it.

Thalia drove. She didn't seem as stunned as the rest of them. In all honesty, Madeleine didn't even really remember leaving those ruins behind. There was a gap in her memory that had started when Bianca had disappeared.

"The skeletons are still out there," Thalia reminded them. "We need to keep moving."

Madeleine only budged because she had promised to keep Zoe alive, and she wouldn't let her lay down and die here. She also knew, in her heart of hearts, that grieving would do them no good. Bianca was dead, and maybe it was better not to see her corpse, but there would always be that gnawing what-if.

Thalia navigated them through the desert, under clear blue skies, the sand so bright it hurt to look at. Zoe sat up front with Thalia. Grover, Percy, and Madeleine sat in the pickup bed, leaning against the tow wench. The air was cool and dry.

Madeleine hadn't stopped holding the figurine. She could feel the crunch of dried blood on her hand, could see the ugly stains of it underneath her fingernails. The figurine was still cutting into her, but she was afraid that if she let go of it, she would stop breathing. 

"What am I going to tell Nico?" Madeleine asked quietly, breaking the silence between the trio. "I told him I would try to protect her, but I was so busy..." 

She didn't finish, but she knew. She had been so busy protecting Zoe that she had forgotten about her promise to Nico. She had chosen, and what she would never admit was this: if it had to happen again, Madeleine would rather Bianca die than the rest of them. 

That was the burden she had to live with.

"It should've been me," Percy said miserably. "I should've gone into the giant."

"Don't say that!" Grover panicked. "It's bad enough Annabeth is gone, and now Bianca. Do you think I could stand it if..." he sniffled. "Do you think anybody else would be my best friend?" He glanced at Madeleine. "No offense, but you have Drew and Annabeth has Silena and who do I have?"

"Ah, Grover..." Percy murmured. 

The satyr wiped under his eyes with an oily cloth that left his face grimy, like he had on war paint. "I'm... I'm okay."

But he wasn't okay. Ever since the encounter in New Mexico―whatever had happened when that wild wind blew through―he seemed really fragile, more emotional than usual. 

"Percy," Madeleine said, "would you rather if I had gone?"

Percy's eyes widened, and he shook his head violently. "Mads, how can you even say that?"

"Because it's like what you're saying right now." She crossed her arms, felt the figurine and the blood all over her hand. "It wasn't you, and I wouldn't change it. She's dead, and there's nothing we can do about it."

Percy gnashed his teeth. "I just can't imagine how she died. I came up with the plan."

"And she was standing right next to me," Madeleine snapped. "I could have gone for it. We could have all just sacrificed ourselves. It was only supposed to be one of us. What happened, happened. And I know, Percy. The not knowing is the worst. Do you think I don't imagine my dad gored in ten different ways every day? There is no point. She's dead." Madeleine tried to reinforce it so she would believe it, so she wouldn't imagine Bianca bruised and bleeding, cut open in a dozen places, trying to crawl her way out of the rubble.

Percy laid his head back and closed his eyes, and Madeleine leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around her.

They didn't cry. They didn't have it in them to cry. Instead, Madeleine saw violence in her head, saw Bianca crying out their names when they weren't there.