Crimson Rivers [1] - Percy jackson

Chapter 8: We become Known Fugitives

I’d love to tell you I had some deep revelation on my way down, that I came to terms with my own mortality, laughed in the face of death, et cetera.

The truth? My only thought was: Aaaaggghhhhh!

The river raced toward us at the speed of a truck. Wind ripped the breath
from my lungs. Steeples and skyscrapers and bridges tumbled in and out of
my vision. And then: Flaaa-boooom!
A whiteout of bubbles. We sank through the murk, sure that I was about to
end up embedded in a hundred feet of mud and lost forever.

But my impact with the water hadn’t hurt. I was falling slowly now,nbubbles trickling up through my fingers. I settled on the river bottom soundlessly. A catfish the size of my father lurched away into the gloom. Clouds of silt and disgusting garbage—beer bottles, old shoes, plastic bags— swirled up all around me.

At that point, I realized a few things: first, I had not been flattened into a
pancake. I had not been barbecued. Second realization: I wasn’t wet. I mean, I could feel the coolness of the water. I could see where the fire on my clothes had been quenched. But when
I touched my own shirt, it felt perfectly dry.

I looked at the garbage floating by and snatched an old cigarette lighter.
No way, I thought. I flicked the lighter. It sparked. A tiny flame appeared, right there at the bottom of the Mississippi.
Percy grabbed a soggy hamburger wrapper out of the current and immediately the paper turned dry. He lit it with no problem. As soon as he let it go, the flames sputtered out. The wrapper turned back into a slimy rag. Weird. But the strangest thought occurred to me only last: I was breathing. I was underwater, and I was breathing normally.

I stood up, thigh-deep in mud. My legs felt shaky. My hands trembled. I
should’ve been dead. The fact that I wasn’t seemed like…well, a miracle.
“Um…thanks.” Underwater, he sounded like I did on recordings, like a
much older kid. “Thank you…Father.”

No response. Just the dark drift of garbage downriver, the enormous
catfish gliding by, the flash of sunset on the water’s surface far above, turning
everything the color of butterscotch.
Why had Poseidon saved is? The more I thought about it, the more ashamed I felt. So I’d gotten lucky a few times before. Against a thing like the Chimera, I had never stood a chance. Those poor people in the Arch were probably toast. I couldn’t protect them. I was no hero. Maybe I should just stay down here with the catfish, join the bottom feeders.
Fump-fump-fump. A riverboat’s paddlewheel churned above me, swirling the silt around.
There, not five feet in front of me, was my sword, its gleaming bronze hilt
sticking up in the mud.

“Where are you?” Percy called aloud.
Then, through the gloom, I saw her—a woman the color of the water, abghost in the current, floating just above the sword. She had long billowing hair, and her eyes, barely visible, were green like mine.

He said, “Mom?"

No, child, only a messenger, though your mother’s fate is not as hopeless as you believe. Go to the beach in Santa Monica.

“What?”

It is your father’s will. Before you descend into the Underworld, you
must go to Santa Monica. Please, Percy, I cannot stay long. The river here is
too foul for my presence.

“But…Who—how did you—”

I cannot stay, brave one, the woman said. She reached out, and I felt the
current brush my face like a caress. Ypu meed to get her to a fire or atleast out of here your bubble will not stay around her long. She has poison in her heart, you must hurry. You must go to Santa Monica! And, Percy, do not trust the gifts.…

Her voice faded.

“Gifts?” He asked. “What gifts? Wait!”

She made one more attempt to speak, but the sound was gone. Her image
melted away. Your father believes in you, she had said.