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They spent two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hills, over rivers, past amber waves of grain.
The four weren't attacked once, but they didn't relax. Percy felt that they were traveling around in a display case, being watched from above and maybe from below, that something was waiting for the right opportunity.
They 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 he got off the Greyhound bus. He had a wild look in his eyes. His sword was a metallic blur in his hands. It might've been a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick.
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 three teenage accomplices. His stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture.
"Don't worry," Annabeth told Percy. "Mortal police could never find us." But she didn't sound so sure.
Marlowe stared out the window, her mind lost in her own thoughts. The more time she spent with her friends, the more she couldn't help but wonder: what is going on?
She thought that she should just trust the process with everything and believe that everything would turn out fine in the end, but what if she ends up screwing everything up? What if she is the reason Kronos succeeds?
"Hey."
Marlowe snapped out of her trance and looked over at Percy, who looked at her worriedly.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Marlowe nodded, blinking back tears. Her hands were pressed down on the seat, her nails digging into the cushion. "Yeah," she said, her voice hoarse. "Yeah, I'm good. Just...thinking."
Percy got up from his seat and sat down next to her. He sighed, twiddling his thumbs. "Anything I can help with?"
"Not really," Marlowe shrugged. She wanted him to be able to help. She wanted to tell Percy about everything that was going on in her mind, but knew that it would cause too much damage.
The black haired boy looked away and out the window. He couldn't deny the fact that he was a little hurt. Ever since their dream last night, Marlowe had closed herself off and become distant. All Percy wanted to do was help her.
The rest of the day Percy spent alternately pacing the length of the train (because he had a really hard time sitting still) or looking out the windows.
Once, Marlowe spotted a family of centaurs galloping across a wheat field, bows at the ready, as they hunted lunch. She tapped Percy's shoulder and made him look at what she was seeing.
