Andromeda Jackson

Leo

I stop at the doors and try to control my breathing. The voice of the earth woman still rings in my ears, reminding me of my mother's death. The last thing I want to do is plunge into another dark warehouse. Suddenly I feel eight years old again, alone and helpless as someone I care about is trapped and in trouble.

Then, Andy puts a hand on my side, peering around me to look inside the warehouse. Despite smelling like potty sludge, she also smells like the ocean, and her touch mixed with the smell clears my head. I'm not alone. We can save our friends.

But that doesn't make me any less scared. I take a deep breath and peer inside too. Nothing looks different. Gray morning light filters through the hole in the roof. A few lightbulbs flicker, but most of the factory floor is still lost in shadows. I can make out the catwalk above, the dim shapes of heavy machinery along the assembly line, but no movement. No sign of our friends.

I almost call out, but Andy stops me. She taps her nose, and I take a whiff of the smell inside the warehouse. Then I realize she's right. Something smells wrong—like burning motor oil and sour breath.

Something not human is inside the factory. I'm certain. My body shifts into high gear, all my nerves tingling.

Somewhere on the factory floor, Piper's voice cries out: "Leo, help!"

But I hold my tongue. How could Piper get off the catwalk with her broken ankle?

Andy grips my arm. She speaks under her breath, barely audible. "There's a water main going under the warehouse. I can blow it, but that's a one trick wonder. Not much I can do after that."

I nod. I'm not sure what good ruining their water supply will do, especially if it's under the concrete floor, but I keep that information filed away.

Together, we slip inside and duck behind a cargo container. Slowly, gripping our weapons, we work our way toward the center of the room, hiding behind boxes and hollow truck chassis. I'm shocked at how easily we can communicate in silence. Just subtle head nods and arm taps, and we know what the other is thinking. Finally we reach the assembly line. We crouch behind the nearest piece of machinery—a crane with a robotic arm. Piper's voice calls out again: "Leo?" Less certain this time, but very close.

I peek around the machinery. Hanging directly above the assembly line, suspended by a chain from a crane on the opposite side, is a massive truck engine—just dangling thirty feet up, as if it was left there when the factory was abandoned. Below it on the conveyor belt sits a truck chassis, and clustered around it are three dark shapes the size of forklifts. Nearby, dangling from chains on two other robotic arms, are two smaller shapes—maybe more engines, but one of them is twisting around as if it's alive.

Then one of the forklift shapes rises, and I realize it's a humanoid of massive size. "Told you it was nothing," the thing rumbles. Its voice is too deep and feral to be human.

One of the other forklift-sized lumps shifts, and calls out in Piper's voice: "Leo, help me! Help—" Then the voice changes, becoming a masculine snarl. "Bah, there's nobody out there. No demigod could be that quiet, eh?"

The first monster chuckles. "Probably ran away, if he knows what's good for him. Or the girl was lying about a third demigod. Let's get cooking."

Snap. A bright orange light sizzles to life—an emergency flare—and I'm temporarily blinded. Andy and I duck behind the crane until the spots clear from our eyes. Then we take another peep and see a nightmare scene even Tía Callida couldn't dream up.

The two smaller things dangling from crane arms aren't engines. They're Jason and Piper. Both hang upside down, tied by their ankles and cocooned with chains up to their necks. Piper is flailing around, trying to free herself. Her mouth is gagged, but at least she's alive. Jason doesn't look so good. He hangs limply, his eyes rolled up in his head. A red welt the size of an apple has swollen over his left eyebrow.