Down in Flames [OC Demigod Fic]

Chapter Four: "Going to Nowhere"

Chiron's facial expression is unreadable at first glance, but I automatically know I'm in trouble. In a booming voice, he tells everyone to remain calm and gives campers orders to retrieve fire extinguishers.

Finally, his gaze lands on me. A look of disappointment shadows his face, as if to say, 'Oh, look. Another waste of potential.'

This would be the moment where any normal person would immediately stop setting fire to stuff, realizing how brash and unnecessary their actions have been.

Naturally, I continue to build up fire in my hands and hurl it around angrily. Amaryllis and Truett bravely rush toward me, though they look as terrified as everyone else.

"Sabine, you can stop this!" Amaryllis pleads, her voice shaking.

"It's too late," I whisper coldly, talking more to myself than to her. Xander knew this would happen all along. I wonder if he's glad that he told me about the party now. He was right to call me insane; still, it takes one to know one.

Without another word, I turn my back to them and run to the top of the amphitheater, looking out at the camp I once called home. Though Camp Half-Blood is meant for all demigods, there is no place for me here anymore. As I let out a yell of frustration, fire rains down from the midnight blue sky like trails of chaotic fireworks.

Feeling weak and numb, I release the campfire from my hold. With everyone distracted, I dash down the steps and flee from the scene. I find my bike and hop on, pedaling away as fast as I can.

When I have enough speed, I click a button on my bicycle and the seemingly simple machine begins to fly through the air. I stop pedaling and let the flying bike I invented do all the work for me. Since most of my siblings have given me the silent treatment, I'd spent lots of time alone in Bunker Nine, working tirelessly on inventions. I'd made the bicycle-motorcycle hybrid machine in case I needed to leave camp; what can I say, I'm prepared for the worst.

With the moon shining behind me, I feel like I've been transported into the famous scene in E.T.— with one less alien and a lot more fire spreading across the landscape below.

Where am I going? Not exactly sure. I'd thought I would have more time to plan this monumental occasion. I fly over Thalia's pine, crossing the camp's magical border. The feeling is dismal, yet I have a small, underlying amount of hope.

Realistically speaking, I am now on every monster's radar in a twenty mile radius, with no supplies or weapons. Going back is no longer an option— I literally burned the place.

The regret begins to sink in as I fly over the water, leaving Long Island for good. The cold wind feels like a slap in the face. Wake up, it seems to say as I shiver. You're on your own now. Deal with it. I wish I'd worn more than my orange camp tee and black skinny jeans with a few rips in the knees.

New York City is complete chaos, so I decide to fly around it and only stop when I have to. Nearly falling asleep several times, I make sure to grip the handlebars like my life depends on it.

On my first landing, I hit up a hardware store and confiscate as many tools as I can carry in my backpack, which was also confiscated. Though the hammer I find isn't celestial bronze, it'll knock a monster out in plenty enough time for me to escape. With fresh gasoline in the bike's tank, I zoom off.

Now, speeding through the sky somewhere in Pennsylvania, I debate with myself on whether I should go to Camp Jupiter or not. Though it's the camp for Romans, Camp Half-Blood is on friendly terms with the Western home for demigods. Under a new name, I could make a place for myself there. However, history tends to repeat itself. If I don't belong at Camp Half-Blood, what are the chances I would belong there?

I decide that any chance is better than no chance, which is what I would have if I tried to live on the streets alone. There's no family for me to return to; my mom dropped me off at boarding school when I turned twelve and has barely bothered to check up on me more than twice a year— on my birthday and Christmas.

My mother isn't one of my favorite topics in the world. Amalie Bruller, a B-list actress who doesn't care about anyone but herself. I suppose she reminded Hephaestus of Aphrodite, because she is— well, was— very beautiful. Not to mention our family's ancestry is mainly French, the language of love. She never spoke to me of my father, telling me that he was simply her first love, nothing more.

Shrugging off the nostalgia, I continue on my way. When I spot a McDonald's, my stomach seems to rumble on cue. I slow my bike up and attempt to beg for food through the Drive-Thru window. The lady kindly cooperates, handing me a Happy Meal after I summon fire into my hands and threaten to singe her hair off.

While I sit on the curb eating my McNuggets, an Iris Message appears— or, tries to appear— in a nearby puddle. A fuzzy screen forms, only for the connect to be cut off seconds later. Maybe Iris is having some Wi-Fi issues. Either way, I know that someone at camp is trying to contact me.

Quickly finishing my meal, I hop back on my bike and put it into flying mode.

Working out the numbers in my head, I figure I can make it to Camp Jupiter in about three days, given nothing goes wrong. With that said, I'll be surprised if I make it there in a week, since the Fates tend to make my life miserable.

The Fates must really hate me, because an unexpected malfunction in my invention suddenly sends me plummeting towards the ground.