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at the edge of the dump, we found a tow truck so old it might've been thrown away itself.
but the engine started, and it had a full tank of gas, so we decided to borrow it. thalia drove. she didn't seem as stunned as zoë or grover or percy or me.
"the skeletons are still out there," she reminded us. "we need to keep moving."
she navigated us through the desert, under clear blue skies, the sand so bright it hurt to look at. zoë sat up front with thalia. grover, percy and i sat in the pickup bed, leaning against the tow wench. the air was cool and dry, but the nice weather just seemed like an insult after losing bianca.
i looked into the distance. even though i never knew bianca properly, we were on the quest together. it still hurt knowing she was here less than twenty-four hours ago, and now she's never coming back.
one of the problems with savior's complex is that when i fail to save someone (even if it's not my responsibility) i feel horrible. sometimes it feels like i need to save people, otherwise i fall into a depression slump. that's why i'm trying not to show any emotion about my dad. he's not gone yet. he's still alive. and i'm going to find a way to bring him home.
"it should've been me," percy said. "i should've gone into the giant."
"percy!" i scolded. if bianca's death was driving me this crazy, i would absolutely lose it if percy died.
"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?"
"ah, grover..."
he wiped under his eyes with an oily cloth that left his face grimy, like he had on war paint. i resisted the urge to clean his face.
"i'm... i'm okay."
percy and i exchanged looks. he wasn't okay. ever since the encounter in new mexico — the encounter with pan's presence — he seemed really fragile, even more emotional than usual.
