Rick Riordan

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. I didn't know how my mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.
  Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting next to me in the backseat and I wondered if I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet trousers. But, no, the smell was one I remembered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo - lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal.
  All I could think to say was, 'So, you and my mum...know each other?'
  Grover's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. 'Not exactly,' he said. 'I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you.'
  'Watching me?'
  'Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend,' he added hastily. 'I am your friend.' 
  'Um...what are you exactly?' 
  'That doesn't matter right now.'
  'It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey'
  Grover let out a sharp, throaty 'Blaa-ha-ha!'
  I'd heard him make that sound before, but I'd always assumed it was a nervous laugh. Now I realized it was more of an irritating bleat.
  'Goat!' he cried.
  'What?'
  'I'm a goat from the waist down.'
  'You just said it didn't matter.'
  'Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!'
  'Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like...Mr Brunner's myths?'
  The weird blowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail.
  'Percy,' my mom said, 'there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety.'
  'Safety from what? Who's after me?'
  'Oh, nobody much,' Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. 'Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions.'
  'Grover!'
  'Sorry, Mrs Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?'
  I tried to wrap my mind around what as happening, but I couldn't do it. I knew this wasn't a dream. I had no imagination. I could never dream up something this weird.
  My mom made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.
  'Where are we going?' I asked.
  'The summer camp I told you about.' My mother's voice was tight; she was trying for my sake not to be scared. 'The place your father wanted to send you.'
  'The place you didn't want me to go.'
  'Please, dear,' my mother begged. 'This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger.'
  'Because some old ladies cut yarn.'
  'Those weren't old ladies,' Grover said. 'Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means - the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to... when someone's about to die.'
  'Whoa. You said "you".'
  'No, I didn't, I said "someone".'
  'You meant "you". As in me.'
  'I meant you, like "someone". Not you, you.'
  'Boys!' my mom said.
  She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid - a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.
  'What was that?' I asked.
  'We're almost there,' my mother said, ignoring my question. 'Another mile. Please. Please. Please.'
  I didn't know where there was, but I found myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive.
  Outside, nothing but rain and darkness - the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island.
 Then there was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded.
  I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried and hosed down all at the same time.
  I peeled my forehead off the back of the driver's seat and said 'Ow.'
  'Percy!' my mom shouted.
  'I'm okay...'
  I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in.
  Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a big motionless lump. 'Grover!'
  He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. I shook his furry hip, thinking, No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die!
  Then he groaned, 'Food,' and I knew there was hope.
  'Percy,' my mother said, 'we have to...' Her voice faltered.
  I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mid-splattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering towards us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.
  I swallowed hard. 'Who is -'
  'Percy,' my mother said, deadly serious. 'Get out of the car.'
  My mother threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.
  'Climb out the passenger's side!' my mother told me.
  'Percy - you have to run. Do you see that big tree?'
  'What?'
  Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas-tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.
  'That's the property line,' my mom said. 'Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door.
  'Mom, you're coming, too.'
  Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean.
  'No!' I shouted. 'You are coming with me. Help me carry Grover.'
  'Food!' Grover moaned, a little louder.
  The man with the blanket on his head kept coming towards us, making his grunting snorting noises. As he got closer, I realised he couldn't be carrying a blanket over his head, because his hands - huge, meaty hands - were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head...was his head. And the points that looked like horns...
  'He doesn't want us,' my mother told me. 'He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line.'
  'But...'
  'We don't have time Percy. Go. Please.'

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief  © Rick Riordan, 2005.  Published by Puffin Books.