Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
43
43
growled in her ancient language, but I didn’t need a translation to know she was planning to kill us.
We scrambled down the stairs, through a corridor, and past a guard’s station—out into
another block of prison cells.
“Left,” Annabeth said. “I remember this from the tour.”
We burst outside and found ourselves in the prison yard, ringed by security towers and
barbed wire. After being inside for so long, the daylight almost blinded me. Tourists were milling
around, taking pictures. The wind whipped cold off the bay. In the south, San Francisco gleamed all
white and beautiful, but in the north, over Mount Tamalpais, huge storm clouds swirled. The whole
sky seemed like a black top spinning from the mountain where Atlas was imprisoned, and where the
Titan palace of Mount Othrys was rising anew. It was hard to believe the tourists couldn’t see the
supernatural storm brewing, but they didn’t give any hint that anything was wrong.
“It’s even worse,” Annabeth said, gazing to the north. “The storms have been bad all year,
but that—”
“Keep moving,” Briares wailed. “She is behind us!”
We ran to the far end of the yard, as far from the cellblock as possible.
“Kampê’s too big to get through the doors,” I said hopefully.
Then the wall exploded.
Tourists screamed as Kampê appeared from the dust and rubble, her wings spread out as
wide as the yard. She was holding two swords—long bronze scimitars that glowed with a weird
greenish aura, boiling wisps of vapor that smelled sour and hot even acros s the yard.
“Poison!” Grover yelped. “Don’t let those things touch you or…”
“Or we’ll die?” I guessed.
“Well…after you shrivel slowly to dust, yes.”
“Let’s avoid the swords,” I decided.
“Briares, fight!” Tyson urged. “Grow to full size!”
Instead, Briares looked like he was trying to shrink even smaller. He appeared to be wearing
his absolutely terrified face.
Kampê thundered toward us on her dragon legs, hundreds of snakes slithering around her
body.
For a second I thought about drawing Riptide and facing her, but my heart crawled into my
throat. Then Annabeth said what I was thinking: “Run.”
That was the end of the debate. There was no fighting this thing. We ran through the jail yard
and out the gates of the prison, the monster right behind us. Mortals screamed and ran. Emergency
sirens began to blare.
We hit the wharf just as a tour boat was unloading. The new group of visitors froze as they
saw us charging toward them, followed by a mob of frightened tourists, followed by…I don’t know
what they saw through the Mist, but it could not have been good.
“The boat?” Grover asked.
“Too slow,” Tyson said. “Back into the maze. Only chance.”
“We need a diversion,” Annabeth said.
Tyson ripped a metal lamppost out of the ground. “I will distract Kampê. You run ahead.”
“I’ll help you,” I said.
“No,” Tyson said. “You go. Poison will hurt Cyclopes. A lot of pain. But it won’t kill.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go, brother. I will meet you inside.”
I hated the idea. I’d almost lost Tyson once before, and I didn’t want to ever risk that again.
But there was no time to argue, and I had no better idea. Annabeth, Grover, and I each took one of
Briares’s hands and dragged him toward the concession stands while Tyson bellowed, lowered his
pole, and charged Kampê like a jousting knight.
She’d been glaring at Briares, but Tyson got her attention as soon as he nailed her in the
chest with the pole, pushing her back into the wall. She shrieked and slashed with her swords,
slicing the pole to shreds. poison dripped in pools all around her, sizzling into the cement.
Tyson jumped back as Kampê’s hair lashed and hissed, and the vipers around her legs
darted their tongues in every direction. A lion popped out of the weird half-formed faces around her
waist and roared.