Rick Riordan
The Sea Monsters - 02
Tyson let loose a huge belch. "Better now."
"All right," I told the Gray Sisters. "Now tell me what those numbers mean."
"No time!" Annabeth opened her door. "We have to get out now."
I was about to ask why, when I looked up at Half-Blood Hill and understood.
At the crest of the hill was a group of campers. And they were under attack.
Chapter Four
Tyson Plays With Fire
Mythologically speaking, if there's anything I hate worse than trios of old ladies, it's bulls.
Last summer, I fought the Minotaur on top of Half-Blood Hill. This time what I saw up there was
even worse: two bulls. And not just regular bulls—bronze ones the size of elephants. And even that
wasn't bad enough. Naturally they had to breathe fire, too.
As soon as we exited the taxi, the Gray Sisters peeled out, heading back to New York,
where life was safer. They didn't even wait for their extra three-drachma payment. They just left us
on the side of the road, Annabeth with nothing but her backpack and knife, Tyson and me still in our
burned-up tie-dyed gym clothes.
"Oh, man," said Annabeth, looking at the battle raging on the hill.
What worried me most weren't the bulls themselves. Or the ten heroes in full battle armor
who were getting their bronze-plated booties whooped. What worried me was that the bulls were
ranging all over the hill, even around the back side of the pine tree. That shouldn't have been
possible. The camp 's magic boundaries didn't allow monsters to cross past Thalia's tree. But the
metal bulls were doing it anyway.
One of the heroes shouted, "Border patrol, to me!" A girl's voice—gruff and familiar.
Border patrol? I thought. The camp didn't have a border patrol.
"It's Clarisse," Annabeth said. "Come on, we have to help her."
Normally, rushing to Clarisse's aid would not have been high on my "to do" list. She was one
of the biggest bullies at camp. The first time we'd met she tried to introduce my head to a toilet. She
was also a daughter of Ares, and I'd had a very serious disagreement with her father last summer,
so now the god of war and all his children basically hated my guts.
Still, she was in trouble. Her fellow warriors were scattering, running in panic as the bulls
charged. The grass was burning in huge swathes around the pine tree. One hero screamed and
waved his arms as he ran in circles, the horsehair plume on his helmet blazing like a fiery Mohawk.
Clarisse's own armor was charred. She was fighting with a broken spear shaft, the other end
embedded uselessly in the metal joint of one bull's shoulder.
I uncapped my ballpoint pen. It shimmered, growing longer and heavier until I held the
bronze sword Anaklusmos in my hands. "Tyson, stay here. I don't want you taking any more
chances."
"No!" Annabeth said. "We need him."
I stared at her. "He's mortal. He got lucky with the dodge balls but he can't—"
"Percy, do you know what those are up there? The Colchis bulls, made by Hephaestus
himself. We can't fight them without Medea's Sunscreen SPF 50,000. We'll get burned to a crisp."
"Medea's what?"
Annabeth rummaged through her backpack and cursed. "I had a jar of tropical coconut scent
sitting on my night-stand at home. Why didn't I bring it?"
I'd learned a long time ago not to question Annabeth too much. It just made me more
confused. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm not going to let Tyson get fried."
"Percy—"
"Tyson, stay back." I raised my sword. "I'm going in."
Tyson tried to protest, but I was already running up the hill toward Clarisse, who was yelling
at her patrol, trying to get them into phalanx formation. It was a good idea. The few who were
listening lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, locking their shields to form an ox-hide—and-bronze wall,
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