The Sea of Monsters Read Online Free PDF Page B

“30, 31, 75, 12!”
    They belted it out like a quarterback calling a play.
    “What do you mean?” I said. “That makes no sense!”
    “30, 31, 75, 12!” Anger wailed. “That’s all we can tell you. Now give us the eye! Almost to camp!”
    We were off the highway now, zipping through the countryside of northern Long Island. I could see Half-Blood Hill ahead of us, with its giant pine tree at the crest—Thalia’s tree, which contained the life force of a fallen hero.
    “Percy!” Annabeth said more urgently. “Give them the eye now !”
    I decided not to argue. I threw the eye into Wasp’s lap.
    The old lady snatched it up, pushed it into her eye socket like somebody putting in a contact lens, and blinked. “Whoa!”
    She slammed on the brakes. The taxi spun four or five times in a cloud of smoke and squealed to a halt in the middle of the farm road at the base of Half-Blood Hill.
    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.

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