Free The Sea of Monsters by Rick Riordan Page B

flipped too, leaving a pile of broken wood and four rearing horses in the dust.
    Two chariots down in the first twenty feet. I loved this sport.
    I turned my attention back to the front. We were making good time, pulling ahead of Ares, but Annabeth’s chariot was way ahead of us. She was already making her turn around the first post, her javelin man grinning and waving at us, shouting: “See ya!”
    The Hephaestus chariot was starting to gain on us, too.
    Beckendorf pressed a button, and a panel slid open on the side of his chariot.
    “Sorry, Percy!” he yelled. Three sets of balls and chains shot straight toward our wheels. They would’ve wrecked us completely if Tyson hadn’t whacked them aside with a quick swipe of his pole. He gave the Hephaestus chariot a good shove and sent them skittering sideways while we pulled ahead.
    “Nice work, Tyson!” I yelled.
    “Birds!” he cried.
    “What?”
    We were whipping along so fast it was hard to hear or see anything, but Tyson pointed toward the woods and I saw what he was worried about. The pigeons had risen from the trees. They were spiraling like a huge tornado, heading toward the track.
    No big deal , I told myself. They’re just pigeons.
    I tried to concentrate on the race.
    We made our first turn, the wheels creaking under us, the chariot threatening to tip, but we were now only ten feet behind Annabeth. If I could just get a little closer, Tyson could use his pole. . . .
    Annabeth’s fighter wasn’t smiling now. He pulled a javelin from his collection and took aim at me. He was about to throw when we heard the screaming.
    The pigeons were swarming—thousands of them dive-bombing the spectators in the stands, attacking the other chariots. Beckendorf was mobbed. His fighter tried to bat the birds away but he couldn’t see anything. The chariot veered off course and plowed through the strawberry fields, the mechanical horses steaming.
    In the Ares chariot, Clarisse barked an order to her fighter, who quickly threw a screen of camouflage netting over their basket. The birds swarmed around it, pecking and clawing at the fighter’s hands as he tried to hold up the net, but Clarisse just gritted her teeth and kept driving. Her skeletal horses seemed immune to the distraction. The pigeons pecked uselessly at their empty eye sockets and flew through their rib cages, but the stallions kept right on running.
    The spectators weren’t so lucky. The birds were slashing at any bit of exposed flesh, driving everyone into a panic. Now that the birds were closer, it was clear they weren’t normal pigeons. Their eyes were beady and evil-looking. Their beaks were made of bronze, and judging from the yelps of the campers, they must’ve been razor sharp.
    “Stymphalian birds!” Annabeth yelled. She slowed down and pulled her chariot alongside mine. “They’ll strip everyone to bones if we don’t drive them away!”
    “Tyson,” I said, “we’re turning around!”
    “Going the wrong way?” he asked.
    “Always,” I grumbled, but I steered the chariot toward the stands.
    Annabeth rode right next to me. She shouted, “Heroes, to arms!” But I wasn’t sure anyone could hear her over the screeching of the birds and the general chaos.
    I held my reins in one hand and managed to draw Riptide as a wave of birds dived at my face, their metal beaks snapping. I slashed them out of the air and they exploded into dust and feathers, but there were still millions of them left. One nailed me in the back end and I almost jumped straight out of the chariot.
    Annabeth wasn’t having much better luck. The closer we got to the stands, the thicker the cloud of birds became.
    Some of the spectators were trying to fight back. The Athena campers were calling for shields. The archers from Apollo’s cabin brought out their bows and arrows, ready to slay the menace, but with so many campers mixed in with the birds, it wasn’t safe to shoot.
    “Too many!” I yelled to Annabeth. “How do