rolling across the Midwest plains. Lightning flickered. Lines of tornadoes

destroyed everything in their path — ripping up houses and trailers, tossing

cars around like Matchbox toys.

 

"Monumental floods, " an announcer was saying. "Five states declared disaster

areas as the freak storm system sweeps east, continuing its path of destruction.

" The cameras zoomed in on a column of storm bearing down on some Midwest city.

I couldn't tell which one. Inside the storm I could see the giant — just small

glimpses of his true form: a smoky arm, a dark clawed hand the size of a city

block. His angry roar rolled across the plains like a nuclear blast. Other

smaller forms darted through the clouds, circling the monster. I saw flashes of

light, and 1 realized the giant was trying to swat them. I squinted and thought

I saw a golden chariot flying into the blackness. Then some kind of huge bird —

a monstrous owl — dived in to attack the giant.

 

"Are those ... the gods?" I said.

 

"Yes, Percy," Chiron said. "They have been fighting him for days now, trying to

slow him down. But Typhon is marching forward — toward New York. Toward

Olympus."

 

I let that sink in. "How long until he gets here?"

 

"Unless the gods can stop him? Perhaps five days. Most of the Olympians are

there . . . except your father, who has a war of his own to fight."