Chapter 12

The sudden static buzz of the driver's microphone jolted Alex awake.

"G'morning, your captain for this trip and of this amazing Greyhound bus speaking. I hope y'all had a good night's sleep! We should arrive at Richmond's stop in about eh…. 40 minutes, give or take."

Already? He had hoped that after spending 70 bucks, he would have a decent night's of sleep, but he guessed not. Alex barely caught any shut-eye in the past few days; not out of wanting to stay awake or anything, but his body had refused to rest.

A lot happened in the past few days since he found out he was a demigod.

Escaping Echidna, Alex ran until the soles of his shoes were torn, and his legs couldn't move anymore, resulting in him passing out in the middle of Manhattan in the early hours of the day.

Sometime later, he woke up in a hospital, an IV lined up his arm and dressed in one of those plain white gowns that felt a bit windy down there. The doctors told him he'd been out for the last two days, so while Alex was healthy, they had to administer some nutrients and vitamins while he was sleeping. Great, he had thought then, more stuff he had no money for.

When the police came a few hours later that same day, they told him not only his apartment, but the building itself had burned down, and that his dad was most likely dead after they found his car outside and some of his day-to-day stuff on the remains.

They were just doing their job, but Alex felt like punching them then.

Then came the talk of foster care, and Alex knew he had to flee. Whatever poor family ended up with him would be put in the line of sight of the monsters, and if he was being honest, no one could replace his dad. So that night, when most of the nurses and doctors were working in the ER, he escaped through the window — he had wings now, so there was no such thing as a conventional exit anymore.

His wings were a strange thing. Alex felt like he had them his whole life. When they appeared back in his apartment, that annoying itch in his back finally disappeared. They went through his clothes like magic, and he could retract them at will.

Anyway, after Alex escaped the hospital, he had to make a decision. Where would he go now? The idea of trying to find that camp passed briefly through his mind, but the thought of being in something related to his mother quickly made him scrap that idea. So he was left with only one choice.

His grandparents' home was in Richmond, Virginia.

Alex and his dad would spend at least a weekend per month there. It was a little, cosy cabin on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by huge, red maple trees and oaks. He remembered there was a stream that flew in the small valley behind the house's backyard, where his grandpa would take him fishing.

When it came to his grandparents, Alex didn't have many memories of them. He remembered that his grandpa had this long, scraggly grey beard, and smelled like coffee. He remembered his grandma cradling him in his arms, her stormy grey eyes looking at him, filled with love.

Feeling the greyhound slowing down, Alex looked out the window. He slid off his seat, grabbed a backpack with some food and water he'd stolen, and walked up to the driver.

"Hey, mister." He called. "Mind letting me off at the Elmont exit?"

"Ehh… don't know if I can do that, kid." The driver said, cleaning the chip crumbs from his shirt. "Greyhounds are not supposed to stop between stops, and if I let you off where you want, I'll have the whole bus asking me not to do the same."

Alex looked around the bus, taking in the rest of the passengers. "Yeah, but all of them are adults. Will you be able to sleep at night knowing you made me, a defenceless young boy, walk 15 miles? I'll probably hitchhike, and who knows what kind of pervert will give me a ride. I might never make it home, taken to-"

"Alright, alright!" The driver grumbled. "I'll let you off there, so go to your seat!"

Smirking, Alex went back and sat down. He took a cereal bar from his backpack, unwrapped the plastic, and took a small bite out of the snack. Looking out of the window, he watched the suburban neighbourhoods fly by, the green-and-yellow grassy plains, the lush colourful forests, and the peak of American culture and architecture: a Walmart. Oh, and another Subway. Those were everywhere in Virginia.

Soon, he'd be back at his grandparents' house. Well, he guessed that now it was his new home. It was probably full of dust, but having cleaned it so many times by now, he was sure it wouldn't take long. Surely the monsters couldn't sniff him out there, right?

What should he do first when he gets there? A bath. He felt disgusting. But after that… check for food, probably. What he had with him would only last the next few days, and Alex refused to live by cereal bars. He was good with clothes; he usually left some spares there. What about money? He'd spent most of his savings on the bus ticket alone, and he would've to buy groceries from time to time. Maybe, he-

"Hey, kid! Hurry up, will you? I don't have all the day."

Alex looked above the seat in front of him to find the driver shouting at him. With a sigh, he got out of his seat and stepped off the bus.

"Thanks, by the way." He told the driver, slinging one of the backpack's straps over his right shoulder.

"No problem," The driver said, pulling the handbrake down. "Just be careful on your way. I'd be in trouble if you got hurt, and seeing that scar… just keep out of trouble, kid."

Alex touched the scar on the left side of his mouth that never healed and felt the uneven skin. Even the police had asked if he'd gotten into messy situations before.

"I'll keep that in mind," Alex said, walking away.

The Greyhound bus took off, lifting a cloud of dust behind him as he walked down the country road. Alex took in the fresh air. It felt nice after being stuck inside of a metal box on wheels for 9 hours. The dirt crunched under his feet as he walked.

It felt lonely, to walk down that road alone. Passing it by car with his dad, it was nothing special. But now, now that he treaded it all by himself, Alex felt like his heart was in his belly. He started noticing details he hadn't noticed before. The various tones of green in the grass, the dandelions tilting with the wind, the wildflowers growing on the side of the road, the cracks on the asphalt and the fading paint of the markings. There were a thousand more things he could point out, but all would be as irrelevant as the next one.

It took half an hour to reach the small dirt road that led to the cabin. The red maples' leaves weren't red anymore, now having a green on the top and a light greenish white on the underside. You could still see a hint of red on the leaf stalk and twigs, but Alex knew the leaves would soon begin to fall off.

Beyond those trees, Alex could already see the clearing. The double-storey cabin stood at the end of it. It looked as it always did. White painted walls and porch with black tiles serving as roof. There was a short, white-picked fence around it that his dad always told him that his grandma had placed there to stop Alex's grandad from ruining her flowers with his experiments. To the right of the house, at the end of the dirt path, was a small garage with those old gates that you had to pull upwards to open. Alex wondered if his grandpa's old car was still there. His dad and he had been trying to get it up and running.

Thinking of his dad, Alex felt sadness creep up on him again. He shook his head. Later.

He twisted the knob after getting the keys from under the welcoming mat and opened the door. Everything was the same as ever. The kitchen, the dinner table, the sofa and that huge plasma his dad bought that looked like a box even if it was too big for the living room. Well, yeah, that and the dust.

==========

Four hours. Four goddamn hours to clean the whole interior of the house. Alex was exhausted by the end of it. He untied the cloth around his face he wore to block the dust and threw it on the table. Hungry after so much work, he went to the kitchen.

He didn't have any great feast in mind: Alex would be stir-frying thin slices of beef, onions, green peppers, and bean sprouts with a little salt, pepper, soy sauce, and a splash of the beer he found at the back of the fridge — a recipe with the stuff he had brought. After a while, the rice was done, the soup was warm, and the vegetables were all sliced and arranged in separate piles in a large dish, ready for the wok.

The sun was setting outside, casting a warm, golden light through the living room windows. It was a quiet evening where Alex could only hear himself cooking and the occasional bird.

Alex placed the wok on the stove and turned on the heat, letting it warm up as he poured himself a glass of water. The sizzle of the beef and vegetables in the hot wok was a familiar and comforting sound. His dad used to make this all the time when Alex was young. He stirred the mixture, adding the seasonings, and then the splash of beer, which filled the kitchen with a rich aroma.

The stir-fry was done in no time, and he served it onto a plate with the rice and soup he'd prepared earlier. He moved to the dining table, took the cosy spot by the window, and began to eat. The food was simple, but it was delicious, and there was comfort in it.

It took no time for him to chow it down — those cereal bars had him yearning for a real dish.

After dinner, he went to lie down on the sofa with a book. It was a novel he had picked on a whim, seeing he never bothered to read much because of his dyslexia. Still, he found it interesting… probably because it was related to Greek Mythology. It was one of those old, sprawling narratives, with over-the-top descriptions of simple objects and emotions. Still, the writing was so beautifully done that he made the effort to try and read more than three paragraphs before his brain began to hurt from jumbling the words.

When Alex got bored, he began messing with the remote, trying to get the TV to work, but it just wouldn't turn on. He tried hitting the remote, but it didn't work. Hitting the television also didn't work. Maybe it was the batteries that were bad; but when he switched them, nothing happened. So he went to check the cables.

It was dirty; Alex had forgotten to clean behind it. The cables were all jumbled up in an amalgamation of electronic terror that those Y2K conspiracy nut-jobs would call a sign of the end. But Alex gathered it was just his dad's inability to understand electronics if they weren't part of a car.

Rearranging the cables was a simple affair. What was hard were the cobwebs. It was riddled with them and dead spiders that were roasted from the electricity and the cooling system.

As Alex moved the TV back into its position, a faint creak echoed, distinct from the usual groans of the old hardwood floor.

"Hm?"

Curious about the sound, he shifted his weight on the TV back and forth, trying to replicate it. There it was again — a subtle but unmistakable creak, different from any other part of the floor.

He knelt, running his fingers along the floorboards, feeling for anything weird. When he felt them bump against something sticking out, he moved the TV again and found a part of the flooring felt looser than the rest. With a raised eyebrow, he tugged at the edges of the suspicious board and lifted it to find… eh?