Page 3 of The Wild Zone

I winced. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Note to self: low-hanging tree branch at grid point D14.

Finally, at grid point D16, our captors called a halt.

“On your knees, newbies!” said the leader. Her voice had a commanding air to it, like she knew she was in charge, and anyone who thought otherwise was in for a world of hurt.

I knelt as quickly as I could to avoid being forced. My face couldn’t handle much more abuse. The shuffling sounds next to me indicated that the other abductees were doing the same.

The burlap sack was yanked off my head. Cold night air swept across my cheeks and forehead. The scents of woodsmoke and Grant’s cinnamon gum replaced my chili-cheese-dog breath.

I squinted and blinked in the orange glow of our captors’ fiery torches.

In front of us stood half a dozen Ares kids with cruel expressions, assorted weapons, camo pants, combat boots, and bright orange T-shirts with the words camp half-blood printed across them.

According to Silas, the guy who had brought me to camp, this place was supposed to be a special sanctuary for demigods (aka half-bloods), where we would be trained in how to defend ourselves and the mortal world from monsters.

You’ll love it! Silas had said. You’ll feel safe and protected!

I was beginning to suspect Silas was full of goat poop, which made sense, because he was a satyr—half goat from the waist down. I was feeling a lot of things, but safe and protected were not among them.

The girl with the commanding voice towered above us. Her brown hair settled around the shoulders of her camo jacket. She was maybe fifteen.

“For those who don’t know me yet,” she said, “I’m Clarisse La Rue, head counselor of the Ares cabin. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, demi-dorks.”

Unfortunately, I’d already met Clarisse. She was in charge of my cabin. I’d come to the conclusion that she was less of a counselor and more of a reason to see a counselor.

She paced in front of us, hands clasped behind her back. “You’ll probably hear me called Queen of Mean, Death in Denim, or Oh, crap, run. It’s Clarisse.” She shrugged. “They all work. Pick your favorite.”

On my right, Benny hunched one shoulder, like he was trying to raise his hand except it was tied behind his back. “Um, is this a camp-sanctioned activity?” he asked. “Because technically, we’ve already been welcomed, and this doesn’t seem…”

As Benny trailed off, Clarisse leaned toward him and smiled. “Please hold all questions until the end of orientation. If you’re still alive by then.” She pulled a scroll from the back pocket of her camo pants, bopped Benny on the nose with it, and then unfurled the parchment and scanned its contents. “Now, let’s see what off-season, D-list talent we’re working with. Katie Kim, daughter of Ares?”

She said this like we hadn’t just met a couple of hours ago. Maybe I hadn’t made much of an impression.

“Hi!” I chirped. My mom once said I have a nice smile, with just the right ratio of teeth and gums, so I gave Clarisse my best grin. “Happy to be here.”

Clarisse blinked. She turned to her cronies. “How tight did you have that sack around her head?”

I suppose she expected a fellow child of Ares to be surly and aggressive. But I was also the child of Nadia Kim, former Olympic sharpshooter for South Korea. She never did what anyone expected, and she’d taught me that challenges can be won with mental strength just as much as with brute strength.

Besides, being surly and aggressive never worked in my favor. Curling into a ball and crying (which was what I wanted to do) probably wouldn’t go over well, either, so my only other option? Confuse them with confidence.

I kept smiling until Clarisse broke eye contact, glowering.

“I don’t know what your deal is, Kim,” she said. “Luckily, that works in your favor for now.” She checked her scroll. Her upper lip curled. “Next is Harper Rush, son of Aphrodite. Just what we need. Another preening swan.”

I hadn’t met Harper yet, but it was obvious which captive was him. His blue eyes were lined with the longest, most gorgeous, absolutely-not-fair lashes. His blond locks were flawless, even after being shoved in a burlap sack. Once I focused on him, it was hard to look anywhere else, like he was the star of this nighttime abduction and the rest of us were just the supporting cast.

He leaned forward, his expression serious, like he had a secret to tell Clarisse. She bent toward him.

“Tell us how you preen,” Harper suggested. His voice was gentle, encouraging…intoxicating.

Clarisse’s mouth fell open. Her eyes took on a faraway look.

“I preen as much as any child of Aphrodite,” she admitted in a wooden voice. “I just hide it better. There’s a footlocker under my bunk full of salt scrubs and—”

“Clarisse!” One of her cronies elbowed her.