Trapped (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 5) by Kevin Hearne
By Kevin Hearne
After twelve years of mystery education, Atticus O’Sullivan is ultimately able to bind his apprentice, Granuaile, to the earth and double the variety of Druids on the planet. yet at the eve of the ritual, the realm that idea he was once useless all at once discovers that he’s nonetheless alive, and they might a lot quite he go back to the grave.
Having no different selection, Atticus, his depended on Irish wolfhound, Oberon, and Granuaile commute to the bottom of Mount Olympus, the place the Roman god Bacchus is worried to take his sworn revenge—but he’ll need to get in line at the back of an historic vampire, a band of darkish elves, and an outdated god of mischief, who all appear to have KILL THE DRUID on the best in their to-do lists.
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BTW – before the war – you were allowed to take a certain amount of water from the river, or from the irrigation channels. It was strictly limited, so people further down the river didn’t run out and the dams didn’t go dry. Everyone had meters on their pipes, for the Commission to check that farmers only took what they were allowed. If no-one was checking any more it’d be a huge mess, with some people having great crops and others having droughts. Our place was quite a way from the irrigation properties, but we had fairly good rainfall.
I stayed under the felt. We went maybe a kilometre. Then we stopped again. The engine was switched off. There was a long and terrible silence. There were no sounds from the other trucks. All I could hear was the clicking noises as the engine cooled. They seemed magnified, which made me think we were in a shed or garage. After a few minutes I heard the driver cough. He cleared his throat and spat. I felt a little sick. I’ve always hated it when people do that, always hated the noise, let alone the sight.
The stuff he’d collected today wasn’t tied; just dumped in piles on the floor. Maybe he was taking it back to wash it. I hoped he was, for the sake of any future customers. Some of it was pretty grubby. I burrowed in under a heap of felt. There was so much of it and it was so dark in the truck that if he glanced in he might miss us. At least one thing was for sure: Lee had made the right move getting us out of the hut. The way the driver walked straight in: we’d have had to overpower him and run for it, or give up.