Titans by Victoria Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

to the track, and there’s no mention of the machines on cyclonetrack.com. The only thing I ever found about them was a single blog post by a Titan enthusiast, who said the first model was quickly discontinued because of jockey/Titan misalignment .
    “This is a first edition?” I ask, my voice breaking.
    “The most advanced version created,” Barney responds. “It was all downhill from there.”
    I doubt that’s true. Otherwise, why wouldn’t Hanover Steel still make them? Before I can think more on this, Rags lifts the lid. I stare in wonderment at the machine—the steel a shade too dark, its hooves a touch too bright. Other than the color difference, I can’t see what makes this model a 1.0, and the others I’ve seen 3.0s. What am I missing?
    Rags slips off a key from his ring and inserts it into the horse’s control panel. At first, nothing happens, but after Rags pushes a few buttons, and eventually slams his open palm against the machine’s side, a soft whirring sound begins.
    “Holy cow,” Magnolia whispers.
    “After all this time,” Barney says at the same time.
    As for me, I stay quiet. But a spark of electricity shoots from my feet, up my torso, and down into my fingers. And when the Titan stirs in its black and yellow coffin for the first time—a simple twitch of its head—my heart jackhammers in my chest.
    I lean forward, my pulse thrumming in my ears, and inspect the Titan.
    “Careful,” Rags says.
    I stretch out a shaking hand, my mouth painfully dry, and lay it ever so gently on the machine’s neck. Cool metal rumbles beneath my fingers for only a fraction of a moment.
    And then its eyes flash open.
    The entire coffin rocks and the machine thrashes from side to side. Magnolia releases a small scream, and Rags grabs me and yanks me backward. As the four of us look on, the horse continues to flail until finally, finally—
    The Titan rises to its feet.

I can’t think past anything besides the Titan stepping out of the crate and moving toward me. Rags tries to block the machine’s path, but I won’t budge. I’m too busy studying the creature’s nostrils flaring, and its eyes fluttering. I’m too preoccupied with the sleek black steel that’s in desperate need of a good polishing, and the screeching sound its body makes as it moves. I can’t stop staring, and so when the horse is just a hand width away, I forget to be afraid. Until it stops. It’s a machine, after all, weighing in at eight hundred pounds. And the way it’s looking at me isn’t comforting.
    The Titan bends its head and sniffs my tank top. Then it blows out through its nose like it’s not at all pleased with what it smelled. Realizing we’ve got to get things moving, I lift my hand a second time so it can get a good whiff of my scent. Don’t animals like that? Smelling things and such? Only when I do this, the Titan throws its head back in irritation.
    And then it bolts for the woods.
    “He’s on auto!” Barney yells, running for Rags’s truck. Rags sprints after him, telling Magnolia and me to stay put. But there’s no way I’m leaving my only chance at a new life running through the woods without following it. Magnolia and I jump in the bed of the truck, and though Rags yells something vulgar over the growling engine, he doesn’t take the time to toss us out.
    The truck kicks up dirt and barrels toward the fleeing Titan. Magnolia and I hang on as we fly over large rocks and hit dips in the field surrounding Barney’s house. Before long, we’re blazing between trees, and I catch sight of the horse dashing ahead. A thick branch flies toward our heads and I tackle Magnolia moments before it would have hit her.
    I get on all fours as the wind whips by and breathe in the smell of soil and sugar maple trees. The truck jerks to the right, and though I’ve braced myself, I roll to the left and smash into the side. Almost immediately, the truck slams to a stop. At first I think it’s because Rags and Barney