The movement hid his true intention. As he placed the child on the floor, I saw him move his right hand, the one holding his knife, across his body, resting it near the left side of his waist. As he stood, he flung his arm upwards, releasing the knife, sending it flying towards Claudius. The knife missed, imbedding itself in the chest of the centurion instead, who had been standing just to the side and in front of him. The man looked down at the hilt of the combat knife for the briefest of seconds, before his head lulled backwards and he collapsed.
True anger brewing in Claudius’ eyes, he yelled, “Get them! Save my son first!”
We retreated as soon as he started issuing orders, utilizing the few seconds the Praetorians needed to avoid trampling Nero to our advantage.
“Move to the storage room!” I yelled at Santino. “Get the C-4 ready.”
As we ran, I still had my pistol pointed in the general direction of the Praetorians, so I emptied my magazine into their formation, confirming at least four kills with the seven rounds I had remaining. Holstering my sidearm on the run, I pulled the P90 from my back, and pulled back the cocking lever, chambering a round.
We reached the storage room in seconds. I posted myself at the door, while Santino moved towards the smaller escape door, fiddling with a brick of C-4. He’d need to shave the brick into a much smaller portion, or the concussive blast from the detonation might kill us. He’d need a few minutes.
Seeing the first wave of Praetorians turning the corner, I unleashed a volley of gunfire in their direction. Helena’s gun was perfect for this kind of work. Its small size allowed me to move it around easily in the cramped area with one arm, and its fifty round magazine was larger than any other rifle’s we had, except Bordeaux’s SAW, which I really wished I had right now.
For now, the P90 would do, and as I raked my fire left to right, mowing down man after man in a quick fluid motion, I started feeling like we might actually make it out of here. Each round struck a target in the narrow hall, and most men received more than just one wound. Claudius must have known this would happen, and yet he still sent these men to their graves. He really was nuts.
Unwilling to blindly sacrifice themselves, the Praetorians pulled back.
“How’s that C-4 coming?” I asked Santino, who was still using a smaller knife on the stuff.
“I have no fucking clue how much of this I need so that it doesn’t kill us. What the fuck are these walls even made out of? Christ, I wish Bordeaux was here, and I never thought I’d be saying that about a Frenchy.”
“Just hurry up,” I yelled, slapping a fresh magazine in place. “They’ve pulled back for now, but they’ll be back.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t rush me,” he mumbled.
I ignored him, peaking around the corner. So far it was still clear.
“John…”
“I know. I know. I got it. Stand back.”
Pulling back from the door, I joined him in the corner. Overturning a table to block the force of the blast, we crouched behind it. I saw Praetorians tentatively peak around the door just as we knelt behind our cover. Thinking our impromptu defenses were meant to counter their attack, they rushed us, confident a mere table wouldn’t be enough to stop them.
“Now!” I yelled, almost pleadingly to Santino.
He didn’t hesitate, triggering the charges before I could even finish the word. Shielded by the table and our protective ear pieces, the small charge didn’t faze us much. The shock wave was just enough to knock us on our asses, but the rushing Praetorians took the full brunt of the blast. Those who rushed into the room sustained injuries from shrapnel and flying debris or died, while those in the hall were disoriented from the concussive blast. Even those still in the hall were stunned.
One step ahead of me, Santino rounded the table and made for the door. Hot on his heels, I bounded over the table, and followed. I saw that Santino had used a bit too much explosive and instead of just blowing the door off its hinges, he took out a large chunk of the wall as well.
Too interested in the wall, I didn’t see Santino go down. Just as he left the room, a large wooden cudgel hit him right in the forehead dropping him like a rock. Only partially prepared, I was able to roll underneath the second swing which came at me from the other side of the blown wall.
Rolling to my feet, I shot my attacker, but was unable to shift my aim around to get the other man as well. His blow took me in the temple. My head swirling, I fell to my knees.
Gathered around me were dozens of blurry figures in white togas. As I knelt there, facing the hole we had just made, I saw Claudius emerge. He walked straight up to me and back handed me across the face.
“I am not stupid!” He said, mad with rage. “I may be many things these days, but lacking in foresight is not one of them. As a god, how could I? I knew you would use your explosive devices to try and escape, and I posted guards accordingly.”
I barely understood a word he said, as the world darkened around me. Falling on my side, I struggled to keep my eyes open.
The last thing I saw was a woman with light colored hair walk up to Claudius and kiss him intensely. I couldn’t recognize who she was, or even determine who she might have been. Instead, all I could do was look at her menacingly familiar smile, just before a Praetorian slammed the hilt of his sword into my head, and watch as the world cut to black.
***
I woke to find myself suspended in the air. I had no idea how long I had been hanging like that, but I knew it wasn’t long. The only thing I felt so far was pain. Hunger or thirst hadn’t quite taken its hold on me yet. Craning my head to look around, the only things I saw were stars when another blow to my head knocked me out again.
***
Around the tenth time I was awakened and summarily knocked out again, I realized this must have been some form of torture. Just keep beating someone to the point of unconsciousness, let them sleep it off, and wake them up before starting all over again. I knew it was torture because each time it happened, it hurt more and more, and not only did the physical pain increase, but so did the pain in my stomach. I had to have been hanging for at least a day, but there was no real way of knowing.
After this latest beating, I was allowed to maintain consciousness. My head hurt so much I was having trouble remembering things, and I couldn’t even picture my mother’s face, or the empty platitudes my father would drill into my head. I couldn’t remember where I was, or the name of the woman my mind kept drifting towards. All I knew were flashes and glimpses of a life I guessed were mine.
Finally able to keep my eyes open, a painful movement in its own, I forced myself to figure out where I was. The room was dark, gloomy, and had spider webs hanging all over the walls. I hated spiders. That much I remembered.
Of course, it might have just looked like spider webs because my eyes were practically swollen shut.
I looked to my left, and saw a man-like shape hanging in what I assumed was a similar fashion to how I was. His hands were tied to a cross beam, which was mounted on a wooden pole in the ground, forming a lower case t. His body was limp, and his head hanging on his chest, the pose reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite place it. When I looked at my own hands, I confirmed that I was similarly hanging, and the only other support I received was from a small block under my feet, that protruded slightly from the vertical pole.
Trying to shift my body, so that my legs took up some of the slack, I found I could barely move my arms. All the blood had drained from the veins, and my muscles refused to cooperate. To compensate, I used my legs to painfully push myself upwards, and immediately wished I hadn’t. The act of taking pressure off of my arms forced all the pain towards that location, creating a whole new level of hurt to deal with.
Crying out, I woke my companion.
“Whe… where am I?” He said, likewise oblivious to our situation.
I tried to speak, but my mouth was too dry. I saw the man look over at me, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Who… who are you?” He said slowly, before recognition finally dawned on him. “Jacob? Is that you?”
