Θ
Four young Americans walk the streets of Rome. They are the best and brightest of the United Sates Marine Corps. LCpl Marco Velasco, a twenty-year-old Floridian, PFC Greg Price, who is also the youngest at nineteen and the lowest rank among them. Twenty-one-year-old Lance Corporal Thaddeus Amedeo Giangreco, a Navy brat and LCpl Dean Hofstadter, twenty and a California boy, who make up the last of their group. Dean is also the shortest man and has been deemed the best looking.
They are exploring Rome and all it has to offer. Like all confident young men, they feel immortal and powerful. Never in a million years could the young men have been prepared for the nightmare that would follow them on one such weekend and all the horror and sorrow that followed. How could anyone survive? Would anyone survive?
I
Marco Velasco shoveled the cold gelato into his mouth. It was hot and humid for mid-spring and the clouds were finally rolling in. He was used to the Florida heat, but here in Rome, it seemed nearly stifling. Marco looked over to Greg Price, who was from Prentiss, Mississippi. Greg had a heavy southern accent and he was a geek of the first caliber, but he was tolerated. Greg was shoveling gelato into his mouth as well. They had stopped at a shop down the road on Via dei Fori Imperiali. Marco imagined that others had walked this very street over two thousand years ago. Around him were a mix of ancient Rome and modern architecture. It was peculiar and sometimes startling. Standing by a café’ one only had to turn left or right and see a building that had the fluted columns of a millennia past.
They were staying at a small and inexpensive hotel on Via Mazzarino, where the bulk of their personal belonging sat. It wasn’t prudent to carry a lot of money on the streets of Rome. During his military orientation upon his arrival in Italy, Velasco and the other military personnel were warned not to carry their wallets in their back pockets due to pickpockets and not to carry purses that could be easily stolen. They were also warned about wearing jewelry, necklaces or hanging earrings. Theft was rampant in large cities and Naples and Rome were no exceptions. All the men carried their IDs and money in their front pockets. They had left their wallets at the hotel.
Marco was okay with that since it kept him relatively worry free. He also kept his phone in his front pocket as well. The others had opted to leave their phones in the hotel, so Marco was the communications guy. He looked down into the empty cup and was disappointed. He looked around for a trash can and walked over and dropped the paper cup and spoon into it. Greg did the same and then jammed his hands in his pockets and looked around.
“Hey Hofstadter, can you give us a cheer? For real,” Greg said, his voice slow and soft. Dean looked over and scratched his nose with his middle finger. Marco snorted with a laugh. Dean had mentioned that he’d been a cheerleader in high school. He’d been teased but Dean was easygoing and had listed all of his girlfriends who had been cheerleaders and had shown his gallery of girls to them. This was effective in shutting them up.
“Yeah Dean. Come on Dean, give us a cheer,” Marco said in a bogus excited voice and laughed.
“Give me an A, give me a S. Give me another S. Now give me a H, give me an O! Now give me a L and give me an E. What does that spell? Marco Velasco! Rahh Rahh,” Dean said, using his arms to make the letters. Greg sniggered, his dark skin pinkening at his cheeks. Greg was a tall slender black man and he towered over Dean. He raised a high five to Dean, who smacked his hand.
“See those girls over there? Watch, I’m gonna rock this,” Dean said and grinned. There was a group of young Italian women heading their way. Dean move out ahead of them and executed a standing backwards flip. The young women squealed with delight and giggled, waving shyly at the blond Marine. Dean looked over his shoulder and grinned. Marco laughed and shook his head. Showoff, he thought.
“You shouldn’t encourage him like that,” Giangreco said. Thad, was teaching Dean and Greg Italian and Greg’s southern articulation of the language engendered great hilarity. Greg’s easygoing nature was what Marco liked best about the man.
“That was some seriously good ice cream. For real,” Greg said, his drawl heavy. Marco had a southern drawl as well, but not nearly as heavy as Greg’s. His family lived in Florida and Marco was of Cuban and Puerto Rican descent. Because of his heavy Spanish influence, it made it easier to learn Italian, since many of the word were similar. He and Thad had taken up the challenge to teach Dean and Greg. Both were coming along very slowly, because Dean had only been in country three months and Greg had only been there two months.
All had agreed they liked Italy but for one exception. Earthquakes. Nearly every day it seemed there was a tremor or quake. Marco’s first few months in country took getting used to. He remembered waiting in a bus and was fiddling with his phone when he realized the bus was rocking gently. He looked up from his phone and looked out the bus window. He had been both mesmerized and horrified to watch the parking lot undulate and the
