Edward Crichton - The Last Roman

I fell to the floor and felt my muscles automatically clench in the vain hope of staving off the pain. My body tried too little, too late. My eyes stung, my mouth parched, my brain fried, my stomach churned, my bowls threatened to do something I’d soon regret, and every shred of my being seemed to be on fire.

But, as soon as the pain began, which seemed like a million years ago, it just as quickly ended. It was gone. In the blink of an eye, the most unimaginable pain I’ve ever experienced was gone, and even the memory of what it had felt like was quickly fading.

I blinked my eyes.

We were in a cavern, a big one, with dead bodies littered all over the place. Before I could take in more of my surroundings, the stair case behind me collapsed and fell to pieces. My first thought was to make sure Helena was all right. I struggled to my knees and felt her neck for a pulse. It was steady, and her breathing was normal, but even though she was drugged before the transition, the painful reentry jarred her awake. Her eyes fluttered open and slowly focused on me.

“What happened?” she asked weakly, before going under again.

“I have no idea,” I responded to myself.

Santino was already on his feet, eyes darting back and forth, looking for a way out. He noticed I was also conscious and helped me up to survey the area together. I was looking at the pile of corpses in front of us when he poked me in the arm. I turned to see him staring in the other direction.

“What…” I started to say just as I noticed what he was looking at. What I saw couldn’t be real. I was looking at the same group of toga wearing men I had seen through the orb. They were in the same semicircle I saw before, all kneeling in our direction. And they all seemed just as surprised as we were.

Santino and I exchanged glances, but it wasn’t long before he couldn’t help but say something.

“Togas?” He asked, peering at the men. “So, where’s the keg?”

Location: Unknown

Date: Unknown

“So. Jacob.” Santino said offhandedly. “Want to fill me in on what the fuck you just did?”

I looked at him, his expression a reflection of my own.

Neither one of us had any idea what was going on.

The faces of the men arrayed before us were likewise confused. They seemed more shocked than frightened, but where I knew we could take them in a fight, they didn’t seem so sure. Not surprising considering these men were no taller than five and a half feet, and were wearing what looked like togas, compared to us in our body armor. Even Wang stood above the men, and he was the smallest of us all. He was still working on McDougal and Helena, as Bordeaux and Vincent joined Santino and me.

“Who are they?” Bordeaux asked.

“I can’t even begin to guess,” Vincent said, squinting carefully at the men, “but, as odd as this may sound, they’re dressed like ancient Romans.”

Well, they were wearing togas. Just like the ones worn by thousands of college students every year at the ever popular “toga party”. But these were different somehow, more genuine, used, and worn in. There was a thick stretch of purple, about three inches wide, running down the main opening seam on two men’s togas. If these people really were Romans, even though I knew they couldn’t possibly be, that could signify a number of things. Certain kinds of magistrates, I couldn’t remember which, or maybe augurs, ridiculous sight seers who determined a man’s fate based on whether or not it was an eagle or a crow that took a shit on you.

I shook my head. Roman fashion hadn’t been my forte. Besides, this wasn’t really happening. We couldn’t possibly be standing in the presence of ancient Romans. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. There always was.

Right?

Maybe… maybe Santino was right, and we somehow happened into a college toga party in the middle of Syria. What other explanation could there be? I knew I couldn’t be dreaming. If I was, I’m pretty damn sure ancient Romans wouldn’t be here, or Santino, and Helena would either be naked or wearing something slutty and certainly wouldn’t be unconscious.

I tried to think.

I did touch that glowing ball thing, whatever that was. But how could that have caused all this? I could barely remember what it had even done at this point, even though I remember that I should be remembering something. Even if I believed it somehow had something to do with this, that meant we just found a glowing, blue time machine.

As stupid as that sounds.

Only one way to find out. Plan B. If it failed, at least we’ll be able to pick up a beer pong game or two.

“Vincent, I’m going to try something, back me up.”

“What are you…?”

I unslung my rifle and handed it off to Bordeaux, whose jaw hung limp in its sockets. Cautiously, I approached the men with my hands up. Thinking back to my old Latin classes, I did the best I could.

“ Meus animus et summus pacis.”

Yeesh. Was I really that rusty?”

I believe I said, “Me friend and we are peace.” I always got tripped up on those damn endings. Hopefully, it was close enough to get the message across. Sure, it relied on these guys actually being Romans, or at least a classically oriented fraternity, neither of which seemed overly plausible, but what else could I do?

The “Romans/frat boys” looked at each other, perhaps wondering who this barbarian was butchering their language, perhaps wondering where the nearest bikinis-only jello fight was. I wouldn’t blame them on the language issue. Speaking Latin is harder than it seems. It’s a dead language for a reason, and while it may be used daily in medical and law professions, its conversational usage went extinct centuries before I was born.

I just hope I got the point across.

One of the men stood up, and after glancing at his partners, said, “ Salve.”

“Hello.”

My jaw dropped.

“Speak English?” I asked hopefully, to no response.

“ Parlez-vous Francais?” Bordeaux offered to more blank expressions.

Damn. They were Romans. Or maybe a Latin club? I shook my head and looked over at Vincent, his expression likewise in shock. I caught his eye, still not believing my own ears. “I guess you’re going to have to talk to them, Vincent. My Latin is beyond rusty. I’ll see how the Major is.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said awkwardly, still not completely buying it that these guys were Romans either, “but you know as well as I that nobody really speaks Latin anymore.”

“Seems they do now,” Santino mumbled.

I ignored him. “Write it down and…” I paused, forcing myself to believe my own words, “show it to them or something, just make sure they know we mean them no harm.”

He nodded shakily.

My mind was whirling, but Romans or no, time travel or no, alien abduction or…

Stop it.

We still had wounded. No idea what to think, I made my way to their position. Both had their eyes closed, but I knew McDougal was in far worse shape. It wasn’t until I got close enough to use my flashlight that I saw Wang pressing a defibrillator against McDougal’s chest. The transportation effect must have been too much for him.

As I arrived, Wang’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, and he dropped the paddles to the floor.

I knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

He choked back tears as he glanced up at me. “He was a great man, Hunter. I served with him for years, and he never let me down. He pulled me out of a burning helicopter once, and carried me all the way home. But I couldn’t help him now. I couldn’t save him.”

I looked over at McDougal’s mustached face, before slowly pulling the blanket from the cot over his head.