Alex Scarrow - Gates of Rome

‘Oh crud!’ gasped Maddy. ‘She’s coming straight for us!’

The pavement was impassable with people crouching nervously on their haunches. ‘In here!’ hissed Sal, dragging Maddy towards a pair of glass doors that slid open for them.

‘What…?’ Maddy looked around her. They were inside a large store; a blast of cool air from an AC unit hit them from above. It was only eight-forty in the morning and the place was already heaving with tourists shopping for mementoes: brass figurines of naked male torsos, faux marble busts of august-looking elders, cheap plastic gadgets that Maddy realized she couldn’t identify.

Only right now business was a suspended tableau; dozens of faces were turned their way.

‘ Julii! Was that ballista-fire I just heard?’ someone called out.

Maddy wrenched her hand free of Sal’s. ‘We’ll get trapped in here!’

Sal pointed across lanes of goods-display spindles towards the glare of daylight streaming into the store on the far side. ‘Over there! An exit!’

‘OK… right… yeah.’ They began to push their way past shoppers, momentarily frozen and confused by events, Maddy leading the way.

Just then they heard a horn sounding, followed by several more that suddenly were choked and silent, followed almost immediately by the crackle of gunfire.

‘Praetorians are here! It’s like war out there!’ shouted someone standing by the glass doors opening on to Broadway.

A man with oriental features and a cheerfully coloured tunic grasped Maddy’s arm. ‘Is this gang war? Collegia?’

‘Uh… yeah. It’s war. Just stay inside.’ She pulled his hand off, and pushed past him.

The gunfire was intensifying.

What’s going on out there? It sounded like the entire NYPD — no, not them, some other form of police had arrived — was laying down a barrage of small arms fire. All that response for one young woman?

She was about to say something about that to Sal, when Sal tugged at her from behind. ‘Down!’ she squealed.

‘Uh? What?’

Sal pointed past her, over her shoulder, towards the glow of daylight they’d been weaving their way towards. ‘Look!’

Maddy turned to look at the double doors of the exit. A solitary figure was silhouetted by rays of morning sunlight streaming over rounded, bulky shoulders of sinew and muscle. Like the young woman, it was bald and pale, wearing an unzipped hooded tunic and bright blue beach shorts, several sizes too small.

‘Oh my God…’ She ducked down with Sal and they continued to observe the figure through a display rack of plastic cases with covers showing the scarred faces of wrestlers… no, gladiators?

‘Hang on! Is that Bob?’

‘That’s not Bob,’ whispered Sal.

‘But it looks like him!’

‘It’s not him, though.’

Maddy felt her breath thicken, a whistling noise that in complete silence would have given them away in a heartbeat. She cursed herself for not picking up her inhaler on the way out earlier.

‘They’re support units,’ she gasped. ‘That’s what they are.’

Another figure joined the first. Another male, just as tall, wide and muscular as the first. It was holding a gun in each hand. Hands that were spattered with dark dots of blood. It silently passed one of the weapons to the first unit.

Maddy realized the crackle of gunfire had now ceased. ‘Oh God, Sal

… I think they just killed all the police guys outside!’

She glanced back at where they’d come from — the entrance to Broadway. And there was the young woman, silhouetted against the daylight glow of the double doors. A perfect statue, gun in one hand, head slowly swivelling, studying the shoppers and staff cowering amid display racks and aisles of cheap tourist goods.

Oh crud! Now we really are well trapped!

One of the male support units took a step forward into the store. ‘Everyone please leave!’ his deep voice boomed.

Nobody dared move.

He fired a single shot into the floor. ‘Everyone please leave this building now! Or you will be executed!’

There was an immediate stirring of movement across the store. People hastily getting to their feet, dropping baskets of forgotten bargains and making for the exits. As they streamed anxiously out past the support units, their bald heads panned quickly one way then the other, examining each person’s face as they hurried out. The female grasped the wrist of someone leaving, a young Asian girl. She pulled her closer then placed a hand under her chin to turn her head towards her. The girl whimpered and squirmed as the support unit quickly studied her face. She tossed her aside a moment later.

‘Negative ID!’ she called to the other two.

They’re after us! Specifically us. After me and Sal.

Outside they could hear the distant wailing of yet more police horns approaching. Times Square was unsettlingly quiet. A thousand or more people, crouched behind rubbish bins and newspaper vending machines, in shop doorways, and peeking out through store windows, all wondering what to do… wondering what was going to happen next.

And faintly, very faintly, Maddy could hear the deep drone of an approaching aeroplane.

‘We know you are hiding in here,’ said the support unit in shorts. ‘Please reveal yourselves to us… and you will not be harmed.’

Maddy looked at Sal. She shook her head silently.

Right… they’ll kill us.

‘We know you are in this building. There is no way out.’

Maddy felt her chest heaving, feeling tight, getting light-headed with growing panic. She could see Sal was no better, trembling like a yard dog on a winter’s morning.

Who are they?

‘Madelaine Carter! Saleena Vikram!’ a deep voice boomed. ‘Please reveal yourselves!’

The girls exchanged a round-eyed glance.

Who sent them?

Without any further verbal warning, they moved as one, all three of them, striding forward into the store, each picking a different aisle of goods to walk down. Maddy and Sal dropped down to their hands and knees.

‘Which way?’ mouthed Sal.

Maddy looked around. They were in an aisle stocked with swivel displays of CDs and DVDs or something like that. Nowhere for them to hide, nothing to crouch beneath. She looked down the far end of their lane. There was a service counter with a till and behind it a door that looked like it led to either a stockroom or some sort of staff restroom. She shuffled along the floor on her hands and knees towards the counter, Sal following her.

In the very next aisle to theirs she could hear the slap of heavy bare feet on lino: one of the male support units. Maddy picked up the pace, shuffling along as quickly and as quietly as she could. Her ragged breath was huffing out too loudly like some faltering fairground steam engine… she only hoped the growing deep rumble of the approaching jet plane was covering it up.

The aeroplane? Not the 9/11 one? Surely this was history that had been altered enough?

They were nearly at the end; the swivel racks of cases sporting famous gurning gladiators had given way to racks of plastic toys: swords, spears, tridents. She was beginning to believe they might just be able to sneak out of their aisle and hop round the back of the counter before one of the support units turned into this aisle and spotted them when she caught the strong scent of stale, sweating meat. She looked up from her dirty hands splayed on the floor and saw two equally dirty bare feet in front of her.

Maddy’s gaze rose as her heart sank, drifting up a pair of milk-white shins, smooth, featureless knees on to the frayed, dangling fringe of some old orange hiker’s anorak. It reeked of stale urine and mouldering tobacco. Maddy could only imagine the fate of the hapless vagrant who’d owned it.