I was drenched with sweat as if my fever had finally ceased. “Oh, god, Emily, it was awful. Roman died. And these horrible insects were eating his flesh.”
I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed.
Emily shushed me and fed me more broth until I could finally sleep.
In the morning, Marcellious said, “You’re riding with me today, Olivia. You’re too weak to go it alone.”
I didn’t care. I sat behind him, slumped against his back, in and out of more delirious dreams.
Late in the afternoon, I looked up, recognizing the familiar plains landscape where the Native Americans had their encampment.
“We’re almost there!” I peered into the distance.
There were no signs of teepees along the riverbank. No smoke drifting from the tops of dwellings, no herd of horses, nothing.
“It’s gone,” I said. “They’ve disappeared!”
Marcellious murmured something about how the tribe wandered and “Don’t worry, I can find them,” but I didn’t listen. Instead, I fell from the back of Marcellious’ horse and landed on the hard ground. There I drifted into welcome unconsciousness, ready to be done with everything.
Roman
With a hoarse, horrified scream, I awakened in this windowless, lightless prison hellhole, confident that cockroaches were eating my face. I could feel their tiny legs crawling all over my cheeks, feel the pinch of their jaws as they pulled at my flesh, sucking it into their mouths. I clawed at my skin, uncertain if I was still immersed in a bad dream or awake in this nightmare.
Only when I touched the rasp of my stubble-covered jaw, free of insects, did I realize I was caught in another delusion. I still burned with a fever, which had taken a toll on my sanity.
This place was well and truly hell, far worse than anything I experienced in the bowels of the Colosseum.
Day and night came and went in a blur. With no light in this cell, save for that which came through the door occasionally, I could never be sure what time it was.
My stomach cramped around the meager, random offerings of food tossed into this chamber by unseen hands. When I heard the jingle of keys and the click of the lock, I’d scramble across the grimy floor on my hands and knees. I didn’t have the strength to rise. The sharp shooting pains stabbing my ankle continued, unabated, without mercy.
The rats emerged at the same time as the door cracked open. I had to fight with the vermin to get a meal. Sometimes the rats were too fast, and they’d scurry underground with my food before I reached the door. Then, I’d curl where I lay and drift in and out of consciousness as I waited for my next meal.
Water dripped from the ceiling incessantly. At times it seemed to pound at my eardrums in a thunderous boom. At other times it sounded far away. When I had the strength, I’d crawl toward the sound, position myself beneath it, and open my mouth. The water, which tasted of rust and mold, filled my mouth painstakingly slowly. Often, I’d cough it all out before I had a chance to swallow, and then I’d have to start all over again.
The smells in here made me wretch and gag. I had nowhere to go to relieve my bladder or bowels, so I tried to reach the furthest corner when my body had something to give. But I couldn’t escape the stench.
I had no idea how long I’d been here, but it seemed like weeks. In my heart, I knew with certainty that Olivia would never return.
At this point, I welcomed death—it couldn’t take me quickly enough.
Footsteps clattered outside in the hallway. I dragged myself across the stone floor, hoping to catch the stale bread before the rodents did.
The door opened, but no bread came sailing. Instead, two black boots trekked inside and stood in my line of sight.
“Get up, you filthy pig,” Balthazar said.
Talking would take too much energy, so I lay in misery.
“I said,get up,” Balthazar commanded.
I couldn’t get my mouth to work.
“What, are you mute? Deaf?” He crouched so his face was inches away from my face. “Get.Up.”
I managed to swallow, but that was it.
Balthazar rose and took a step. His boot came down on my swollen ankle.
