He awoke to a gentle tap on his foot. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. Standing over him was Cicero, who was waiting for him to wake up. He stood up to greet him, trying not to yawn.

  “What happened?” Ampelius asked groggily.

  “Nothing, we’re about to exit the tunnel. I just figured and thought you’d want to see the outside.”

  He wasn't wrong. Ampelius felt the anticipation quicken within his pulse as the train emerged into the open air. The untouched outer suburbs stretched before him, surrounded by steep mountains and trees. But the sky was still dark, though the sun was peaking over the eastern horizon, casting an ominous red-orange glow, stained by all the smoke in the city.

  “It’s dusk, but feels like it’s not,” Cicero said, pointing to the westward sky. “The city is really burning. All of that smoke can't be good for a smoker.”

  Ampelius spent the next few minutes watching the fresh landscape pass by, a fresh sight compared to the destruction he’d left behind. Everywhere he could see refugees who moved eastward, each carrying what they could on their backs, while the Roman military and their armored vehicles rumbled through the streets westward.

  Eventually, the train began to slow as they approached a station, stopping near a group of buildings. Cicero waved Ampelius over, as he stepped off the train. He followed, but his eyes went wide when he caught sight of the massive artillery gun attached to a neighboring train. There were dozens of soldiers that bustled around it, looking like they were preparing to fire.

  “By order of Tribune Paula, we’re to escort you to her office,” a female officer said before leading them inside.

  Above the entrance, carved into old stone and partially covered by emergency tarps, were the words CURSUS IMPERIALIS DISTRIBUTION HUB — the Roman postal authority’s modern descendant.

  Ampelius believed that this facility must’ve been a major mail and logistics center before the invasion. But now the halls were buzzing with soldiers, stretchers, radios, and stacks of supply crates instead of packages.

  Civilians were mixed in as well, and they were clustered in the corners, trying to stay out of the way of the Roman military. Some held blankets and other belongings, while most only had themselves. Though, Ampelius noticed that the fear here wasn’t as obvious, but he knew these people haven't seen the horror that was inside the city.

  Then suddenly the shock of the artillery firing rattled the building, and dust fell from the ceiling. “I keep thinking this place will collapse every time they fire that thing,” someone muttered.

  “How many rounds do they have? It’s been firing nonstop,” someone else replied.

  Ampelius kept up with his escorts as they reached a door guarded by two soldiers. After a brief exchange, they were waved inside, where Tribune Paula sat behind a desk piled with papers and bins with old letters. She looked up, smiling. “Have a seat, gentlemen. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Ampelius sat down, trying to relax. “You must be the survivor from Vetera. Ampelius, right? You’re the first we’ve found alive so far. Or first to survive those creatures, whatever they are.”

  He nodded, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

  “I'm going to be honest with you. Unfortunately, we will need to detain you, but only temporarily. You're not under arrest, or in trouble. But you’ll be questioned at a secure facility in the mountains. We need all the information we can gather before we enter the city proper. But for now, let’s get you cleaned up and fed. Cicero, take him to his quarters and ensure he has a hot meal.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cicero replied. He lead Ampelius out of the office and down the hall. “If you haven't already figured it out, this was a post office. Now it’s our headquarters. Your room is down here.”

  Ampelius entered the room, noting its sparse furnishings. “Thanks, Cicero. I’m not very hungry, but if you have fruit, I’ll take it.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Left alone, Ampelius explored the room, finding nothing of interest. He sat on the cot, staring at the ceiling as the artillery fired again. But fatigue continued to pull at him, and he laid down, drifting into a a light sleep.

  A loud knock jolted him awake. Cicero entered, placing a tray of fruit and water on the desk.

  “Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to escort you to that facility. So take the day to relax and rest, if you can.”

  “Thanks, Cicero,” Ampelius said, watching him leave.

  He considered the fruit, but his exhaustion won out. As he adjusted the pillow, he felt something hard beneath it, a combat knife, something forgotten or left for him? Smiling, he tucked it under his pillow, gripping it tightly as he drifted back to sleep.

  Suddenly, he woke to a crushing weight on his chest. He couldn’t breathe, and he felt panic surge, then instinct took over. His hand shot under the pillow, fingers closing around the knife, and he drove it upward in a desperate thrust.

  A wet gasp, followed by a warm spray across his face.Then the pressure vanished.

  Ampelius shoved the figure back, adrenaline blurring the moment into flashes, shadow. He blinked hard, his vision swimming as the room tilted around him.

  Not blue. It wasn't dark blue sludge. It was red. Human red. His stomach dropped as he realized it was Cicero. As he staggered, one hand pressed uselessly to his neck as he collapsed against the bed frame and slid to the floor. Blood pumped through his fingers, pooling fast.

  “Cicero? What the hell.” Ampelius choked out. “No—no, no…”

  The soldier stared up at him, eyes wide with pain and disbelief. Trying to speak, but only a wet rasp came out. Then nothing. Ampelius only froze. His breath caught somewhere between a sob and a choke. The knife trembled in his hand.

  “Why? What were you doing?” he whispered, trembling. He didn’t know if he was asking Cicero or himself.

  Silence grew thicker every second. His mind raced, trying to explain it, undo it, make sense of the nightmare. I thought, I thought you were one of them. For half a second he swore he saw blue veins pulsing under Cicero’s skin — then they were gone. I thought—

  He forced himself forward, hands shaking as he reached for Cicero’s radio, then stopped, pulling back like it burned him. Instead he searched his vest, avoiding the wound, and avoiding eye contact. Then he found a sidearm holstered at the waist and took it with his numb fingers.

  His pulse hammered, each beat another reminder: I killed him. I killed a Roman soldier.

  They wouldn’t listen. He knew they wouldn’t care whether it was instinct, panic, or hallucination, which he suspected the pressure on his chest was. He was a civilian who just murdered a legionnaire inside a secured Roman base.

  There would be no trial. No explanation. Just an execution.

  He backed away from the body, breath shallow, panic rising again. Blood slicked the floor. His bare feet left faint red prints. How many seconds before someone walked by? Before someone knocked? Before they came to escort him again and—

  You have to run.