The Phantom of the Catacombs

by J. B. Michaels

  Bud realized he hadn’t told her the truth about Ivy because of Sam’s presence. The Order was not the place for Ivy. They would have never let her go.

  “I am sure Ivy is okay, and yes, she would have been a great help. My head hurts like hell. My shoulder is sore. The toll of being a monk of the Order is, indeed, strong. However, I am with you, though, so I feel as though I can take on the world.” Bud smiled.

  Maeve looked at Bud. She took a deep breath and returned his smile.

  The Colosseum grew in size as they descended to the grassy area that they’d started their pursuit of the phantom. The canopy tops of the stone pine trees swayed in the wind from the spinning blades above them.

  Bud didn’t have time to process Maeve’s response or lack thereof. He spotted Vincenzo’s dead body below. Blood pooled around him from a hole in his head.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Bud and Maeve hopped off the chopper. They landed in the small area and a few feet away from Vincenzo. Bud signaled a thumbs-up to Timothy.

  The sound of the rotors and blades were deafening.

  Maeve grabbed the cross from her shirt. “We’d better seal this tree! If Vincenzo was killed, he probably didn’t seal the tree! That explains the spike in the area, Bud! They can’t all be marked ones!”

  The sound of the rotors didn’t cease. Bud turned and Timothy still hadn’t taken off yet or killed the rotors to assist them with the fight ahead. He put his forearms in front of his face and approached the cockpit. Timothy’s slumped position inspired a closer look.

  “Maeve! Come here! Something’s not right!” Bud yelled. He opened the door.

  Maeve strode over to stand next to him. Timothy fell from the pilot’s seat and into their arms. He had a nasty cut on the side of his head. His chest still rose and fell with shallow breaths.

  A spear stuck into the controls of the chopper. Sparks flew from the console. The rotor’s spin weakened.

  Bud and Maeve carefully put Timothy on the grass and ducked down to see if they could see what was on the other side of the helicopter.

  Two large armored shins and sandals hopped up and down as if warming up for a fight.

  “Oh shit. A gladiator. Is this happening? Just say the prayer, seal the tree, and he’ll be sucked into the tree in no time, correct?” Bud asked, his chest heaving from nerves.

  The helicopter hovered off the ground from its nose. The gladiator lifted it up and turned it to a vertical position where the trees held it in position. The breaking and crunching of glass and metal sounded as the tree branches fought their own battle with the steel bird.

  Bud and Maeve found themselves at a rare loss for words. They took a step back, looked at each other, and readied their weapons. Maeve her gladius, the sword of empire. Bud, his crossbow.

  “Bud. You need to get past the brute and see what the hell is going on in the Colosseum. I will take care of him. Like you said, I just need to say the prayer.”

  “I am no mere brute, young one.” The gladiator stood seven feet tall. His arms were bereft of armor along with no helmet for his head, which was topped with curls. Everything else was covered with intricately carved armor. That of someone who was successful in the arena or just wealthy enough to afford it.

  “How can you speak English?! Come on!” Bud yelled.

  “I speak whatever language of my enemy. I use it to talk to my enemy. To intimidate. To belittle. To gain advantage of the mind is to win most or all of the battle. For I am Commodus, the emperor, Hercules reincarnated! I will take particular delight in killing your woman as I was strangled to death by a woman. A woman who resembled you!” Commodus leapt toward Maeve with a toothy, serrated club.

  “Bud! Go! St. Michael the Archangel…” Maeve rolled out of the way.

  Bud ran out of the grassy area and into the archways of the Colosseum.

  “No prayers will save you!” Commodus’s yell echoed into Bud’s ears.

  Bud looked down at the phone to check S.I.S. Nothing but red. Intense supernatural phenomena surrounded him.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Maeve needed to recite the prayer with focused intent. Commodus knew to keep her from doing just that.

  “From the nether, I have studied these rituals you practice. I don’t see their worth.” Commodus used both hands in an attempt to drive his club into the top of Maeve’s head.

  “St. Michael, the Archangel… Oh, whatever.” She ducked into position on his downswing and stabbed his bicep then darted away from him.

  “Fermare!” Two Roman policemen entered the copse of trees from the Piazza del Colosseo. The chopper landing had gained attention from the authorities.

  Maeve felt relief but also intense anxiety for fear of their lives.

  Commodus turned his attention toward the policemen. “More enemies for me to slay! Benvenuto!”

  Bud Hutchins looked around the arches he found himself in. He couldn’t see any other strange gladiators or anything ghostly. He could hear the mic checks and the music that the performers of the World Games ceremony rehearsed to. He needed to examine the area more thoroughly without being removed by security.

  Invisibility at the ready.

  He couldn’t see himself, but he’d hope the odor of the dirty Tiber and his general body odor didn’t generate unwanted attention.

  He walked into the bowl. There were people shouting in Italian and other languages. A large dance group practiced on the newly constructed stage. Some Montalbano workers still milled about cleaning out their tools before the final inspection, most likely. If they had any time for one.

  They targeted construction workers, so in any new construction or even restored areas, Bud would look for anything unusual or strange. The S.I.S. teemed with activity still. What could possibly be the cause of all of it? These people couldn’t all be marked ones.

  If Sam still had access to S.I.S., would he think all these people were marked ones and try to kill them all? Why say we were on the same side and that the target was the Colosseum? Something didn’t add up. The Order didn’t murder people. Vampires and zombies, yes. People, no.

  Bud decided to go under the stage to investigate the new construction.

  The policemen shot their handguns at Commodus. Their bullets bounced off his armor. He swung at one of them and missed. His club knocked a tree down. The pine tree’s audible crack and heavy fall again demonstrated his strength, yet Maeve thought Commodus might be the worst gladiator ever. He missed always. He had no coordination. The definition of an unrefined brute. All brawn and not much else.

  “Polizia! Go! I got this.”

  The policemen ran back to their blue Alfa-Romeo squad cars but didn’t drive away. Maeve could hear them call for backup.

  Commodus turned back to Maeve.

  “Ah, yes, my female gladiator! You are a worthy opponent!” Commodus stomped the ground with a heavy boot.

  Maeve couldn’t quite believe her eyes. A crack raced from his foot to the very patch of grass she stood on.

  “Holy crap.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The invisible monk walked across the stage in between the dancers and singers. They were dressed in active wear, and the stage smelled of sweat. The twenty-five-foot-tall World Games torch, made of concrete and glass, was built into the middle of the bowl on a narrow ramp so the traditional torch bearer would be showcased on his or her run to light the torch of sportsmanship and good will.

  Bud realized that by his count, there were already at least a thousand people milling about. Different contingents from all over the world marveled at Montalbano’s magnificent restoration of an ancient venue. The Colosseum stone looked polished and bright. The seating areas were elegantly constructed with expensive, plush seating, not plastic buckets.

  Bud made his way down the short stairs to backstage. He knew that the flooring he walked on currently was not the underground. There had to be a way down.

  His phone rang. Bud ran to a corner. He thought he’d hit
the right button to mute the ring, but he hadn’t. The performers waiting to take the stage looked confused. Some checked duffel bags for their phones.

  Bud knelt down behind a set of stage lights. He lost control of his invisibility and answered. “Hello?”

  “Bud, it is Sam. I need your help.”

  Maeve needed to get Timothy to safety. He still lay unconscious in between Commodus and herself and over the crack created by Commodus’s mighty stomp. She grabbed her crucifix.

  “No!” Commodus threw his club at her.

  Maeve ducked.

  He jumped toward her in one single bound. She felt his sweaty fingers grasp her neck. Commodus picked her up at least nine feet in the air.

  “What a fitting way to die as I was choked to death as well.” The undead gladiator grinned.

  Maeve struggled to breathe. She dropped the gladius.

  She pulled at his hands with both arms. He punched her in the face with his free hand. Maeve could feel the blood pour from her broken nose.

  “Just let me watch the vita leave your body.”

  “Why should I help you? You tried to have me killed,” Bud said, still crouching behind the huge light rig.

  “You were hunting my sister. Plus, the Order is not equipped to stop this threat. Get up.”

  Bud could hear Sam’s voice in the phone and also behind him.

  “You just don’t understand the nature of this enemy. Marked ones can’t be kept alive. Their bodies must be burned after they are killed so the mark can’t travel to another.” Sam put the cold end of a gun on the back of Bud’s neck. They were in the corner hidden away from the busy, hectic nature of rehearsal.

  Bud put his hands up. “The Order doesn’t kill people. I see. You Janus cultists will and do. Why do you need my help? How in the hell did you find me?”

  “I tracked the phone the Order gave you, and I saw you walk in. Something very bad is going to happen here, Bud. There is too much interference from the tree that was left unsealed, and I won’t be able to find the next marked one without your help. I need you to upgrade S.I.S.”

  Bud stood up, hands still raised.

  “I can’t just make magic happen like that, Sam. Maeve is going to seal the tree any minute now. That should clear up any threat. Don’t you understand? I am here to find out what the threat is. What the hell is it? A bomb? A terrorist attack?”

  “Sealing the tree doesn’t solve a problem this big. That is ridiculous ritual. That way not working anymore, Bud. I have seen it happen. All over the world, the Order is losing. This threat is real. The gate is open. War is coming. I tried to figure out ways to fight this threat, and the Order’s ways aren’t cutting it. My sister knew that long before I did. Janus picked us to eliminate threats. Your hunt for my sister caused us to lose track of the marked ones. You have made quite the mess, Bud. Now help me clean up your mess.”

  “I can’t do it. As much as this pains me to say it, I can’t do it. I don’t know how to upgrade S.I.S.” Bud, for once in his life, showed humility. Admitted defeat.

  Bert stomped over from a corner still in his robes, his exposed robot head shiny in spots and dirty in others. “You may not be able to, Bud. But I can. That is if you want me to do so.” His eyes glowed red at the sight of Sam’s gun pointed at Bud. He spun Sam and summarily crushed the gun pointed at his creator.

  Sam held his wrist. “Stupid robot was completely unwilling to take orders from anyone but you even after I fished him from the bottom of the river!”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Maeve, still suspended high in the air in the vise grip of a long dead and horrible emperor of Rome, kicked said emperor’s chest as hard as she could.

  “Oomf! That was a mighty kick!” he jested.

  She kicked him again. Harder.

  Commodus winced and loosened his grip on her neck.

  Maeve took a quick breath.

  Her foot landed in his chest a third time. His armor cracked. Commodus dropped Maeve to the ground. She landed on her feet and grabbed her gladius.

  “I have not felt such pain since the glory days of Empire…” He placed his large mitt on his chest.

  “Have some more.” Maeve jumped high in the air, pulled back her gladius, then thrust the sword into his neck.

  The gladiator held his neck, then fell to his knees. She thought about decapitating him. He fell on his face hard. Bones broke in his ugly mug.

  Maeve tapped her nose with her fingertips. “Ouch!” It hurt like hell. He definitely broke her nose, but she had just broke his face.

  Timothy stirred.

  She ran to his side. “Timothy, you okay?”

  He rubbed the side of his head and raised to his knees. He looked around and saw Vincenzo. He quickly hobbled to the side of Vincenzo’s dead body. Tim lifted his lifeless torso from the ground and hugged him. He wept for his friend.

  “Aww, Timothy, so sorry.” Commodus’s voice bellowed from behind. “Safe travels along the Styx.”

  “Sam’s portable EMP blast was not strong enough to keep me down for long. Although, I would like a Faraday shield layer, please, upon the conclusion of our current problem. Please give me the phone, and I can tap into the S.I.S. server.” Bert held his hand out.

  “We’d better get down underneath. We don’t need any unwanted attention. Bert, can you make a hole?” Bud asked.

  “Certainly.” Bert stomped the ground. The music thumped, the perfect cover for creating holes in the floor.

  Bert dropped down first. “Oh dear. This is where the signals are coming from.”

  Bud joined Bert and Sam followed.

  The light was dim, but one didn’t need the light to see the blue glow of apparitions all around them.

  Lions, tigers, bears. Beasts of every sort were lined up in cages. Men waited in line with swords, armor, and weapons of every sort. The presumably accurate scene of life in the underground staging area of the Colosseo played out as if gladiator games were in full swing above them.

  Bud froze. “In my admittedly limited experience, ghosts usually attack.”

  “Not every ghost is poltergeist, Bud. Some spirits are echoes of the past. They don’t always harm or haunt the living,” Sam said.

  “Once I figure out whatever the hell that means, echoes up your ass, I will thank you for the insight. Bert, since we are relatively safe, let’s figure out how to track the marked ones, as Sam likes to call them, since now we know the source of these ghosts, the unsealed tree. Can we do a scan based on supernatural phenomena that has combined or interacted with humans in some way?”

  Bert tried to pet a ghost tiger.

  “Bert!” Bud yelled.

  “Oh yes, of course. I have already interfaced with S.I.S. and did what you said and also checked the S.I.S. logs during our hunt and subsequent battle with Sam’s phantom sister. There was a dormant marked one that registered near here, and another is approaching very fast. We haven’t much time. What an adorable kitty!” Again, Bert put his hand through a ghostly tiger’s head.

  Maeve shook her head. Timothy continued to weep and held his friend. She turned around to face her relentless opponent once more.

  “Really?! Want some more of this? Timothy, get ready to run!” Maeve grabbed her crucifix. The use of her elemental power of fire must suffice.

  Above and behind her, the helicopter that Commodus had lifted upright in the tree like a giant Christmas ornament burst into flames. It would certainly explode in a ball of fire, and soon.

  Timothy didn’t flinch. He dropped Vincenzo then walked right underneath the burning chopper.

  Maeve dodged another Commodus swipe and dove away.

  The explosion heated the back of Maeve’s neck. She peeked from her crouched position, and two blades had cut Commodus down to his knees, then the rest of the chop dropped on him.

  Maeve stood up. Timothy was gone. She didn’t know if he’d survived the explosion or not.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The ghost tige
r roared and clawed at the cage it thought it was in. Suddenly, the spectral tiger disappeared. The entire scene in the underground of the Colosseum vanished.

  Bert threw his big metal hands up. “Where did my kitty go?”

  “Maeve did it! She sealed the tree!” Bud pumped his fist high in the air.

  “It won’t matter, Bud. The marked ones are still coming!” Sam shook his head.

  “Bert, scan again. Or just give me the stupid phone.” Bud grabbed the phone from Bert.

  “How rude of you, Bud.” Bert crossed his arms.

  “I like you for about three minutes a day. Seriously, Bert. Didn’t you say one of the signals was dormant? Now there are two moving signals, and one is very near to our location. Shit.” Bud looked around frantically.

  “We must eliminate them! Janus wills it!” Sam yelled.

  “No, you idiot. Don’t you see? We have to figure out why they are so fixated on the Colosseum. Then we capture them. Be quiet. One of them is down here now.” Bud pulled Sam by the robes to crouch down behind a crumbling wall.

  Bert crouched down too.

  Bud looked at the screen. A blinking red dot quickly approached the blue arrow that indicated their current position underneath the beautiful new Colosseum stage.

  Timothy walked past them. The librarian monk of the Order was corrupted. Marked. He headed toward the section of the sub-level underneath the World Games’ torch.

  “The marked ones can be very dangerous. Be careful, Bud,” Sam warned.

  “Says the man who tried to kill me a matter of hours ago. I will be invisible for a while.” Bud activated his grace power once more and crept out from behind the wall. The daylight from Bert’s manufactured hole dimmed.

  More subterranean darkness.

  Bud hated it. He followed Timothy’s footsteps. He secured Cranky the Crossbow from his back once more.