Praetorian Series [3] A Hunter and His Legion (3 page)

I
…

“How’s the ending?”

I didn’t jump at this latest voice, because it was far more recognizable than the last and I was used to it popping up when it was least expected – or wanted.  I glanced up, only two pages left, and searched for the unwanted voice.  I looked to my left but found nothing, and to my right, but also nothing.  I hadn’t thought the voice had come from behind me, but maybe it had.

“Over here.”

This time it clearly came from my left and I looked at the small shrub that sat there. A shadow moved and grew taller, revealing the shape of a man.  I sighed and stacked the pages against my knee and tapped them there to realign them.  Neat and orderly, I held them up to cover my face.

“This really isn’t a good time,” I said.

The man in black strode closer, clad in his combat fatigues and gear, complete with face concealing balaclava.  Acting as our quick reaction force should our Listening Post/Observation Post call in a bogie, he could react instantly while the rest of us geared up.  It was standard operating procedure these days, and one we took very seriously.

T
he man in black shrugged.  “Just curious.”

“Do y
ou want to know what happened?  Really want to know??”  I asked, anger rising in my voice.

“Well, yeah,” he answered.

I flipped through the pages in my hand, tearing free the skipped few, and flung them at him.  He caught them in midair, but no more than ten seconds passed before the pages were held out before me again.

“Never mind,” he said.  “I don’t want to know.”

I nodded and retrieved the pages, placing them back in their proper places.  The man took a step back, just beyond the glow from my light source, but I could still see him cross his arms as we contemplated each other in companionable silence.

I probably shouldn’t have snapped at him earlier, but my mind was growing ever more difficult to reign
in these days.  My eyes reflexively peeked toward the bag at my feet, but I looked away just as quickly.

“So…
” my companion started, never one for awkward silences or missed opportunities to annoy me, “…about that sister of…”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What?  All I wanted to know is whether brown is her natural hair color or not.”

“This conversation is
over.”

He chuckled. 
“Keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

“She’s
off
limits,” I said flatly.  “God knows how many STDs you’ve picked up since we’ve been here.”

He laughed out loud this time
.  “You wish.  I’m clean.  Trust me.”

“Not
.  Happening.”

“Lighten up, Hunter.  I’m just busting your balls.”

“
Please
… for the love of everything sacred… leave my balls out of this conversation,” I pleaded.

He snorted
and I couldn’t help but smile as well.  In that moment, I hardly cared about Artie’s innocence or keeping her away from this smiling buffoon, because all I felt was that old tingle of happiness at the banter and idiotic levity he never failed to offer.

Which was
why I kept this particular idiot around.

Because
I loved the guy.

Platonically
, of course.

“
Just get out of here,” I told him with a wave of my hand.  “I’ll let you know what happens later, but I wouldn’t expect a fairy tale ending if I were you.”

He held his hands out in front of him.  “I’ve read enough.  Don’
t bother.  Just remember that this didn’t happen to you.  It happened to
him
.”

I nodded, knowing
the truth behind Santino’s words, and like always, was thankful for his random bursts of clarity and insight that were so unbecoming his normal character.  I glanced at the closest friend I’ll ever have and watched as he melted into the shadows while I remained, keeping my ass firmly planted on the dry, hard, uncomfortable rock.

A
nd read.

…
need help.

I’m
terrified.  Made so many mistakes.  Every one led us… me… here.  There’s nothing to do.  No more tricks.  No more friends.  No mre magical blue balls.  Nothing.  Nothing left.  Just me and this box.  My grave.

A
ir is thin.  I can feel it.  Could use orb, but Im done.  Finished.  Ready to die.  Ready to join my love, my life, my… everything.

Helena.

I regrt.  Much.  Most everything.  All my fault.  Would never b in Rome.  Only no regret is helena.  But i killed her.  Kill her baby.  keeled them both.  my Son.  my grl.  WIL nevEr kno.she wuld have be great mom.  uch A woman.  the prfct womn.

s
ory.  Head feals lite.  Gting dark.

r
grets.  Regret what I did 2 timeline.  i know it brokem.  nothing is will besame.  I feal it in m bons.  Evrything is gainst me, an theres nothing i do.  not thing.wouldt no wht do if ere ws

my falt.

Falt.

i
…

I…

sorry.  Trying to focus…

i
m ramblng.

I
dont kno wht to do.

H
ELP

I stopped
.

The Other Me continued
on for a few more paragraphs after that, but I didn’t see the point of continuing.  He had clearly lost his grip on reality long before his final words, and I was certain the orb had led him down the dark path we all suspected it could, and that it had plagued his mind, taking him on a quick trip toward insanity.  He had been just as insane as Caligula in the original timeline and Claudius in the last.

I’
d read enough.

M
y heart was pounding against my chest as I thought about it all, a rhythmic thumping that seemed to beat faster by the second.  I placed a hand there to steady it, and felt the drum of my beating heart begin to slow, but the pain in my head continued to linger.  The Other Me’s journal had more of an effect on me than I’d first suspected it would.  It wasn’t so much from the content but from the fear of what had happened to him, and how I knew it could happen to me as well.

I pinched my nose
and bit back the emotion swelling in my chest.

The man
who had written those words
had been
me.  He’d been a me that, for all intents and purposes, had sacrificed himself so that I…
me
… could live.  Without his journal reaching my sister in the future of his timeline, there never would have been an opportunity for them to come back into mine and save our asses.  Without Archer’s intervention, we would have been dead, just as dead as he was because he hadn’t had their assistance.  Instead, we’d created yet another timeline, one where we’d all escaped Agrippina’s trap in the villa because Archer and his troops had arrived.

Just like when
my friends and I had shown up two thousand years in the past, and had created a timeline that ended with us dead a few days ago, when they showed up, their presence had changed the timeline as well.  We were now in yet
another
timeline.  Whether their presence would affect more positive change in the long run was still up for debate, but since it had at least resulted in the continuation of our lives past a few days ago, I was okay with it for now.

I lowered my hand from my face and
pushed off my rock, still clutching the six pieces of paper.  I let my attention linger on the horizon, the shimmering water reflecting the moon’s image just below my focus, and found my mind wandering.  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply before opening them and glancing down at my hand, realization setting in.

I was alive.

All of us were alive.

This arrogant, self-centered
, pessimistic, wimpy, know-it-all Other Me had died so that I could live.  Had it been a heroic death?  No.  In fact it pained me that his death was more of the opposite.  It had been a whimpering death, one where he had died alone and unable to help himself, all while he fought a losing battle for control of his sanity.  But that no longer seemed to matter anymore.  The Other Me had died and I had lived.  Whether he knew it or not, his mistakes were not so horrible after all because I would learn from them.  I wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice.  Not when I had a second chance.

I edged closer to the water
and tore the six pages in half, then again, and again, until I was no longer able to continue halving it.  I lost much of the document as I voraciously tore what remained to pieces, but when I was finished, I threw the rest into the lake like a relative releasing the ashes of a family member into the ocean.  I watched as they scattered across the water, floating off into obscurity before dissolving into nothing.

I stood there thoughtfully, watching them go
, when a soft sound emanated from behind me.  Unconcerned by what sounded like someone coughing politely into his fist to garner someone’s attention, the only thing that concerned me was the identity of my latest visitor.  I turned to see the outline of a small man standing a polite distance away, loitering near my old rock.  He wore his night ops combat pants and a t-shirt that I assumed was white.  Attached to his shoulders was a backpack that seemed comically large for his slight frame.

At the moment, he seemed embarrassed, almost bashful, but I knew better.  Most of the time he was just as big of an ass as Santin
o, only this one knew how to read his audience and act appropriately when necessary.

“Sorry,
mate,” he said in his Welsh accent.  “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

I walked
toward my rock and rubbed my palms against my pants, ensuring any last remnants of the Other Me’s documents no longer remained.

“Don’t sweat it
,” I said.  “You’re not the first person to show up tonight unannounced, but I’ll at least give you extra credit for politeness.”

The figure shrugged.  “You seemed pretty distracted. 
Considering the few days, I didn’t want to interrupt.  I saw what you were reading and figured you had a lot to think about.”

I smiled.  “You the team
’s psychiatrist now too?”

“No,” he said as
he shrugged off his large bag.  “I’ll leave that bullocks to the Frenchy, but I’m still your doctor.  Now sit down and remove your shirt.”

I complied with his order
and once again sat upon my rock, but found that removing my shirt wasn’t so easy a task anymore because of my wound, so our friendly medic had to help.

“Thanks,” I said as he finally pulled it
over my head.  “I’m having mobility issues with the arm.”

“Expected,” he said as he pulled out a small head lamp from his bag and secured it over his forehead.  He flicked
the light on and examined my side before beginning the procedure of unwrapping the gauze from around my chest.  “Your entire left flank was carved up pretty good, mate.  You’ll be jammy if you gain full mobility at all, and it’ll certainly take a few months before you’re a hundred percent.”

“Wonderful
,” I said with a wince as he removed the pad attached to my side with a sticky, wet sound.  “I think I’ve had just about enough purple hearts for one career.  Time to cash in my pension and get the fuck out.”

“Not bloody likely,”
he said as he completely removed the blood soaked pad.

I didn’t want to look
, but my curiosity, like it always did, got the better of me, and I very nearly threw up at the sight and smell of it.

“
Aye,” the medic said, “pretty nasty piece of business there, and you’ve managed to pop a few of the stiches as well… great.  Give me a minute to sew you back up.”

I nodded and gritted my teeth
in preparation.  I felt a syringe plunge its way into the area, the morphine taking its sweet time before finally working its magic, but when the area felt numb, I risked another look, again immediately wishing I hadn’t.

The lacerati
on was at least seven inches long, and despite the stiches, the wound was flayed open in places where they had popped, and the dark red wound gaped like a ravenous maw ready to devour anything that came near it.  I was almost worried my surgeon would lose a finger or two to its voracious appetite, but my fears were quelled when he stitched me up in seconds, his deft movements dancing with practiced ease.

When he
was finished, he carefully set his tools on an already laid out piece of cloth and removed another large gauze pad.  He placed it carefully over the wound and used some tape to hold it place.  Removing a large roll of gauze from his bag he got to work wrapping me up.

“Thanks,” I grunted as he pulled the wrap tight.