The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(95)

Why would the mortars be aimed like that?

The green fireballs climbed another fifty feet. A hundred feet. Slowed. On Highway 24, the entire enemy army mimicked their movements, standing up straighter and straighter as the projectiles rose, until all the Germani, Khromandae, and other assorted baddies were on their tippy-toes, poised as if levitating. The fireballs stopped and hovered in midair.

Then the emeralds fell straight down, right onto the yachts from which they had come.

The display of mayhem was worthy of the emperors themselves. Fifty yachts exploded in green mushroom clouds, sending confetti of shattered wood, metal, and tiny little flaming monster bodies into the air. Caligula’s multi-billion-dollar fleet was reduced to a string of burning oil slicks on the surface of the bay.

I may have laughed. I know that was quite insensitive, considering the environmental impact of the disaster. Also terribly inappropriate, given how heartbroken I felt about Frank. But I couldn’t help it.

The enemy troops turned as one to stare at me.

Oh, right, I reminded myself. I am still facing hundreds of hostiles.

But they didn’t look very hostile. Their expressions were stunned and unsure.

I had destroyed Commodus with a shout. I had helped burn Caligula to cinders. Despite my humble appearance, the troops had probably heard rumors that I was once a god. Was it possible, they’d be wondering, that I had somehow caused the fleet’s destruction?

In point of fact, I had no idea what had gone wrong with the fleet’s weapons. I doubted it was Artemis. It just didn’t feel like something she would do. As for Lavinia…I didn’t see how she could’ve pulled off a trick like that with just some fauns, a few dryads, and some chewing gum.

I knew it wasn’t me.

But the army didn’t know that.

I cobbled together the last shreds of my courage. I channeled my old sense of arrogance, from back in the days when I loved to take credit for things I didn’t do (as long as they were good and impressive). I gave Gregorix and his army a cruel, emperor-like smile.

“BOO!” I shouted.

The troops broke and ran. They scattered down the highway in a panic, some leaping straight over the guardrails and into the void just to get away from me faster. Only the poor tortured pegasi stayed put, since they had no choice. They were still fastened in their harnesses, the chariot wheels staked to the asphalt to keep the animals from bolting. In any case, I doubted they would have wanted to follow their tormentors.

I fell to my knees. My gut wound throbbed. My charred back had gone numb. My heart seemed to be pumping cold, liquid lead. I would be dead soon. Or undead. It hardly mattered. The two emperors were gone. Their fleet was destroyed. Frank was no more.

On the bay, the burning oil pools belched columns of smoke that turned orange in the light of the blood moon. It was without a doubt the loveliest trash fire I’d ever beheld.

After a moment of shocked silence, the Bay Area emergency services seem to register the new problem. The East Bay had already been deemed a disaster area. With the tunnel closure and the mysterious string of wildfires and explosions in the hills, sirens had been wailing across the flatlands. Emergency lights flickered everywhere on the jammed streets.

Now Coast Guard vessels joined the party, cutting across the water to reach the burning oil spills. Police and news helicopters veered toward the scene from a dozen different directions as if being pulled by a magnet. The Mist would be working overtime tonight.

I was tempted to just lie down on the road and go to sleep. I knew if I did that, I would die, but at least there would be no more pain. Oh, Frank.

And why hadn’t Artemis come to help me? I wasn’t mad at her. I understood all too well how gods could be, all the different reasons they might not show up when you called. Still, it hurt, being ignored by my own sister.

An indignant huff jarred me from my thoughts. The pegasi were glaring at me. The one on the left had a blind eye, poor thing, but he shook his bridle and made a raspberry kind of sound as if to say, GET OVER YOURSELF, DUDE.

The pegasus was correct. Other people were hurting. Some of them needed my help. Tarquin was still alive—I could feel it in my zombie-infected blood. Hazel and Meg might well be fighting undead in the streets of New Rome.

I wouldn’t be much good to them, but I had to try. Either I could die with my friends, or they could cut off my head after I turned into a brain-eater, which was what friends were for.

I rose and staggered toward the pegasi.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” I told them. “You are beautiful animals and you deserve better.”

One Eye grunted as if to say, YA THINK?

“I’ll free you now, if you’ll let me.”

I fumbled with their tack and harness. I found an abandoned dagger on the asphalt and cut away the barbed wire and spiked cuffs that had been digging into the animals’ flesh. I carefully avoided their hooves in case they decided I was worth a kick in the head.

Then I started humming Dean Martin’s “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head,” because that’s just the kind of awful week I was having.

“There,” I said when the pegasi were free. “I have no right to ask anything of you, but if you could see your way to giving me a ride over the hills, my friends are in danger.”

The pegasus on the right, who still had both eyes but whose ears had been cruelly snipped, whinnied an emphatic NO! He trotted toward the College Avenue exit, then stopped halfway and looked back at his friend.