The Rome Prophecy

133

The flesh flies are everywhere.

They swarm around Valentina and Sweetheart, settling on their skin and crawling into their ears.

Valentina remembers her mortuary lessons.

And wishes she hadn’t.

Sarcophaga nodosa is more than just an unpleasant-looking insect with revolting feeding habits.

It’s also a carrier of leprosy.

A fatally loaded disease bomb.

A fly hits Sweetheart in the eye and makes her do a panic jig.

Valentina holds her and tries to comfort her. The insects are crawling into her long hair and down her shabby night-dress. Valentina beats them off but they’re instantly replaced by hundreds more.

They have to keep moving.

They must get out of here.

She pulls Sweetheart’s hand up to shield as much of her face as possible. ‘Keep your mouth covered; don’t let these horrid bugs get in there or up your nose.’ The youngster looks terrified as she leads her towards the doors.

The sooner they get out of here, the better.

They reach the doors and Valentina flips the handle.

Locked.

She tries again to see if she’s mistaken.

Maybe it’s just sticking.

Definitely locked.

She lets go of Sweetheart’s hand and takes a hefty kick at the weak point where the doors meet.

They don’t budge.

She looks up and sees ten feet of solid oak.

The flies will have picked her bones clean by the time she’s forced them open.

‘Stand back!’ She moves Sweetheart away. ‘Stay over here and don’t move.’

She pulls the gun and takes aim at the heavy brass lock, careful to make sure that she’s at an angle, so if there’s any freak rebound she doesn’t catch shrapnel.

The Glock kicks in her palm.

It’s not a clean shot.

She’s nicked the lock, but the oak is so thick, the bullet hasn’t even gone all the way through.

Valentina lets off three more rounds.

The brass mangles up but the edge of the door shows no sign of splintering as she hoped.

Her temper flares.

She steps close to the door and fires off five shots in a circle around the lock.

She may as well have saved the ammunition.

She jams the Glock back in her waistband.

She has an idea.

A crazy, desperate idea, but it might just work.

Valentina runs through the thick cloud of flies to the flower-covered altar and climbs it.

She’s after one of the flaming torches.

The flies are so thick, it’s like working beneath a blanket.

It takes several minutes, but Valentina finally frees a torch from the wall.

She jumps from the altar and looks across to the opposite wall.

High on the pulpit ledge, behind a wall of glass, she sees an old woman in a long red robe is staring at her.

She looks like Cybele.

Alongside her are other old women, their faces all turned down towards the temple floor.

Valentina’s eyes flash hatred as she carries the torch away.

Flies sizzle in the wafting orange flames.

She pulls Sweetheart even further away from the giant doors, then kneels down with the torch and holds it to the oak.

She’s going to burn a way out.

Then she’s going to find those cruel old crones and make them wish they’d died decades ago.