The Tyrant's Tomb

eventually, once the poison took hold of his brain. But getting him here so
soon—this is a special treat!”
He clenched his bony fist tighter. My pain tripled. I groaned and
blubbered. My vision swam in red Vaseline. How was it possible to feel so
much pain and not die?
“Leave him alone!” yelled Meg.
From the tunnels on either side of Tarquin’s sarcophagus, more zombies
began to spill into the room.
“Run.” I gasped. “Get out of here.”
I now understood the lines from the Burning Maze: I would face death in
Tarquin’s tomb, or a fate worse than death. But I would not allow my friends
to perish, too.
Stubbornly, annoyingly, they refused to leave.
“Apollo is my servant now, Meg McCaffrey,” Tarquin said. “You really
shouldn’t mourn him. He’s terrible to the people he loves. You can ask the
Sibyl.”
The king regarded me as I writhed like a bug pinned to a corkboard. “I
hope the Sibyl lasts long enough to see you humbled. That may be what
finally breaks her. And when those bumbling emperors arrive, they will see
the true terror of a Roman king!”
Hazel howled. The back wall collapsed, bringing down half the ceiling.
Tarquin and his troops disappeared under an avalanche of rocks the size of
assault vehicles.
My pain subsided to mere agony levels. Lavinia and Meg hauled me to
my feet. Angry purple lines of infection now twisted up my arms. That
probably wasn’t good.
Hazel hobbled over. Her corneas had turned an unhealthy shade of gray.
“We need to move.”
Lavinia glanced at the pile of rubble. “But isn’t he—?”
“Not dead,” Hazel said with bitter disappointment. “I can feel him
squirming under there, trying to…” She shivered. “It doesn’t matter. More
undead will be coming. Let’s go!”
Easier said than done.
Hazel limped along, breathing heavily as she led us back through a
different set of tunnels. Meg guarded our retreat, slicing down the occasional
zombie who stumbled across our path. Lavinia had to support most of my