The Tyrant's Tomb

light. No hunting horns trumpeted in the distance—just a fresh round of
explosions from the Oakland Hills, and cries of battle from New Rome.
“You messed up,” Ella decided.
“Give it time!” I said. “Gods don’t always show up immediately. Once it
took me ten years to answer some prayers from the city of Pompeii, and by
the time I got there…Maybe that’s not a good example.”
Ella wrung her hands. “Tyson and Ella will wait here in case the goddess
shows up. Apollo should go fight stuff.”
“Aww.” Tyson pouted. “But I wanna fight stuff!”
“Tyson will wait here with Ella,” Ella insisted. “Apollo, go fight.”
I scanned the valley. Several rooftops in New Rome were now on fire.
Meg would be fighting in the streets, doing gods-knew-what with her
weaponized unicorns. Hazel would be desperately shoring up the defenses as
zombies and ghouls boiled up from the sewers, attacking civilians. They
needed help, and it would take me less time to reach New Rome than to get
to the Caldecott Tunnel.
But just thinking about joining the battle made my stomach flare with
pain. I remembered how I’d collapsed in the tyrant’s tomb. I would be of
little use against Tarquin. Being near him would just accelerate my
promotion to Zombie of the Month.
I gazed at the Oakland Hills, their silhouettes lit by flickering explosions.
The emperors must be battling Frank’s defenders at the Caldecott Tunnel by
now. Without Arion or a Go-Glo bike, I wasn’t sure I could make it there in
time to do any good, but it seemed like my least horrible option.
“Charge,” I said miserably.
I jogged off across the valley.