Chapter 11: Fire in the Night
The Christians slept fitfully in the catacombs, fearing the sounds from above. Marcus kept watch, praying for their protection. Suddenly, shouts rang out as torches lit the tunnels. Soldiers had found their refuge.
"Awake, the soldiers come!" Marcus cried. Panic erupted as families grabbed children and a few possessions. They rushed through twisting passages, soldiers in pursuit. Marcus herded the flock, urging calm.
Emerging into the night air, the crowd scattered. Marcus lost sight of some families in the chaos. He heard cries and struggled to reach them, but more soldiers blocked the way. With a heavy heart, Marcus accepted that he must save whomever he could.
He led survivors through back alleys, dodging patrols. Exhausted mothers soothed babies, while elders set a brisk pace. At dawn, they hid in secret chambers provided by faithful Romans. Marcus counted heads; some families were missing. He prayed, and the soldiers showed mercy.
While the people rested, Marcus went forth alone. Wandering the streets, he witnessed atrocities: Christians beaten simply for praying. Bodies lay broken where faith had flourished. Marcus wept to see hope trampled.
Returning at dusk, Marcus bore sad news. Yet in mourning, the people found comfort in fellowship. They resolved to honor the lost through courageous faith. Led by Marcus, Christians dispersed to live as lights among darkness. Though night pressed close, their flame of hope would not be doused. Marcus raced through the tunnels, calling for all to follow. Children cried as their mothers hurried them along. He dared not look back for fear of slowing the flock.
Bursting into the city streets, Marcus waved families in opposite directions. "Scatter and meet at the cistern at moonrise!" he shouted. Soldiers converged from all sides as Christians fled into the night.
Marcus grabbed a wandering elder by the arm. "This way, friend, haste!" They wove through markets, still bustling at dusk. Ahead, an ally opened a shop door—within was a crowded storeroom offering shelter.
When the last had entered, Marcus peered behind. A patrol dragged a bloodied man past, his sobbing family struggling after in vain. Marcus vowed to aid the lost if God willed him to survive this night. For now, his task was shepherding souls to safety.
With a final prayer, Marcus slipped into the stifling storeroom and barred the door. Terrified eyes found solace in his steady gaze. "Fear not," he soothed. "By dawn, we'll be one step closer to freedom." Hope reignited flickers of faith in the trembling crowds. Marcus searched for familiar faces in the cramped room. Where are Titus and Sarah? He asked Drusilla, taking her shoulders. Gone when soldiers came, she wept, clinging to Marcus's tunic. He lifted her chin gently. We'll find them, dear one. Have hope. Your light will guide us.
Emerging before dawn, Marcus scouted alleyways alone, lest Drusilla see more horrors. She dozed fitfully in his arms. At the cistern's edge, he roused her with a kiss to the crown. Any sign? She asked through tears, hugging his neck. No one here, little lamb. Come, the others await our news.
As the sun rose, Marcus prayed beside ruined homes once filled with song. Titus! Sarah! His calls echoed unanswered. Drusilla wept anew, burying her face in Marcus's chest. His heart nearly broke seeing her courage falter, yet he stroked her hair and whispered of redemption to come. Though night pressed close, their flame of faith would not be quenched.
Taking Drusilla's hand, he walked onward to nourish hope where all seemed lost. The day had dawned, and their long journey continued. In alleys east of the cistern, Christians scattered like chased animals. A patrol seized a bleeding man, beating him senseless as his daughter cried out. Marcus swept her into his arms and sped on, Drusilla sobbing at his heels.
They emerged onto a broad avenue lined with soldiers marching in unison. Marcus pulled Drusilla into shadow and listened to the beating of prey, growing nearer. He backed silently down an alley, bumping into a wide-eyed elder grasping a baby.
Exchange no words, Marcus mouthed, grasping their arms. He led the small group on a crouching run, guided by some sixth sense for danger. Around corners, they fled, barely eluding and grasping hands in dark blurs of uniforms.
Ahead lay only a dead end. Marcus pivoted, scanning for escape, and spied a cellar hole left ajar. Go, go! he cried, hustling them down unseen. He followed and pulled the slab shut overhead just as booted feet thundered by.
Pressing his ears to the ground, Marcus discerned the patrol moving off. He let out a long breath and met eyes streaming grateful tears in the gloom. For now, darkness hid them, but for how long?