Crimson Rain by Tex Leiko Page B

with one knee to the ground, the other to his chest, and both palms on the concrete sidewalk. It was the same stance an athlete would take before hearing the shot that would signal the start of a race.
    * * * *
    Zarfa woke in a puddle of stale, sticky, stinking blood on his bed around him. The shot had grazed him a little harder than he had imagined. He still couldn ’ t tell if he was awake or dreaming. He was discombobulated and wasn ’ t even sure where he was. He had gone to bed at two in the afternoon. It was now nine.
    The last seven hours had felt like an eternity. His mind had been racing with thoughts of his recent fight, the events at Max ’ s office, the woman he had seen on the street, his sister, her abduction, and the death of his parents at the wasp raiders when he and Sarah had been both mere children.
    It was torment, one flashback after another. This is hell. I did die. But he shrugged his shoulders and twisted over to his right side, planting the palms of his hands on the bed and pushing his upper body up. He could feel the blood. His brain had a hard time grasping where it had come from. Finally, he realized it was his.
    He slung his legs over the side of his bed and felt a sharp pain from his side where the bullet had glanced him. He put his hand on the wound; the bleeding had slowed and his shirt was ruined. His fifth and sixth ribs on the left side were fractured and no doubt oozing blood. They ached as he took every breath and tortured him.
    I should have asked for painkillers while I was at the doctor ’ s.
    He drew his hands to his sides and planted his feet on the floor in front of him. He looked down at his feet. No wonder they were sore and felt sweaty. He hadn ’ t even taken his boots off before he passed out. His mouth was dry; the blood loss and the hours without fluid had dehydrated him. He stumbled over to his kitchen sink and filled a glass from the tap. He gulped the water down as fast as he could. It tasted metallic and was repulsive unfiltered, but he was so thirsty. He poured another. As he finished drinking, he looked down at his side. He couldn ’ t see much th r ough his blood-stained, torn t-shirt, but it looked bad.
    That ’ s going to get infected, and it hurts like hell. I ’ d better see if the doc is still around.
    Zarfa filled his glass a third time, drank it down as fast as he could, and prepared himself to go back to the clinic. He had no idea if Max would still be around, but he had to try. He felt the inner seam of his pocket. He had passed out with the gauss pistol still holstered there . Stupid . If the gun hadn ’ t have been empty, he could have blown his leg off in his sleep, or worse.
    He went over to the bed , picked up the two devices that the assassins had been wearing , and put them in a small backpack lying by his bed. He assumed them to be cloaking devices and probably of some value, even if he didn ’ t know how to activate them. He had never seen some of the technology that prevailed in Alexarien. He couldn ’ t be faulted for being ignorant as to how it functioned, but one thing he knew well from his home was the art of bartering.
    Zarfa slung the backpack over his shoulders and winced. It hurt moving his left arm. He was glad he hadn ’ t been shot on the right. He was ambidextrous, but he did tend to favor using his right. He looked around the make sure there wasn ’ t anything else he thought he might need to take with him. He didn ’ t see anything. Considering his condition and the part of the city he was in, he began to wish he did know how to use the cloaking devices.
    “ Oh well. ” He sighed to himself as he walked out the door.
    * * * *
    “ Where ya goin , ’ docta? ” questioned the leader in a group of five men approaching Max.
    They were obviously a gang and out seeking some easy money. Max thought he could hold his own against one if he was in peak condition, but right now, his body was wracked with the effects of a boost