7
Marietti couldn't open his eyes but he knew where he was by the antiseptic smell, a vain attempt to banish the stench of the sick and the dying. There was a heaviness in his limbs and the pain of his injuries throbbed in time with his heartbeat even as the sedatives kept him in a semi-aware state.
Dark shadows hovered around the edge of his consciousness and he sensed the beating of black leathery wings about him. There were many who would relish his end, but Marietti was not ready to give up yet. Not with so much at stake.
A sound outside the door drew his attention.
But it was only the voices of the nursing staff as they passed, chattering about the latest episode of some TV program.
He was safe, for now at least, and Marietti found himself slipping into the past, back when he was
