Chapter 34
Caleb pushed through the plastic flaps of the medical staging tent.
The cold morning air hit his face. He shifted the canvas duffel to his left shoulder to keep weight off the right. The medics had pumped him full of fluids and sealed the slash across his collarbone with a thick layer of foam. The foam smelled faintly of plastic and ozone.
Something in his chest scraped at the edges of the calories. His stomach folded in on itself in a dull, hollow cramp. He forced a block of military-grade nutrient paste down his throat without chewing. The chalk settled like lead.
The Forward Operating Base was a circus of neon and noise. Holographic screens hovered over the tarmac. A G-Corp energy drink watermark spun across a looping clip of Caleb diving under the warped Mimic's scythe. Sponsors paid more when the clip was almost-dying.
