The fever broke just before dawn.
Caleb lay flat on the thin mattress in Barracks 4. The rusted ceiling vent blew freezing air over his sweat-soaked uniform. The dark amber medicine had done its work. The torn artery in his neck was completely sealed. Thick, rigid tissue filled the gap where the monster's bone-blade had struck.
The purple spirals along his lower ribs felt hot and tight. They pressed hard against the inside of his skin. Starvation scraped the bottom of his empty stomach. The violent caloric burn left his muscles hollow and exhausted, but the structural damage was gone.
He swung his legs over the edge of the metal frame. His boots hit the cold linoleum floor.
The bottom bunk across the narrow room remained empty.
A faded gray jacket hung over the footlocker, resting exactly where Rina had left it. She was still lying on a surgical table in the First Division compound. Medics were packing her shattered spine with medical foam.
