11
Dale’s thoughts whirled as if a family of squirrels chased each other around his medulla. Years of habit told him to do an Internet search on all of this. Stack Exchange didn’t have a forum for figuring out what to do; message boards were all about how to implement the thing you’d already decided to do. Instead, he made his hand reach out and shut the laptop.
He needed to think.
And real thinking, about the real world, didn’t involve a computer.
Dale’s pulse fluttered in his veins and his temples. He felt a chill, stronger than the cool tasteless air flowing from the bland hotel room’s overhead vents would explain. The eggshell-white walls and ridiculously huge bed suddenly seemed almost threatening, as if they reflected the looming alien thoughts in his mind.
Fine. Let’s say Chest
