24
Wilt’s dreams were of whispers and smoke, slithering welds and the heat and suck of promised power. He was a wolf, racing along in the hunt, its maw bloody from a fresh kill. The pack behind him followed eagerly, taking back what should always have been theirs.
No. It wasn’t his dream. It was another’s, someone else’s mind. Cortis.
The darkness began to spin and a wave of nausea forced him into consciousness.
‘Here. He’s waking up.’ Old Pete’s voice. There was something comforting about that.
‘About time! I’m supposed to be the one in recovery.’ And Higgs.
Wilt began to sit up, and immediately regretted it.
‘Whoa. Slow down there, Wilt. One thing at a time.’ A hand pushed him down on the bed and Petron’s face leaned into view. ‘Not feeling too good, I expect?’
‘You look terrible
