Second paragraph of third chapter:
Groaning, I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, squeeze my eyes shut, and gently rest my pounding head against the window. Rain patters against the roof. My clothes are wet, and my skin feels oddly sticky. The faint, sharp scent of rubbing alcohol drifts around the interior of the truck. My mouth tastes earthy, fishy, like I’ve guzzled overly chlorinated water.
This is a tale of uploaded intelligence and parallel realities. It started well, but lost me a bit in the middle because all of the characters sounded increasingly like John Scalzi (or like John Scalzi characters, it’s the same thing), and then lost me even more at the end with the revelation of vital plot information that I felt had been unfairly kept from us readers. So I’m not especially recommending it. You can get it here.