The In-Betweener (Between Life and Death) (S) Read Online Free PDF Page A

many living things available, but I know the drill.
    The most recent such attack, at least that I’ve seen, was on a dog that somehow managed to survive out here on the outskirts of town. I was trying to get to the dog as well, but not for food. I wanted him to keep me company. In truth, I’d been desperate for him, but he was wary and wouldn’t come near me. He’d learned that not everything that looked human was human. But I’m patient in all things, including winning over a wary dog that looked like he could really use a good meal of spam.
    A deader surprised me by coming out of the woods surrounding this complex and going straight for the dog. I’d yelled from my place behind my fence, told the dog to shoo, eventually screaming and crying, but all that did was confuse the dog and keep his wary eyes on me instead of behind him, where he might have seen the danger.
    I don’t want to see any more dogs.
    In-betweeners, on the other hand, always crave the material that will rebuild their injuries and keep them going. Their nanites don’t know that their host is really already dead. Nanites aren’t sentient or anything. They just know their program and their program is to repair damage to their hosts and themselves.
    And what better source of the rich proteins, amino acids, and other building blocks of animal life is there but another animal? Our iron-rich blood by itself is enough to make them want to attack, but our organs are the real prize. Meat, especially dead meat, is a distant third, but they’ll go for it if it’s around. Except deader meat for some reason. That doesn’t interest them.
    It’s a nice day out, which is weird in a way. I sort of feel like beautiful weather is almost an insult when everything else is such a mess, but today it’s on my side. I manage to get myself seated behind the truck without making noise and get comfortable. Then I just watch the in-betweener.
    After watching for a good while, I realize that I’m absently fingering the scar that runs almost all the way around the side of my skull, creating a permanent part in my hair that only shows when I pull it back into a ponytail. When my hair is pulled back like that, the streak of white scalp stands out against my black hair like a flag. It used to draw people’s eyes—a look of curious pity almost always rising on their faces—to the line that runs from above my ear to the back of my head. It almost looks as if someone once tried to crack open the top of my head like a can of soup.
    In a way, something did try to do just that. Medulloblastoma, stage IV. It’s the reason I almost died and the reason I’m still alive. My mother never would have gotten so interested in nanites without medulloblastoma, so it’s a weird relationship I have with my brain.
    I pull my hand away from my head and force it into my lap. After more waiting, the warm breeze starts to feel good and the shaded light creates a sort of haven of comfort right where I sit on the hard pavement. It’s possibly stupid, and I know it even as I settle back against the ground with my empty backpacks as a pillow, but I decide that I need the light and the vitamin D. In reality, it’s probably safer to doze here and let him wander off. Besides, dozing isn’t really sleeping, is it?
     

Six Years Ago - My Medullo and Me
    “You know why, Emily,” my mother says.
    Her eyes leave mine and she looks at the wrist she’s been stroking with gentle mother touches as she speaks. I look, too. The skin is thin, abnormally so, and the blue lines of my veins are so visible and clear that it seems the stroking alone might be enough to break them wide open. Given the situation, I’d almost favor that happening. My head hurts so bad I want to bang it on something, or stop breathing.
    “I don’t want any more treatments. I just want it to end. I want to stop having cancer and if I can’t, then I want to stop cancer from hurting me anymore.” I say it quickly and I hate how