Free The In-Betweener (Between Life and Death) (S) by Ann Christy Page B

let my breath out in a relieved sigh.
    Maps aren’t something people used too much by the time all this went down, but I do know where one is. It’s old, but even an old map has got to be better than nothing. Sticking to the visual shelter of the buildings, I make my way to my original destination this morning—the trucking hub for nonperishable groceries.
    Inside, it’s dark because I’ve shut all the big bay doors and stuffed plastic in the cracks to keep out as many vermin as I can. Even with that precaution, bags of rice and the like started developing little gnawed holes and food began to scatter before long. I emptied as much as possible into a bunch of barrels and plastic bins I collected from other buildings, but I’ve probably lost as much as I’ve kept. The concrete floor makes little crunching noises under my feet as I cross the vast space. These noises seem louder than normal today. The dirt and grit is building up faster than I can get rid of it. I take that as a sign that I need more people here. Even kids.
    The office is old-fashioned and very well used, just as you’d expect a busy trucking office to be. Keeping it updated probably fell somewhere behind wallpapering their trucks in priority, I’m guessing. On the wall over a battered metal desk in the corner is a very old map with a trucking logo prominently displayed in the corner. It looks like something that should have a pin-up-girl calendar right above it, it’s so old.
    It’s not much, but it’s all I have. I’ve been through the trucks before, and don’t remember any local maps in any of them. I would have grabbed anything as useful as a map when I scooped up all the pulp-fiction novels I found inside the cabs. I’d have done it just to have more to read, if nothing else. My mother had a map, but we lost it along with the extra backpacks—and extra weight—during our escape from the law offices.
    I pull out the paper with the address and shine my flashlight onto the tiny print covering the bottom third of the map. Streets are listed in alphabetical order. If this place is near the college, then even if the building is new, the street would have been there for ages.
    And there it is. The coordinates listed—alphabetical along the bottom and numerical along the side—show the street smack-dab in the middle of the college area of town, which is to say, old downtown. It’s a place of narrow streets, curbside parking, and very poor sight lines. In short, it’s possibly the worst place I might venture into and still hope to remain in one piece.
    But, on the upside, the deaders are truly dying—or slowing way down—and the in-betweeners are becoming deaders much faster due to lack of living food. While I would expect that area to be a crowded mess, it’s possible that they’ve died off there even faster than out here. I mean, what’s left to eat once all the apartment cats and Chihuahuas are gone?
    My positive outlook subsides as my finger traces a path on the map back to where we are now, on the outskirts past the entire downtown area. I’ll either have to go through that part of town, or take a long and circuitous route around it. That will invite anyone who might have survived out where the sight lines improve to grab themselves one teenaged girl.
    I have two real options. Well, two options aside from the obviously saner choice of just forgetting the whole thing. I could find a way to secure Sam and go on foot, hoping he’ll keep other in-betweeners away from me should there be any. I don’t know if that actually provides any protection, but the in-betweeners seem to have a sense for a fresh host, much the same way the deaders do, and I’ve not seen them attacking each other very much. It does happen, of course. If two in-betweeners want the same meal, some very aggressive encounters can ensue. But they’re more like animals when that happens. It’s all very primitive. Otherwise, they tend to avoid each other.
    My other option