Free Forever Between (Between Life and Death Book 2) by Ann Christy

fine!” she insists, batting away my hand.
    Savannah and I share a look but I don’t know her well enough to be sure what her looks mean. What does that particular look mean in her lexicon? It looked like an “Oh, well, what can you do?” look, but it might have been a “Stop pestering her already” look.
    “Fine,” I say and start packing up the medical kit, putting aside the cloths to be cleaned and boiled.
    Emily eyes Savannah then seems to decide something. She says, “Listen, you can’t make judgments like that. You can’t make decisions about who is safe and who isn’t based on stuff like whether or not their wounds are healing.”
    “I’m not saying anything bad about you. I’m not suggesting anything,” Savannah breaks in, her face alarmed. That’s an expression I can understand easily enough. It means she’s afraid we’ll send her out after Emily nearly got herself killed rescuing her a week ago.
    Emily holds out a hand to stop her. “I know. Just listen. What I’m saying is that there are so many different kinds of nanites that you can’t tell who has what. The First Responders do one thing, the Heart Insure do another, the ones for diseases, the ones for Alzheimer’s—they all do something and you can’t be sure which cluster you’ve gotten from any single bite. Heck, you might get none. All I’m saying is that you can’t tell who has what. It’s best not to make assumptions.”
    “Or better yet, just assume everyone has everything,” Charlie adds as he walks up to the loading platform where we’re clustered as we tend to Emily’s wounds. He plops down next to Savannah and bumps her with his shoulder. She gives him a tentative smile in return.
    I’m still not sure what I think of these two new people. After a week, I probably should have some idea, but it’s hard to get used to having more people around. It’s amazing how a person can get used to such a restricted existence and then, when something comes along to ease the restrictions, actually resent it.
    It might be Savannah’s age that does it to me. She’s older and she acts it, like she’s the expert on life before things went wrong. But really, she was a college student. How much could she know? And she was getting a literature degree. How does that prepare you for flesh-eating formerly dead folks? Answer: it does not.
    That’s catty and I know it. I just need to get used to another opinion mattering. And Charlie is another problem. He’s a guy. Until now, we sort of didn’t have to worry about stuff like stripping down to wash or hanging our increasingly ragged underwear along lines all over the warehouses. It was just Emily and me and little Jon, and he still poops his pants sometimes so he’s got no room to complain if I fart after dinner. But now there’s this guy. And he’s just a year older than me and it’s making me nervous and self-conscious. I’ve not cared about whether or not I get a pre-menstrual zit on my nose, or if my hair is washed, or even if I comb it once between washes—I mean, really, once you put it into a braid, is there any actual reason to take it out until you wash it again?
    Now, there’s a guy. A cute-ish guy. I’m not sure how I feel about this at all. Except, of course, life is much easier already and I can sleep through the night every other night. That’s awesome.
    Emily coughs a fake little cough and when I look over, I see her and Savannah looking at me with identical smirks on their faces. I was staring at Charlie. I could pretty much sink into the concrete right now.
    “I was just thinking about assuming that everyone has everything,” I lie.
    It works, because Charlie says, “That means anyone who dies is a danger. That’s how I’m looking at it. If anyone here gets really sick, I say they should go into that cage over there. So I, for one, am glad she’s not getting any infections.”
    Emily gives a start at his words, looks toward the dim area beyond the open