Read The In-Betweener (Between Life and Death) (S) for Free Online

these “little friends”—these tiny nanomachines called Medulloblastoma Digesting Nanites (MBDNs)—really going to save me or will they eat my brain instead?
    The cold hard fact is that no one knows. I’m one of the first patients included in this experimental study, thanks to a compassionate-use exception my mother fought to get me at the risk of her career and our health insurance. But she won and I’m sitting in front of the two men who may save my life. Or, put machines into my head that will devour my brain.
    I suppose, either way it goes, I’ll get my wish. It will be over once and for all. Either no cancer or no brain. I’ll take it.
    “I’m ready,” I say.
     

Today - The Speaker
    “Garah! Garah da!” I hear as I wake up, sweaty and uncomfortable on the pavement. My head is pounding out a monotonous bang bang in time with my heart. I’ve also moved in my sleep and I can see straight through to the wrought iron fence and the in-betweener standing there.
    The voice. Where did that come from? Reality or dream? I reach for the crossbow next to me, but then change my mind and reach for the rifle instead. Voices mean people and I’m not taking chances. If that voice was real, that is.
    “Garah!”
    The voice is a bit off and reminds me of the way some deaf people speak, forming words based only on the way the mouth and throat move rather than the nuances of sound. I get up and crouch behind the truck, trying to see in every direction at once. I could swear the voice was coming from the direction of the fence, but the deaders are still gumming their way along the iron so there couldn’t be a person there. If there were a person there, they would be focusing on him or her.
    “Garah da! Oda ha!”
    Then I see it. The voice does belong to the in-betweener, and he’s looking in my direction, his hand wavering between being raised in a wave and shaking downward without direction. He seems to be fighting himself, looking off at other things and then jerking back toward me. It seems like he’s working really hard at it, too.
    Which is weird because, well, because he’s a reanimated corpse or something very close to it. Maybe revived corpse would be a better description.
    They don’t talk.
    “Garah kahm. Garah, garah. Ged garah!” he says, almost yelling the words and jerking his head forward in emphasis with each repetition. His face twists into something that looks so much like human desperation that I get a flash of my mother’s face when I was at my sickest in my head.
    A couple of the deaders lift their heads at his latest outburst, heads bouncing unsteadily as they try to work out if there’s something they should be interested in. One of them breaks away from the gate and stumbles along the fence toward the in-betweener. He jerks a little to the side, watching the deader, and his face twists into a new expression. This time I can see what it means without doubt of any kind. It’s disgust.
    Once the deader gets within reach of him, it stops, perhaps sensing that this potential new host is already hosting his own complement of nanites and not in need of more. But it still stands there, weaving back and forth.
    The in-betweener takes a few, remarkably human-looking, steps toward the deader. Very abruptly, he reaches out and twists the deader’s head. I can hear the bones crunch and grind all the way from behind the truck where I watch events unfold.
    Almost immediately, the jerky nanite overdrive starts in the deader. While it flounders, the in-betweener drags it over to a car lying half in the ditch outside the gate and tosses it in, slamming the door behind it. All the action and the loud sound of the car door causes another ripple of interest from the deaders at the gate, but it passes quickly.
    All I can do is squat there, gape at the in-betweener, and clutch at my rifle like it’s a security blanket. Am I wrong about him being an in-betweener? I’ve never seen one doing this much in a