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

covers where gas and diesel were pumped into the tanks beneath the station. We take a look and the locks have little corroded outlines around them. These should have drawn deaders, but didn’t, confirming to us in one more way that most of the deaders around here are ones placed where they’re wanted.
    Past medical, the hospital complex looms in the center of an overgrown field and parking lots that seem to extend forever. There are cars in the lots, but not near the building. Rather, it’s like all the cars were specifically moved to ring the building in a protective—and deliciously metal—shell.
    Like the other buildings, all the glass is shuttered on the bottom two floors, but above that, the windows are bare glass and unbroken. We come to a stop at the edge of the parking lot, waiting for whatever might happen to happen. We’re out of normal rifle range here, though if someone has good gear and the inclination to shoot, we’re toast.
    Charlie passes me a bottle of water and as I drink, he asks, “How long do you want to stay here?”
    The water is so delicious and feels so good going down that I give a huge, post-drink sigh as I hand the bottle back. He grins and tips back the bottle, his closed eyes registering that it feels good for him to drink as well. We should be really nervous right now, and I suppose I am, but mostly, I’m just loving that water.
    I give my head a shake to snap out of it and say, “Let’s give them enough time to get a good look at us. Maybe decide if we’re safe.”
    “If there’s anyone there,” he comments, and puts the bottle away. I watch it disappear into his front pack mournfully.
    “True. They might be on the base, but would you leave the hospital unmanned entirely if you had any part of that base under control?” I counter.
    “Not me. This place would be too valuable and too vulnerable. I’d man it as much as I could,” he answers quietly, patting the bottle inside the pack as if he is mourning its loss as much as I am.
    There are piles of deaders at some of the shutters, but we’re too far away to see if they’re legless. I’d bet they are.
    I almost wish we’d brought something to write on and with, like a can of spray paint and a big sheet or something. As it is, we just climb off the bikes and sit ourselves down next to one of the concrete barriers. It’s late in the afternoon and the warmth of the day is fading back into the coolness of evening. Putting our backs to the concrete may make us better targets, but the warmth of the day will leak out of the blocks for hours yet and that makes it nice. And anyone inside can see we’re waiting here, not being aggressive and not going anywhere.
    I’m not exactly sure of the day, but I know it’s May and it should be warm at night by now. At least I think so. I don’t remember it being this cool before. It’s okay, though. We can always put more clothes on when it’s cool, but there’s only so much you can take off when it’s hot. When summer really hits and the mugginess of our southern climate makes life almost unbearable, I’ll wish for this.
    We share a meal. One pouch of some sort of Indian lentils in sauce—sadly, we’ve run out of my favorites and these lesser ones are now dwindling as well—some cold rice that’s gone gluey, and a shared fruit cup, the fruit inside now so old that it’s becoming a single uniform, pale yellow color. That is our meal. It would have been far less than acceptable in my former life. Yet now, it’s good. Tasty. Occasionally, I’m amazed at how my preferences for things have changed and how much more important being full is than the particulars of flavor or temperature.
    For dessert, we crunch on a few carrots from the garden that I managed to snag. They do double duty, these carrots, because they scrape the gunk off our teeth while we eat them. I have a toothbrush, but now is really not the time for that. As we sit there, watching the silent building and taking tiny,