Lost Coast Page 30

  I mentally run through the list of hypothermia symptoms. Shivering. Slurred speech. Shallow breathing. Slow pulse. Clumsiness. Confusion. Drowsiness. And worst of all, unconsciousness.

  These are very real dangers.

  I grit my teeth. I’m getting everyone out of here if it kills me. I’ve survived zombies. I’ve survived loss. I’ve survived way too much other shit to lose to the trail.

  After running a little over an hour down the sand, I spot the end of Black Sands Beach. A pale line of dirt zigzags its way up the cliff. From that point on, the trail follows the contours of the land as it meanders down the coast. Which means no more risky run-ins with the tide. It also means the end of the beach running, thank god. I’m ready for good old-fashioned dirt beneath my feet.

  “This way,” I call, gesturing to the trail.

  As I jog toward it, I feel something stir in my chest. I haven’t had a real trail run since the start of the apocalypse. My feet move faster of their own accord, carrying me toward what feels like an old friend.

  There have been so many times in my life when I turned to the trail for comfort. Having that cut out of my every day existence hasn’t been easy. Ben understands that. It’s the reason he covered my room with pictures of nature on my birthday.

  I glance in his direction. He looks back at me, nodding in understanding. Somehow, he knows what this means to me. It’s baffling how well he understands me.

  I climb a short way onto the trailhead and pause, waiting for the others to catch up. Fennel and thistles line both sides of the hard-packed dirt. Farther ahead are gnarled cypress trees, bowed sideways from the constant battering of the elements. I inhale, pulling a lost world into my lungs.

  “If we weren’t all at risk of dying, I’d say the world has just delivered a gift to you.” Ben is the first to reach me. The two of us are momentarily shielded from sight by the tall shrubs growing along the trail.

  “It suits you out here.” His voice is gruff as always, but his eyes are soft as he takes me in, framed by the trailhead. “It’s like seeing you in your natural habitat.”

  His words create a warming sensation in my body. Regret flickers through me. I wish I’d ignored what he said to me the night we kissed.

  “Kate?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry for what I said. That night of your birthday, I mean.” The words rush out of him. “On the roof. I shouldn’t have said what I said. What I wanted to say that night was that I’d been wanting to kiss you for months.”

  I stare at him, tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. Of all the times to pick for an apology, Ben would decide to do it when we’re sopping wet and stranded on one of the most dangerous trails of Northern California, our only privacy a tall scrub brush.

  Ben hunches his shoulders, like he’s trying to disappear into his own body. “Words aren’t my thing, Kate. I’m sorry. Really sorry. I just want you to know that. You know. In case we die out here. I want you to know.”

  He looks so contrite and miserable. I find myself releasing the mortification I’ve been dragging around like dirty socks for weeks, letting myself bask in the knowledge that he wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him.

  But I can’t help but compare Ben to Kyle. The comparison is a chain around my neck as real as the one Rosario once put there. Ben could not be any more different from the man I was married to for almost twenty years. The fact that we’re attracted to each other doesn’t change the fact that we might not be compatible in the long run.

  “Thanks for telling me the truth. It means a lot,” I say instead.

  “Can I—can I try again?” he asks.

  I stop breathing. I can’t look away. There is nothing that I want more than to kiss this man. It makes no sense, but there it is.

  It occurs to me that I might be in love with Ben.

  Anxiety mounts within me, a rising tide that scrambles my brain. Kyle’s easy smile flashes before me. Easygoing Kyle with his kind smile.

  Ben doesn’t even know how to smile.

  “I—I don’t think that’s a good idea.” My whisper is husky. I force myself to step back. “This thing between us, whatever it is, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  He draws in an uneven breath, breaking eye contact. I’m both disappointed and relieved when he doesn’t make any argument.

  “Creekside is a small community,” I continue, trying to rationalize everything in my own mind. “It’s tightknit. If we end up not liking each other as much as we think we do, it could disrupt everything. I ... I need your friendship, Ben. I don’t want to risk losing that by doing something stupid.”

  “Okay.” It’s his turn to take a step back.

  Something inside me crumples. I consider the wisdom of throwing my arms around his neck when a shout goes up.

  “Mama Bear! Wait up!”

  Our moment evaporates—as does our privacy—as Caleb hikes up onto the trail, the others following behind him.

  I’m thankful for the distraction. Ben turns aside as though studying the plants growing along the path.

  “This is the end of the beach trail,” I tell the group. “From here on out, we won’t have any sand or riptides to deal with.”

  “Gracias a Dios,” Ash mutters.

  “This is a true trail run,” I continue. “There are some climbs ahead of us. We’ll walk the up hills and try to run everything else. We’ll pass through a few primitive campsites only accessible by foot. It’s isolated out here, but there’s always a risk of running into zombies in the campgrounds. We need to proceed cautiously.”

  “Don’t forget the bears,” Eric says. “That was one big ass track back there on the beach.”

  “Bears.” I nod. “There are bears and rattlesnakes.”

  Caleb taps his gun. “I can take care of any rattlesnakes.”

  Ben snorts. “You ever try to kill a snake with a gun? You have to be one hell of a shot.”

  “If we see a rattlesnake,” I say, “give it wide berth. It’s more afraid of us than we are of it. Besides, there’s little chance of running into rattlesnakes out here today. It’s too cold. Just don’t be stupid if we do happen to run into one. What we are likely to run into is poison oak. I know we’re all limited on clothing right now, but if anyone has long sleeves or long pants, now is the time to put them on. Make sure you know where your headlamps are. Oh, and be on the lookout for ticks.”

  “Ticks?” Ash looks horrified. “Ticks, as in the little fuckers that carry Lyme Disease?”

  Lyme Disease is a bacterial infection caused by the bite of a tick. Initial symptoms are flu-like, but if untreated with antibiotics, a person can have lasting inflammation and neurological conditions.

  “Yes. You can usually feel them bite you. If you feel a bite, stop and check.” Frederico and I picked countless ticks off ourselves and one another over the years. “A very small percentage of ticks carry Lyme Disease. Even if they do, they have to be embedded in your skin thirty-six to forty-eight hours to transmit the bacteria. Just make sure you get them off as soon as you feel them bite and you should be fine.”

  Six sets of eyes stare at me in horror.

  “I’m not sure what’s worse,” Reed says. “Getting bitten by a tick or getting bitten a zombie.”

  “Tick,” Caleb says. “At least with the zombie it’s over quick.”

  Reed opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off.

  “Stay alert. Keep your eyes on the trail. I estimate we’ve traveled anywhere from seven to eight miles today already. We have another twenty-five miles to go. Today, you guys are going to finish your first ultramarathon. We stay together. We look out for one another. We get the hell off the Lost Coast and survive. Everyone understand?”

  I wait to see everyone nod. “All right. Let’s go.”

  I drop gears into a power hike, leading the group at a brisk walk up hill. Even though every part of me yearns to run—to fly up the hill and soak in the beauty like I used to—I force myself t
o moderate my pace. There will be plenty of time for running. The last thing I need to do is burn everyone out at the beginning of our journey.

  I’m the first to reach the short summit up from Black Sands Beach. Everyone has their heads bowed as they march up hill. No one is paying any attention to me, not even Ben.

  I take advantage of the momentary privacy to exhale, letting fear out of my chest. It washes over me in a hot wave so potent it almost has me on my knees.

  Frederico. I wish he were here. I wish we had done this trail together.

  Help me, Frederico, I say silently. Help me get everyone out of here alive. We’ve trained, but not for the Lost Coast.

  His reply comes clear as a bell in my head. You’re never completely ready for any race, no matter how hard you train. There’s always a surprise or two on race day.

  How many times had he said something similar to me when he was alive? More times than I can count.

  Then, as though from a great distance, I hear him again. You got this, Jackalope. I’m not sure if it’s Frederico’s voice or just the crash of the ocean.

  Tears prick the back of my eyes. It feels like he’s here. Maybe a part of him is.

  A strong hand grips my shoulder.

  I squeeze my eyes. I want it to be Frederico. I miss my friend so much.

  But it’s not Frederico.

  “You got this, Mama Bear,” Ben murmurs.

  Footsteps sound on the trail behind us. Ben shifts. To anyone coming up on us, it looks like he’s falling in line behind me on the single-track trail.

  But I know better. Ben is shielding me with his body, giving me a few precious seconds to gather my fear and stuff it back down a deep dark hole. He’s giving me a moment to find Mama Bear. After what I just did to him, he’s still looking out for me.

  I’m an idiot for turning him down. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him almost as badly as I want to get off the Lost Coast. And I squandered my chance like a coward.

  There’s nothing I can do about it now. I take off, jogging down the slope to the open trail beyond. It winds through a grassy meadow, the greenery bending under the weight of the pattering rain.

  The group follows in my wake. Everyone is silent, our footsteps and breathing the only sounds of humanity.

  Something happens over the next few miles. Tension sloughs off me. Anxiety recedes to a distant part of my mind. It’s just me and the trail. My old friend. Everything is better when I can run.

  God, how I’ve missed the wilderness. How I’ve missed running for hours on end through the trees with nothing but my thoughts and labored breath for company. Being here on the trail is like returning to a long-lost home.

  I breathe in deep. I can almost see Frederico running ahead of me, gray ponytail bouncing with every step.

  I draw to a halt after an hour. It’s still raining and the mist from the ocean hangs low in the air, decreasing our visibility to only a few hundred feet.

  “Five minute break,” I say. “Time for food and water.”

  I take out two of the granola bars. I break them into small pieces and hand them out as everyone arrives. After everyone eats their small bite, I make them drink.

  We’re going to run out of water at some point. This is a fact I can’t change. We can move on very little food, but dehydration is riskier for us than a water-borne illness.

  Well, I drank river water on my way to Arcata and didn’t die. There’s a good possibility the water out here is clean. It’s remote enough that the risks should be low.

  Should be.

  “Bathroom break,” I call. “Girls on the right side of the trail. Boys on the left. Stay within eyesight of each other.”

  As I drop into the grass with Susan and Ash, the dark-haired woman turns to me.

  “I have to go number two,” she grumbles.

  “Oh, my god,” Susan says on my other side. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to stand back up. My legs are already killing me.”

  “Just squat and let it out,” I say to Ash. To Susan, I say, “I’ll help you up, don’t worry.”

  “I think my muscles are frozen in place,” she replies.

  “I’ll get you up,” I reassure her, not for a second letting her see sympathy or worry. I’m her pacer. I need to convey confidence if I want her to feel confident.

  “I can’t poo in front of people,” Ash says. “I have poo anxiety. Seriously, when I traveled with my girlfriends to Las Vegas and shared a hotel room with them, I didn’t go all weekend.”

  “Just relax and let it out. Trust me when I say you don’t want to be carrying any extra weight with you.”

  “How did you go at Creekside?” Susan asks. “We’re all crammed in with one another.”

  “I go when everyone is either asleep or out during the day. My butt cheeks won’t relax unless I’m alone.”

  I purse my lips. “Ash, you have to go.”

  “It’s no use. It won’t come out.” Ash pulls up her shorts and stands.

  I frown, trying to think of what to do for her. “Just call out if you need me to stop.”

  “No puedo creer esto,” Ash grumbles, moving back to the trail.

  I help Susan to her feet, making it a point not to ask her about her ankle. She needs to focus on being strong, not on the pain.

  “Motherfucker,” Susan groans. “Oh, my god. I thought I was sore after that first week of running with you guys.”

  I chuckle knowingly. “Yeah. Trail and beach running will beat you up in ways a track never can.”

  “I have muscles here.” Susan prods her ribcage. “I didn’t know it was possible for ribs to hurt from running.”

  “Just think of the story you’ll have for Gary when we get back,” I reply. “He may have survived a shark attack, but you’re surviving a run down the Lost Coast.”

  Susan frowns “I haven’t survived yet.”

  I tap her gently on the temple. “Survival is up here, Susan. If you can survive for months on a boat, you can survive a day on a trail. They’re not all that different. Besides, the hardest part is behind us. There are no more impassable zones.”

  She opens her mouth—no doubt to argue—but the boys return to the trail and cut off whatever she was going to say.

  “Mama Bear, you should have told us to pack toilet paper,” Eric complains.

  “We should have practiced shitting in the bushes,” Caleb says. “It’s hard to wipe with grass.”

  “You should have gathered stuff from the forest and had us practice wiping,” Reed adds.

  “You all went number two?” Ash demands.

  “Hell, yeah,” Caleb says. “It’s not like I could drop my pants when we were running for our lives from the ocean. I’ve had to go for a while.”

  “Animales,” Ash says under her breath.

  “Try shitting in the desert and wiping your ass with sand,” Ben says. “You haven’t lived until you’ve wiped your ass with sand that’s a hundred degrees.”

  “Yeah, yeah, old man,” Caleb says. “Always have to one-up us, don’t you?”

  “You wouldn’t complain about wet grass if you’d ever wiped your ass with sand,” Ben retorts. “It’s like comparing Charmin to sandpaper.”

  Everyone bursts out laughing. Even I join in, embracing the brief moment of mirth with the trails stretching out on either side of us.

  Then a chill travels across my body, reminding me that I’m cold and wet.

  “Let’s keep moving. We have to get off this trail by sunset.”

  57

  Chafing

  BEN

  He doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it. Two hours? Three? It feels like a thousand.

  The beam of his headlamp illuminates the land around him. The southern trail of the Lost Coast is beautiful. Giant Douglas fir trees march up and down the undulating terrain, breaking apart every now and then to give them a glimpse of the ocean far below. Ben might actually enjoy being out here if he didn’t feel like shit.

  H
is body screams with every step he takes. How the fuck does Kate find joy in this shit? He’s pretty sure it would be less painful to be trampled by horses.

  “Mama, wait—” Reed staggers a few steps off the trail and dry heaves into the dirt at his feet.

  This is the fourth time they’ve had to stop for Reed. He has a reputation for a weak running stomach for a reason.

  Ben doesn’t complain about the momentary break, though he doesn’t miss the covert glance Kate steals at her watch. She can’t stop worrying about Alvarez.

  “Water.” Kate holds out the straw of her hydration bag.

  He drinks, mindful not to take more than a few mouthfuls. There isn’t much left and he doesn’t want to think about what they’re going to drink once it runs out. He’s had dysentery and giardia, one in Somalia and the other in Afghanistan. It hadn’t been pretty. And that was with first world medicine at his fingertips.

  “Think we could find some berries or something to eat?” Eric asks.

  “Are you kidding?” Reed straightens up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t you remember the part about bears being out here? Bears eat berries.”

  “Humans eat berries,” Eric replies. “I’m fucking hungry, man.”

  “Let’s all keep our eyes out for berries.” Kate steps between the two boys, who glare at each other.

  Ben doesn’t recall ever seeing the two friends quarrel before. It’s a sign of how fatigued everyone is.

  “There might be other edible plants. Let’s just keep our eyes out.” Kate doesn’t say what they should look for. Ben has a sneaking suspicion she knows as much about edible plants as the rest of them. But she won’t ever let herself crack in front of her kids.

  “We have to keep moving,” she says. “Come on.”

  A few people groan, but everyone falls in line. Ben grits his teeth and focuses on the trail at his feet. His thighs are on fire, chafed from the stupid boxer briefs Caleb found him back in that bunker. This is what he gets for being vain and worrying about what Kate thought. Hell, he couldn’t even talk her into a kiss. Why the fuck was he worrying about his underwear?