Lost Coast Read online

  With hours of silent running, he’s had ample time to process the rejection. It chafes almost as much as the underwear. Even though Kate is too good for him, and even though he can’t list one compelling reason why she might want to be with him, it still smarts.

  Partly because it took him days to work up the courage to apologize to her, but mostly because his infatuation with her is reaching epic proportions. Never in his life has he been so crazy about a woman. Not even when he was a horny teenager. For fuck’s sake, she turned him down right to his face—twice—and he still can’t move on.

  The searing pain around his thighs is almost unbearable. Should he ditch the underwear altogether? That will get him ridiculed, but he’s beyond giving a shit.

  The only thing that stops him is the fatigue pants. He doesn’t want to imagine his balls bouncing against the thick fabric. The last thing he needs is a chafed ball sack.

  His waist also itches and burns from the chafe marks that have accumulated over the weeks. He’s added quite a few new ones today. In some areas, bits of his skin have thickened like calluses from the constant abuse.

  He should have brought the stick of Secret deodorant. He hasn’t touched it since the day Kate gave it to him. It sits on the small nightstand next to his bed, a token from Kate that fills him with a weird sort of pleasure.

  “Where’s a stick of deodorant when you need it?”

  Someone next to him barks out a laugh. It takes him a beat to realize he’s spoken aloud.

  “My bodily odor is the least of my worries,” Ash says.

  “Not for that. Kate gave me a stick of deodorant. She said to use it as an anti-chafe.”

  “Then I could definitely use some, too,” Ash says. “My toes are killing me. I can feel blisters forming.”

  The light, misting rain covers Ash with a thin layer of sheen. Her skin is pale.

  “You alright?”

  “I’m freezing my tits off, but yeah, I’m okay.”

  The trail has widened, letting them run two abreast. Ben alternates between monitoring the trail and scrutinizing Ash.

  “You look like shit,” he pronounces.

  “Back at you, old man.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “I got dunked in the ocean and have been running in the rain ever since. What do you expect?”

  Ben searches for the right words. They all look like shit. Hell, they all feel like shit.

  But Ash is looking worse than shitty. She’s looking like shit to the power of three.

  “I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he says at last.

  She gives him a sidelong look. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Nice isn’t my go-to.”

  “I don’t know why. You’re a good person.” She coughs, hunching over as she runs. “I remind myself of that every time I want to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

  “That happens a lot?”

  She coughs again. “What?”

  “That you want to tell me to go fuck myself?”

  She chuckles. “Not as much since you started chasing Kate around. She brings out your nice side.”

  He decides not to comment on that. Apparently everyone in Creekside knows about his infatuation. He has no doubt they’ll all soon know the color of his underwear, too. If they ever make it back.

  “So where are you chafing?” Ash asks.

  He grunts, deciding not to comment on that, either.

  “Thought so,” she replies with a knowing look. “If it makes you feel better, I have chafing down there, too. The inside seam of the shorts. And I think the skin under my sports bra is rubbed raw.”

  “The saltwater stings like a son-of-bitch.” The crusty white deposits all over his clothing make everything worse.

  “Gives a whole new meaning to rubbing salt in a wound, huh?” Another shiver runs over Ash’s body. “You know, as shitty as I feel, I actually like it out here. No zombies.”

  “No zombies yet,” Ben corrects. “Kate said there are some campgrounds farther down the trail.”

  “You know what I mean. There are no piles of dead bodies. No stink. We don’t have to whisper and look over our shoulders for fear of drawing zombies.”

  “We just have to watch the tide so we don’t get swept out to sea.”

  “I’ll take the tide over zombies any day.” She glances over at him. “Would you rather drown to death or get eaten by a zombie?”

  He considers his answer. Honestly, he doesn’t really care how he goes. When it’s his time, it’s his time. “I just want my death to mean something when it happens.”

  “You don’t want to die of natural causes as an old man?”

  “I’m not sure any of us are slated for death by old age.”

  “That’s negative thinking. I’d rather drown in the ocean than get eaten by a zom. I don’t ever want to be one of those things.”

  “Would you rather get bitten by a zombie, or by a shark, like Gary?”

  “That’s a fucked-up question, Ben.”

  He’d been trying to be sociable. He doesn’t see how his question is any worse than her question. This is what he gets for trying to make civil conversation. Every response that comes to his head isn’t pleasant, so he keeps his mouth shut.

  Ash gives him another sidelong look. “I’d rather get eaten by a shark. At least my death would nourish another living creature. Anything is better than feeding the undead.”

  They lapse into silence after that. Ben stays near her, doing his best to keep an eye on her without being obvious. She’s sucking it up, but she still looks like shit. And she keeps coughing.

  The ground beneath their feet is becoming muddier by the minute. Ben has mud splashed up to his knees. His clothes are damp and encrusted with salt. The salt makes his clothing rough.

  The chafing gets worse by the minute. He also feels it starting to burn on the inside of his upper arms, too. He steels himself against his discomfort when he sees Ash shivering.

  “We should stop,” he says. “Build you a fire.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s still raining.”

  “We can still build a fire.”

  “We both know I need more than a wet fire.”

  Ben doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s obvious Ash has hypothermia. He’s known it for the past few miles but doesn’t know what to do about it.

  “Even if we do stop, we barely have any food,” she continues. “We can’t afford to stop.”

  “I don’t know if you can afford not to stop.” Ben looks farther up the trail. Kate plows up another rise in the land.

  Ash follows his gaze. “I can hold on. Please don’t say anything. I don’t want anyone to suffer or die because of me.” She puts her chin down and keeps running.

  Ben doesn’t want Ash to die. He scans the landscape, looking for any place that might offer enough shelter for them to build a fire and get warm. Hell, he wouldn’t mind a fire right about now. Or a break.

  “You should tell her how you feel,” Ash says.

  Ben grunts. He wants to pretend he doesn’t know what Ash is talking about, but what’s the point? “She knows.”

  Ash looks at him. Her lips are pale, her cheeks a fleshy white. “You should tell her again.” Her teeth chatter. “If we die out here, you don’t want the words to go unsaid.”

  Ben has nothing to say to that.

  58

  Pain Cave

  KATE

  I don’t let them stop. Even though fatigue is in every line of their faces. Even though their shoulders droop and their steps are sluggish. Even though Reed can’t get his stomach under control and staggers along like an animated doll, barely able to keep water down.

  Things are only going to get worse. Our only hope is to get the hell off this trail. Off this trail, and into a house where we can get everyone warm and dry.

  My people stretch out in a line behind me, laboring up a long climb as rain drizzles down. I shine
my headlamp down the trail behind me, conducting a quick count to confirm I haven’t lost anyone. My gaze flicks over Ben as he power hikes with Ash at the back of the pack.

  Worry for our situation helps me ignore how conflicted I feel about Ben. I don’t know if turning him down was the smartest or dumbest thing I’ve ever done. It’s easier not to think about it.

  Caleb is the nearest to me. His shoulders are hunched, his face set in a grimace of discomfort as he pushes up a hill.

  I drop back to check on him. “Hey, Caleb.”

  “Hey.” Caleb braces his hands against his thighs, using them to help leverage himself up the long climb. “I can’t believe you did this shit for fun. It sucks ass.”

  Sweat drips down his temples, mingling with the rain. His breathing is labored, fogging against the cold air. The hair on his legs is stuck full of trail flotsam: burrs, foxtails, cuts from the thistles, and ... damn.

  “Hold up, Caleb. There’s a tick on your leg.” The tiny black bug is nestled right above his sock. I crouch down and pick it off, squishing it between my fingers.

  His grimace deepens. “You look like you’ve done that before.”

  “A few times, yeah. I’ve already picked two off myself.” I give the rest of his legs a quick check. “All clear. I don’t see any more.”

  He continues to labor up the trail. “Does this fucking thing have a top?” he demands. “I think my legs are going to fall off.”

  I recognize his state. It happens to everyone in an ultra. He’s in the pain cave, a place of mental and physical misery. So much of ultrarunning is a head game. I need to figure out a way to pull him out of his funk.

  “I didn’t tell you guys the truth about the southern half of the Lost Coast,” I say.

  “What’s that?”

  “It has over ten thousand feet of vertical climbing.”

  “Is that a lot?”

  I chuckle. “Oh, yeah. On a scale of one to five, one being easy and five being difficult, the southern half of the Lost Coast is a six. That’s good news for you.”

  He snorts. “How so?”

  “It means you’ll have major bragging rights when we finish. Like, pound-your-fist-on-your-chest kind of bragging rights.”

  All that gets is a grunt. We plow up the hill side by side. I wrack my brain, trying to think of something else to distract him.

  “If you could eat one thing right now, what would it be?” I ask.

  “Medium-rare prime rib with a mountain of horseradish,” he replies without hesitation. “I haven’t had decent beef since the start of the apocalypse.”

  We haven’t had any fresh meat in months. “I think I’d have chicken,” I say. “One of those rotisserie ones stuffed with rosemary, lemon, and garlic. Now that we have a wall at Creekside, we should find some chickens.”

  “I’d rather have a cow or two.”

  “Okay. Let’s see what we can figure out.”

  “Can I tell you something?” His voice comes out with a wheeze. “I’m pissed off at you for not making us run more stairs. Like, really pissed.”

  “Really?” I wipe rain out of my eyes. “That can be arranged when we get back to Arcata.”

  That gets a small smile out of him. “I hate stair repeats. Can I tell you something else?”

  “What?”

  “I’m so fucking hungry that I’m considering eating some of these plants. I’m trying to imagine the ferns are miniature green cows.”

  I understand the feeling. Hunger grates at me as well. “We’ll have an M&M stop soon.”

  “Sorry if the idea of five M&Ms doesn’t excite me all that much. Can I tell you something else?”

  “Sure.”

  “You know the only reason Ben swam to shore to get gas for the Fairhaven is because he was afraid you’d do it? The man can barely dog paddle. He had no business swimming in Humboldt Bay.”

  The switch in conversation catches me by surprise. It feels weird to talk about Ben, but it’s worth it to keep Caleb’s mind off his misery. “It’s not a good idea. Me and Ben, I mean.”

  “He likes you. You like him. What more do you need?”

  “Sanity.”

  Caleb chuckles, his face relaxing with mirth. “Well, I’m probably not the only one who thinks he’s not good enough for you, but I know he’d die for you. Probably with a smile on his face. Hell, he stripped down into holey underwear for you. From a man’s perspective, that’s worse than taking a bullet for someone. He’s got it bad for you, Kate.”

  I’d hardly noticed his underwear. I’d been too busy trying not to notice how good the rest of him looked.

  More rainwater drips into my eyes. Flicking it away, I think of my tiny dorm room, every inch of wall and ceiling covered with pictures of nature. Regret and longing once again flicker through me.

  “Why are you telling me all this? You and Ben don’t even like each other.”

  Caleb’s face goes stony. “I like him just fine. He’s the one who doesn’t like me.” An anguished look flashes across his features. “He has good reason. I fucked up and people died. I figure that maybe if I put in a good word for him, maybe he’ll forgive me someday.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Caleb looks even more morose and miserable than he did when I first joined him. I need to change the subject and find a way to perk him up. The Lost Coast will eat him for lunch if I can’t help him shift his mindset.

  “What about you and Ash? She cares about you, you know.”

  That brings Caleb to a standstill in the middle of the trail. He looks from me to Ash, who labors away behind us with Ben at her side.

  “How do you know that? Did she say something to you?”

  “No. But I see the way she looks at you when you’re not glued to her side.”

  Caleb resumes his power hike. “I messed things up with her.”

  “How so?”

  “Johnson sent me on an errand. Turns out it was just an excuse to get me away from Ash. By the time I got back, he’d cornered her in a bedroom of the frat house ... Ash was fighting back, but it wasn’t pretty. Johnson laughed the whole thing off when I showed up. Ash ... things were never the same with her after that.”

  “Is that why you guys sleep with your bedroom door open every night?”

  He nods. “I don’t ever want her to feel cornered.” The agonized look he gives me has nothing to do with the pain of the trail. “You know I’d do anything for her, right? I’m not asking for anything in return.”

  The pieces snap together. The restrained closeness between Ash and Caleb finally makes sense. The way they’re always together, yet never touching.

  “Not that I’m a relationship expert, but I’d say sooner or later you’re going to have to let go of that guilt.”

  “Maybe.” Caleb looks back again at Ash. “You really think she has feelings for me?”

  “I’d bet on it. But you won’t know for sure until you talk to her.”

  “Let’s make a pact. You agree to talk to Ben, and I’ll agree to talk to Ash.”

  “No.”

  “No? Come on! You just said—”

  “This isn’t a negotiation, Caleb. I can’t go there.”

  “Whatever, Mama Bear. You—hey, look!” He plants his hands on his hips, staring past the waist-high shrubs that grow along this part of the trail. “We made it to the top.”

  Sure enough, our feet have carried us to the top of the long incline. The foggy coastline snakes along below us, illuminated by the moon and stars. The water is a frothy gray.

  I take in Caleb’s posture. The hunch of pain is gone. The twisted expression has been replaced with a smile. I give his shoulder a squeeze.

  “Nice work.”

  “Thanks, Mama Bear.”

  I leave Caleb to run the forthcoming downhill on his own, dropping farther back down the trail to check on Eric. He’s near the top, slogging his way up with gritty determination. His arms are covered with scrapes from the thistle bushes. If possible, his leg hai
rs have even more burrs and foxtails than Caleb’s.

  “Hey.” I fall into step beside him. I give him a once over to check for ticks. “How’s it going?” No visible signs of ticks.

  “I keep reminding myself that it sucked to be fat,” Eric replies. “Even if this hill sucks, at least it’s keeping me skinny. Oh, and the fact that we have, like, half a granola bar to split among seven people.”

  “Don’t forget the M&Ms. And there’s still one stick of beef jerky left.”

  “You probably shouldn’t have told me that. I’m considering mugging you right now.”

  Eric’s sense of humor is enough to tell me he’s in a good headspace. “Think you can take me?”

  “You are pretty skinny.”

  “But I’m faster than you.”

  “True.” Eric chuckles. “How far do you think we’ve gone?”

  I glance at my watch. We left the beach four hours ago. We’ve had to stop at least seven times for Reed. I try to pick up the pace on the flat sections, but my people are chilled by the rain. Their muscles are stiff with the new demands the trail puts on them. I doubt we’ve even gone fifteen miles. Which means we have ten to twelve miles to go.

  “Maybe thirteen or fourteen miles,” I reply.

  Eric perks up. His glasses are spotted with rain, but he doesn’t bother trying to wipe them dry. “That means I’ve done my first half marathon. That’s thirteen miles, right?”

  “Thirteen-point-one miles.”

  “Hey, that’s cool. I always wanted to run a half marathon.” His face sobers. “Lila used to ridicule me for that. Back before the world ended, we’d hang out in the hallway and trade insults. Well, it wasn’t exactly hanging out, but you know what I mean.”

  For the first time in a long while, thinking of Lila makes me smile. “I can imagine it. It took me a while to realize you both enjoyed bickering.”

  “She used to tell me to lay off the crack pipe and lose some weight if I ever wanted to run more than ten feet.” Eric taps his now-flat stomach. “I wish she was here. I mean, not here. She’d hate it out here. The forest would definitely not be her happy place. Not like it is for you.”

  “Is it that obvious?” I know how miserable it is for all of them out here. Hell, it’s not like I’m comfortable, but my discomfort is overridden by my love for the trail and my long time away from it.