Lost Coast

by Camille Picott

  “I’m confused. I thought we were talking about coffee?”

  Ben wants to kick himself. His mouth very rarely cooperates with his brain. Especially when Kate is around. He decides to dispense with the Yeti explanation altogether.

  “The coffee is still hot.” He holds it out to her like a peace offering. “The coldest time of day is always at dawn.” Which is the exact time of her shift.

  “Thank you.” She takes it from him, studying his face. “That’s really sweet of you.”

  He looks at her. She looks back.

  He wants to share the coffee with her. That had been his original idea. Strike up a conversation and share a cup of coffee with her. He’d even brought two cups up to the roof.

  Except he’s fucked things up. How’s he supposed to segue into coffee?

  “Frederico and I often went running before the sun came up.” Kate’s voice is a reprieve to the awkward silence. It feels like an olive branch. “He always groused about the temperature drop at dawn.”

  She doesn’t talk about Frederico very often. Ben’s listened to enough conversations at mealtimes to know he’d been her best friend. She’d lost him on her run north to find Carter.

  If she’d been a soldier, he’d get out a flask and share a swig in memory of one who had fallen. But Kate isn’t a soldier and Ben doesn’t carry a flask these days. Kate keeps the alcohol they find in a special cabinet in the supply room and rations it out for special occasions. He respects her too much to make himself an exception to her rule.

  But the fact that she’s sharing a little bit about her lost friend means something. Or at least, he hopes it means something. He latches onto this idea and plows ahead.

  “Did you run a lot before dawn? Before the apocalypse, I mean?” He doesn’t have to feign interest. Ben is fascinated by her pre-apocalypse running life. The bits he’s gleaned over the past few months are like glimpses into the journal of an exotic explorer.

  “When Carter was young, we started long runs before dawn,” Kate says. “Four or five in the morning, usually. That way I didn’t blow the whole day running and still had time with Carter and Kyle. Frederico was always at our house anyway.” A long breath escapes her as she settles into the chair he recently vacated. “I miss him.”

  He isn’t sure if she’s talking about Frederico or her late husband. What he does know is that she’s talking to him, and he’s talking to her, and he hasn’t said anything idiotic in the last forty-five seconds. He’s not on a roll, but he isn’t eating his shoe, either.

  He inches toward the empty chair next to her, hoping he doesn’t look like an awkward idiot. He feels like an awkward idiot.

  “Here’s a coffee cup.” He hands her a mug, picking up the second one he’d brought to the roof. “Mind if I—”

  “Did someone say coffee?”

  Paranoid reflex kicks in. Ben drops the second mug and snatches his Sig. The porcelain shatters on the rooftop as he spins around. A handsome young man climbs into view.

  Caleb. Irritation prickles up the base of his spine. Leave it to this little shit to ruin his moment with Kate.

  Caleb is everything Ben is not. Young, good looking, and—most irritating of all—good with words. Whereas Ben always struggles to find ways to talk to Kate, Caleb never has trouble slipping into conversation with her. Their mutual affection rankles Ben.

  “What do you want?” he snaps at the younger man.

  “Good morning to you, too, old man.” Caleb takes in the ruined coffee cup. “Sorry if I startled you. I was just bringing Kate some breakfast.”

  Irritation turns to seething anger. Startled? Like Ben is a jumpy recruit. He’d fought in at least two wars before Caleb was in diapers.

  Ben doesn’t like many people, but there are very few he loathes. Caleb tops that short list.

  “Breakfast?” Kate turns. The smile she has for Caleb is wide and genuine. Much wider than the one she had for Ben a few minutes ago.

  She wouldn’t have such a ready smile for the younger man if she knew what he’d done. Of the innocent people he’d let die. Of all the blood on his hands.

  “What’s cooking today?” Kate asks.

  “Mmm.” Caleb slides into the empty chair—the very one Ben had been angling for. “Well, Lila is up to her usual magic in the kitchen.”

  Kate coughs. It’s Caleb’s turn to grin.

  Lila’s cooking is a constant topic of conversation among the residents of Creekside. Ben is the only one who doesn’t find it amusing. The girl has shit to work with and still manages to be creative. So what if not everything tastes good? If these guys had eaten half as many MREs as he’s eaten, they’d love Lila’s cooking.

  “We found some oats in the supply room,” Caleb says. “They expired before the apocalypse. Lila whipped up some powdered milk and let the oats soak overnight. They’re bland and stale so she added some jam.” Caleb pulls a small container out of his coat pocket. “They don’t taste so bad when they’re hot so I figured I’d bring them up for you.”

  “Thanks. Ben made some coffee. Want some before you head back down?”

  “The other cup broke.” Ben looks pointedly at the ground, knowing he’s being petty but unable to stop himself. He’s rankled by the idea of Caleb sharing the coffee he’d made to share with Kate.

  “No prob,” Caleb says. “I have one.” He pulls a collapsible silicone cup out of his cargo pants.

  Kate fills the cup and glances up at Ben. “Want to join us?”

  Ben doesn’t want to go, but nothing good will come out of his mouth while Caleb is around.

  “I have work to do before target practice later today. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  You’d have to be deaf to miss the rancor in his voice. By the look on Kate’s face, it’s clear she isn’t deaf. He retreats before digging his hole any deeper, leaving the splintered remains of the coffee mug behind.

  2

  Caffeine

  KATE

  Caffeine.

  Some days, there isn’t enough of it in the world.

  Like today.

  I down the last of the coffee, marveling that it stayed hot in the thermos for so long. I turn the black cylinder over in my hands, tracing an idle finger over the logo. YETI.

  Sleep deprivation coupled with four hours of sitting on a roof in the cold morning has left me exhausted. I could have used three Yetis of coffee today.

  I’m no thermos aficionado, but Ben clearly is. Why someone named a hot beverage container after the abominable snowman is beyond me. Ben did say something about Yetis being used for ice cream, so maybe that was the original intent.

  I try not to think too hard on the fact that he thought far enough ahead to make me a thermos of coffee. We almost had a normal conversation before Caleb interrupted us. Ben often says rude and off-the-wall stuff—like that comment about my tan line—but then he counters it with sweet gestures, like the coffee.

  I’m pretty sure there’s a nice man underneath the profanity and monosyllabic grunts. I’m drawn to those little bits of kindness I see. I wish Caleb had waited another five minutes, if only so I could have proof that Ben was capable of normal conversation.

  “Hey, Kate.” Lila’s dark head pops into view as she climbs the ladder onto the roof. “My turn for watch. Ben says it’s time for you guys to go shoot things.”

  I smile at the younger woman. Her dark hair hangs in a long braid down her back, a smudge of something on her cheek. It might be strawberry jam from her breakfast concoction.

  She steps onto the roof, shoulders hunched. Even though there’s no way zombies can get her up here, she still looks around like a hunted animal.

  “Ben really did say that.” Lila takes the chair next to mine, her tone dropping to mimic Ben’s deeper voice. “Tell Kate it’s time to shoot some zoms.” She frowns at me. “You look like shit. Did you sleep at all last night?”

  I shake my head with a dry laugh. “Ben brings me coffee. Caleb brings me breakfast. You bring me a ‘
you look like shit.’”

  “I only mean that you have dark circles under your eyes. You don’t look like you got any sleep.”

  I shrug. “It’s been warm. I’m still getting used to falling asleep without an air conditioner.” It’s partially true. Except that it never gets that hot in Northern California, not even in the summer.

  In truth, I wouldn’t be sleeping well even if I had a pre-apocalypse air conditioner. Every time I close my eyes, my brain travels back to the night I murdered Johnson and his people. I see the ravaged bodies of those young, twenty-something men I drugged and killed with zombies.

  Looking at Lila reminds me it was worth it. I did it for her. I did it for Carter, Jenna, Reed, Johnny, and Eric. I did it so they could live without the threat of Johnson hanging over them.

  “I could make you some tea that would knock you out for a full night,” Lila offers.

  I shake my head. “I prefer to stay away from that kind of tea.” Lila specializes in marijuana concoctions. Some of the other kids—mostly Reed and Eric—indulge in pot, but I prefer not to. “I have my own personal sleeping medicine. Have you seen the stack of books on my nightstand?”

  Lila wrinkles her nose. “All that old stuff?”

  “They’re called classics. Two pages in one of those books and I pass out cold.”

  “If they’re such a good sleep aid, why didn’t you sleep last night?” Lila asks with an arched eyebrow.

  Damn. Caught in a lie. I shrug with nonchalance. “I’ve finished all the ones on my nightstand. I need to get some new ones.”

  Lila studies me with narrowed eyes, as though trying to ferret out my lie. I look back at her, determined not to reveal the real reason for my insomnia. No one made me kill Johnson. His death, and those of his people, are on my conscience. The weight is for me to bear.

  Lila breaks eye contact, shrugging. “Suit yourself. You know where I live if you change your mind. Speaking of which ...” She fishes a small glass jar out of her backpack and holds it out to me. “Need some? It’s a fresh batch. The guys say you have a two-hour run planned today after shooting practice.”

  “I’ll take it with me. Ash and Eric have both been complaining about sore muscles.” I take the jar of homemade cannabis salve that Lila made.

  We all used to tease her about the stinky stuff. Now, after months of using it on our various achy body parts, we’re all fans of it.

  “Did you give some to Johnny?” I ask. “He needs to keep it on his Achilles.”

  “Yeah, I lathered him up as soon as I finished mixing this batch. He should be back to running in no time.”

  I don’t reply. From my own list of extensive running injuries over the years, I know Johnny will be laid up at least six weeks with his Achilles tendonitis. The only time he gets to go out these days is for shooting practice.

  I look across at the college campus of Humboldt State University. From up high, I can almost imagine the world hasn’t ended, that the world below isn’t filled with the undead.

  But the sound of the zombies is constant. The moaning, the keening, the snarling. It never ends. New zombies arrive every day on campus. No matter how many we kill, there are always more.

  Which is why Ben insisted we institute a twenty-four-hour watch post on top of Creekside. Remembering Johnson and the night his people found us and robbed us, I didn’t have to be asked twice before agreeing.

  “You’d better go,” Lila says. “The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll finish and someone else can take over the watch.”

  The only time Lila keeps watch is during shooting practice. Only because she refuses to leave Creekside. Hell, even getting her to agree to that had taken some persuasive powers. Johnny, with his injury, keeps watch when we train at the campus track.

  “You should come with us one day. Just walk with us to the track. You know I wouldn’t take you there if it wasn’t secure.” It had taken us two entire days to clear the track and zombie-proof it.

  Lila wrinkles her nose and looks away. “You just want to trick me into running.”

  “Running would be good for you,” I agree. “We both know that.” But Lila refuses to exercise. All she likes to do is cook and tend to the indoor garden she and Eric built. She keeps watch now only because there’s no one else to do it, and her fear of someone sneaking up on us is greater than her fear of being on the roof.

  “It’s not a way to live. Lila, I know it’s scary out there, but locking yourself up in Creekside isn’t the answer. You have a life to live. It shouldn’t be within the confines of this single building.”

  She shrugs, still not looking at me. “It’s not the answer for you. It’s working alright for me.”

  “Just think about it.” I reach across the distance separating us and squeeze her shoulder. “Think about coming out with us one day. We’ll keep you safe. You’ll see it’s still worth being a part of this world.” I raise a teasing brow. “There’s a big marijuana plant growing beneath the bleachers at the track. Just think of all those buds waiting to be harvested for your salves and concoctions.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Lila’s eyes flick in my direction then back out to the campus. “You’d better go. The troops are no doubt getting restless. You know how they are when they want their Mama Bear.” She gives me a quick smile at the use of my nickname.

  I give her shoulder one last squeeze before heading to the ladder.

  “Kate?”

  I pause, turning to look back at Lila.

  “I know I’m fucked up,” she says. “I know a screw came loose in my brain when the world ended. Thanks for giving a shit.”

  I smile warmly at her as I step out onto the ladder. “You’re part of the Creekside Crew, Lila. I’ll always give a shit.”

  3

  Pack

  KATE

  Everyone is assembled on the bottom floor of Creekside.

  Carter, my son. Johnny, our writer and ham radio extraordinaire. Reed, one of the resident stoners who just so happens to have turned into a damn good runner. Eric, our engineering genius and resident stoner. Jesus, a former drug mule who is as good with a gun as our soldiers. Ash and Caleb, the two soldiers who joined us after I killed their psychotic leader, Johnson. And Ben, who had once been allied with Ash and Caleb before breaking off on his own.

  I pretend not to notice him as I enter what had once been a dorm building lounge. He’s counting a stack of magazines, placing them into a large pack.

  Since we commandeered this place and made it our home, the bottom floor has been converted into an indoor garden. The solar panels on the roof power the grow lights. More than two dozen sturdy plastic garbage bins scavenged from around campus collect rainwater on the roof.

  A clever gravity hose system designed by Eric makes it easy to drain water from the bins to the garden beds. The kid is a genius. I can only imagine what he’d come up with if he laid off the pot. He doesn’t smoke as much as he used to, but I know not a day goes by that he doesn’t take a few hits at night.

  “Sorry to keep everyone waiting,” I say.

  “Time to shoot some zombies!” Reed slaps high-five with Jesus.

  “Don’t let yourself get too reliant on guns,” I say with a frown. “They’re zombie magnets without the silencers. You—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jesus cuts me off with a grin. “We know. We can’t rely on fire power for defense against the zombies. Mama Bear, check this out.” Jesus produces a scratched aluminum bat.

  I grin as he hands me the bat, running my hands over the metal. “Where did you find this?”

  “Not just one,” Reed says. “We broke into one of the locker rooms and found two dozen of them.”

  He throws back a tarp, which is normally used for storing extra gardening supplies. Beneath the crinkly plastic is a pile of aluminum bats.

  “Zombie swatters for everyone,” Jesus declares, throwing his arms open wide.

  “That is awesome.” Carter hefts a bat in one hand. “Think we could add s
pikes or something to the end?”

  “Yeah,” Jenna says. “I took a welding class last year. I bet we could get supplies from the metal shop.”

  “For you, mi hermosa flor.” Jesus presents a bat to Ash with a flourish and an open, flirty smile.

  Caleb, who’s never more than a dozen paces away from Ash, stiffens. Emotion disappears from his face, only his dark eyes revealing how much he dislikes the other man.

  If Ash notices the silent battle waging between Caleb and Jesus for her attention, she pretends not to. “Gracias, mi amigo.” It doesn’t help Caleb’s case that both Ash and Jesus are fluent in Spanish.

  “Don’t get caught up in the show.” Ben stomps over to me, shouldering the pack full of ammunition. “There’s no substitute for a Sig.” He holds a handgun and holster out to me.

  I wave away the weapon. We go through this almost every time we leave the building. “You know I’m not comfortable with guns.”

  “You’re not going to get comfortable if you keep avoiding them.” He shoves the thing into my hands. “It’s not loaded. Just wear it and practice getting used to it.”

  I roll my eyes. I’ve taken to wearing a loose belt over my running shorts these days. The belt holds a knife, a screwdriver, and now a gun. And a baseball bat, which wedges perfectly on my lower back.

  Jenna fidgets with the bat, trying to find a comfortable angle for it in her belt. “It’s a bit clunky,” she says. “Did you know these things are hollow? We could cut off the big end, fill the handle with sand, then weld a cap on the top. That would make it compact and easy to carry, but it would still pack a punch.”

  “That’s your project for next week,” I say. The bats are too good to pass up. We can use all the viable hand weapons we can get. “You and Carter figure out a way to convert these into portable zombie-killing clubs.”

  “But it was my idea,” Jesus complains. “Jenna isn’t the only one who took a welding class.”