Lost Coast

by Camille Picott

  I scan the zombies amassing around the car alarm. They’re in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another in their desperation to get to the source of the noise. More zombies stream in every second.

  If there is an alpha in that mess, it’s impossible for me to pick it out. There are too many bodies crammed together.

  Where the hell is Ben?

  “There.” Carter points off to our left. “He’s okay.”

  I follow the line of Carter’s hand. At first, I don’t see anything except tall grass bent by the breeze.

  Then I notice a shape low to the ground headed straight for us. It’s Ben, army crawling his way through the grass. Dressed in his camo, I hadn’t been able to pick him out. I start breathing again.

  “Next time, I’m going to make him wear fluorescent orange,” I mutter.

  “Good luck with that,” Ash replies. “Even before the end of the world, I doubt the guy even owned a regular pair of jeans.”

  10

  Marshland

  BEN

  Ben is proud of the years spent in service to his country. He’d spent his entire adult life fighting wars. Every tour had been someplace hot and dry.

  Afghanistan. Pakistan. Iraq. Somalia.

  If he’d been born two decades earlier, he’d have spent time in Vietnam like his old man. He remembers his father cursing the humidity and the swamps of the rice paddies.

  Now, as he and the others follow Kate toward Humboldt Bay—ankle deep in murky marshland—Ben wishes he’d paid more attention to his old man when he talked about the rice paddies. No doubt his rants contained tidbits of info Ben might have found useful in his current marsh-filled situation.

  “That’s the Fairhaven.” Caleb lowers a pair of binos, gesturing to a charter boat with a blue roof grounded half a mile east in the marsh grass.

  “Fuck,” Ben grumbles. “There is no good way to recon that thing.”

  Caleb gives him a tight look. “We’re going to have to get muddy.”

  “No shit.” Ben huffs out a breath and looks at Kate. “You still gonna to let us recon before going in?” He says this just in case she’s thinking of changing the plan. Kate’s been known to do that.

  Like the time she said they only had to run for two hours. Which was fine, but when she realized it was going to be a hot day, she moved the workout to the middle of the day. She had some long explanation about the importance of heat training. He would never complain in front of her, but that had been one of the shittiest workouts ever. He’d taken several large bottles of water into his room that night to rehydrate, and his piss had still been dark yellow the next day.

  He looks into her eyes, waiting for her nod. It’s reluctant, but it comes.

  Ben shifts his gaze to Carter and Jenna. “I don’t suppose either of you were science majors? Anything useful you can tell us about the environment that could help us on the recon?”

  Jenna grimaces. “Sorry. Art and business major.”

  Carter adds his grimace to Jenna’s. “I took a general science class that focused on local ecosystems. All I remember is that Humboldt Bay is responsible for more than half of the United State’s oyster production.”

  The fact doesn’t do shit for their current situation, but he files it away for later. Oysters may be a reliable food source for them at some point, especially if they can ever get Arcata cleared to the point that travel isn’t so treacherous. Shit, he’d just love to get to the point where they could ride bikes instead of going everywhere on foot.

  “Wait here until we give the all-clear.” Ben adjusts his rifle and drops into a crouch.

  Caleb joins him. Ben would rather have anyone else with him on this mission, but Caleb is the most qualified. He resigns himself to running side by side with the younger, stronger man. Cold water sloshes around their ankles, soaking them up to the knees within seconds.

  A hostile truce hangs between him and Caleb. They co-exist by avoiding and ignoring one another.

  When they’re a quarter mile away from the charter boat, Ben drops to all fours. His elbows sink into mushy mud. Water laps across his torso, soaking his clothing.

  All this to save a man supposedly stupid enough to get himself attacked by a shark.

  “Do you think it’s a trap?” Caleb whispers to him, dropping into the water beside him.

  “Yep.” He said as much in the beginning.

  “You’re just doing this for Kate?”

  Ben doesn’t answer. There’s something about that question that feels like a trap.

  “For what it’s worth,” Caleb says, “I think she might like you.”

  Ben draws up short, momentarily frozen by the younger man’s words. Caleb arches an elegant dark brow at him in silent question.

  Ben snarls and turns away, refocusing on the charter boat. He can’t afford to be distracted right now.

  What did Caleb mean by that statement, anyway? Ben knows what it means in the junior high sense, but he isn’t sure what it means with Kate. Most days they barely speak.

  Charter boat, he reminds himself. Focus on the charter boat.

  Fifty yards from the boat, he and Caleb draw to a halt. His body is already chilled from contact with the marsh water. From this distance, he can see the name Fairhaven scrawled across the side of the boat.

  Caleb lifts the binos and studies the boat. After a few minutes, he passes them to Ben.

  Ben has to prop both elbows in the water to hold the binos in place. There is no movement on the Fairhaven.

  “Blood,” Ben murmurs. There’s a big smear of it on the side of the ship and part of the railing.

  “From the guy who was attacked by the shark?” Caleb asks.

  “Or the last idiots stupid enough to ‘help’.”

  Caleb lets out a huff. “You always assume the worst about people. Not everyone is out for blood. I’m going to circle around the Fairhaven. Be back in five.”

  Ben glares as the other man slips away. “Paranoia will keep you alive, motherfucker,” he growls under his breath, too soft for Caleb to hear. Paranoia had kept his team from blundering straight into a landmine field in Pakistan. Paranoia had kept his men out of a house rigged to blow in Afghanistan.

  Caleb is young and stupid. He’ll learn. He’ll learn, or he’ll die. Ben doesn’t give a shit either way.

  He keeps the binos in place, watching the ship. He tenses as a tanned woman with a messy red bun comes up on deck. Her face is drawn, her eyes exhausted. Blood is smeared on her cheek and neck. When she brings up a hand to brush errant strands of hair from her face, he spots more dried blood on her fingers and forearms.

  Ben studies her face. He expects to see the eyes of a woman who’s set a cunning trap for softhearted idiots. Instead, he sees a woman who looks like she’s going to collapse from exhaustion. As he watches, she buries her face in both hands, shoulders shaking with sobs.

  Dammit. Maybe her husband really was attacked by a shark. Maybe she really is as desperate as she’d sounded on the ham.

  Caleb returns a few minutes later, crawling up beside him. Even the mud splashed on his face can’t diminish his pretty boy features.

  “I saw the woman,” Ben says.

  “Me, too. I think her message was real. I think she needs help.”

  Grudgingly, Ben nods his head in agreement. “We go in together. Make sure it’s all clear before signaling the others.”

  Caleb doesn’t argue. He and Ben rise out of the marsh, lifting rifles to their shoulders as they advance on the Fairhaven. They make just enough noise to alert anyone on the boat paying attention. They don’t want to board the Fairhaven in stealth mode and give the woman a heart attack. Or worse, scare her badly enough that she shoots at them.

  Their splashing pays off. Her feet echo on the deck as she rushes to the starboard railing. She lets out a cry of joy at the sight of them.

  Ben’s not sure what he thinks of a woman crying in joy at the sight of two men pointing rifles in her direction. Women make no sense. At
least, not to him.

  “I need help,” she cries. “My husband, he—”

  “We received your distress call, ma’am,” Caleb says.

  The young woman practically melts at Caleb’s words. “You’re here to help?” she asks.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She stares at them, her mouth hanging open. Tears stream down her face as she drops a rope ladder over the side of the vessel, no questions asked.

  Ben trades his rifle for his handgun, making sure the woman sees the weapon. She does. And she shows no fear or trepidation. Either she’s stupid or desperate. Maybe both.

  On board the ship, Ben spots more blood. Big smears of it that could only come from a severe wound.

  “My husband is in the hold. Do either of you have first aid or medic skills?” She wrings her hands together.

  “Ma’am, we need to assess your husband.” Caleb’s voice is strong and reassuring.

  She flashes him a grateful smile and hurries first into the hold.

  They follow her down. The smell of blood hits Ben. The metallic stench of it is strong in the small, dark space.

  On the starboard side is a small table for two, a tiny sink, and counter for food prep. On the port side is a bunk and a tiny bathroom.

  On the lower bunk is an unconscious man. His legs are wrapped in bloody clothing. Wads of bloody bandages and towels are piled in one corner. It looks like the woman used every scrap of fabric in this place to staunch the bleeding.

  The man is in bad shape. Real bad shape. There is no deceit here, only miserable desperation. He finally understands why Kate made them come.

  Ben turns on his heel, heading back to the deck.

  “Where are you going?” the woman asks, voice heavy with desperation.

  “To get reinforcements. We have a trained medic with us.”

  The sob of relief that tears from her throat follows him upstairs.

  11

  Fairhaven

  KATE

  The woman’s name is Susan. Her husband is Gary. The two of them are high school sweethearts who grew up in Eureka, the aging crown jewel of the logging era of Northern California. The city is ten miles south of Arcata. They graduated from Humboldt University and took out a loan to buy their charter boat. They’ve spent the last eight years catering to the tourist industry: deep-sea fishing, kayaking, diving, and whale watching.

  “We’ve been living at sea since the beginning,” Susan tells us, eyes glassy as she watches Ash tend to Gary’s leg.

  The man looks like he was fed to a paper shredder. It’s hard to believe he’s still alive.

  “We came into the bay to siphon gas from other boats,” Susan tells us. “There were bodies floating in the water but we didn’t think much of it. They were real dead bodies, not zombies, so we didn’t worry. Gary climbed out on the rope ladder to pull us in close to another boat. He was in the water up to his knees.” She swallows, wiping tears with the back of her hand. “It all happened so fast. I saw something big moving through the water.” She gives a shaky laugh. “Have you ever seen a great white in the wild?”

  We all shake our heads. Jenna pulls a bottle of water from her backpack and passes it to Susan.

  “The one who attacked Gary was bigger than any I’ve ever seen. Like a small car. He came out of the water so fast. I was standing there with Gary. I grabbed his arm. We both went down, but I had my feet wedged against the inside of the boat.” Her eyes glow with exhausted ferocity. “No way in hell was I letting go of my husband.” She takes several gulps of the water from Jenna. “It all happened in less than thirty seconds. The shark swam away and I pulled Gary to safety.”

  Susan wraps her arms around her knees. “That was yesterday. I bandaged him up as best I could. We’re low on fuel but I was too afraid to try and get more by myself. From all the reports we’d heard, Eureka is overrun with zombies. I figured Arcata was my best chance at finding help. Besides, it was the only place I could get to with the fuel we had. So here we are.” Her laugh is shaky, tinged with the trauma of her experience.

  Jenna makes a soft sound of sympathy in the back of her throat, kneeling down to put an arm around Susan. The other woman leans into her embrace, but her eyes travel to the bunk bed.

  “Is he going to make it?” she whispers.

  Ash doesn’t look up from where she stitches one of the nasty tears in Gary’s leg. “I’m going to do my best, ma’am. Once I get him sewn up, we need to get him back to Creekside.”

  I’d known there was a high probability we’d have to transport an unconscious man through Arcata all the way back to Creekside. Which is why I brought such a large party of strong young men. But I hadn’t factored in the danger of the alphas.

  “Bro, remember that time Jason got shot in that drive-by on Seventeenth?” Jesus asks.

  Reed lets out a long whistle. “That sucked. Our car was, like, ten blocks away.”

  “But remember when we stole those shovels out of that shed and made a stretcher?”

  Reed’s eyebrows fly up. “Yeah.”

  The two of them turn to Susan. “What do you have around here that can be made in to a stretcher?” Reed asks.

  Thirty minutes later, we have a makeshift stretcher cobbled together from boat railing and rope.

  “Who would have thought first-hand experience in a drive-by shooting just might save the life of a man attacked by a shark in a zombie apocalypse?” Carter says as Reed and Jesus take the stretcher into the hold to retrieve Gary.

  “Johnny is going to have a field day with this,” I reply.

  “He’s going to be pissed he didn’t get to come,” Jenna says.

  Most likely. Johnny is always up for an outing when he thinks he has a chance to experience something exciting enough to go into the book he’s writing. Books, actually. He’s writing at least two about the apocalypse, maybe three. It’s hard to keep track.

  I stand at the railing of the Fairhaven, staring back in the direction of Arcata. “We can’t go back the way we came.” In my mind’s eye, I keep seeing the swarm of zombies we encountered with the alpha in its midst. “The risk is too great. We won’t be able to run fast with the stretcher. We could lose Gary if we get ourselves into a position where we have to sprint.”

  We could lose Gary anyway, though I keep this to myself. I’m going to do everything I can to get him safely back to Creekside.

  “You think we should head west and go the long way around?” Carter asks.

  “No.” I shake my head. “The stretcher is heavy. The shorter the distance we have to travel, the better. I think we need to try and get across Highway 101.” I try not to flinch as I say those words. “It’s a straight shot back to campus once we’re on the other side of the freeway.”

  Jenna and Carter look at each other, then at me. Neither of them says a word.

  “It’s risky,” I admit.

  Carter heaves a sigh. “We just made it across Samoa Highway. We’re practically lane jumping pros now.” Despite his attempt at levity, it falls flat. The seriousness of our situation has us all on edge.

  “Ben’s car alarm trick was a good one,” Jenna says. “He went for one of the shinier, newer cars to make sure it had one. We can do the same thing to get across 101. It’s a solid tactic.”

  I resist the urge to wring my hands. I can’t let my kids see how worried I am about this mission. It was my idea to come out here to help Gary and Susan in the first place.

  Jesus and Reed bring the stretcher out of the hold, Gary’s slack body secured in place with ropes.

  Seeing Susan’s pinched, exhausted face, I know we did the right thing. Good people are worth fighting for.

  Once everyone is assembled on the upper deck, I say, “I have a plan for getting back to Creekside.”

  As I lay out the details, I watch Ben’s mouth twist into a grimace. To my surprise, he doesn’t insult the idea or even argue. Rather, he stomps to the side of the boat and climbs over the edge.

  “We’re bur
ning daylight,” he calls. “Let’s get moving. I’m pretty sure none of us wants to cross 101 in the dark.”

  No one has anything to say to that. We gather our belongings and exit the boat. As I swing down onto the rope ladder, Susan lightly brushes my hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispers. “I know how much you all risked coming here to help us.”

  I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile, even though my stomach is already lumpy with anxiety over the mission. “Good people need to help one another,” I reply. “It’s the only way we’re going to survive.”

  And even though I truly believe that, I wish helping good people wasn’t so damn scary and dangerous.

  12

  Highway 101

  BEN

  If there’s a crazy idea to be had, Kate’s going to find it. It’s that simple.

  Not only did she propose they cross over Highway 101—the goddamn, motherfucking road of death—but she logically pointed out that the best way to get to it was to hike all the way through the marshland and bypass the southern part of Arcata all together.

  Ben tries to imagine his old man fighting the Viet Cong. He often carries thoughts of his dad with him on missions. It helps him when things get hard and uncomfortable. He tells himself that if his old man could survive the paddies of Vietnam, he can survive the marshland of Arcata.

  The one thing going for the chill, sticky mud he currently tromps through—in his neon running shoes—is that it was uninhabited by people before the apocalypse. The powers that be had set this land aside for birds and fish. And oysters, according to Carter. All that means there are no zombies to contend with out here.

  But fucking shit, there are few things in life he hates more than wet shoes, wet socks, and wet feet. The one thing he detests even more than all that is shoes, socks, and feet that are wet and muddy. He’d had athlete’s foot more times than he could count during his years in the service. That shit itches, stings, and burns to high hell.