Undead Ultra (Book 3): Lost Coast

by Picott, Camille

“God, it smells like a garbage dump,” Caleb says. “Where’s it coming from?” He turns, peering in the direction of the stench.

  Ben shifts into a crouch, drawing his gun. In his fatigued state, he’d left his knife on the other side of the fire where he’d used it to strip wet bark from logs.

  Since they arrived at the Lost Coast, they’re been without the constant stink of the undead hanging in the air. Apparently, their reprieve is over. A zombie—or zombies—has found them.

  The darkness behind Caleb solidifies.

  Except it’s not a zombie.

  Outlined in the firelight is a creature that easily weighs six hundred pounds. It rears up, rising seven feet into the air. A roar rips free from its mouth, vibrating Ben down to his core.

  The world narrows to a split second. All Ben’s time at College Creek blurs by in his mind’s eye. He sees a new version of Caleb in the replay.

  Caleb was always the voice of reason in Johnson’s ear. Anytime the other boy let his brutal streak show, Caleb was there, attempting to talk him down. Most of the time it worked.

  Then Johnson started putting distance between himself and Caleb. He’d go out scavenging with Ryan and some of the crueler boys. He always had an excuse and a buddy-buddy fist bump for Caleb when he returned, but the truth was that he shied away from the moral compass of his friend.

  Caleb had been there on the day of the College Creek massacre. He’d been the one screaming at Johnson.

  Stop! Don’t do this! Johnson, stop!

  Ben finally realizes the truth.

  Caleb is one more person Ben has failed. He’s another College Creek casualty. He failed Caleb as surely as he failed all the kids who are dead and gone.

  Caleb was right. Ben had done nothing. He’d had plenty of chances to kill Johnson. He’d failed.

  He’d failed them all.

  Most of them are gone. He’d never have a chance to make up his failure.

  But Caleb is still here. Ben still has a chance at redemption.

  He isn’t going to fail Caleb a second time.

  With a shout, he flings himself toward the younger man. He crashes into him, sending Caleb flying into the brush.

  The bear drops to all fours, another roar ripping through the camp.

  Ben’s world narrows to a singular focus.

  The bear. The smell. The enormous paws that could shred him open with one swipe. The teeth that could tear off his arms.

  Ben hits the ground, skidding across dirt and pine needles on his back. Pure instinct takes over.

  The gun in his hand comes up.

  The bear charges.

  Ben fires, emptying his magazine. His shout is lost in the roar of challenge that issues from the great animal.

  The bear crashes to the ground, body skidding into the firelight. Its face is a mash of red from the bullets. Blood pours out of the ruined muzzle, staining the ground.

  Ben’s breath rasps in and out of his lungs. Adrenaline beats in his ears. His legs tremble as he gets to his feet.

  Caleb crouches in the brush just outside of their shelter, slack-jawed in shock and horror.

  Moving on shaky legs, Ben crosses the clearing. He holds out a hand to the other man.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse. There is so much more to say, but it’s the best he can do. The intensity of the adrenaline makes his arm tremble.

  Caleb rises and lets out a long breath, eyes still wide. He grasps Ben’s hand. A beat passes. Then he yanks Ben into a hug.

  It’s not an embrace by any means. More of a shoulder bump and some slapping on the back. Ben returns the back slaps with awkwardness.

  The anger he’s carried around since the day of the College Creek massacre dissipates, puffing away like smoke in a breeze. Caleb grins at him, face still crazed with fear from his near-death encounter with the black bear. Ben returns the grin, feeling feral.

  “Ben?” Someone grabs him by the shoulder and whips him around.

  The entire camp is awake, everyone on their feet as they gawk at the dead black bear.

  Kate stands in front of him, eyes wild as she scans his body. “Are you okay? Did the bear get you anywhere?”

  Adrenaline still pounds through him. Bloods roars in his ears. He can’t form words.

  “Ben?”

  He grabs her by the arms, squashing her against him. She squawks in surprise.

  Ben silences her with a fierce kiss on the lips. He drinks in the taste of her, savoring the glory of being alive. Of not hating Caleb.

  God dammit, he never hated Caleb. He hated himself.

  The roaring in his ears subsides. He becomes aware of applause.

  The kids are clapping, hooting, and catcalling.

  “About time!” someone shouts. It might be Reed.

  “Way to grow a pair,” someone else says. That might be Caleb, the little shit.

  Ben disengages, putting an arm’s length between himself and Kate as a semblance of sanity returns to him. She made it clear she didn’t want him to kiss her.

  He decides he doesn’t give a shit. “Deal with it,” he says to her.

  She gapes at him. Someone hoots with laughter.

  He stares down at her, still half feral from the encounter with the bear. His chest heaves. It takes all his will power not to drag her back into his arms and kiss her again.

  Is she angry? He can’t tell.

  This thought is followed by the formation of words, which flow out of his mouth.

  “I’m not sorry,” he tells her. “Deal with it.”

  She blinks, her face still painted with shock and surprise. Then she grabs him by the front of the shirt, knotting her fist in the fabric. “You deal with it,” she snaps, dragging him forward. She rises up onto her toes to kiss him.

  This kiss is longer, deeper. It would be perfect, if not for the fucking peanut gallery ringing the two of them.

  “You owe me a night shift,” Ash says. Her voice is a croak, but the glee is unmistakable. “I told you he’d make a move before we got to Fort Ross.”

  “Dammit, old man,” Caleb says, “you screwed me. You weren’t supposed to grow a pair until we got back home.”

  “I get Eric’s pair of Nikes,” Reed crows.

  “And I get Eric’s alien socks,” Susan adds.

  “Fuck both of you,” Eric replies. His voice is jovial, not an ounce of rancor there despite his words. “Joke’s on you. The Nikes have mold on the inside and the alien socks have a hole in the toe.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser,” Susan says. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Hell, Ben had to swim in holey underwear, survive pirates and a shipwreck, escape the impassible zone, and kill a bear to work up the nerve to make a move,” Eric replies. “Up until ten seconds ago, I thought I had this in the bag.”

  Ben wants to hold Kate in his arms and kiss her for the next twenty years, but he can’t take it anymore.

  “Do you little shits have to talk all the time?” he demands. “Sixty seconds of silence. Is that so much to ask for?”

  Everyone bursts out laughing. He feels his face grow hot. He sneaks a look at Kate. Her brow is furrowed in consternation, but she hasn’t retreated. She leans into him, her shoulder pressed into his bicep.

  He decides to go big. Why not? He just killed a goddamn black bear.

  He puts both arms around her shoulders, pulling her close against his chest. Kate doesn’t resist or protest. She turns a shy smile up at him before resting her head against him.

  Ben decides this might be the best night of his life.

  “Hey, guys.” Reed is the first to recover from the fit of laughter. “I think we have the food problem sorted out.” He gestures to the dead bear.

  “Dude.” Caleb takes in the massive proportions of the dead animal. “That thing must weight six hundred pounds. Do you know how to butcher an animal?”

  “I do.”

  Everyone turns to Eric in surprise. He shrugs.

  “My dad used to take me de
er hunting as a kid. A bear can’t be all that different.”

  Four hundred and fifty pounds different, but Ben doesn’t bother to point this out. Even if it’s hard to imagine the stoner-electrician knowing how to butcher a bear.

  Hell, it was impossible to imagine Kate resting her head on his chest, but here she is. Anything is possible.

  Ben makes a silent promise to himself: this will not be the first and only time he holds Kate. By some miracle, he’s managed to get past both their bullshit, if only by a hair. Now that the door’s been cracked open, he doesn’t intend to stop until she’s all his.

  He squeezes her one last time before releasing her. Retrieving his knife from the fireside, he turns to Eric. “Let’s get to work, kid.”

  “I’ll get sticks,” Reed volunteers. “This will be like a real camping trip, only with bear instead of marshmallows.”

  “I knew I should have packed salt.” Ash forces herself into a sitting position. “Only savages eat wild bear without salt.”

  Ben, standing over the carcass with Eric, looks up to find Kate watching him. The banter of the kids fades to a distant hum as their eyes meet. When she smiles at him, his whole body sings.

  63

  Candelabras

  KATE

  Stomach full of bear, I lead the group away from our campsite in the dead of night. I did a tick check on everyone before we set out and removed seven of them in total. I can already see patches of poison oak flaring up on several of us. There’s a patch on my arm that itches like crazy.

  Each of us still wears a headlamp, the beams cutting through the dark. We lost six hours with our stop. Even though the group needed the rest—and it was mandatory for Ash—it was still six lost hours of trail time. We should have been off the trail and on the road by now, well on our way to Alvarez and Fort Ross.

  It’s been over twenty hours since I last spoke to Alvarez. His deadline with Rosario is almost up. As I power hike down muddy trail, I try not to let worry for my friend take over.

  My group is in rough shape today. Everyone is stiff and sore, myself included. The hard hours of travel combined with bad weather—not to mention a night sleeping on the ground—has left us all depleted.

  There won’t be a lot of running today. Even if everyone weren’t exhausted, sore, and cold, the trail is choked with more thistles and poison oak. Some of it grows as high as my chest. My hope is to keep everyone moving at a fast power hike.

  The rain has stopped. And we have cooked bear meat to keep us fueled for the journey. The ocean pounds against the coastline in a constant hum. The air smells fresh and clean. Things are looking better today than they had yesterday, even if the group is sore and exhausted.

  My thoughts stray to Ben. He’s in the middle of the pack, keeping an eye on Ash. He’s taken it upon himself to be her watchman. Caleb, too. I don’t know what happened before the bear attack, but the two men appear to be on good terms now.

  My mind keeps straying to our kiss. Kisses. I do my best to ignore the equal parts of thrill and terror that thunder through me. It’s my job to get my people off the Lost Coast. I can’t do that if I’m mooning over Ben like a high school idiot.

  “Maybe we should ditch Arcata and move out here,” Susan says. “At least we know there are bears to eat.”

  She hikes behind me, her gait uneven with her swollen ankle. She seems to have found a rhythm she can maintain. The fact that she’s upbeat enough to talk is a good sign.

  “We can live in tents,” I reply.

  “Tree houses,” Susan replies. “I’m not living on the ground where things can eat me. I can’t wait to tell Gary I ate bear.”

  We pass a primitive campground overlooking the ocean. There are a few pieces of driftwood for benches and fire rings that haven’t seen a fire in months. There is no sign of people, no tents or backpacks of supplies for us to scavenge. We continue by without slowing.

  The next campground we see will be Usal Beach at the southern terminus of the Lost Coast. That’s where we need to reach. I estimate we have ten to twelve miles before us. If I can keep everyone moving at a brisk pace, we should be able to make the journey in three to four hours.

  The group falls silent as we hike, everyone focused on the job of moving. I monitor them, making sure to take regular breaks for food and water. We’ve been forced to fill our water bladders from the streams. The Lost Coast is remote enough that I’m not too worried about water-borne illnesses. Even so, I lament the lack of purification tablets and a proper means to boil water.

  Three-and-a-half hours later, the group grinds to an abrupt halt. The sun has just started to rise, filling the Lost Coast with soft gray light. It’s just enough for us to fully see the magical sight before us.

  We stand in awed silence as the trail opens up to reveal an ancient grove of giant redwood trees. Verdant green moss and ferns crawl across the ground and up the trunks of the most amazing trees I’ve ever seen. They have wide, squat trunks, each one adorned with a dozen or more crowns that pierce the sky like giant forks.

  The trees stand in silent witness to our presence. All we can hear is our own breathing. Not a single leaf or animal rustles. The lack of sound presses in on all sides. It feels like the gentlest, softest, baby’s blanket.

  “What is this place?” Reed asks in a hush voice.

  “The candelabra grove.” My heart lifts. In all my years of trail running, I’ve never seen a sight like this. In the panic and craziness of the last twenty-four hours, I’d forgotten all about the legendary candelabra grove. It’s part of the reason the Lost Coast was on my bucket list.

  Frederico, I think, wherever you are, I hope you can see this.

  “This is a redwood grove, but it’s the only one of its kind in the world,” I explain. “These trees were formed by the coastal wind storms over hundreds of years. Every time a gale broke off a crown, the trunk would produce another one. Each new crown had to contort itself to find an upward path to the sun around the main trunk.”

  The result is the massive trunks spread before of us, each of them peppered with a myriad of crowns the stretch skyward. They resemble candelabras. Hence the name of this place: the candelabra grove.

  In the death and madness of the apocalypse, we’ve found a tiny slice of magic. Standing beneath the ancient grove gives me hope. It’s a reminder that not everything in the world has been rendered with rot and ruin. It’s possible to live, survive, and thrive. If these trees survived the logging massacre and everything else that has come and gone over the last five hundred years, we puny humans have a shot at making it, too. We have a shot at turning into something beautiful. Someday.

  “I’ll be damned.” Ben’s shoulder brushes mine as he comes to stand beside me. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Really?” I tilt my head at him in surprise. “You’ve been all over the world.”

  “In the Middle East and Africa. Nothing magic out there.” His voice drops to his usual grumpy mutter. “Just assholes and sand.”

  Caleb, who overhears, raises an eyebrow. “Still plenty of sand and assholes around here.”

  Everyone laughs. I relax into the moment, taking in the rare beauty. For once, we aren’t running for our lives. We aren’t hungry. We aren’t slinking around zombies or fighting them.

  Dry sky, ancient candelabra grove, and family. It’s perfect.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Susan’s eyes are bright as she limps past me for a better look at the trees.

  “No. What does it mean?”

  She grins over her shoulder. “The candelabra grove is the end of the Lost Coast. Usal Beach and campground will be right on the other side of the grove.”

  My mouth falls open. In my wonder of the grove, my brain hadn’t processed this piece of information. It only takes a moment for the shock to turn to joy.

  “You mean we made it? We survived?” Reed asks.

  “You can say that as soon as we get to Usal Beach,” Susan says. “Do
n’t jinx us.”

  “It means you all completed your first ultramarathon.” Pride fills me. I glance down at my watch and do a rough estimation of the miles behind us. “I think it’s safe to say you guys traveled roughly thirty-three miles in twelve hours. That includes the time we stopped to build a fire and—” I throw a smile in Ben’s direction “—kill a bear.”

  Eric lets out a whoop of joy. He and Reed slap high fives. They race down the trail. The rest of the group hustles after them, all of them energized by the first official finish line of our journey. This is a first ultramarathon for all of them.

  The trail and its ancient trees swallow my people. I’m about to run after them when I feel Ben’s hand close around mine.

  I stay back with him. We haven’t had a moment alone since our kiss over the bear carcass. It’s unlikely we’ll have another anytime soon.

  “How long until Rosario’s deadline?” he asks.

  I hold up my watch so he can see it. It reads twenty-three hours and fifty-six minutes. Alvarez only has four minutes until Rosario’s deadline. “I didn’t want to ruin their moment by telling them. They survived hell.”

  Their accomplishment would be short lived, unfortuantely. We may have reached the end of the Lost Coast, but we still have a long way to go.

  “We’ll get to Fort Ross.” Ben puts an arm around my shoulders. “Alvarez will manage until we get there.”

  I let out a long sigh and lean into his solid warmth. “I know.”

  “Alvarez has survived this long without you to babysit him. He can hang in there another twenty-four hours. Or however long it takes us to get there. And we just survived the Lost Coast so quit sulking.”

  Ben is right. When I look up, he gives me his eye-crinkle smile.

  “This thing between us,” he says. “I’m not dropping it. Just so you know.”

  “You’re not dropping it?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I think that may be the most unromantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “You know I’m not good with words.” He huffs in annoyance, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m trying to say I’d take a bullet for you, Kate. A thousand times over, any day of the week. You look after all the little shitheads, but all I want to do is look after you. You know how hard you make that? For fuck’s sake, look at where we are.” He jabs a finger at the trees around us, scowling. “You make it damn hard for a man who just wants to make sure you see the next sunrise, you know that?”