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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.
His 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?
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.