Just as he turns to exit the shelter, Kate bursts into view. She runs hard through the brush, juggling five hydration bladders in her arms.
“Take off your shirt,” she yells as soon as she sees him.
“What?”
“The shirt. Your shirt. Take it off,” she orders.
He doesn’t ask questions. He would have added it to the blanket efforts if it wasn’t so thick and would take too long to dry. From the urgency in Kate’s face, he knows she has a plan. Hell if he’s going to get in the way of that.
He peels off his damp fatigue shirt as Kate dashes into the shelter. She sees the blazing fire and nods in approval.
“Where’s Eric?” she asks.
“I’m here.” Eric hurries into the shelter, cradling an armload of wood.
“You three.” She points a finger at Ben, Reed, and Eric. “I want you each to grab a corner of Ben’s shirt. Hold it over the fire.” She sets her pile of bladders on the ground, pausing only long enough to press a hand to Ash’s forehead. “Hang on, girl,” she murmurs.
Caleb lifts anguished eyes to her. Kate gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
As she grabs one water bladder and approaches the fire, Ben suddenly understands what her plan is.
Kate empties the full bladder of water onto the shirt. The camouflage fabric bows downward, creating a bowl above the flames. A few droplets sizzle down into the flames, but the majority of the liquid remains trapped in the tight weave of the shirt.
“Fucking brilliant.” Admiration washes through him.
Kate flashes him a quick smile before turning a worried frown back in Ash’s direction. “It hasn’t worked yet.”
No one says anything. They all stare at the water in the center of Ben’s shirt.
“A watched pot never boils,” Eric says, breaking the silence.
“This isn’t a pot,” Ben says, right as Kate says, “We don’t want it to boil. We just need to warm it up enough so we can fill the bladders back up and put them next to Ash’s skin.”
“The fire is helping,” Caleb says. “Her stomach is finally starting to warm up.” He runs a hand up one of her arms. “Her arms too.”
Twenty minutes later, Kate holds the first bladder of warm water out to Caleb. He sandwiches it between his chest and Ash’s back, never loosening his desperate grip on the young woman in his arms.
Kate grabs the next bladder and empties it into the shirt. “One down,” she murmurs.
“How did you think of this?” Reed asks.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Oh, now you have to tell us,” Eric says. “You can’t get cryptic on us.”
Kate stares into the flames, not answering.
“Mama,” Reed wheedles.
She gives him a small smile. “My imaginary friend helped me out.”
Ben can’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “Your what?”
“My imaginary friend. He visited me while I was filling the water bladders and told me how I could heat the water.”
If her face wasn’t dead serious, and if Ben didn’t know her as well as he did, he would say she was full of shit. But Kate doesn’t spin fancy stories. She doesn’t lie, either.
“Do you guys know what a jackalope is?”
Ben listens in astonishment as she tells them about a rabbit with antlers that appears to her in times of great physical stress. She tells them about the time she ran some crazy race in Death Valley in the middle of the summer. That was the first time the jackalope appeared.
Then she tells them about her thirty-mile journey through the Avenue of the Giants. It’s the first time Ben has ever heard her share details of her two-hundred-mile trek from her hometown to Arcata. Johnny would be out of his fucking mind right now if he was here.
She shares a story of ripping off the antlers of her imaginary jackalope and drop-kicking the little beast into the woods. Eric’s eyes bug behind his glasses when she tells this part. Ben is pretty sure his eyes might be bugging a little, too.
At some point on her trek through the Avenue of the Giants, she and the little creature had made up. The jackalope helped Kate say goodbye her to husband and her best friend. She stares into the fire as she speaks, not bothering to wipe away the few tears that leak down her cheeks.
Ben feels fissures crack open inside him as Kate talks. He feels her pain. It echoes so much of what he carries around.
“That,” Reed proclaims when Kate finishes talking, “is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
Kate shrugs. “I hate that little fucker. But he’s been there when I needed him. He’s helping us save Ash.”
“Is he still here?” Ben frowns out into the darkness, as though he might find a horned rabbit staring back at him.
“No. He left right after he delivered his message.”
“Does he have a name?” Eric asks.
“No. He’s just the jackalope. That was Frederico’s nickname for me for years.”
No one says anything. They all know about Frederico. She’s talked about him more in the last ten minutes than she has in all the months Ben has known her.
“Eric is right,” Caleb says. “We need to name him. I think he may have saved Ash’s life. Her skin is really warming up now.”
Kate sticks her finger into the water balancing over the fire. “This batch is almost ready. We can keep rotating the bladders and make sure they stay warm.”
“We’re naming the jackalope,” Reed declares. “How about Randy?”
“Randy?” Ben furrows his brow.
“I don’t know. It just came into my head.
“That’s a stupid-ass name,” Eric says. “How about Hopper?”
“Hopper?” Ben scowls across the fire. He hadn’t realized it could get any worse than Randy, but it just did.
“Creekside?”
Every head in the clearing jerks around. Ash’s eyes are slits as she blinks blearily.
“You’re awake.” Kate kneels next to her, running a hand over the younger woman’s forehead and arm. “You’re warmer.”
“I want to name your jackalope,” Ash murmurs, voice slurred. “He saved my life.”
As Kate gazes down at Ash, every line of her body says just how much she cares about her people. The curve of her cheek as she smiles. The gentle hand on Ash’s forearm. The line of her back as she leans in to kiss Ash’s forehead.
Ben can’t take his eyes off her. He never knew it was possible for one person to care so much about others. It radiates off Kate in waves. It’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever seen.
Kate sits back, smiling at Ash. “I’ll give you the privilege of naming my imaginary friend.”
“Creekside,” Ash whispers. “His name is Creekside. He got you to us in Arcata. He’s our guardian spirit.”
“Creekside,” Caleb echoes. “That’s a great name.”
Kate stiffens, her eyes traveling past Ash and Caleb. Ben’s hand flies to the gun holstered at his side. He flips up the safety strap and slides it out.
He stares past Kate, trying to see whatever it is that she sees. He scans the clump of lupine bushes that sag in the rain, purple flowers bowed under the unending barrage. He scans the knee-high brush and the tight knot of trees that shelters them.
Then Kate does something unusual. Mouth twisting into a grimace, she extends one middle finger into the air.
Everyone stares at her in shock.
Then Reed bursts out laughing. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Kate turns her back on the empty space of air she just flipped off.
“Creekside?” Eric says. “Really?” He squints at the empty space behind Ash and Caleb.
“Yep.” Kate’s expression is a mixture of a grimace and a chagrined smile. “He wants you all to know he likes his name. Oh, and he wants me to make sure you all know how awesome he is. He may have even thumped his chest. Two times.”
The bizarre conve
rsation finally catches up with Ben.
A jackalope. A horned bunny, for Christ’s sake. It talks to Kate, and she tells him to fuck off with her middle finger.
He feels something rise in his chest, a pressure worming its way upward.
Before he realizes what’s happening, a chuckle slips past his lips. Five sets of eyes turn to him in surprise.
Another chuckle bubbles up. Then another, until he’s bent over roaring with laughter.
“I’m sorry,” he wheezes between guffaws. “It’s just nice to know I’m not the only one out of my goddamn mind.”
Kate bursts out laughing. It’s the first genuine smile she’s given him since that disastrous birthday kiss. Their eyes lock.
And even though he’s soaking wet in the middle of the woods with nothing on but a pair of pants, Ben is suddenly warm from head to toe.
62
Deal with It
BEN
The fire continues to blaze. Ben sits with his back against a Douglas fir, staring into the flames.
Everyone is curled up on their sides, asleep. The rain has finally stopped. His clothes have mostly dried out.
He likes watching Kate sleep. She looks good when she isn’t worried all the time. She lies on the ground next to Ash, one hand entwined in the younger woman’s.
It’s well past time for Ben to pass his watch shift to Reed. He doesn’t bother. It’s not like he can sleep anyway, and Reed snores blissfully on the ground. At least someone out here should benefit from a good night sleep. And the quiet time has given him a chance to clean the weapons still in their possession.
Something moves. Ben shifts, then relaxes as Caleb gets to his feet. The young man moves gingerly, not wanting to disturb Ash. He walks to the edge of the firelight and turns his back to take a piss.
“I’ve been holding that for hours,” Caleb says to no one in particular, letting out a long sigh of relief.
“It’s the last good piss you’re going to have for a while,” Ben replies. “We’re all out of potable water.”
Caleb pulls his shorts back into place and turns. “I should probably care about that, but I don’t. I’ll drink out of the creeks and streams.” The younger man stretches his arms, eyeing Ben from across the fire.
When Ben looks at Caleb, he realizes he doesn’t feel hatred and loathing anymore. For the first time, he sees Caleb for what he really is: a young man no more than twenty-two or twenty-three years old. A young man with a good heart who hadn’t chosen his friends as wisely as he should.
Fuck. When do young men ever do anything wise? Ben had more than his share of loser friends throughout his life. More than his fair share of bad decisions, too. And not just when he was a young man.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Caleb asks.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t think I’m the first-born of Satan.”
The darkness moves behind Caleb.
Ben blinks, realizing how exhausted he is. How long has he been awake? Twenty-four hours, at least, if not longer. Maybe he’s starting to hallucinate like Kate.
The darkness continues to move. A rancid smell wafts through camp.
“What’s the smell?” Caleb asks, wrinkling his nose.
The smell hits Ben full in the face. It’s like walking past a dumpster in a dark alley. No way in hell a hallucination can smell like death.
“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’ve 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.”
Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 92
