The Coast

Our group was small compared to most and we called it a family. Probably because each of us, in one way or another, lacked a real one. Some of us had lost our parents. Others had lost children, or siblings, in the fires or the floods.

I was almost 13 when I was drafted into the Corps. A government-run relief effort built on two things: building and rebuilding.

If I had to dig one more shallow grave in that ash that never stopped smelling like burnt hair, I was going to kill myself. Near the beginning of my fourth year, I decided that I would go AWOL and escape the harsh conditions of the Corps. I didn’t have to jump any fences or tunnel under any walls to escape. I guess they figured that nobody would try because there was nowhere to escape to.

I had been planning my escape for weeks. After chow, I waited until dark to make my move. I stretched my legs, and tightened my boots. Then I packed up my bedroll, filled my canteen, and walked off alone, hungry and afraid.

The air was so hot and dry that my sweat sublimated directly into the dark night, and my breaths came short and shallow as I moved through the redwood desert of what was once Northern California. Some of the giants were still alive, but most stood as burnt skeletons. The forest floor had hardened years ago, and hot winds kicked up dust until I could barely see.

I found a burnt-out scar cavity in one of the Sequoias, laid out my bedroll and made it home for the night. I lay there listening to the forest settle. The burnt wood creaked and popped in the cooling air like an old house. My mind drifted back to the guys in the Corps. Did anybody notice I was gone? I wondered if anybody even cared. I decided it didn’t matter either way. I wasn’t going back there, ever.

When I woke up I was famished. I broke a small piece of stale bread from the loaf I had smuggled in my bedroll and washed it down with a sip of water. I had to conserve both, it was at least a three day walk to the coast.

Back in the Corps we had heard rumors about a small town that survived the flood on the coast near Eureka. I didn’t believe that a whole town could’ve survived, but the team leaders swore it had. I didn’t care what I found on the coast as it wasn’t forced labor. I was free now and that’s what mattered most.

There was no breeze and the morning sun was casting tall orange shafts and ladders in the haze between the trees. It reminded me of the stained glass windows at church when I was a kid, and an overwhelming feeling of hope welled up in my chest after breakfast. I picked up an old pine needle, rubbed it a few times between my fingers with my shirt and dropped it in a small puddle in a knot of wood on a fallen tree. The needle slowly turned clockwise.

I rubbed the dust out of my eyes and started heading west.

I quickly made my way through the burnt-out, cavern-like interior of the old forest, stopping every few hours to catch my breath and to take a sip of water, or to nibble my bread. I walked all day through the hot, dusty air.

The deep red light from the sunset painted the creaky woods in blood, and it frightened me. I found shelter fast in a hollow log and went to sleep. I woke up every hour to check my surroundings, snapping my head from side to side.

I didn’t dare dream. I didn’t have to.

I started off again before dawn. It was cooler then, and I couldn’t sleep anyway. There was something different about the morning light. This time the sun was casting dark shadows of the tangled branches on the bleak, grey desert floor.

The forest turned into a maze. The walls bent sideways. Was I turned around? Was I still headed west?

I couldn’t be sure, and for some reason I couldn’t find any pine needles.

My canteen was nearly empty. I tilted it back and let the last warm mouthful sit on my tongue before swallowing. I looked for my bread. It wasn’t there. Had I eaten it this morning without thinking? I couldn’t remember. I started to panic.

I heard a loud crack, then a scream.

It sent me running. I moved without direction until I ran out of breath.

I could have sworn I heard footsteps coming after me. Or were they just echoes of my own?

Shadows shifted in the corners of my eyes. Every time I turned, there was nothing.

That’s when I saw them.

About five hundred meters back, I could make out a group of tall figures moving silently towards me.

My chest burned as I tried to breathe.

My thighs trembled and threatened to give out. My hands went numb.

I ripped the bedroll off my back and threw it to the side, as I pushed myself forward.

The shadows crept in at the edges of my vision.

Then everything went black.

I woke to muffled whispers.

Children were laughing somewhere outside.

I was lying on a soft, linen-covered mattress beneath a quilted cotton blanket. My vision was blurred, but I could tell I was indoors.

I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t.

I thought I heard my father telling me to relax, but it couldn’t be him. He died with my mother in the flood.

I reached out anyway, and a hand caught mine.

Someone lifted a cup to my lips. A woman’s voice told me to drink.

Her palm rested on my forehead. Cool. Steady.

She ran her fingers through my hair, and told me that everything was going to be alright.

My vision slowly cleared.

I could smell salt in the air.

Somehow… I made it to the coast.