by C. M. Wright
"You stupid son-of-a-bitch! You could have killed her!" Who is the "her" he's talking about? Me? I should really say something now, but I just can't get my mouth to open. "Move her over. I'm getting in and don't even think about arguing with me."
I hear scary-sounding groaning and then a gunshot from the direction the second man had been as my body is moved closer to the first man. I guess I'm sitting up. I'm really not all that sure.
I feel the heat from the second man's body as he slides on the seat next to me, then I hear a door slam shut. I hear and feel him move so that most of his body is leaning over me and I feel his breath on my face. I can still hear the first man sobbing with pain and I want so badly to reassure him that I'm ok.
But for some reason, I can't do shit. Maybe I'm not ok.
The second man opens one of my eyelids and eventually my eye focuses on him. Aw, he's so pretty. He has such pretty eyes, too. He lets go of my eyelid and I'm disappointed that I can't see him anymore. So I struggle and finally get both eyes open at least enough to be able to see most of him.
"Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" I have to tear my gaze from his face, and with irritation from being made to look away, I quickly say three and immediately go back to studying his face.
"What year is this?" I open my mouth to answer and then stop. What year is this? I know I should know this, so I drop my gaze from his face so I can concentrate, but I still can't think of it. The harder I try to think, the worse the pain in my head gets. I look back at the pretty man and shrug.
His face becomes more concerned and then he says, "Ok. That's ok. Try this one. Who's the president?"
I know this!
"Bush!" I exclaim, quite proud of myself-but he looks even more worried. Uh oh. I think I'm failing this test.
Then he asks me what my name is, what his name is, and what the other man's name is. At each question I feel frustration build because I can't tell him. Obviously, I should know my own name and from his reaction, I should know their names, too. But I don't. And with each question I have to struggle with, the pain gets worse and worse until I can't stand it! I grab my head with both hands and moan. Even moaning hurts!
I see the other man punch the dash next to the steering wheel and I jump, then look at him. Why is he so angry?
"I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me. I'll try to remember you!" I beg him.
The man in front of me shoots the other man a cold look and tells him to "cool his shit."
The man who punched the dash turns to me and puts his hands on my cheeks.
"I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself. I'm so sorry, Canada. Damn it! I'm so sorry!"
I look back at him in confusion, not understanding what he's sorry about. "Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything." He opens his mouth to answer but the other man stops him.
I look from one man to the other and then something registers that the man behind the steering wheel had said. "Why did you call me Canada? Is that a nickname for me because I'm Canadian?"
"No, sweetheart," the man in front of me says and the man behind the wheel gives a low and almost inaudible growl just after the other man calls me sweetheart. But I heard it and I know the other man heard it, too, because his jaw clenches, but he doesn't respond or react to it.
"Canada is your actual name. Does it sound familiar to you at all?" Pretty-eyes asks me.
I think about it. I say it in my head. I say it aloud. But shake my head at the man. He smiles gently at me and tells me it's ok. It doesn't matter right now.
I'm sorry, maybe it's just me, but not knowing my own name seems rather important.
"Let's just get out of here and then we can talk about all this, ok? There is one thing you do need to know about right now. Does the word 'zombie' mean anything to you?" I stare at him to see if he's serious. He looks serious. Why in the world is he asking about zombies at a time like this?
I let out a laugh and ask, "Like in the movies? Of course. Everyone knows about zombies." My amusement fades as I take in his expression. He's deadly serious and it scares me, even though I don't know why.
"Ok, in normal circumstances, I shouldn't do this because of the risk of shock to your already damaged head, but this is far from normal and I have to tell you. We had a problem a few days ago and we now have zombies taking over. But I'm going to keep you safe―"
"And I will, too." The pretty man shoots the angry man a very dirty look and the angry man drops his head. I look back at the pretty man.
"You're kidding! That can't really happen. Zombies aren't real. And I don't feel so good so I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do this right now, ok?"
"I wish I were kidding, but I'm not. I'm going to move away so you can see them but I want you to know that you are safe and I swear to you, I will not let anything happen to you."
I stare into his eyes and I feel real fear spread throughout my body even though my mind is in denial that this isn't real and for some reason this beautiful man is screwing with my head. My very, very painful head.
He moves slowly, but I don't take my eyes from him, afraid to look. When he's no longer in front of me, he takes my hand gently in his own and tells me to "look". I slowly and gently shake my pounding head "no" and he moves to sit beside me. Putting his arm around me and pulling me close to him, he tells me again to "look".
Very slowly, I lift my eyes and look out the windshield. What I see is the last thing I see before everything goes black again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I slowly open my eyes and pain stabs my head. Slamming my eyelids closed again, I moan. I bring my hand up to my forehead and feel a bandage, sticky with what I assume is blood. I become aware of being held on someone's lap and big muscular arms wrapped around me. My head is tucked against his neck.
I again try to open my eyes, and this time, manage just enough to be able to see a limited view. I see black clothing on the person holding me and I move my head back and look up at him. It's the beautiful man. To be honest, the other one may be beautiful, too. I didn't get a real good look at him, though. I'm gonna have to do that. I also realize we are now in the backseat, and the other one is alone in the front, driving.
The beautiful man looks down at me, and smiles.
"How are you feeling?" he asks me.
"My head is killing me. What happened to me?"
"You tried to beat the windshield in a contest to see which of you has the thickest shell. Unbelievable as it may seem, and it's definitely hard for me to believe, you seem to have lost."
I grin at him and he grins back. Oh, wow! Killer grin!
"And you seem to have a bit of amnesia." Really? I've never had amnesia before. Or have I? This is so weird and scary.
"What's your name?" I ask him as I snuggle deeper into his chest.
He shifts a little and coughs, then says in a strangled voice, "Jake. My name is Jake." I say his name aloud a few times but it just doesn't ring a bell. I sure hope I'm not his girlfriend or something. That would be a shitty thing for him to have to deal with.
My gaze lands on an engagement ring and wedding band set on my finger and my body jerks with the horrifying realization that I'm married! Putting all the things I know together such as-this man is holding me, he obviously cares about me, he called me sweetheart, and seems to know me pretty well-I come to the conclusion that this beautiful man is my husband.
Feeling very satisfied with myself for figuring something out on my own-and hoping I can make him feel better after the shock of finding out his own wife doesn't know his name-I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me. His eyes widen and he stops to raise his head and look toward the front. Then he looks back at me and stares into my eyes. I feel almost hypnotized by his own. They are so intense.
He lowers his head slowly toward mine, and stops a few inches away, his eyes full of questions and uncertainty. I smile at him and give him a light tug and his lips come down and meet my own. The kiss deepens and we both sig
h against the others lips at the same time, which causes us to grin at each other when we break apart. He comes back down for more and I feel love burst through me. Yep. Definitely my husband.
Too soon, he pulls away and lets out a shaky breath, his gaze going back to the front. I struggle to sit up more and he helps me but keeps me on his lap. I look around outside, remembering the zombies. We are moving down a highway and there's a semi in front of us. Jake tells me there is another semi ahead of the one I see and other vehicles-and that a lot of these people are my family.
That excites and scares me at the same time. More people I have to disappoint and hurt if I don't remember them. I briefly think that I should ask him who they are and learn some things about them, but my head's still pounding and I just can't deal with it yet. But there is one thing I really need to know.
"Jake?"
"Yeah, Babe?"
I lean in close to his ear because I don't want the other guy to know how horrible a person I am for not knowing the answer to my next question, no matter that I have amnesia.
"Do we have any kids?" I whisper.
Jake jerks back slightly, and shoots a quick look into the front again. I turn and see his reflection in the mirror, and I see the other man's worried eyes looking back at us. Confused, I turn back to Jake. He looks at me and pulls me close to him, bringing his lips to my ear.
"Two boys, Bo and Ashton. Bo is fourteen and Ash is eleven. You rescued a baby girl who has no one else but her two-year-old brother, Kaleb, and your family. Her name is Grace." I feel the kids names out on my tongue and I'm ashamed as hell when I remember nothing.
"Jake? Am I ever going to remember anything?"
"Probably," I'm confused by the disappointed tone in his voice, but he continues before I can mention it. "Just don't push it. The headaches will most likely get worse if you do. Here. Sit on the seat for a minute. I need to talk to Will." He helps me move from his lap to the seat as my mind races.
Will. The name of the other man. I felt something when Jake said his name. But what? It was too brief, so I repeat the name, in my thoughts first, and quietly aloud when that produces nothing more. I still get a stirring in my brain but I can't latch onto anything specific. Then the shooting sharp pain forces me to give up.
I stretch out on the seat and rest my pounding head on the pillow Jake had placed at one end. For a few moments, I watch the back of their heads and try to hear what they're saying-but all I can hear are the angry tones. Giving in to the pain, I close my eyes and pass out.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Will's Point Of View
I watch my wife and that asshole from the rearview mirror. She's sitting on his lap and they're whispering who-knows-what in each others ear. The rage inside me is boiling to a point it scares me, but the guilt and shame of almost killing my wife far outweighs the rage.
I can't believe I let my anger take over like that! I could have lost the most important person in my life! I could have killed our boys' mother! How would I ever have been able to look them in the face again? Hell, it's going to be hard enough now, since it's my own stupidity that got her hurt and caused her not be able to remember anything...or anyone.
My guilt makes me keep my mouth shut and my anger hidden as I watch my wife, who has no idea she even is my wife, in the arms of another man. I have no idea how to handle the amnesia or the head injury itself, but Jake seems to. I hate him with every part of me, but I need my wife to be ok. I know head injuries can still kill a person hours, days, weeks or even longer from the time of injury. But does the son-of-a-bitch have to hold her in his lap? Touch her beyond medical purposes?
I see Canada move off his lap and the tightness in my chest eases, slightly. Then I watch as Jake climbs over the front seat and settles in.
"How's my wife?" I ask through clenched teeth. It kills me to have to refer to him over anything to do with my own wife.
"She's not good, Will. I'm afraid her being around all these people will either set her back further or cause more damage than she'll be able to recover from."
My gut clenches into hot fire.
"What do you suggest we do?" I ask him.
Jake gives a snort and a short bark of laughter. Looking at me with a smirk, he says, "You? Haven't you done enough, Will? Are you going to keep it up until she is gone for good? You've got to be kidding me."
I look away from his face full of cockiness and hatred. He's right. I'm obviously not worth a damn at keeping my own wife safe.
"Then what do you suggest you do? Regardless of what happened, I'm still her husband, Jake. I'm not going to let you push me out of her life."
"Unfortunately, Will, that may be exactly what needs to be done."
I jerk my head toward him and give him a sharp look. "What the hell do you mean?"
"She needs to be away from too many people and noise until she recovers a little more. She has, and will have, migraines for awhile. Each one she has can cause more damage. Her family is amazing and would do anything for her, but there are just so many of them, and too many kids who won't understand the need to be quiet. I'm going to have to take her somewhere quiet and safe until the migraines are gone and maybe she might even get some memories back."
"I'm not leaving you alone with my wife, Jake, and no amount of guilt is going to change that. I will fight you on this."
"Fine. But there's something you need to know, and I need to know that I can trust you to accept it and control yourself, because if you interfere, you may never get your wife back. So decide how much she really means to you, and then really-for once-prove it."
With dread and a clenched jaw, I ask, "What is it then, Jake?"
He looks at me and then drops a massive bomb straight on my heart.
"She thinks she and I are married, Will." A slow cocky grin transforms his face. "And she has to be free to think that, without interference."
"Bullshit!" I explode.
I fumble through my pockets searching for my gun, blinding rage making me unable to focus on exactly where I put it. Jake grabs my wrist and I jerk away in anger. I make a fist and am just about to slam it into his face, when his next words stop me.
"Will, I think you'd better calm down. you're not going to help her. You know? Your wife? The one you could easily have killed back there? And still might."
I loosen my fist and drop my arm to my leg. My whole body is shaking from rage, fear, frustration, guilt, and so much more I can't even name.
Why does my wife like this asshole so much? Am I the only one who can see he's more than a little messed up in the head? Or do pretty faces and big muscles cause all women to go blind and stupid in the head?
"I can call her family. A lot of them have medical backgrounds. They can help her without all this bullshit," I tell him.
"Look, you know if you call any of her family members, they will insist on taking her back to her sister's with all that noise, all the drama, and the kids. You would only be ensuring her death, or at the very least, her permanent memory-loss. Is that what you want, Will? Being in the military, I had to deal with my men who had bombs explode too close to them, bullets lodged into their heads that didn't kill them, but gave them many injuries-including amnesia. I've had too much experience with this and you're just going to have to trust me if you want your wife back."
"Her mom and two of her sisters are nurses. They would know what to do and what can cause her more harm," I insist.
"Will, think about that. This is their daughter and sister. Do you think they will be able to remain emotionally detached from her? Hell, Will, you know she's nothing to me. Sure, I like women, and I'd sleep with her in a heartbeat only because she's a woman. I don't care who she is. I don't have anything to keep me from making decisions and giving her the care she needs." Jake grins. "Oh, don't get pissed, Will. I'm not going to sleep with her, I'm just letting you know that she's nothing special to me. Be grateful someone cares enough just to want to help but no more."
I thin
k about what he said for a minute or two. I don't believe him, of course. I know he'd sleep with her the first chance he got. But I don't know shit about amnesia, and I suppose being in war, he probably did have to deal with injuries like this. So maybe he does know what he's talking about.
And I guess I can understand what he's saying about her family. Don't they say doctors shouldn't give emergency care to family because of that very reason? So I guess that makes sense. But I'm still not leaving her alone with him. He can kiss my ass if he thinks I will.
"Alright. Fine. But wherever she goes, I go, Jake. I'm not letting you talk me out of that. I won't say anything about your "marriage" to my wife on one condition-you keep your filthy damn hands off her. Don't even think about sleeping with her. I mean that, Jake. I'll fucking kill you."
The asshole grins at me and I want to smash that pretty face of his.
"Alright. I won't touch her in any way except to treat her. Unless she comes to me wanting her "husband" to hold her. Of course, I can't very well refuse her without screwing with her head even more, now can I? Call her mom and tell her we are going to try and find more ammo. The less she knows the better."
I really don't feel comfortable keeping things about her own daughter from her, so this goes against every instinct in me. But if Jake's right, and he can help Canada, I'll do whatever I have to in order to save her...except let Jake become her husband in any other way but in her own confused mind.
I call Canada's mom and tell her what Jake said to tell her. No one has any idea what had happened, at least not the amnesia part of it, and I'm sure no one but maybe the ones in Jake's vehicle saw when Canada slammed into the windshield. So I'm not surprised when my mother-in-law asks only about her daughter's foot.
I reassure her that Canada is ok and that we will take care of her and she tells us to be safe and then we hang up. I slowly lower the phone, regretting the deception.
"Alright. Next exit, take it," Jake says.