by C. M. Wright
I arrange the pillows and sit back against them, but before I've even gotten past the title page, Larry is back with a large platter of food, two forks, and napkins. He places the food on the bed and hands me a glass of cran-grape juice. I take a sip. Then take a drink. Then I empty the glass.
Whoa! That shit was good!
I stare into the glass - so sad to see that the sweet fruity drink has somehow disappeared. I look up at Larry with probably the same look a child gives when their scoop of ice cream falls off their cone. He laughs at me and leaves the room. When he comes back a minute later, he has two large plastic containers of the sweet nectar in his hands. My face lights up and I tell him profusely how much I love him, how he's my best friend, and that I am forever his faithful servant as I hold out my glass eagerly and impatiently for a refill.
Larry laughs again as he pours the drink, then places the containers on the table next to me, before walking around to the other side of the bed. He climbs up and sits, leaning his back against the headboard. Then he picks up the food platter and offers some to me. The plate is loaded with fried spam, cheese cuts, fruit, and crackers.
I have to be honest and say I probably ate more than he did. It was just so good and I was starving! He doesn't seem to mind though. Actually, he seems happy to see me eat, so I couldn't disappoint him, now could I? Yep. That is the only reason I pigged out. Really!
Full for the first time in a long time, I start feeling sleepy. I want nothing more than to sink down in the bed and read until I pass out. Larry however, has other plans.
He wants to talk. About? I have no idea. I'm struggling to pay attention, but I think I fall asleep a few times. Then a few minutes later, I feel someone shaking me awake. It's Larry and I want to punch him in his damn nose for waking me.
"Canada, I have to leave now."
"Good. Go away."
He laughs. "Hon, I need you to wake up and listen to me."
"Good God, Larry! I just got to sleep and it can't be dark enough to go any damn place yet. Shut up and take a nap." I growl at him and then turn back to my side, pulling the covers over my head.
I hear him laugh once again and I picture myself punching him...once again.
"Canada, you've been asleep for four hours."
I struggle to sit up quickly, arms and blankets flying everywhere.
"What! Seriously? Damn." I'm finally untangled and sitting up in the bed. My eyes are wild, as is my hair most likely. I push my hair back out of my face and look up at Larry, who's standing next to me, a huge grin on his face.
"I know you needed the rest, and I hated having to wake you, but I have to go now; you need to be awake and alert. Are you awake and alert, Canada?"
"I guess. But I really gotta go to the bathroom!" I tell him as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Forgetting the weight of the cast, I yelp when it slams to the floor. Larry helps me stand and then offers to help me to the bathroom.
My mind immediately flashes back to Jake and I start shaking. Right now, it's not Larry standing in front of me, it's Jake. Jake, who will embarrass and humiliate me. Jake, who will hit and hurt me. Jake, who will take me away from my family and kill anyone I love. Jake...
I lash out at poor Larry, who is in no way expecting it. I get a few good jabs in before he wraps his arms around me and forces me on my back onto the bed. The weight of his body smashing down on me and his enraged - yet somehow still sweet and concerned - voice brings me back to the present. In horror, I stare up at him.
"Oh God, Larry! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I repeat over and over, guilty as hell over what I've done.
"It's ok. Just calm down and let me help you to the door of the bathroom. Deal? I don't know what you've gone through, but I can guess it hasn't been pretty - first the zombies and then the nut job out there." He raises himself off me and helps me get up again. "Now, come on before you wet yourself."
He grins at me and I smile back at him, though I'm still feeling guilty, and also a little embarrassed about the whole thing. But this embarrassment I can handle. When we reach the bathroom door, he releases me as soon as I'm steady and have hold of the door frame. I tell him thanks and hop inside. Once I've got the door shut I hop so fast to the toilet, it's amazing I don't fall and break something else. But I make it, do my business, then wash my hands and face. Finally, I leave the bathroom and return to the bedroom. Larry is standing next to the window, peeking out the curtain.
"How's it look out there?" I ask him.
"Bunch of brain-dead people wandering around, and a vehicle keeps driving by," he pauses and looks over at me. "A military vehicle."
I gasp and shake my head. "You've gotta be kidding me. Why does he think we're still here? Why hasn't he left?"
Larry shakes his head as he turns back to the window. "I have no idea, but I don't like it. Maybe I shouldn't go." He turns his head back to me.
I shake my head even harder this time. "No. You have to go, Larry. Let's not go through this again, ok? I'll be fine, but if he does happen to find me, I don't want you killed. And he will kill you, Larry. He'll kill anyone who gets in his way and anyone who loves me, so make damn sure my family doesn't come after me. No matter what. Tell them I'm dead. Tell them I'm an undead. I don't really care what you tell them, just don't let them come after me!"
Larry stares hard at me, and then finally looks away. He sighs and tells me he'd better get going then, making no promises to me. I sit on the chair beside the window and watch as he stashes his handguns in his pockets.
"Larry, I sure hope like hell you don't have to use those. That will lead Jake right to you. Maybe you should just take a chance and use the Hummer."
"Canada, you know I can't. Not until we - and that includes you - are ready to leave this area. We would never be able to lose him and get to my house. Just stay safe, ok?" Larry walks my way until he's standing in front of me. He raises his hands and places them on each side of my face. Then he leans forward and kisses my forehead. A gentle and sweet touch of his lips like a grandfather or father would give. I throw my arms around him and hug him tight. In this short time, he's become important to me. I don't want him to die; but I'm so afraid that's exactly what's going to happen.
But I release him and watch him leave - biting my tongue to keep from crying, or screaming, or begging him to stay. To not go. But he's gone, and now I'm all alone. No Mel this time. No Larry. No family. Just me.
Shit. I'm screwed.
I go over to the long dresser and start loading up my own pockets with guns after making sure they are all fully loaded. Then I throw every bit of the ammo in other pockets. Throwing the straps of the rifle and shotgun over my shoulder, I hop back to the chair by the window. As I'm hopping, I realize this isn't going to work. The weight of the guns and ammo on my left side where I have no workable foot throws me off balance. I hop carefully to the bed and unload most of the guns, then go on a search for a bag or something.
Finding nothing but a large bulky suitcase in this room, I move down the hall to the next room. It's a teens room, of that I have no doubt. Rock stars and bands posters are plastered on every available inch of the walls. CDs and DVDs are scattered everywhere.
This room is a mess! Soda cans, crumbled papers, empty chip and candy bags, dirty dishes, clothes, tissues, and bedding that is half on half off the bed. By the dirty underwear flung everywhere, it's obvious this is a boy's room.
I'm almost afraid to enter the room, but I see a black backpack sitting on his bed. Eyeing the crap on the floor, I try to determine if I can safely make it there and back without killing myself. Even if I still had two good feet, I have my doubts.
I look over my shoulder at the closed door behind me and decide to try that room first. When I swing the door open, I'm shocked at how clean and perfect this room is compared to the other. This one belonged to a teen girl, if the pink walls and the pictures of a certain boy taped to her mirror in every pose imaginable is any clue. I hop inside, and after a very short sea
rch, find her backpack sitting neatly in the closet. It's pink...and white. I love pink, it's my favorite color. But when trying to hide in the dark, light pink and white aren't going to help me out much.
But it's going to have to work. I really don't think I can get to the boys pack. I really, really don't. I grab the girls pack and empty it on her bed. But I put a notebook, a couple pens and pencils back inside. Then I hop back to the master bedroom and throw all but two handguns inside and all the ammo I had in my left pockets. After staring at it for a few seconds, I snatch up the book I had tried to read earlier and toss it in too.
Then I pick the pack up, swing it over my shoulder, and hop back to the bedroom. Throwing myself on the chair, I relax and get some breath back in me. When I can breathe normally again, I lean forward and peek out the side of the curtain. It's dark. Really dark. I see the poles for the street lights, but they're dark too. A few of the houses on this block have lights shining through the windows, and I wonder which ones have any living people inside...if any do. I stare hard in the windows at each of those homes and I do see movement, but is it the living or the dead? A couple dozen or so zombies are wandering around outside, but no sign of Jake.
I sit and watch for so long that my eyes start burning with the need to close them. After the second time my neck snaps from nodding off, I peek outside again, see nothing different, and stand. I hop to the bed, intending just to sit long enough to get some more juice. But when my butt hits the mattress, the rest of my body decides it wants a piece of it too.
It'll be alright to lie down for a few minutes. Just long enough to get rid of the worst part of the exhaustion. And exactly why am I so exhausted? I slept in the armory and took a four hour nap just a little while ago. So what the hell?
Of course, I've only been getting short naps here and there for days, so can I really blame my body for rebelling? Nope.
So I let my body relax - just a few minutes really won't hurt - and I close my eyes.
Chapter Twenty
I sigh and snuggle closer to Will, as he nibbles on my neck and pulls me close with his hand on my hip. I smile when I hear him groan and my eyes flutter open. My vision clears enough for me to see the thick curtains across the room, the chair sitting next to it, and a pink and white backpack on the floor.
A pink and white backpack full of guns. Guns for protection against zombies and Jake. Jake, who may have killed...WILL!
I jerk away from who I suspect is behind me, and look back over my shoulder. He's just lying there on his side, his upper body propped up with one arm, the rest of him relaxed and right at home. His face is lit up with a big smile. A smug smile. I gasp and jerk further away and end up crashing to the floor on my side. I roll onto my back and see Jake staring down at me from the bed.
"Bet that hurt," he says, with an even bigger grin.
I swing my head to where the backpack is sitting and wonder if I could possible make it to the pack in time, but then I remember I still have some guns in my fatigues. If I can distract Jake, maybe I can get to one and get it out.
"Sure didn't feel good, that's for sure." I start coughing. "Jake, I'm really thirsty, can you get me a glass of that juice on the table?"
Jake stares at me for so long that all the coughing I'm doing is truly making my throat hurt now. Finally he turns to pour the drink. I watch him as I move my hand to the nearest pocket, the one on my thigh, and my hand closes around the grip of the gun. I ease it out slowly, but when Jake puts the juice container down, I realize my times about up so I pull it out fast. But Jake is faster. He sweeps his fist down and across, making the gun fly to the other side of the room.
But his fists don't stop there. He slams it into my head and body over and over. I bring my arms up to protect my head, then roll out of his reach. But it doesn't take him long before he's off the bed and on top of me, stripping me of all my weapons and most of the ammo.
Jake straddles my body with his own and grabs my face with one hand, digging his thumb and finger deep in my face. Then he puts his face close to mine.
"That was fun. Wanna do it again?" His words are spoken low with anger, but with excitement too. Then he moves the last couple inches and crushes my lips with his own. I keep my mouth closed and try to turn my head away, but his strength far exceeds mine, even on a good day. I see his eyes flash with anger when I fight against him, and I prepare myself for more pain. But he surprises me when he releases my face and sits up. I watch him as he looks around the room and when his eyes focus on something, I turn my head to see what it is he's found. Immediately my eyes go to the backpack.
He lifts himself off of me, walks to the pack and opens it. Then he turns back to me and grins.
"Thanks for packing all this up for me. Appreciate the book too. Though I'm not really that much of a reader, I suppose you can read it and tell me all about it. I'm not sure if pink really goes with my complexion, what do you think?" He laughs and holds the pack up in front of his chest. Then shaking his head, he turns away to gather up all the guns he had taken from me.
My mind races as I try to come up with a way out of this, but I can't think of one damn thing. Without being able to move, what am I supposed to do?
After Jake gets the pack loaded and zipped, he swings it over his shoulder and comes back to me. He grabs my arm and pulls me up. Before I even have time to get a breath, he leans forward and catches my stomach with his shoulder, and hoists me up and over. He carries me with my head at his ass and his arm firmly around my legs. Then we leave the room.
Through the hall, down the stairs, and right out the front door. My terror increases when I hear the undead. I turn my head to the right and see one of the zombies close, and getting closer. I yell out to Jake to try to warn him, but apparently he's having fun scaring the hell out of me because he laughs, and then I see the zombie's head jerk back with a bullet-hole in it.
Somehow we get to the Hummer in one piece and Jake none-to-gently tosses me inside. Then he gets in, shoving me over when I don't move fast enough. He puts the pack in the back out of my reach, then grabs my arm and pulls me back beside him. He takes the middle seat belt and secures me, then takes another damn piece of rope to tie my hands. My heartbeat hasn't slowed back to normal since I woke up, and my eyes are sweeping the street and the house we just left intensely, hoping I don't see Larry...or hoping I do. I'm really not sure which it is I want anymore. I don't want to be here with this psychotic oversized brute, but I also don't want anyone dying because of me.
When Jake's done tying my ass up, he starts the truck and squeals his tires as we leave the residential area and return to the highway. We head back deeper into Kansas City to, I assume, the armory.
"Where's that dude you had with you?" he surprises me when he speaks, and the jealousy fueled anger he doesn't even try to hide.
"Zombie got him," I tell him simply.
"Good. Because if I had gotten to him..." He doesn't even need to finish the threat. We both know exactly what he would have done. "I can't believe you cheated on me already!"
What the...!
"Are you crazy? I didn't do an―" My words are cut off by the sting and pain of the hard slap he gives me.
"Don’t you dare call me crazy! I'm not crazy. I'm not! And I know what I saw. When I drove past you, you were kissing him! You had your damn hands all over him and he was all over you. Don’t even try denying it!"
Uh, yeah. I was driving at a high-rate of speed and totally getting it on with Larry. You're right. You're not crazy. You're totally one hundred percent insane!
Jake is highly agitated now and his driving has gotten dangerously out of control. As much as I'm scared of what's going to happen to me later, I still have the will every person has to live. So what can I do but kiss his ass and pretend I feel things for him that I don't. Not any more at least.
"Jake, honey, I'm sorry. But you scared me and I had to leave. I won't leave again, if you won't hurt me again. Ok?"
Jake glances at me, bu
t he's still so angry. The truck swerves sharply and I scream for him to, "Look out!" He jerks the wheel, and we barely miss the car on the side of the road. Obviously, it's not the leaving he really cares about, it's the cheating with Larry that has him so pissed. Ok, yeah. So it was stupid for me to think it wasn't, but I really wanted to avoid mentioning Larry. Looks like I'm going to have to throw poor Larry to the wolves anyway. I'm so sorry Larry. Forgive me.
"Jake, I wasn't kissing that guy―" I hurry to finish when I see his jaw and fist tighten. "He was kissing me! I was trying to get him off of me, I swear! I didn't even take him with me, he forced his way in the truck. And then when the zombie got him, I didn't even try to help. I still love you, Jake. Really!"
I don't think he totally buys it, but his driving has improved quite a bit, and the anger on his face doesn't appear to be as strong.
He puts his arm up and I shrink away from it, until I realize he's only putting it around me. Still disturbing, but I will take that over him beating the hell out of me any day.
He pulls me tight against him and says, "I forgive you. I love you, and I forgive you. But no more leaving me. Do you understand? No more trying to kill me either. Let's just be happy. You love me, I know you do. And damn it, you're mine for the rest of your life."
For the rest of my life? I don't much like the sound of that.
I jump a little when I realize he's expecting a response from me. Not the one I want to give, obviously, but the one he wants to hear.
"No more leaving or trying to kill you. I promise Jake. We're going to be so happy." Good lord, I hope the sarcasm wasn't as clear as it sounded to me. But he grins real big and leans over, placing a kiss on my forehead. I swear I feel a tingling where he kissed me, like a million tiny infected bugs racing over my skin. I have the strongest urge to wipe it away, but how pissed off would that make him? So I do it the sneaky way, I lean my head against his shoulder and then turn my head towards him to scrape the kiss away. Then I smile up at him and sigh...like a happy woman who's reunited with her brave, strong, and sane man.
