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Chapter Two
It’s an hour drive to where Kael is stationed in Everett. I have a small apartment nearby that we’ll be moving my things to tomorrow before he has to report for duty later in the week. It's only temporary until the on-base naval housing processes our marriage forms, but it's better than the low-income housing I've been living in. I’m dozing off when I hear Kael swearing.
“What the hell are they doing? Assholes are going to cause a wreck.”
I open my eyes in a hurry to find two motorcycles weaving in and out of traffic until a little further ahead blue and red lights appear behind the bikes.
“Idiots, that’s what they deserve.” Kael mumbles a few other things about idiot drivers while I try to get my heart rate back down.
Neither of us notice the SUV coming onto the interstate from the on-ramp without their lights on.
***
Kael
The impact hits Cora’s door before shoving us off into oncoming traffic. It was just too fast for most of the other drivers to react at the speeds we were all traveling. The truck bounces off the cement median, and the tail end is hit again, causing us to flip onto the passenger side. The airbags have deployed, but all I can feel is terror for Cora and helplessness to do anything about the situation. Eventually, the pile-up around us stops, and I’m amazed that I seem to be injury free. My neck is sore, and I’m sure I’ll have a nice stripe from the seatbelt, but it could have been much worse.
I panic as I turn to her. “Cora, baby, talk to me!” She’s out cold, the seatbelt holding her suspended above me, long blonde hair and white skirt hanging down. Fuck, the baby. “Cora, please.” I can see the rise and fall of her chest, so at least she’s breathing. I’m releasing myself from my own seatbelt, but I'm not sure if it’s safe to get her down. The pressure can’t be good on her middle though.
Hoping she doesn’t have a neck or back injury, I support her weight as best I can, trying to keep her even and steady as I hit the catch. She drops down, and I ease her onto the driver’s side door of the cab. I can hear sirens coming and other people yelling outside the truck. The back window is already broken, so I kick the rest of it out to get out to find help.
It’s a mess outside, and there are cars everywhere. Some seem to be fine, but others are in the same state as Cora’s truck. There are police officers near an SUV, the one that I’m nearly positive started all this. There's a group of guys standing around outside of it, and the vehicle is pristine except for a smashed in driver’s side door. I turn away as an ambulance makes its way through the wreck, flagging it down.
“My wife, she’s pregnant and unconscious,” I say to the older male driver as soon as he rolls to a stop and opens his door. There are several more emergency vehicles right behind him, and he lets me lead him over to Cora after he inquires about my injuries, and I assure him I’m fine.
He starts asking for details, and I give him as much as I can. I feel like I’m coming in and out of reality and imagine it’s shock setting in. The paramedic climbs in the bed of the truck to check Cora and immediately pulls back, yanking his radio from its holster. He rapidly starts talking about bleeding and placenta abruption and asking me again how far along she is. I absently answer him as panic sets in and lunge back in the window to check her. A red spot is spreading down her white skirt, and she’s still unconscious. I know that can’t be good, and the squeezing in my chest when I put my hand on her belly and it’s still is nearly more than I can bear. When I glance back at the paramedic, he gives me a sympathetic look, and I know my worry that our baby most likely didn’t survive is valid. The man meets the woman running up to him with supplies in her arms, and they nicely, but firmly, shoo me out of the way.
“We need to help her now, son. Stay near, we’ll get you right back with her as soon as we can.” They both move in and slide a hard plastic board into the cab. A few minutes later, they’re pulling Cora out, strapped to it, onto the roadway and taking vital signs. I can hear a helicopter coming in while they work, and it lands on the opposite side of the freeway where police have cleared an area. The man lets me sit and hold her hand while he runs to meet the medivac, leaving the female paramedic to finish setting an IV. Soon, they have her on a stretcher and load her up in the helicopter.
“There isn't room, but they're taking her to Seattle General. You can meet her there.” The paramedic is nice enough to explain, but I have no way of getting there and don't know anyone local to call and ask.
“Thanks, I’ll figure it out,” I mutter absently as the man moves off to help others. I get my bag and Cora's things out of the truck before I begin walking toward the on-ramp, hoping to get down to a main street and find a taxi. I don’t make it far before a dark-haired guy around my age intercepts me.
“Hey, man. I have a ride coming if you need one. I saw them take your girl out. I hope she’ll be okay.” The guy is fidgeting and smells like alcohol, but I can’t figure out why he’d be so nervous when he seems to be uninjured. Unless it's the catastrophe that just happened, which would be enough to rattle anyone.
“Sure, thanks. Do you know about how long? Not to be rude, but I’d like to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.”
“Should be here any minute. We called for a car as soon as—. Man, I’m so sorry! We shouldn’t have let him drive.” The guy is tearing up, and it dawns on me that he was standing near the SUV the police had been by.
Sure enough, when I look over, there are three others and a white sheet-covered mass in the driver's seat. “You’re the ones that hit us?" My voice rises with my anger. "You most likely killed my baby, I don’t know if my wife is going to make it either, and I’m stuck on this fucking road with you offering me a ride you should have gotten in the first place!” I’m yelling and have the attention of the police officers nearby. They start to advance, but the guy in front of me waves them off, and when I apologize they go back to what they were doing. Free from their scrutiny, I drag the guy off toward the shoulder of the freeway by his arm.
“I’m so sorry, I tried," he starts before I can lay into him again. "We all tried. You don’t understand," he stresses, gripping his hair in frustration. "It was my brother, and Cora, and he went off on a bender, and— and, he didn’t make it.” He’s not making any sense with his hand gestures and apologies mixing up, but when he mentions Cora’s name, I’m on high alert.
“What do you mean, Cora? How the hell do you know my wife’s name?”
“My brother is Damien St. Aunge III.” He lets the statement hang for a moment until comprehension hits me.
“Damien, as in the piece of crap that slapped her around and took her virginity and then tried to claim my baby as his own, Damien? You’ve got to be kidding me.” I shake my head at the irony of it. He had harassed Cora for months after her step-brother, his best friend, had let it slip that she was pregnant and their parents were kicking her out of her parents' house. “Wait, was he following us? Did he do this on purpose?”
“I don’t know. Her step-brother said she was getting married today, and he went off on a bender. Please, just let us take you to the hospital.” He’s not keeping eye contact, and I know there’s something he’s hiding. I don’t know what it is, but I’ll find out— as soon as I make sure Cora, and hopefully the baby, are okay.
“Fine, get whatever and whoever and let’s go meet this car, please. For all I know I could be a widower on my wedding day.”
At my grim pronouncement he gathers the others, and we begin the trek down the on-ramp while the guy is on the phone directing someone to meet us.
