by Bella Jewel
The man beside me doesn’t move much—nor does he pay a great deal of attention to the game. His eyes scan the crowd, and he seems to be looking for something, or someone. He is sitting deep into his chair, as if he’s trying to remain inconspicuous. Weird.
The team I’m rooting for lands a home run and I launch into the air, clapping loudly. I jump a few times on the spot and then quickly sit down as realization about what I’m doing hits. I flick my glance to the man to my left and he’s watching me, expressionless. Great. He’s probably embarrassed to sit by me. Not that he can talk. He doesn’t even look as if he’s enjoying himself. I lean forward, gripping the chair in front of me and watching intently.
The first moment that will redirect the course of my life comes out of nowhere.
The game is in full swing, the crowds are cheering, hot dogs are being eaten, and beers thrown down. I don’t even notice the group of men dressed in all white stand—not until the loud gunshot rings through the air. Panic grips my chest as I turn to see at least ten men pulling guns from their pants. My heart feels as though it skitters to a stop as I stare at the faceless gunmen. They’re all wearing masks. Covered entirely in white.
The entire stadium goes dead silent. The only sounds that can be heard are the frustrated cries of children as they try to gain the attention of their terrified parents.
I don’t understand what’s happening.
Security members rush from different parts of the stadium, but quickly stop when one of them is shot in the leg carelessly by a gunman. With a pained roar, he drops to his hands and knees, rolling around in agony. Somebody in the crowd screams.
This isn’t a prank. No. This is real and it’s happening right now. Right here. Vomit rises in my throat and panic unlike anything I’ve ever felt grips my body. My skin prickles, and my mind starts going numb, buzzing as I try to make sense of the situation.
I can’t think or hear over the nervous chatter, crying, and whispers around me.
“Nobody move,” a dark, terrifying voice comes over the loud speaker. “Anyone who moves will be killed.”
That’s all they say.
No explanation.
Nothing.
Somebody screams, a gun is pointed in that person’s direction, and the screaming stops. Tears break free and roll down my cheeks. Is this an attack? A protest? Is there a political person here they’re trying to make a point to? Why a baseball stadium? Is it because it’ll make a scene? Is it because of the families here? Why would anyone be so cold? It makes no sense. It doesn’t even feel real, but it is. I can see it with my own eyes, hear it with my own ears, yet part of me still wants to believe it’s just a prank.
I look to the man beside me, and he’s got a phone low in his lap. He doesn’t seem to be scared; in fact, he’s solely focused on whatever it is he’s typing into the screen. His thumbs move frantically over the keys before he tucks it into his pocket, barely moving.
There are two gunmen about four rows down, pacing the aisles, guns ready to fire. People are no longer screaming but the desperate sobs and whimpers can be heard through the eerie silence.
I hiccup softly, trying to force back a sob and the man finally looks to me, his eyes studying my face. He reaches over, taking hold of my hand. His skin is warm, but rough. His entire hand engulfs mine, it’s so big. “It’ll be okay.”
His voice is deep, dark, and so incredibly comforting. I squeeze his hand and he lets me, not moving it away, letting me hold onto him. I don’t know him, but right now he’s the only chance I have of being protected. He looks like he can hold his own. That’s enough for me to hang on and not let go.
“What’s your name?” he asks, his eyes on the gunmen walking across the field and shoving their guns at the players to make them stand in a group.
“L-L-Lucy,” I whisper.
“Lucy, my name is . . . Hunter. I won’t hurt you, but I do want you to trust me, okay? I’m not going to let you get hurt, but you have to do as I say.”
A woman on the other side of the stands launches up, screaming and throwing herself over the front railing, running towards the silent players standing in the middle of the field. A gunshot sounds out and she just falls mid-stride, dropping to the ground, her face in the dirt. A pained cry is ripped from my throat. Hunter squeezes my hand.
“Lucy,” he says, his voice so calm. “Look to me.”
I look over at him, my eyes wide, tears running down my cheeks. “Do you trust me?”
I nod.
“Good. Sit quiet and don’t say a word, okay? We’re going to get out of here, I promise you that, but it could be a while. You need to stay strong until then.”
I nod again, forcing back my sobs but unable to control the tears.
A dull pain stabs low in my belly. My hand slides down and presses against it and a cold fear rushes to my heart. My baby. Not my baby.
Hunter’s eyes follow the path of my hand. “What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I . . . I’m pregnant.”
His jaw tics. “Why are you holding on like that?”
“I have a pain,” I whisper.
He meets my eyes again. “It’s probably just fear. I want you to try and calm yourself down. Take a few deep breaths for me.”
I try to take a few deep breaths but the yells from a man in another row followed by more gunshots has my breathing turning into frantic sobs. Why is this happening? I don’t understand. I just want to go home.
“Lucy, close your eyes,” Hunter says, putting an arm around my shoulder and bringing me close to him, tucking me into his body that’s so big it makes me feel as if I’m in a safe cocoon where nobody can hurt me. He’s so warm. “Now breathe for me.”
I close my eyes and I breathe.
The pain doesn’t subside and panic sets in.
“It’s not working,” I whimper into his chest.
“The more you panic, the worse the pain will get. Keep breathing and I’m going to distract you.”
“H-h-h-how?”
“I put my phone back in my left pocket, but they’re looking our way right now so I can’t just pull it out. I want you to move in like you’re hugging me and pull it out. Can you do that for me, Lucy?”
I nod.
“All right, honey.”
This man—I don’t know him but he’s so calm, like a still rock amongst an intense storm. I press my face to his chest and twist my body, putting my arm around his stomach as if I’m hugging him. I reach into his pocket and curl my fingers around his phone, pulling it out and sliding my hand over the screen, tucking it between my chest and his.
“Now, I want you to unlock it using the code seven-oh-seven-three.”
I shift my body just slightly so I can see the phone, and I press the middle button to light up the screen. I punch in the code and then nod softly.
“Find the messages and read me what’s being said. Can you do that?”
I nod.
“Good girl.”
I go to the messages and pull up the one that’s unread. It’s from a private source and makes zero sense to me, but I relay it to him anyway.
“I-I-I-it says ‘Control in place. Wait for further command.’”
“Okay, Lucy, can you keep that with you? We’ll be needing it again.”
“Are you a cop?” I whisper.
“No.”
Then who the hell is he?
And can he really get us out of here alive?
~*~*~*~
It’s been easily five hours. It’s late afternoon, and the cold has set in as night prepares to fall. My pains have gone from mild to intense, and my entire body hurts from lack of movement. I’m still tucked into Hunter’s side, and he’s bringing me comfort in my desperate time of need. He has me relaying messages through his phone, messages that don’t make sense to me but obviously mean something to him.
He isn’t a cop, or so he tells me, but he’s obviously working with some very powerful people. Either way, he’s keeping me afloat rig
ht now, and I honestly don’t know if that would be happening if he wasn’t here. The shrill sounds of sirens outside have been invading the silence for the last few hours. Nobody has come in. Nobody has even tried. I don’t know why that is.
I don’t even know what these men want. Why would you pick a baseball stadium? Is it numbers? Fear because they could do so much damage? I don’t understand.
People have stopped trying to escape. Whoever these men are, they’re not messing around and they’ve made that clear. They’ve been making communication through phones but aside from that have not spoken another word to the crowd except to demand cell phones are turned off. They’ve got guns, that’s all we need to know—so we did what they said. Whatever it is they want, they’re holding a lot of hostages to get it.
I shift uncomfortably and whimper as another sharp pain stabs into my stomach. I groan softly and rub my hand against the still flat area, trying to ease the hurt. Terror washes through me when a gush of warmth travels out from between my legs. I shift and look down. What I’ve feared quickly becomes a reality. I’m having a miscarriage. I choke back a sob as devastation unlike any I’ve ever felt bursts through my body.
My baby.
Not my baby.
Please.
“Lucy,” Hunter says, his voice low. “You’re bleeding.”
“I . . . I think I’m losing my baby,” I sob.
He makes a sound deep in his throat and looks around, eyes falling on the gunmen still pacing. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”
I shift slightly and clutch my stomach with my free hand, sobbing as my jeans soak with blood. My sobs quickly turn hysterical and commotion can be heard beside me. “Lucy, I know it hurts, but you have to stop crying like that. If you trust me, you have to stop.”
I look up to see a gunman watching me. Fear clogs my sobs deep in my throat and I look down at my jeans, trying to steady out my breathing. “Good girl,” he assures me. “Good.”
His eyes scan the crowd again, moving from point to point. The blaring lights of the stadium keep us all well-lit, allowing very little movement. Hunter leans in and whispers, “We’re about five seats from the aisle. If we shuffle across, I think we can make a play to get into the building behind us.” He nods towards the red brick building right behind us that right now has a gunman walking past it. The stairs in the middle lead right up into it, so it’s most likely a way out or perhaps an entry into the corporate area. It’s only a small field, so I’m praying they lead out. “If we can slowly move towards them, I think I can get you out.”
I glance at the stairs; they seem so far away. The only thing we have working in our favor is that there is no one else sitting on the seats leading into the aisle, thank god—there are about six other people sitting on the other side of me, clutching each other like Hunter and I are. The stadium is only about half full, if that. I still don’t know if we can do that without being seen.
“Even if we get right to the aisle, how are we going to get through that door when the gunmen are walking past it all the time?” I ask.
“We wait for a distraction. There’ll be one—you can guarantee that.”
I don’t ask how he knows.
“Just trust me. I won’t let you get hurt,” he murmurs.
I nod.
“We’re going to slowly, very slowly, move seats little by little. You just keep hanging onto me, and we’ll move when we get the chance.”
I don’t answer; I just nod. Tears have soaked his shirt now and my heart is breaking little by little. Maybe I’m just bleeding from stress? I’ve tried so hard for this baby. I can’t lose it. I can’t. My body trembles in Hunter’s arms and I try, I really do try to stop the trembling, but I have little control over it.
“We’re going to get you out. Do you hear me?”
“It hurts,” I whimper.
“I know.”
He moves us a little, maybe two or three centimeters to the left. It isn’t much. He’s taking a big risk. If they’ve been paying any attention at all, they’ll notice we’ve moved. Right now, I’ll take that risk. I need a doctor. It might be the only way to save my baby.
“Hunter?” I croak.
“Yeah, Lucy?”
“What do they want?”
“I don’t know, honey.”
“You’re lying.” I don’t know why I say that; probably because it’s the truth. He’s here for a reason—I just don’t know what that reason is. He’s clearly not a baseball fan, and he’s way too calm. Then there are the messages on his phone.
He makes a grunting sound in his chest I can feel radiate through my cheek. “You’re right, I am lying. But it’s classified information, and I can’t share it with you.”
“So you are a cop?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I can’t discuss it with you.”
I tremble again. “Is this . . . a terrorist attack?”
“No. It’s more . . . religious.”
A cult then? “A cult?” I whisper.
“I can’t answer anymore. I’m sorry.”
More pain stabs my stomach and I wince.
Hunter shifts us to the left a little bit more. We’re halfway to the next seat and I wince from the plastic digging into my bottom.
“You knew this was going to happen today?” I whimper, clutching my stomach.
“Can’t discuss that with you.”
Of course.
His eyes constantly scan the crowd, and every few minutes he moves us.
It takes easily another hour to get next to the aisle. The gunmen don’t seem to notice; I guess when you’re watching so many people, you’re highly unlikely to notice the exact seating position of them all. The people sitting beside us have been watching us, and smartly, moved as we did.
“We’re going to have to move to that door fast, and there is a solid chance they’ll see and shoot. We’re going to have to run. Can you do that?”
The pain in my stomach is intense now, throbbing with every move I make. I feel lightheaded and dizzy, but if getting over there means there’s a chance of saving my baby, I’ll do it.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“All right, Lucy. When the time is right, I’m going to squeeze your shoulder. I need you to move quickly and quietly. Can you do that, too?”
I nod. He focuses on the men moving around, some still talking on cell phones.
It’s so quiet, until it isn’t. Chaos breaks out when a group of men about two sections away from us stand up. There are about twenty of them. They move quickly, rapidly, dropping to their knees and crawling, using the flimsy plastic seats to protect them. It seems they have the same idea as us, only they’re being overly bold about it.
Gunshots ring out.
Horror fills my vision as bullets fly. I open my mouth to scream, but Hunter clamps a hand over my mouth. My vision blurs as the most horrific visions of my life play out in front of me. The gunmen don’t hesitate—they just shoot. Wildly. Carelessly. Women and children scream again, and the gunshots increase.
“We have to move,” Hunter whispers frantically in my ear. “Now.”
He pulls me, and like a thief in the night we start towards the door. He practically launches me up and my feet barely touch the ground as he runs. I move as quickly as I can, never having felt so terrified in my entire life. I wait for the gunshot, the one that’ll rip through my body and end me. My skin prickles, my body throbs with fear, and everything feels like jelly. Hunter reaches the door. His hand jerks out, twists the handle but it doesn’t open.
Locked. It must be locked.
I start to panic.
Gunshots keep ringing out.
He reaches around into his jeans, pulls out a gun, and shoots the lock. My eyes widen, my knees wobble, and I can’t think. Why does he have a gun? A shot rings out right beside my head, and I scream. Hunter launches me up and over his shoulder, running into the open door. The gunshots keep coming.
It’s
dark back here. All the lights are out, so wherever this leads isn’t being used today, but I can hear the commotion outside, the screaming, the gunfire, all of it. I make a strangled, pained sound in my throat and clutch Hunter as he runs—I don’t know where he’s going, or how he plans on getting out, but he just keeps moving.
Gunshots ring out, flying right past our heads.
“Fuck!” he curses, putting me down. “Can you run? We need to move faster.”
I nod.
Terror unlike anything I’ve ever felt before lodges in my throat and I take the hand Hunter offers, forcing my legs to keep up as we start running. Hunter swings me around to his left and turns, firing into the darkness. The sound hurts my ears, it’s so loud.
“Why have you got a gun?” I yell frantically.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Just trust me,” he growls, pulling me harder and faster, while turning and firing shots behind us. I’m too afraid to turn back and look.
We reach a door and he aims the gun, shooting the lock twice. It pops open and he kicks it open. Gunshots keep flying, and I hear people running quickly behind us. I realize it’s the people who were sitting closest to us. They must have taken the risk and followed us. Commotion can be heard above still, and I could swear I can see figures moving around us in the darkness.
“Come on,” Hunter barks, pulling me down.
It’s dark.
I can’t see anything.
He withdraws a phone from his pocket, turning on the flashlight, and aims it in front of us. We run. The two people following us are closer now, but Hunter doesn’t wait for them. We reach another door and Hunter stops at it, turning and aiming his flashlight at the two people.
The next moment happens so quickly. A bullet rings out and takes the man down, ripping through his chest with such force that blood explodes outwards. The second takes the woman down in the exact same way.
Hunter aims.
He fires.
The two men who just killed those innocent people drop to the ground. My knees give way and I scream. Hunter catches me, one arm around my waist, and hauls me back up. I fight. I claw and scratch, shoving him out of the way.
