Fleeting Moments(4)

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?”