The Risks

October: Chapter 38

The hallways were eerily quiet. Barren. Hollow. It already felt haunted. 

I felt my feet slow and come to a stop beneath me as I neared the last corner before the glass doors leading outside. Negative thoughts consumed my mind, eating away what little confidence I'd managed to find.

I wanted to worry about everyone -all the community members who were surely out there- I really did, but my toxic thoughts were obsessed with one person in particular. 

Parker. 

I stared at the off-white walls, allowing myself a moment to just feel the blood pulsing in my neck. 

I was terrified. Terrified to turn this corner and look out onto that astroturf. Terrified of what I might see.

Was Parker okay? Was he even still alive? Would I turn this corner to see him lying lifeless at Deacon's feet? Could I handle that? Could I look into what were supposed to be the warm, chocolate brown eyes I loved only to see cold emptiness?

No. I didn't think I could.

But the fact was... I didn't know what I was going to see out there, and I couldn't just stand here, staring off into space and questioning the ifs. I had to find out. One way or another. If he was gone, I'd... I'd... Fuck, I didn't know what I'd do. I guess I'd have to find that out too. But I needed to do it soon. We were living on borrowed time now. 

My feet began to move again. Right foot. Left foot. Right. Left. Until I reached the glass doors. I sucked in a shuddering breath and then reluctantly lifted my eyes.

Probably about seventy-five percent of our community's population was herded together in the middle of the football field like scared cattle being prepared for slaughter. 

So many familiar faces. People I'd come to care about. People I'd come to call my friends. 

The only positive thing I could derive from the situation was that more people than just the group I'd locked in the band's storage room had most likely found a place to hide. One of the many negatives, however, was that everyone was surrounded by Zoners acting as cattle dogs, threatening them with their weapons if they stepped too far away from the rest of the group. 

It didn't take long for me to spot Deacon. He was at the front of the crowd, standing in the bed of a truck with the announcer's microphone in hand. Like he was an important man with an important thing to say. Pompous bastard. 

And beside him, on his knees with his hands tied behind his back and his head bent, was Parker.

My heart lurched with hope.

He was alive. In a sticky situation to say the least, but alive. 

But for how long? And I asked myself the question: What would be worse? Finding him dead or watching him die?

The warm comfort of hope faded quickly away, leaving my chest feeling painfully hollow.

Deacon leaned down just slightly toward Parker, said something I couldn't hear since he was keeping the mic at a distance. With Parker's face hidden, I couldn't tell if he'd responded. He didn't move, didn't look up. Maybe he was ignoring him. 

Then Deacon took a couple steps away from Parker, his gait emitting impatience as he adjusted the microphone in his hands, and Parker finally lifted his head.

His gaze met mine immediately. There was a sea of community members and Zoners between us, anxious voices and the screech of mic feedback, but it was like he sensed I was there. A small smile ticked my lips because he was alive and he was looking at me and the eyes I saw were not cold and empty, they were the eyes of the man I loved. But the smile died on my lips when I saw the terror in those eyes. I'd never seen such horror there before.