Page 40 of This Fate That Guides Us
I can’t fight back a sense of unease as we climb into our SUV to head over to the theater where the guys will be performing. Some primal part of my instincts tells me we need to be cautious. It isn’t until we reach the red light where we turn onto the street where tonight’s performance will take place I realize why.
Police barriers block the street, the red and blue lights casting the tan stone of the venue into color. Officers stand on the other side directing traffic away from the venue’s entrance. All along the road opposite the venue, filling the sidewalk outside of the venue’s fenced-in parking lot, are anti-pack protestors.
The cars up front of us stop to speak with one of the officers and we wait while the barrier is moved. The closer we get to the main entrance, the more protesters we can see.
A small park sits diagonal from the theater and a large crowd fills the closest corner. A wiry man stands on a makeshift podium, a megaphone in his hand as he leads the chants of the crowd. My eyes track from sign to sign, my fingers gripping the edge of the seat tight enough to make my knuckles white. ‘Stop the Primordial Covenant concert!’, ‘Abolish Pack Rights’, ‘Packs = Problems’.
Most of the signs and their chants are tame, but as our cars stop and the guys climb out of their SUV ahead of us, their tone changes.
‘Designations are an abomination.’
‘ABO Dynamics are killing our planet.’
My mind is drawn back to similar speeches I’d heard growing up and my breaths become ragged.
The entire congregation is silent, holding to the edge of their seats as they absorb his every word. He’s removed his suitjacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt in an attempt to appear more casual, more approachable.
A group of churchgoers from a small town across the border in Vermont have made the trek into New Hampshire for today’s service. He wants to impress them. To spread his hatred of packs and designations further out into the world.
“These designations are a test. Falling prey to the false instincts the Devil has forced upon our bodies will not lead you to salvation. We of God’s flock must hold fast. Remain faithful to His word. Take a stand against the alphas and omegas who try to turn you from our Lord. Only through strength and sacrifice shall we be granted forgiveness.”
My lungs burn from holding my breath and my chest feels tight from the panic pounding in time with the beat of my heart. I can feel the leather seats crinkling beneath my hands where I’m clinging to the edge of the seat to try to ground myself, but I can’t hear anything over the sound of my racing pulse and the echo of my past.
I startle when a hand shakes my shoulder, pulling my eyes away from the noisy protestors. Lex leans into the SUV, his eyes narrowed as he studies me. “You good?” I swallow heavily trying to find words to reassure him I am alright. Even when I’m not. “We’re changing our plans. You’ll only be working from the stage tonight.”
I manage to pull myself out of the beginning stages of a panic attack and crawl out of the car with my camera bag in tow. Moving my hair to the front of my face, I use it to block my face from any flashing cameras.
Grand Rapids wasn’t one of the stops I was concerned about initially. The closest vocal anti-designation group is almost a thousand miles away. Why are there so many signs showing otherwise?
We make it inside the venue and tensions are high. Apparently, I’m not the only one who hadn’t expected this outcome of our stop here in Michigan.
Brady whistles, drawing everyone’s attention. “We’re still performing. The fans are still coming. They’ve paid to see a kickass show and that’s what we are going to give them!” Cheering sounds from some of the crew, the manager's words seem to lessen the air of worry everyone is wading in. “Local police are going to be on-site all night, keeping them in check and guiding traffic. We’re taking all of the necessary steps to keep the fans, the bands, and the crews safe. Let’s focus on the show and let the music bring a bit of peace to this city!”
Everyone slowly rolls into action, setting up equipment and getting ready for sound check. I follow Bea across the room to meet with the other manager for further directions for this evening.
“Ah, Omen, did they let you know about the change in your contract for tonight?” Brady asks as soon as he sees us approach.
“Yeah, they did. Thank you. I appreciate the label’s dedication to my safety.” Brady waves me off, reminding me they would do the same for any of their staff, especially those who are omegas.
After a quick debrief on the other minor changes–a heavier security presence stage front and more thorough bag checks at the doors–I head to the stage area to start scoping out the best angles I can get for my shots.
Glancing out at the venue’s interior I’m almost sad I won’t be working from the crowd tonight. With the cathedral-style ceiling, tiered seating, and plenty of outside nooks, I could easily get some great shots. Sadly, in this instance, the risk would certainly not be worth the reward.
“You should get a drone,” Lex suggests from where he walks behind me.
My head tilts to the side as I consider what he’s said, imagining being able to use a small device like a drone to capture not only still images, but video from the crowd at any venue we visit. “That’s a good idea. I don’t know much about drones though, so I’ll have to do some research before I purchase one. Maybe for the West Coast portion of the tour.”
He nods and hangs back, watching the venue and responding to messages on his phone as I capture some reference shots.
Finished with what I can do now, I head backstage to find somewhere out of the way to chill until the shows start. I pause at the curtain before asking my next question, unsure if I will be overstepping, but needing an answer anyway. “Do we know what’s up with the group outside? Why are they here?”
My paranoia swears the protestors are a message. A threat to the bubble of safety I’ve been living in for the past several years. My mind screams ‘he’s found us!’ and fighting the instinct to run and hide is growing increasingly more difficult with each second ticking by.
“We have an idea, yeah. According to the higher-ups, Senator Pierson and his campaign team were in town while we were in Chicago. They believe the Senator and his backers are utilizing their supporters to stage protests outside of events with known DAU connections. While Primordial Covenant hasn’t directly revealed their support of the organization, many of the studios’ execs have. Both here and on the West Coast.”
“So, you think they are targeting the label’s events?” I inquire.
“It is very likely. Which means we can expect other similar situations to occur at our other anti-pack state destinations as well,” Lex informs me. I can tell he’s concerned for how I reacted when we first arrived.
