VOLUME | ONC 2023

10. Public Servants

Harriet...

"Thank you, immensely. I can't tell you what this means to me," my words were soft as I squeezed the strap of my backpack.

Makenna rushed me in a fierce hug. If I hadn't felt so needy, it might have surprised me.

I squeezed her back.

Makenna's sounded muffled, "You're gonna be okay. God, you're such a badass."

I laughed almost humorlessly. There was nothing actually funny about the circumstances.

I'd bided my time at the diner, waiting and calculating my next move. I assumed the worst – that the agents had located my motel, bugged my devices, and placed a tracker on my car. I couldn't rely on any of this decade's technological modernities for fear they would find me.

My biggest fears were being assuaged by a stranger who had assumed the role of a caretaker for her ailing grandmother.

"I promise to reach out by the end of the week. Don't forget – if you feel threatened by anyone, call the number. Ask for Frasier, okay? Tell her it's regarding me – tell her everything. She'll help," I searched Makenna's eyes, searching for any regret or apprehension. There was none.

I'd driven back to Lotty's in the night, praying the whole way that I wouldn't be victim to another ambush and that Makenna would receive me, even at the late hour.

The young woman had looked concerned but seemed, somehow, unvexed and unintimidated by what I shared with her. She was quick on her feet, waving me into a parking spot inside a large shed at the back of the property.

Makenna made a soft cocoon out of the couch, outfitted with pillows and freshly laundered blankets. I slept, feeling more secure than I'd anticipated.

Before dawn had broken across the sleepy sky, she'd driven me to the train station. One of Lotty's faithful neighbors had agreed to watch her during the short time it would take Makenna to transport me.

I tried offering her money, but she refused. Instead, she handed me a tote bag filled with easy-to-eat produce, bread, jam, energy bars, and water.

I kept my face angled towards the window while I cried.

Frasier was a beloved professor who had always believed in me. She'd even helped me secure my candidacy as a summer associate at a reputable firm near home when Nana had become ill. Frasier was smart with connections beyond what my brain could fathom. She had ties to the Department of Homeland Security if they came after Makenna or Lotty. Or me.

"Be careful, Harriet, and good luck. Lizzie would be very proud of you," Makenna hugged me again before dashing off, her movements filled with the same urgency mine were.

The passing scenery and the train's soft whirring were a pleasant audio-visual backdrop to my continued surveying.

The four-hour train ride allowed me time to process. I had turned my phone off and powered down my laptop at the diner, glad I had traveled with my belongings.

Nana never let me go anywhere without cash handy, and I was both grateful and sad at her insistence. She had often pulled money out of her bra inside bathroom stalls, and I now understood her mild preoccupation. The same menace that had sent her across the country had also instilled in her a deep-seated need to be ever-prepared; to never be caught unawares.

Money helped you fight back; preparedness helped you fight back. Consistency, routine, hard work, discipline, and grit were a defense.

Inspecting fingers dipped into my backpack, patting the hidden compartment in my bag that housed several hundred dollar bills.