Michelle sipped coffee and watched the entrance to the McDonald’s parking lot from her vehicle. The wig itched, and she could feel the hastily applied shaping adhesive on her face loosening. She’d have to find a public bathroom with a locking door to touch up her disguise. She tapped the navigation display and put it into mirror mode, studying herself. This was another thing she hated about life as fugitives. Her HI contact was late.

She looked down at the red lines and long scratches on her forearms, evidence of her blind crashing through the underbrush looking for Bina. Yesterday’s frantic search, her hasty departure, and the fitful night’s sleep in the car blurred together. It seemed an eternity yet it hadn’t been twenty-four hours since discovering she was gone. She remembered the moment reason reasserted control.

***

She bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for air, and saw the blood streaming down her forearms onto her jeans.

Ah, that blood…these jeans…haven’t done laundry yet…need to repack the bag…do I even have another clean pair?….goddamit Bina, where are you?…

That sight snapped her back, exhaustion tamping down the anger and terror creating space for rational thought and planning.

Was she abducted? Did she run away? Something else? The scenarios settled down for proper analysis.

She returned to the house, carefully scrutinizing the surroundings for signs of continued surveillance. Reassured she was truly alone, she thought back to Bina’s story. The dog Bina told her about must only be part of it. Michelle grudgingly conceded to herself that she had once again underestimated her daughter. How had she concealed the rest of the details from Michelle’s hypnotic commands? What were they? Bina leaving of her own volition emerged as the most likely explanation.

A runaway. A fucking runaway.

She dumped her unpacked bag from the most recent trip, sorting and repacking as many clean items she could muster, cursing herself all the while for the failed experiment allowing Bina the freedom of staying alone for so long. Why hadn’t she anticipated how the lessons of autonomy could go so wrong? She needed help finding Bina, and this location was no longer safe and must be abandoned. That meant asking for assistance.

I’m going to have to call those fuckers again.

She looked over their meager belongings, the last remnants of their prior life. Each escape, each panicked departure, winnowed down the material trappings of their lives. Maybe the HI could salvage some of the contents of this house, but for now, Michelle was resigned to abandoning what she could not carry.

The bag was almost full. Anirudh’s stubby black metal Sig Sauer pistol lay partially uncovered under socks and panties, moved from its usual hiding place. It was another reminder of her murdered lover’s failed efforts to keep them safe. She hesitated, then picked it up, ejected the magazine cartridge, cleared the chambered round, then replaced the magazine and flipped the safety off and on to confirm it was secure. She transferred it to her purse. She never liked weapons and had no faith in her ability to use them despite Anirudh’s coaching. This was uncertain terrain, and she’d take any advantage she could get.

Her eyes fell on the picture of Adam and Bina with the broken glass. She picked up the frame, tracing her finger over the faces, Bina’s smile, Adam’s distant eyes, then put it back down. She heaved the bag over her shoulder and walked out, door unlocked behind her.

***

Still no sign of the contact. If all went well, her handlers would deal with the lease through the layers of intermediaries, salvage what they could of their belongings while Michelle searched for Bina. The HI also wanted Bina safe, perhaps more than Michelle. That was clear from the urgency of their initial response. She’d address keeping Bina away from the collective later.

The first step was finding Adam. Of course, he was ignoring her messages. He communicated on his own schedule, and in his own manner, as always. 

She scanned the parking lot again. Where was the contact? These were the instructions, and she followed them to the letter.

Just then her device buzzed softly. Michelle picked it up.

“Where are you?” a soft, electronically masked voice asked.

“Exactly where you said. Is there a problem?” Michelle responded.

After a long pause, the voice responded.

“We saw the vehicle you described, but someone else was in it. We broke off.”

Michelle muttered an expletive. Her disguise. She hadn’t told them what her altered appearance would be. 

“I’ve changed my appearance. Let’s try again.”

Another silence.

“I will contact you. I must seek additional instructions.” The connection terminated.

What is this?

Usually these contacts came off without a hitch. Was this person inexperienced? Did this indicate some other turmoil within the HI collective? The delay rebooted her anger and fear for Bina’s safety.

She waited for a return contact, then went in to use the bathroom and get something to eat. Back in the car, she slowly chewed a small bite of her sandwich, unable to swallow past the anxious constriction in her throat. Finally, her device buzzed again.

“New plan. Make your way to Couer d’Alene.”

Michelle pulled up the map, noted the distance.

“What is there?”

“We will be closer. I can meet you in person.”

“You weren’t coming here now?”

“An intermediary. This is more secure.  Start driving.”

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