Granny's Secret Escape

“Come over,” she said. “And don’t tell anyone.” Her house was dark

except for the basement light, flickering like a dying pulse. I found her there,

standing barefoot in a chalk circle, gray hair braided tight against her skull.

On the table: maps, burner phones, a revolver older than me, and a photograph

of myself taken that morning. “You were followed,” she said, smiling.

“I fixed it.” Before I could ask how, sirens wailed somewhere far too close.

Granny pressed something cold into my palm—a key, still warm. “When they knock,”

she whispered, eyes bright with delight, “you’ll understand why I never let