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Did you miss the other parts?
During Max’s studies of civil unrest, she’d learned that the best way to get through a mob was to stick to the edges of the crowd, move diagonally if you had to cross, and to look like part of that crowd. If you looked like you were on the same side, nobody would think twice about you being there. Being one of many allowed you to move through a crowd almost invisibly.
The three women pulled up their hoodies, slipped on sunglasses, and linked arms. Max and Savannah each held signs in one hand and steadied Joan in between them. The older woman was obviously exhausted but gamely joined into the plan to get them to their destination. The street was totally clogged with what had to be thousands of protesting pedestrians and there were barricades that stopped cars from getting onto Embassy Row.
The chanting was, obviously, in Greek. At Max’s suggestion, they waved their signs and moved their lips in time with the crowd. The din was so loud that nobody could tell that they were just lip-synching. The trio stuck to the outer edge of the mob, grateful that the embassy was on their side of the street and that they wouldn’t have to shove their way across.
Things didn’t move very quickly. It took 25 minutes of jostling to get within sight of the embassy gates. And within sight seemed like about as close as they were going to get.
There was a thick crowd of people who seemed to be getting increasingly angry blocking the gate. It seemed impossible for them to get any closer. Would they be this close to safety only to be unable to get there? It felt like one of those bad dreams where you can’t get your feet to move and get you out of the way of whatever impending doom you were dreaming about.
Implacable US Marines stood watch to protect the premises, not reacting to the shouts and jeers. The heavy, barred gate prevented the objects that were thrown by the crowd from hitting them.
“How are we going to get to the gate?” Savannah shouted to be heard over the crowd.
Max shook her head slowly. There were not any good, safe options. “We’re just going to have to push our way to the front. There’s no other choice.”
Joan grimaced. “Okay, we need to hang on to each other tight. If we get separated, we’ll never find each other in this crush.”
Gritting her teeth, Max linked arms more tightly and dragged the other women into the fray. They got stepped on, elbowed, shoved, squashed, and nearly separated a dozen times. It took a solid thirty minutes to push through the crowd and get close enough to determine their next move. Savannah had dropped her sign somewhere, but Max still waved hers with determination, although she wasn’t quite certain what it said.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Max got close enough to drop her sign and grab one of the bars of the gate with one hand, pulling Joan and Savannah with the other.
“Hey!” she yelled to the Marine closest to her. “Can you help us?”
He ignored her, staring out at the crowd. Max let go of the gate and grabbed her passport out of her pocket. She stuck it through and waved it. “Please let us in! We’re American!” she added. She was reluctant to be overheard by the crowd, but she had to get their attention.
The soldier finally saw her outstretched arm holding the familiar navy-blue booklet and consulted quickly with another uniformed Marine. The second man came to the gate and took Max’s passport. “Are you by yourself?” he asked her.
“No, I’m with my friends,” she nodded her head toward Joan and Savannah, who looked hopeful.
“I need all of your passports and then I need to call it in.”
Savannah began frantically digging through her purse while Joan reached into her shirt and pulled her passport out of her bra. “What?” she asked in response to Max’s raised eyebrows. “Who’s going to look for it there on a woman my age?”
Max handed Joan’s passport through the gate and waited for Savannah’s. She was practically in tears as she tried to root through her bag with one hand and hold onto Joan with the other. The Marine had walked away with Joan’s and Max’s passports.
Someone in the crowd saw the interaction. Suddenly, the mob’s attention was on the three women who were on the wrong side of the gate, instead of the soldiers they couldn’t reach. A young woman, her face studded with piercings, shoved Savannah, causing her to drop her purse. After the long night of constant stress, Savannah burst into tears. She started to bend over to pick up her belongings when another shove took her to her knees.
Max yanked Joan to the gate and put her hand on the bar so she could stay standing, then dove into the fracas after Savannah, who sobbed as her hand was now under someone’s heavy-soled shoe.
The mood turned uglier fast. Savannah was an easy target, especially when she couldn’t stand up. Max was terrified the girl would be trampled and she flung herself on top of her to protect her. She pushed the person standing on Savannah’s hand, who may not have even been aware they were doing so. Max braced herself, feet wide and elbows out for some added distance, then grabbed her under the armpits and pulled her roughly to her feet.
Savannah stood unsteadily. “My purse, my purse! It has my ID!”
“Come on,” Max shouted, dragging her through the crowd, throwing elbows without regard for anything but getting to that gate. The Marines had let Joan through, and the woman was wringing her hands, crying out for them to help Savannah and Max.
Max got one hand on the gate and kept her other arm wrapped tightly around Savannah’s waist. “I need your passport!” the Marine guarding the gate shouted to Savannah, who shook her head tearfully. The man took pity on them and opened the gate with just enough room for them to squeeze through. Max dragged Savannah in so fast they both sprawled to the pavement, but they were finally inside the gate.
Two soldiers helped them to their feet, one consoling Savannah that they would file the paperwork to say her passport had been lost. “Everything will be just fine,” one of them assured her.
And just like that, they were on the American soil of the embassy. They had reached the end of the longest, most precarious three-mile journey any of them had ever taken.
Epilogue
Max, Joan, and Savannah were well-treated at the embassy. They spent the remainder of the day handling the paperwork for Savannah’s replacement passport and making reports to try to help Ellen, Robert, and Will, who had been taken to in an Athenian jail among the hundreds of other people who had been arrested. Officials confirmed their whereabouts and promised that they would be processed and released from the jail within 48 hours, finally free to go home to America.
The following day, they took a car service to the Athens International Airport, 30 minutes outside the city. From there, they would fly home, their adventure a memory that would stick with them all. The women had formed a bond during their ordeal that would be long-lasting. You really got to know a person during an emergency, for better or for worse.
As for Max, she was delighted that her hard-earned survival skills had served them well. They were things she’d never hoped to use, but she was incredibly glad she had spent the time, money, and effort to learn them. She planned to double down on her preparedness efforts when she got home because she knew exactly how fast things could change.
If disaster could strike under a cobalt sky on a sunny afternoon while you were on vacation in paradise, it could happen any time, any place.
The philosophy was true.
You should always hope for the best but prepare for the worst.
If you want to read about the rest of Max’s escape from Athens, name your price for the novella here.
