if his sudden concern only masked a more palpable dread of seeing his beloved city brought low?
He clicked through a few news stories online, including one headlined ARAMIS: THE REVENGE OF SMALL-TOWN AMERICA? Apparently, pundits all over the country were calling for a return to a simpler way of life, as infections in major cities kept doubling and tripling, especially among children. Hospitals full of comatose kids, and yet somehow the best idea on the table was to flee to the boonies. But even in Lansdowne, Elliot had driven past shuttered businesses and empty schoolyards. He found it unsettling, the way the media seemed determined to turn every issue into something divisive, group against group.
“It’s just a matter of time,” said Frank, turning on the fan as a spot of something on the burner began to smoke. “People are starting to get sick here. We’ve already lost Keelan.”
There was a tremor in Gretchen’s chin. “I heard Rachel’s in the hospital, too. A neighbour is taking care of her little boy, and they won’t let him visit in case he catches it.” She added some milk to her cup. “It’s possible that we can do more good where we are.” Then she locked eyes with Elliot. “What do you think? Are we terrible people if we pick up and leave?”
Things were truly dire if his mother was deigning to ask his advice. “It’s not for me to say,” Elliot said as he glanced down at his phone, buzzing with a text from Jake, a rookie on his squad. Hit the panic button. Can’t buy a fake LV on Canal for love or money today. They’d joked that when the last hawker abandoned Canal Street, it was time to get out. He erased the text and turned off his phone.
“If you ask me,” said Frank, “the sooner we leave, the better. Like tomorrow.”
How quickly a place of retreat could become yet another risk to flee, Elliot thought. The last three and a half weeks in Lansdowne had been a physical relief, a gradual melting-away of the months of stress carried in his back and shoulders. Before he’d left, the city had started to smell, as though every day were garbage day. All the municipal services were understaffed. The snow and cold had come on like a mercy to stifle the pervading smell of rot that reeked like an admission of guilt from the core of North American capitalism. Then there was all the usual violence and exploitation that never seemed to go away, even during an unfolding global tragedy. He’d heard of fake antivirals being sold on street corners and opportunistic thieves ransacking the homes of those who had fled. The cumulative effect was like a sped-up eon of erosion on his crumbling faith in humanity. These days, when Frank used an example from the news to illustrate the brutality of man against man, Elliot could scarcely muster the energy to disagree with him.
“Now that you mention it,” Gretchen said, taking a sip of her coffee, “Keelan’s daughter approached me at the supermarket yesterday. She said she’d like to join us at the cabin if we decide to go.”
Elliot lowered his laptop screen. So Julia and Dory had come to Lansdowne, after all. He hadn’t heard a word from them since he emailed Julia about her father. He’d explained where he’d parked his car then mailed her the keys so she could drive her family out of the city, as per her father’s wishes.
“She brought up the cabin?” Frank turned off the burner and tipped the porridge into a bowl. “That’s very forward.”
“She said they have a Winnebago full of supplies Keelan had been stockpiling. They’re just looking for somewhere to go.”
“They have a house on wheels. They could go anywhere.”
“Not really, Frank.” She gave him a sharp look. “There are travel advisories, blocked roads. And she has a newborn baby.”
“Oh, I know, I know.” His father waved a hand as he rummaged in a drawer for another spoon. “But babies are very portable, from what I’ve heard.”
“Humph.” His mother looked over in his direction. “Elliot? What do you say?”
His elbow jumped on the table, narrowly missing his coffee cup. His reflexes had been on high alert for so long that they were starting to revolt. The other night, when the wind tipped over a metal garbage can, he’d made it halfway to the bedroom door, gun in hand, before waking and remembering that, for the moment at least, he was safe.
“What