Songs for the End of the World - Saleema Nawaz Page 0,62

was a terse message that read Don’t respond or erase. Don’t do his dirty work for him. Just do your job. D.

Later that morning, Sarah called Owen, and after the usual hellos she launched right into the day’s questions, typing his answers directly into an HTML editor. “Is the virus progressing the way you imagined Xi-RV-5 in your novel?”

“No,” said Owen. “And thank God. Xi-RV-5 was designed to be an efficient and straightforward killer, suitable for mass fatalities and extreme drama. Its mortality rate among those under twelve was over ninety per cent, unrealistically high for any known type of coronavirus.”

“Much worse than ARAMIS, then? And especially for kids, right?”

“So far, yes. Children are more vulnerable to ARAMIS, but by and large these pediatric infections are resulting in comas, not death. We’ll have to wait and see what the long-term prognosis might be, but I think there’s reason to be hopeful these kids will pull through. ARAMIS is fulfilling the expectations of experts who predicted a pandemic, but you’ll notice, if you compare it city by city, its progression seems highly dependent on response and preparedness. Voluntary quarantining in the five boroughs seems to be slowing the spread here in New York City, where you might imagine infection levels could quickly become catastrophic. Yes, thousands of people are sick, but just think of the population here.”

“You support that initiative then?”

“Absolutely. But I will say this: I don’t think voluntary quarantining is enough. I think it should be mandatory and endorsed from the highest levels, so that nobody risks losing their job for doing the right thing. But if people follow the recommendations, if they are really scrupulous about staying home if they’ve been exposed, the strategy should help. We need to keep it from going exponential.”

“You might get your wish,” said Sarah. “From what I’ve heard.”

“Is that what Elliot said?” asked Owen, interested. “He would probably be on the front lines, enforcing it. I don’t envy him that particular assignment.”

Ever since she’d mentioned her brother was a cop, Owen had been asking about him. In a way it was nice, but it usually had the effect of making Sarah more nervous for Elliot’s safety. Over the years, she had mostly inured herself to the usual dangers he faced in the line of duty, but a virus was different from a bullet. Plus, the outbreak had changed things. She’d seen on the news that there had been a surge in petty crime, as well as an increase in anti-police sentiment: through their relief and containment efforts, the force was becoming associated with the virus and its spread, though the worst and most irrational contempt was still reserved for ARAMIS Girl.

As Sarah finished typing, her phone flashed with a call from Noah’s daycare. “Sorry, Owen, just a sec.”

It was Iona, one of the educators, who began by reassuring her. “He’s fine, Sarah, just a bit of a fever. But it’s the new policies. We can’t be too careful. Just come and pick him up, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s better by tomorrow.”

Sarah had already slipped her feet back into her shoes and grabbed her keys when her cellphone buzzed inside her purse. She seized it, expecting a follow-up from the daycare. A turn for the worse. Her imagination was spinning out that fast.

It was Owen again. “We got cut off,” he was saying. “And I actually wanted to ask you a favour.”

“I’d love to help. Really.” She had already moved through the office and was jabbing the button to summon the elevator. “But I have to call you back.”

* * *

—

At the daycare, Sarah repented for every mean thought she’d ever had about the trio in charge. They’d reprimanded her in the mornings when she dropped Noah off late, and they’d scolded her at the end of the day when she was the very last parent to arrive for pickup. They’d pressured him to clean his plate at lunchtime, against her explicit instructions that Noah never be forced to eat something if he didn’t like it, and she had maligned them so often in conversation with her friends Corinna and Hilary that a series of cruel nicknames had evolved: Wages (short for “Wages of Destruction,” aka Waverly), No-Neck (Nellie), and Pigeon Pie (Iona). She was fuzzy on the exact etymologies, but even though the aliases were not solely her invention, Sarah felt a wave of guilt when Pigeon Pie hugged Noah tightly in the vestibule, as if to show