Chapter 16 #2
birth control pills, toothbrushes. Boxes of Kleenex and a cardboard sleeve of alcohol swabs.
“I know this has been a traumatic time,” Reddick says loudly. He has an empty crate in his hand, and bits of Styrofoam packing drift away in the breeze. “We can’t take everyone out of here right away.”
“Take everyone where, exactly?” Evan asks, sweaty after hauling a propane generator off their skiff by himself.
“The evacuation camps in Vancouver are slammed,” Reddick says flatly.
Ruth looks down at the bottle of sanitizer in her hands. She can imagine those camps: rows of government-issued tents, people
trying to sleep on uncomfortable cots. People milling around, listless, waiting for who knows what. But safe and out of the
elements, at least.
“We’ll have to come back through this area with a ferry for relocations, once we have temporary housing figured out.” His
voice is a worn-out record player.
“When’s that going to be?” Evan asks.
“We’ll take anything urgent now, but everyone else will have to wait until October.”
“Everyone?” It’s Isaac, who has made it down the beach, several loggers in tow. “Is this a mandatory evacuation?”
“We’re trying to make sure everyone can—-”
“Because we’ve got millions in timber on shore here,” Isaac interrupts. “We can’t just leave it.”
“Maybe take it easy.” Evan tries to calm him.
“How bad is it everywhere else?” Ruth asks.
Reddick massages his lower back with his free hand. “Thousands are dead or missing. Mostly the coast and Vancouver Island.
Vancouver proper got the least of it.”
“You’re not so bad, up here,” Yetman says. “The archipelago softened the blow.”
“We can take anyone sick or injured today. We can take children with a family member,” Reddick says.
Harvey retrieves a thermos from the skiff. His press badge flaps against his sweater. “How many are left in town here?” he asks Ruth, unscrewing the lid.
“Sixty-eight was my count,” Ruth says.
“Wow.” Steam rises as he takes a sip. “Trailblazers up here. Everyday heroes.”
“How are you dealing with sanitation?” Reddick asks.
“Some of us had outhouses. We dug two latrines.” Ruth’s head is foggy. She needs to sit down.
“Anyone with acute medical concerns you’re aware of?”
She pauses. “Kyle Tonkin is diabetic and running short on insulin. And Gabrielle Stitt is thirty-four weeks pregnant.”
“What about you?” Evan says quietly.
“I’m fine.” She isn’t sure she is fine, but she guesses she’s fine enough. The last transfusion should hold for a month at
least. She isn’t about to leave Annie here alone. Not today.
“Would anyone share a sound bite for the news tonight?” Harvey says to the wider group. “I’ll call it in.”
A chorus of voices:
“We haven’t had power in two weeks.”
“How can you leave us here?”
“Do you have a list of survivors?”
“We’re bathing in buckets.”
Harvey scribbles. “One at a time, please.”
“If we evacuate, where would you put us?” Sylvia asks.
“The military is setting up old hotels and schools in East Van. Food and supplies are coming in from the interior and out
east.”
“Gymnasiums, a couple of rec centres,” adds Yetman.
“Would you bring us back afterward?” Maggie asks, putting Sam back down beside her. He finds a snake of bull kelp, and he’s
off and running, swinging it like a kite. His shoes don’t match.
“At this time there’s no immediate plan to reinstate services here,” Reddick says. “We’re prioritizing based on population size for now. Everyone will have to move.”
“So you’ll leave us to fend for ourselves?” Nancy asks.
“All I’m saying is there isn’t a plan,” says Reddick, “at this time.”
Isaac paces the shore. He waves his hand and turns to leave. Reddick takes a hammer and nail, puts up a laminated relocation
notice on what’s left of a telephone pole.
Isaac pulls it off the pole and tosses it on the ground at Reddick’s feet. “This isn’t what we need,” he says. “We need help
rebuilding, otherwise we lose everything.”
“They’re just doing their jobs,” Evan pleads.
“Emotions are running high,” Yetman says, moving in between them. “We get it.”
Isaac walks away while Yetman hands out evacuation information to every person on the beach. The white pamphlets flutter against
the wind.
“How’s Annie?” Evan asks Ruth.
“Come ask her yourself.”
“You see how Dad is.” He nods toward Isaac. “I have to stay.”
“You’ve hardly seen her.”
“It’s better for her in the long run if I do this.”
“I don’t think she sees it that way. Why don’t you come back to the cabin with me this afternoon?”
Evan waits before replying. He unzips his coveralls, takes the top half off, then ties the arms around his waist in a knot.
“Did you ever figure out who that guy was? Walker?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“Deckhanding for Henry.”
Evan pauses. “I can’t come this afternoon. Dad needs me to bring one more load down from camp.”
“You can make your own choices.”
Evan frowns at the sand. “My mom wouldn’t want me to leave him. Not right now.”
Ruth nods. Any resolve she’d been holding about Evan—-chastising him over his absence and his choices—-slips away. Her frustration
with Isaac loosens its hold. She can only think of six-year-old Evan sitting next to Celeste’s bed, running his small hands
through her hair.
Evan meets her eyes. “I’ll be over soon. A couple of days, max. Can you please give her this?” He hands her an ivory sand
dollar from his shirt pocket.
Ruth walks the weedy road home, through the mud and silt. Soon, she has to sit down on a stump. Her heart pumps too quickly,
punching at her ribs. She holds up the pamphlet with the relocation date: October 1.
She folds it and puts it in her pocket.