North Vancouver
Some yards had tents. One family sat around a table outside their RV. The wheels of it were wedged in a crevice in the road. The crooked house that had the Kawasaki for sale last month looked deserted. There was no sign of the motorbike anywhere. I passed a cedar hedge that had been wrenched in half by a rupture in the ground. In the middle of the pervasive odour of smoke, the torn branches smelled like Mom’s house at Christmas.
That simple smell transported me to last December. I lay in front of the fire with Oliver curled behind my knees. The soles of my feet were getting really hot but I didn’t want to move because Oliver was sleeping so peacefully. Mom was sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a spool of red satin ribbon in her lap. She was making bows to tie around railings on the front porch. Outside the first snow of winter sifted down from a leaden sky. Mom and I were talking about Christmas dinner and what we needed to make the day before and what everyone else was bringing. The back door slammed and we heard Michael’s boots hit the kitchen floor. When he walked into the living room he was almost hidden behind an armful of cedar branches. The sweet smell of cedar rushed ahead of him and filled the room.
It hurt to remember that, to think how different everything was now. That world of simple holiday fun seemed on the other side of a dark, bottomless river. If this was a movie, dramatic music would be playing in the background. Only I couldn’t hear even a car on the quiet streets. Silence made the scene of twisted houses and cracked roads more vivid. When I reached the main drag I hoped to see buses chugging along even though I couldn’t hear any. It was empty except for one police car in the middle of the intersection at Mountain Highway. Portable traffic barricades squatted in front of the Mountie cruiser to stop people from turning onto Lynn Valley Road. A guy on a bicycle was arguing with the Mounties beside the barricade.
“Hey man, it’s just a bike,” the cyclist said.
“Doesn’t matter. Lynn Valley Road is closed to everything but emergency response vehicles,” the woman officer said.
“I haven’t seen many of those around, have you?”
“Do you want us to book you right now, or would you like to be on your way?” The male officer lifted his hat and mopped his forehead with the back of his hand. His face glowed red. “What’re you looking at?” he growled at me.
“Nothing,” I said and backed away.
“Hey,” the woman called me.
“Yes?” I stopped and widened my face in an innocent expression. I was innocent but just being spoken to by a cop made me nervous. I squared my shoulders and drew myself up to my full height of five feet, ten inches.
“You got a place to go?” She pierced me with her eyes, waiting for my answer.
“Yeah, yeah. I do.”
“Well make sure you go there because there’s a twenty-four hour curfew starting at noon. Only essential travel will be allowed.” She tucked her thumbs into her belt and shifted most of her weight to her back left leg, like a martial artist in a high stance.
I glanced at my watch. 8:00. I had four hours. The hospital was only half an hour away if I walked slowly. I could be there and home again before curfew started.
I broke into a jog. I didn’t expect her to chase me but I wanted to put as much distance between us as I could.
I checked over my shoulder one last time. Would the cop have helped me if she knew Tony was an ex-Mountie? I didn’t think so. Tony said the young officers had no respect for old guys like him.
Old guys like him.
He wasn’t so old. He was my father and we needed him at home.
I picked my way along an alternate route to the hospital. As I walked, I searched for Oliver behind every tree, in every yard. I didn’t see many other people on the way but when I got to Grand Boulevard I found the huge park had been turned into an emergency campground. Hundreds of people swarmed around tents of every size and shape. Some were just tarpaulins on wires attached to rough posts. Was everyone really homeless or had they left their homes and sticking together for safety? I crossed to the west side of the refugee camp and didn’t make eye contact with anyone.
The coolness of night had disappeared and sun baked the earth again. My hair, wet and woolly, clung to my neck. It was like when I went on a big hike. I’d get halfway up the trail and feel tired and frustrated. Then I’d wish I could turn around. But reaching the summit was always worth it so I forged on. When I saw Tony it’d be worth it. More than.
On the hill above the soccer fields at 15th, I stopped to gaze down at yet another camping ground. The tennis courts at the far end of the field held a dozen or so dogs. They barked and danced around the feet of a woman who held a large bag of dry food. I squinted but I didn’t see one that looked like Oliver. As I started to edge down the grassy slope toward them, I skimmed the city horizon and froze in my tracks.
Half the downtown skyscrapers had disappeared. Even at this distance I could see the rubble where office towers and apartment buildings once stood. A man, lying on the hill with a towel for a pillow said, “No one ever thought it’d be this bad, eh?”
I shook my head and sank into a crouch. Slow deep breaths. Stop. Think. Observe. Plan. Could I plan my way out of this disaster? Of course not but I had to survive it, to wait for the world to pull itself together and rebuild.
“May as well pull up a piece of grass,” the man said and yanked his dusty baseball cap down over his eyes. “This is as good a place as any to park yourself. At least if you’re out in the open, you’re not going to get crushed under a house or a tree.”
I tensed my body to lock out the alarm that threatened to turn my bones to water. All thoughts of Oliver flew from my mind. I stood, shook the stiffness out of my legs, and started to run. I had to see Tony.
I ran past busted cars and broken houses. I let the sound of my footfalls lull me out of my anxiety. Left right, left right. Keep thinking about seeing Tony, nothing more.
Just before I got to the hospital, I had to detour around a massive sinkhole. I arrived drenched in sweat and panting hard. A small crowd milled outside temporary barricades. Inside the bright orange barriers, a dozen cops clustered under the shade of purple-leafed cherry trees. They all wore Kevlar vests and had batons tucked in their belts. Their eyes tracked the mob the way border collies watch sheep. One cop held his hand over his pistol and I wondered if there had been trouble or if he was only anticipating some. A handwritten sign was stuck on a sandwich board: medical personnel, hospital staff and new (seriously injured and sick) patients and ONE carer only past this point. No visitors. No journalists. No exceptions. Line up here to see a triage nurse.
I fell into the line to see the two nurses who sat at a folding table under a big umbrella. A cop stood beside them, stony-faced behind sunglasses. In front of me, a tall skinny kid wore brand-new runners caked with blood from a deep cut on his shin. He leaned on his mother who was an older version of him in her tank top, faded cut-offs, and the same curly blond hair. There were three groups of people in front of them, which was a pretty short line up. I’d get in to see Tony after all.
The woman in front of me stomped her feet and sighed impatiently. Behind me a man with an injured wrist moaned and swore. I braced myself against their infectious hostility and gloom. To distance myself from them, I pulled out my phone and flipped through my pictures. I had hundreds but not a single one of Tony. Mostly I had shots of me, Lexy, and Oliver. When the boy in front of me got to the nurse, she checked his wound and shot a few quick words at the other nurse. They handed him a package of bandages and Betadine swipes and told him to keep it clean. As he and his mother walked away grumbling, I realized not a single person in the line up had been taken into the hospital, not even the tiny old lady who was carried by two young boys.
“Symptoms?” the nurse snapped at me and scribbled something on a piece of paper.
“I want to see my father.”
“Next,” she called to the man behind me who pushed me aside. He shoved a swollen wrist at her. His hand hung limp, as if he had no bones in his arm.
“Excuse me,” I said to the young Mountie behind the nurses. She might be easier to persuade than the triage staff.
She raised her chin. “Yeah?”
“I need to see my father.”
“He’s already in the hospital?”
“Yeah he came in yesterday.”
“So who brought him here?”
“Uncle Javier.” I said slowly, understanding where this was going.
“That’s his one carer then, isn’t it?”
“Yes but he doesn’t have any of his things with him. He needs clean clothes and his razor. He’s an ex-Mountie and is very particular about his personal grooming.”
She knotted her mouth and then held out her hand. I pushed the bag at her and she opened it and checked the insides. Desperation clawed at me and I tried not to recoil at the smell of BO that clung to her. She had to be cooking in that uniform. I pointed to the luggage tag with his name and cell number on it. She closed the bag with a terse nod of her head.
“Can you tell me anything about him?” I begged, holding back panic with every ounce of willpower I had.
She frowned and it seemed that she was trying to decide if I was worth the bother.
“Please.” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice.
“I’ll see what I can find out.” She sauntered back to the group under the cherry trees and talked into a crackly walkie-talkie for a few minutes. Then she walked toward me, her face expressionless.
“Your father has a gun?” At that last word, the man with the fractured wrist looked at me sharply. I felt his antenna twitch.
“Yes, but he has a licence.”
“I hope it’s properly stored.” Her tone cut like a knife.
“It is. It is. After the accident we locked it away. It’s in a hidden safe.” I whispered because the man was staring now.
The Mountie paused for a minute and then she touched my arm. Her pale white hand, with its plain gold wedding band and square fingertips, felt cool on my skin. I willed her to give me only good news. But that’s not what she had to offer. “Unfortunately there has been a complication. Seems your father has developed wound botulism and he’ll be in the hospital for a few more days.”
“Botulism? Doesn’t botulism come from rotten food?” My voice came out high and squeaky.
“It’s airborne and gets into open wounds too. With all the dirt and ground stirred up right now, well, anything’s possible.”
“But—”
She held up her hand like she was stopping traffic. “But nothing. He’s one of the lucky ones—he’s got a bed and someone taking care of him. Now you need to take care of yourself so you can help him when he gets out. And you need to get home. A state of emergency was declared last night. As of noon today, there is a strict curfew being enforced.”
“How long for?”
“Until you hear otherwise. Do you have a radio?”
My words fell into a heap so I just nodded.
“Then go home, turn it on and listen. I’ll make sure your father gets his bag but don’t expect to be visiting him. Not this week anyway. Phone service should be restored soon, and you can call him then.”
I stumbled away from the hospital and wandered up St. Andrews Avenue, deaf and blind to everything around me. My mission had failed. Now I had to tell Michael I’d left the compound and not even seen Tony. I started to walk, to try to figure out what to do next.