Build a new ark. A new Rockton. Is it even possible? I don’t know. Right now, we must focus on dismantling this one.
Having made our decision, we move quickly. We need to, if the first flight out is in two days. Also, moving quickly will keep us busy. There will be time later to plan “New Rockton.” We still have a town to shut down, and we need to make that as painless as possible for the residents.
That isn’t easy. I keep thinking about the new town. Who will join us? Isabel, Mathias, Petra, Kenny, Anders, and April have committed to giving it a shot. Who else? Maryanne? Sebastian? Would Nicole and Jacob at least want to live there part-time? And what do we do with someone like Jen? Even if we dared offer her a spot, would we trust her with the secret? Yet if we didn’t, and she found out, it would be worse. Would we want to start a new Rockton already admitting residents we don’t trust? Isn’t that the first step down a slippery slope? And then there’s Diana. I don’t even want to think about Diana.
What will we need to run it? émilie has promised to back us financially. Part of me wants to refuse and do it myself—I inherited over a million from my parents. But we trust émilie, and I’m not sure that having me finance the town will be any more comfortable. How would I expect people to treat me if I own the town?
Stop.
Just stop.
I can’t, though. My galloping mind will not be reined in. So after some of the others leave and it’s just me, Dalton, Phil, and Isabel, I make notes to get them out of my head while the others plan the exodus schedule.
Brandon and Conrad are on the first plane out. That goes without saying. Is it wrong that I want to add Marissa? I’m still angry at her defection. She hurt Anders, and I want her gone.
They do add Jolene to the list. That reminds me of what we heard this morning, but like Dalton said, she’s probably holed up somewhere, sleeping off a rough night. She is trouble, though, so she goes on the first plane. Ted, too. And possibly Gloria. Get help for her alcoholism, in recognition that Rockton—by way of Conrad—set her back.
A few other troublemakers are added to the first two planes. Then Phil and Dalton divide the town into essential and nonessential workers. We won’t use those terms, because they’re the ones we’ve used to assess privileges and this is a different thing. Bakers, like Devon and Brian, aren’t considered essential, because they can be easily replaced. Oh, I’d argue that no one can truly replace Brian, but the point is that baking is a teachable skill in a way that medicine is not.
We are at the point, however, where we cannot train a baker. Or even a new shop clerk. We must look at what we’ll need to keep running, and in that context everything changes. We may not need a doctor if others can perform first aid. Hell, I’m damned sure we don’t need a police detective.
April and I will stay to the end. We have a loophole here—the council wants us to assemble a team to dismantle the town. We’ll find work for everyone that we need to stay.
In two weeks, we’ll be down to that final team. That means reworking a lot of schedules. We must eat as much food as possible and won’t have to gather more. No need to repair buildings or clothing. No need to construct new furniture or restock the general store. It will require a complete rethinking of how we run the town. First, though, we must tell them what’s happening.
* * *
We’ve discussed this all before. If we cannot save Rockton, how will we tell residents that it’s closing? Some will be champing at the bit to leave. To them, this isolated life is a prison sentence, and they’ve already decided they’d rather just face whatever they did down south. Yet another area where the council has failed us. Greed took over, and they misrepresented the living conditions here. They were like time-share promoters, pumping up the allure of the Canadian north while downplaying the reality of two years in an off-the-grid town.
Maybe I’m too seduced by Rockton myself to see the reality, but I believe those eager to leave will be in the minority. There are many residents who’d be happier if Rockton were, say, on a tropical island. Yet they came here for a reason, and they are not ready to leave.
Yet it’s more than that, too. People are here to hide. And now we’re about to shove them back into the world before they are prepared to face it again. We’ve discussed how to do that, should Rockton close, and all of our plans were careful and considerate. Need-to-know basis only until we’ve run out of options. In those scenarios, though, we would be fighting to the bitter end. That is no longer the plan. Also, in those scenarios, our residents were relaxed and content, and they trusted us. Again, no longer the situation.
We cannot afford to be secretive. We cannot even afford to be cagey. Cards on the table. Everyone must know, and that will itself be chaotic, but the alternative would be worse.
So we call a meeting. Shut down every place of business, tell people to drop what they’re doing and come to the town square for an emergency meeting.
They come with the reluctance of teens being summoned to the school office. They think they’re in trouble. Now that Conrad and Brandon have been caught, Dalton is going to lay down the law. Time to shape up and forget this criminals-in-hiding nonsense. Anders was a special case, and the rest was just panic whipped up by troublemakers.
They come with grumbles and dragged feet. They arrange themselves before the podium, like kids summoned to a disciplinary assembly. They’ve all misbehaved, and they’re about to get a lecture, and they’re trying to joke with each other about time off from work, but really, they just want this over with.
I have been elected speaker for this afternoon’s session. I don’t remember the poll, but apparently, I won. Or lost. Yep, I definitely drew the short stick on this one. I will deliver the news, and then Dalton and Phil will move forward to answer questions.
I climb up, and while some of the noise dies down, it’s far from silent. People shift. People mutter. There is a rift here. A deep and—if I’m being honest—unfixable rift. There are those we could win back, those who are paying attention, those who are glancing at Anders with quiet smiles and nods, telling him that they’ve moved beyond their initial fear and confusion. But I have underestimated the depth of discontent. I think we all have.
In the past year, the tenor has changed so much. The rapid turnover made that easy. Far too many people who don’t want to be here. Or don’t deserve to be here. It’s the rest I worry about, and it’s for them that I choose my words with care.
“Everyone knows we’ve had a rough last few days, but that’s not why you’ve been called here this afternoon.”
This gets their attention. The shuffling stops. Eyes turn my way.