The roads were clogged full and there’s no way that they could get out of the city at this point. Their apartment door was barricaded and their window was six levels off the ground. There was no illusion that they were safe; somewhere, in the other apartments, surely, there were sick people and dead people.

Television showed scenes of wreakage from helicopters, refugees or hordes streaming and it was hard to figure out which was which. Ellie’s boyfriend stayed glued to the television, flipping through channels endlessly while the badly-staffed stations constantly flipped to wait time. It seemed that actual footage and reporting was getting less frequent. Inside, appropriate measures were being taken. The bathtub was filled with fresh water. There was food for what they hoped to be about three weeks, maybe a month; those bulk boxes of pasta were paying off.

The balcony window had bookcases, the sofa, and a desk shoved in front of it. Only one person watched the other windows.