Não. O Station Eleven é uma metáfora da maneira pela qual o mundo entrou em colapso após o apocalipse e o sonho de que eles, de alguma forma, conseguirão chegar em casa (a uma Terra não danificada). A ironia, e de fato o conceito central do livro, é que não há como voltar ao que eles tinham antes.
There has been a schism. There are people who, after fifteen years of perpetual twilight, long only to go home, to return to Earth and beg for amnesty, to take their chances under alien rule. They live in the Undersea, an interlinked network of vast fallout shelters under Station Eleven’s oceans. There are three hundred of them now.
O final do livro mostra que a "sinfonia viajante" fez sua residência (temporária) em um aeroporto abandonado e nosso herói está lendo a história em quadrinhos, olhando pela janela para os aviões naufragados e ansiando por voltar para a velha dias:
Clark looks up at the evening activity on the tarmac, at the planes that have been grounded for twenty years, the reflection of his candle flickering in the glass. He has no expectation of seeing an airplane rise again in his lifetime, but is it possible that somewhere there are ships setting out? If there are again towns with streetlights, if there are symphonies and newspapers, then what else might this awakening world contain? Perhaps vessels are setting out even now, traveling toward or away from him, steered by sailors armed with maps and knowledge of the stars, driven by need or perhaps simply by curiosity: whatever became of the countries on the other side? If nothing else, it’s pleasant to consider the possibility. He likes the thought of ships moving over the water, toward another world just out of sight.