She'd call and cancel one of them as soon as she got back in the office. She had big plans for the weekend. “That's great. Deerpark is the last place we're going to want to be this weekend."
"Why is that?"
"Management is real impressed with the yields they're getting from this rig. They're going to retire the Fricks and order three more WM3500s."
"How many men are they going to let go?"
"Fifty, maybe more," she said. “It'll be in stages as the new rigs come in. But I'm sure your job is safe."
"I wasn't thinking about mine."
"Andy isn't your responsibility. He's barely even responsible for himself."
"That's why he needs me. When are they making the announcement?"
"Silbert is breaking the news to everybody today at lunch."
That gave Matt a whole hour to worry about how Andy would take it.
February 20, 2011
When the emergency operator answered, Lyle was struck dumb. He didn't know what to say. He certainly couldn't tell her the truth, or they wouldn't send anyone, except maybe a couple of cops to take Lyle in for a psych evaluation.
"I'm Lyle Whittaker, a coroner at the Clarion County morgue. I've got a man here suffering from extreme hypothermia and in need of immediate medical attention."
"Did you say the morgue?"
"Yeah, and this is where he'll stay if you don't send the paramedics right away."
So the operator, Roxi Witt, made the call and sent the paramedics.
But even as Roxi did it, something nagged at the back of her mind…
She was at the end of her eight-hour shift. No calls had come in about anybody being found nearly frozen.
The only incident she'd heard about was yesterday, a little girl who'd found the frozen body of a skier who'd been buried by the avalanche.
That had happened three months ago.
But this certainly wasn't a crank. The readout on her computer screen confirmed the call was coming from the county morgue and that an assistant coroner named Lyle Whittaker was scheduled to be on call that morning.
So, after careful consideration, Roxi looked around to make sure no one was watching her, opened her purse, and found the tiny scrap of paper that she'd been saving for years, just waiting for the right moment to come along.
And if this wasn't it, nothing ever would be.
She took out her cell phone and called the National Enquirer tip line to claim her five hundred bucks.
Lyle wheeled Matthew Cahill into the hallway, where it was warmer, and covered him with every sheet he could find to help him generate some body heat.
The paramedics arrived within a few minutes and immediately hooked Matt up to an EKG, which, to Lyle's astonishment, showed a weak heartbeat, in the low twenties. Critical condition for a living person but not bad for a dead man.
They put Matt on oxygen, started an IV, and were about to wheel him out to the ambulance, when one of the paramedics repeated the question that Lyle couldn't avoid answering any longer.
"How long was this guy frozen?"
Lyle handed the paramedic a copy of the forest ranger's report, the morgue log, and a bag containing Matthew Cahill's personal effects, which included his wallet, his watch, and a wedding band.
"Three months," he said and dashed off.
The paramedic was sure that he'd heard wrong, that the coroner had actually said three minutes, but he was in too much of a hurry to get the patient to the hospital to chase after Lyle to confirm the obvious.
CHAPTER FIVE
November 18, 2010
Roger Silbert gathered the employees in the yard, climbed up on the back of a flatbed truck, and addressed them with a bullhorn. He was thin, smelled of breath mints, and talked too fast. Today he wore a B. Barer and Sons cap to show that he was one of the guys despite his jacket, tie, and gold cufflinks.
There wasn't a man in the crowd who owned a pair of cufflinks or would buy a shirt that didn't have buttons that could do the job.
Matt stood beside Andy at the front of the crowd. Rachel stood on the periphery with the rest of the staffers from the front office building. The Barers were conspicuously absent, vacationing in Palm Springs for three weeks, as they did every winter.
Silbert began by reminding them of the bad economy, the sharp drop in new home construction nationwide, the influx of cheap lumber from other countries, and all the other ills that afflicted their industry, as if they didn't already know all about them, as if those worries weren't already keeping them up nights, or causing them to kick their dogs, or spend their weekends drunk, or put off going to their doctors for fear of what that hard bump under the skin, or that chronic pain, or that bleeding from the ass might turn out to be and what it might cost.
"We've had to take a hard look at how we do business and embrace new technologies that lower costs, conserve energy, produce greater yields, increase efficiency, and offer more operational flexibility," Silbert said.
Andy turned to Matt. “How many guys you got working on that new rig you've been playing with?"
Matt hesitated a second before answering. “Two."
"Shit," Andy said.
"So I'm pleased to announce that we'll be replacing our old, outdated equipment with the latest, cutting-edge equipment," Silbert said. “No pun intended."
He laughed, just to make sure everyone knew that his pun was intended and that he thought it was pretty witty. But half the men there had no idea what a pun was and no one was in the mood to laugh.
Andy spoke up. “When you say you're lowering costs, what you mean is that you're going to fire people."
"Unfortunately, there will be some reductions in our workforce," Silbert said. “But those who remain will have the security of working in a leaner, stronger, more efficient company that's better prepared to take on the challenges of the future."
"What you mean is that half of us, guys who have been here ten, twenty years, natural-born woodsmen, are going to be kicked onto the street to starve while you collect a bonus and move on to fire more hardworking men at another company in some other industry you don't know shit about."
"Let's not get overdramatic," Silbert said. “Nobody is going to starve. We'll be offering retraining programs, absolutely free, for all of our temporarily displaced workers."
"Training in what?" someone in the crowd called out.
"Word processing, website design, solar panel installation, computer repair," Silbert said, "and other exciting jobs in the new economy."
"I want to train for your job." Andy unbuckled his pants, let them drop, and then mooned Silbert. He bent over and peeked at Silbert from between his legs. “All I've got to do is figure out how to get my head up my ass and I'm qualified."
The crowd cheered and laughed. Silbert shook his head like a disapproving parent and lowered his bullhorn. There was nothing more to say and he knew it.
Matt smacked Andy's shoulder. “Pull up your pants. You're just making things worse."
"We're losing our jobs, Matt. Exactly how can things get any worse than that?"
"You might have kept yours before you did this."
"Yeah, right," Andy said, hiking up his pants.
Matt turned towards Silbert, who was walking back towards the main office building, and called out to him. “Are you going to fire Andy?"
Silbert stopped and faced Matt. “He's the first and only name on the list so far. He'll be out by the end of the day."
"If he goes," Matt said, "I go, too."
Andy looked at his friend in astonishment. A hush fell over the crowd.
"You're the best sawyer we've got," Silbert said. Then he moved a few steps closer to Matt and looked him in the eye. Matt could smell the wintergreen Life Savers on his breath. “But the beauty of the WM3500 is that now anybody can be the best sawyer we've got. Good luck to you both in your new endeavors."