It was as if the lights were on but nobody was home.
“What’s going on here?” Tim asked, thinking the worst. Somebody died, the company is being sold, we’re all being outsourced—
Dale Goodman, who was hefty and bearded, spoke up from where he was sitting at Tim’s desk. “You weren’t at the company picnic and you didn’t show up yesterday. That’s all.”
Tim felt himself relax. It was a misunderstanding. They’d been so busy lately with all the projects that they must’ve forgotten the message he’d emailed them a month ago, telling them he was taking Monday off and that he and his wife, Trish, were going to
Las Vegas for a long weekend. No big deal. “You had me worried there for a minute. I thought something bad had happened.”
“Something bad did happen,” Dale said. “You weren’t at the picnic.”
Leah piped in. “And you weren’t here yesterday.”
They were playing this joke a little too far. Tim stepped around his desk. “Okay, so I wasn’t at the picnic Saturday. Big deal. I hope you all had fun. Now I’ve got a lot to catch up on, so if—”
“You were supposed to be at the company picnic,” Ed Rodriguez said. Ed had been in the Quality Control Department longer than Tim had been with the company. “All employees of Trident were required to be there.”
“Really? So when did it become mandatory I give up my personal time to go to a company picnic?” Tim said this intending it to be a joke; it came out in a sarcastic tone that was not lost on any of his employees.
Leah frowned. “Personal time?”
“What’s that?” Dale asked.
Tim regarded his employees, that creepy feeling coming back to him. The thought that there was something wrong crashed back into his system and he could now tell that they weren’t joking; something was terribly wrong. He took an involuntary step back. “Okay, you guys are freaking me out here.”
“There is no personal time,” Ed said.
“Having time to yourself is prohibited by the company,” said Barbara Newstein, another of his analysts who was standing by Ed and Carl.
“All of your time must be devoted to the company,” Leah said.
“You were supposed to be at the picnic,” Dale said.
“You violated company policy by not showing up.”
“Not showing up to the company picnic was a flagrant disregard for company loyalty.”
The litany built to a crescendo and Tim held up his hands. “Okay, let’s cut the crap!” He tried to raise his voice, to sound authoritative, but it came out sounding weak and scared. “You need to stop this now!”
Tim felt the presence of another person enter his office and he whirled around, surprised to see Francesca Rogers and Paul Hetfield, his superiors. They bore the same glazed, bland looks as his employees.
Tim was stunned. “What’s going on here?”
Francesca’s gaze was direct yet showed no emotion. “You didn’t show up to the company picnic.”
“You didn’t show up to work yesterday,” Paul Hetfield said.
Francesca and Paul took a step inside his office.
Tim took a step back.
Ed and Barbara grabbed Tim’s arms, pinning them behind his back. He felt Barbara’s breath on his ear as she said, “You must be punished for violating company policy.”
That broke Tim Cusak’s fear and he thrashed madly in an attempt to escape.
His employees and superiors swooped in and his punishment began.
AND SO IT was happening all across the country.
In New York City Matt Wagner lay tied up underneath his desk, a gag placed over his mouth. One of his eyes was bruised and swollen shut and his nose was still throbbing from the punch to his face. Twice, Matt had tried to escape and both times he’d been subdued and severely beaten. His supervisor told him that if he tried to escape again, they were going to throw him out the window. Matt had heard four screams coming from outside that sounded like people falling to their deaths from the surrounding skyscrapers onto Seventh Avenue below. Around him, everything continued as normal; phones rang and were answered, computer keyboards clacked as people typed into them. Matt’s personal line rang a dozen times last night then finally fell silent and Matt wondered if his wife and daughter were safe.
In Sedalia, Missouri Lynn McMurphy shook her head in an attempt to fight off fatigue. She’d been standing at her spot on the production line for the past eighteen hours and had only been allowed four hours of rest. Her feet hurt so bad she couldn’t stand still; she had to keep moving from one foot to the other to ease the pain, and she was barely aware of her tears as they coursed down her face. It felt like her feet were bleeding; she could feel a warm wetness in her socks. Her co-worker, Annette Ramsey, lay on the floor in a crumpled heap. Lynn hoped her friend wasn’t dead—when she’d passed out late last night, Lynn had tried to help her but Bob Jones, who had always been a pleasant guy to work with before, grabbed the back of Lynn’s shirt, hauled her to her feet and told her to get back to work. They wouldn’t let Lynn help Annette because it would hamper productivity. When Lynn finally burst out in rage that they could shove their productivity where the sun doesn’t shine, Bob had hauled off and slapped her hard in the face with a closed fist that bloodied her nose and blackened both her eyes. That was six hours ago. They still hadn’t dragged Annette away to see if she was okay, and Bob hovered nearby to make sure she didn’t slack up on her work.
In Denver, Colorado, Mel Howard appeared before Judge Carmichael on several felony and misdemeanor charges of assault and battery, assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and disturbing the peace, among others. Mel’s face was battered and bruised. He was still wearing the clothes he was wearing yesterday when those fuckwads from work had showed up at his house, and he stank. After being kidnapped by those HR assholes from work, Mel had managed to escape, but first he’d socked Mary Barnhill in the face, breaking her nose from the sound of it. He’d gotten four blocks before he was captured by the police and taken to jail, where he’d remained until this morning.
Judge Matthew Carmichael looked frustrated and worried as he flipped through papers. Mel’s Defense Attorney droned on that Mel had been improperly and unjustly treated, that the city had no right to side with his employer—correction, former employer since Mel had tendered his resignation—on these criminal matters, and that Mel should be released and the charges dropped, but Judge Carmichael dropped a bombshell before Mel’s attorney could finish. “I would love to release your client, but I can’t.” Judge Carmichael closed the sheaf of papers, looking grave. “According to this new statute passed by Congress over the weekend, Mr. Howard’s employer has the right to forcefully demand that Mr. Howard return to his duties as an employee even if Mr. Howard tenders his resignation under the ‘at will’ provision of this state’s employment laws. I know that flies in the face of all common sense, but—”
“No shit it flies in the face of all common sense!” Mel shouted.
His court-appointed attorney nudged him. “Be quiet,” he whispered.
“I hate to do this, but I am going to order that you not be released from custody until I can find out the constitutionality of this new statute,” Judge Carmichael said. He looked worried and disturbed. “I promise you that I will write a brief this morning in challenge of this statute and—”
The Prosecuting Attorney stood up. “Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor.”
“Permission granted.”
The Prosecuting Attorney approached the bench and handed Judge Carmichael a sheaf of papers. “This is a temporary order from the Governor requesting all temporary stays be ignored until the Federal Branch passes this bill in Congress.”