Against the backdrop of thundering machinery, Marcus inspected the New Horizons facility. Despite the raw scarring of recent construction, the site had the air of a high-tech campus. To the east stood the oldest buildings, now dwarfed by a behemoth clad in brick and smoked glass. A sign planted in the landscaped foreground declared it to be the new central distribution facility. The two walls he could see were embossed with New Horizons emblems, bright gold stars streaming silver-clad rainbows. Beneath the logos, letters three stories high shouted the latest New Horizons slogan, GET IN GEAR.
Closest to the state road, an old wooden farmhouse and barn had been converted to corporate guest houses. The farm buildings were now connected by a pillared walkway and decorated with fruit trees and blooming trellises.
A half dozen brick factories and warehouses covered the area to his left, all surrounded by pristine gardens and adolescent trees. To his right rose the skeletal outlines of three mammoth buildings. Each was fronted by a sign sporting the world-famous logo, followed by completion dates. The dust and the noise were as constant as the light.
Marcus climbed back into his car and drove up the hill to the office complex. The older building was steel and marble and mirrored glass. The new structure rising to its right was twice its size. As he pulled the Blazer into a visitor’s space, he could see down through the tops of trees to where the clapboard church and ancient cemetery shone in the hot afternoon sun.
The first thing Marcus noted when he entered the marble-clad foyer was the battery of cameras. Four of them. Two mounted in the corners behind the receptionist’s desk, one over the electric doors leading back into the building, another rotating in the center of the high ceiling. The receptionist’s desk also merited a second look-chest high and tiled like the floor. The two men behind the marble counter wore dark blue jackets and cordless telephone headsets. One was white and bulky, the other black and even bigger. Behind them, a waterfall splashed down an aluminum slide. Both men watched Marcus’ approach with blank expressions.
The black man asked, “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to see someone from your legal department.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Then we can’t help you.”
Marcus chose his words carefully. “I’m here regarding a union matter.”
Their focus upon him tightened. “Which union are you with?”
“None. I’m an attorney.”
“Your name?”
“Marcus Glenwood.”
“Who are you representing?”
Clearly this was not the first time they had fielded such a request. Marcus sidestepped the question. “I’d rather discuss that with someone from your legal staff.”
The two men both possessed the thick-corded necks and sloped shoulders of serious bodybuilders. The black man pointed behind Marcus with his chin. “Wait over there.”
Marcus retreated obediently to a series of marble benches adorned with suede pads. The corporate logo was everywhere-the pads, the walls, carved into the aluminum waterfall, tiled in mosaic into the floor. The wall opposite the entrance sported a huge television screen that played a constant stream of corporate ads, all displaying the nation’s top athletes making their hottest moves. Between each ad, the shooting-star logo showered sparks that formed the words GET IN GEAR. Flanking the television were back-lit posters covering almost every conceivable sport. The top PGA golfer squinted down the fairway to where a Chicago Bulls former guard slam-dunked a basket. Beside him twirled the women’s Olympic gold-medal figure skater. Marcus walked from picture to picture, pretending to ignore the pair of receptionists. Their eyes never turned his way, but he sensed they were constantly watching him.
The back doors sighed open, and a bright young woman walked straight to where he stood. “Mr. Glenwood, did I get that right?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” She offered him a cheery smile and her hand. “I’m Tracy. Welcome to New Horizons.”
“You’re not an attorney.”
“No way. I’m a summer intern in the PR department. This is my last week. School starts next Monday.” She gave a buoyant grimace. “Back to the old grind.”
“I asked to speak with someone from legal affairs.”
“Hey, I know, I’m so sorry. Everybody is really tied up right now. You wouldn’t believe how busy we are.”
“Of course.”
“But they asked me to give you a company brochure and thank you for stopping by.” She handed over the glossy magazine. “Say, do you have a card?”
Marcus hesitated. “I’m in the process of moving.”
“Sure. I can understand that. I am too.” Another grimace. “That’s the breaks, right?”
Marcus allowed her to usher him toward the outer doors. “Have you had a good time here?”
“Oh, hey, the greatest.” The blue corporate jacket did not entirely hide her bouncing curves. “You wouldn’t believe some of the people I’ve met. Just last week I helped host Todd Rankin.” When Marcus was not suitably impressed, she added, “Quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys.”
“I know who he is.”
“Sure you do. Me, I’m just your basic sports nut. Guess that’s why they said I could come back next year.” She halted as the doors slid back. They were instantly surrounded by the grind of construction machinery. She offered another cheery smile and raised her voice to say, “Thanks so much for stopping by.”
He walked back to the Blazer, climbed in, started the motor, and sat there a long moment staring down the steep drop to the little clapboard church. He wondered why they had bothered to send the cheerleader down at all. Marcus put the vehicle into gear and pulled from the space.
He stopped at the intersection, then drove past the construction site. The road became clogged with muddy tracks and the rumble of diesel thunder.
That was when they struck.
Marcus caught a glimpse of light against metal and turned in time to see a pickup hurtle down the graveled rise. He watched in disbelief as the mud-splattered truck hit an unseen slope and bounced all four wheels off the dirt.
Marcus almost left it too late. Then the roar of the pickup’s engine spurred him to stomp on the accelerator. Which meant the pickup slammed into his rear fender, and not his door.
The impact flung him across the seat, the wheel slewing under his grip. Before he could recover, he was hammered back the other way. The second truck’s aim was higher, mashing in his passenger door and showering him with broken glass.
The driver of the second truck opened his door and leaned on the running board. He wore a sweat-stained cap and a two-day growth. He shouted above the roar, “Your kind ain’t welcome here!”
Marcus glanced behind and to his left. The other driver was opening his door and reaching behind him for something hanging in his rifle rack-maybe a bat, maybe a gun.
The man yelled through his side window, “We got ways to take out the likes of you!”
Marcus jammed himself upright and stomped on the accelerator. The Blazer jumped the curb and sent mud and loose gravel spewing out behind. The attacker got off one good whack, splintering Marcus’ rear window. Marcus fought for control as the rise steepened, then slid back over the curb and roared away. He took the final corner overtight and struck the brick entrance logo a glancing blow.
Marcus hurtled onto the state road and raced through the wooded section, finally bursting into the green fields bordering the old church. He was shaking so hard he had difficulty lifting his foot from the accelerator and unclenching his grip on the wheel. He searched the road behind him, saw nothing. He turned back in time to read the sign welcoming him to Rocky Mount, home of the new South.
FIVE
As usual, the nightmare came calling in the raven-black hour before dawn. As ever, Marcus rose in weary defeat and started his day several hours before his body was ready.