Company (41 page)

Freddy discovers a file for Megan, and inside is her home phone number. He pushes through the crowd of people to get to his phone and dials.

“Hello?”

“Megan? It's Freddy Carlson.” There's a pause, so he adds, “From Zephyr?”

“Oh! Sorry, of course! I just didn't expect to hear from you. What's going on?”

“Well,” Freddy says.

It's a tight squeeze in the elevator, but the entirety of Project Alpha gets into it. In the close quarters, they mostly avoid Jones's eyes, except for Blake, who stares at him with outright hostility, and Tom, who looks plaintive. Halfway up, Tom says, “You haven't really, have you, Jones?”

“Don't be a dick, Tom,” Blake says.

“But why? Jones, why would you do something like that?”

“Because they deserve better,” Jones says. “And because I don't.”

Nobody responds to this. When they reach the monitoring room, they stare at the monitors in utter silence.

Then Eve screams.

It's short and sharp: a sound of pure frustration. Everyone jumps, including Jones. Blake, sounding shaken, says, “Jesus, Eve.”

“Did you think I was
kidding
?” she yells at Jones. “My God, did you?”

“No, Eve.”

She yanks her cell phone out of her bag. “You watch those monitors. And keep this in mind: this is your fault. I warned you what would happen if you told them. You're doing this.”

Nobody is angry; they're too stunned. “It's a joke,” says an accountant on level 7, but nobody responds. It doesn't feel like a joke. They look at their desks. Their in-boxes, piled high with fruitless tasks. It feels like Zephyr is making sense for the first time.

The voice-mail lights all come on at the same time. A murmur sweeps through the building. Hands reach for phones.

“Hello to all staff from Human Resources and Asset Protection.”

The voice is female, and light in tone. Most Zephyr employees don't recognize it. But Freddy's hand tightens on the handset, and Holly feels something in her gut contract.

“My name is Sydney Harper. I have some exciting changes to announce at Zephyr Holdings today, so please give this voice mail your full attention. As you know, last week most of Senior Management resigned. This has, obviously, thrown out our organizational structure, so Human Resources has worked hard to come up with an effective solution. After extensive consultation, both within Human Resources and the remaining members of Senior Management, we believe we've come up with a plan to maximize our resources during this difficult transition period.

“Effective immediately, all positions are vacated. Employees may apply for their current jobs, or, if they wish, another position. Full details are posted on the Jobs Board. Good-bye.”

The message ends. Stunned employees put down their phones. They turn to each other, but nobody has any answers. Slowly, they rise from their desks and file toward the elevators. The young ones don't understand; they think it's exciting. “So I can apply for any job in the company? Any one I want?” The others exchange worried looks. That's not what they heard. What they heard is that every employee has just been sacked.

The Jobs Board is a large cork bulletin board fixed to one wall of the Canteen—or what was the Canteen before Catering was outsourced. It has long been a Zephyr Holdings policy that all vacant positions must be advertised on this board, in order to ensure that the hiring process is open and transparent; also it made the people interested in leaving their current job open and transparent. Employees who approached the board could feel the eyes of anybody nearby swinging onto them. They could hear rumors being birthed. In recent times, however, the Jobs Board has been a blank canvas, a morbid reminder of how bad things are. Then, of course, Catering was outsourced, the Canteen closed down, and nobody had much reason to look at it anymore.

But now a black tack fixes a lone piece of paper to its center. It is brief and to the point.

THERE ARE NO VACANCIES AT THIS TIME
—
Dept. of Human Resources & Asset Protection

Then they get angry.

Eve sits down heavily on the carpet: one second she's standing, the next she's on her butt. The other agents mill around uncomfortably, looking at each other.

“Well,” Blake says. “That's that. Congratulations, Jones. You just got everyone fired.”

“Don't even try,” Jones says.

“I can't wait to see you try to explain this to them. That's going to be really funny. I'm going to stick around to see the look on your face when you realize they hate you for it.”

Jones looks at the monitors. “I'm sure there's enough hate for everybody.” In the lobby, a group—perhaps “mob” is the right word—watches as a man begins to throw himself against the stairwell door.

This elicits a murmur of alarm from the agents. Mona says, “Should we get Security up here?”

From the floor, Eve says dully, “Security is not going to be on our side, Mona.”

Tom says, “We haven't done anything illegal. There's nothing wrong with what we did.”

Jones snickers.

“How strong are those doors?” Mona asks.

Everyone gasps.

“Not strong enough, I guess,” Jones says.

The sun sets on Zephyr Holdings. The building glows orange-yellow, as if on fire. The glass flares, appearing to dissolve.

Men and women pound up the concrete steps. The stairwell fills with their raw emotion; it rebounds from the walls and redoubles in intensity. “We should kill them!” somebody shouts.
“We should kill them!”

Mona starts a thin, high-pitched whine and doesn't stop even when Blake gets on the phone and dials 911. He tries to shush her as he tells an operator that assistance is required
right now,
that people are trying to
attack
them. Some of the agents hurry out of the monitoring room—to barricade themselves in offices or hide under desks, Jones guesses. He kneels down next to Eve. Her hair is hanging over her face. He carefully moves this aside, and sees to his surprise that she is crying.

“No, I mean there are
hundreds
of them,” Blake says to the phone.
“Literally hundreds, do you understand?”