Oil to Ashes 1, "Picnic" (Linc Freemore Apocalyptic Thriller Series) Read online

mission. Howard was a great leader and motivator. Linc would follow him anywhere. But the other managers took him for granted. The rest of them could only dream of the level of buy-in that Howard inspired.

  "Every decision we make at GlobalShift," he would say in his weekly broadcasts, "we have to evaluate on a single criteria. Does it help us feed the troops?"

  "If not, then say no to it."

  “And then choose an objective that does!"

  Linc made his way up to the first floor and dropped his bag on his desk. He picked up his phone and reluctantly started to dial. He would tell Angie about the car later, after they'd enjoyed their first day off together in months. He'd think of some excuse for leaving it at work

  “Harry, it's Linc. Are you ready?”

  For all but the most Dilbertian of employee's, key performance indicators were a gratifying concept. Goals are easy to set when you have a cause and believe in it. Set your goal, beat it, collect your reward. But when meeting your KPI requires the collaboration of a muttonhead who blocks your every move; well, what's the point?

  “I know I said I'd certify the installation first thing this morning,” said Harry. “But all the steps must be implemented in the correct sequence or my entire process breaks down.”

  Linc had suffered plenty of bureaucrats in his time. Harry Anderson seemed to have a talent for finding new levels of pedantic with each exchange.

  “Well call me as soon as you're ready to go,” said Linc. “The deadline is today.”

  Linc thought best to avoid mentioning his bonus was on the line. That would only motivate Harry to constipate the procedure even further. He hit the end button on his phone and prepared himself for whatever delay Harry would fickle him today.

  Hardware had always made sense to Linc. Like pieces of puzzles that seem to solve themselves. But not software. That was Harry's thing. He was one of those ubernerds. Always going on about how he was the national champion of Dragons Quest or Dungeon Wars or some such. Some game where people like Harry gathered in online herds. For a social experience that allowed them to avoid physical interaction with other people.

  As well as being an amazing prick, he was amazing with software. And Linc needed him to sign off the software module for the installation of the new rack mount power supply unit at the plant. It was frustrating; having to certify the installation of a metal box that Linc could plug in as easily as a block to a Lego house his son had built. But that's how the company did things and without the piece of paper his bonus would be forfeit. One more in a long line of bonuses. Liberated from hard workers by fine print. Something the company seemed to have made into an art form.

  He got up and headed for the elevators. The power supply unit was in supply. Three floors up.

  He passed the elevators and took the stairs. He always took the stairs, especially now. An elevator was the last place he wanted to be if a mortar round or improvised bomb hit the building. But before that too; he hadn't played for 11 years now, but he stayed fit. Angie couldn't understand why he stayed so fit. He didn't either. Not Really. Being fit felt good and he enjoyed it. But he didn't need it. He would never play again. Not seriously.

  He took stairs two at a time, arms pumping, his pulse rising, breathing hard. It was like running the stairs back at the stadium. Coaches would scream random abuse, "move your ass you lazy maggot – I've seen chimneys move faster than that!"

  The last one back had to do another lap. Then there would be the tackle drills. "Practice like you play!" they yelled. "Freemore! You can hit harder than anyone on this team! Don't tackle like a pussy just cos he's your buddy!"

  The harder he ran the further it took him back. Back to the glory days.

  Nobody in supply gave him a second glance as he exited the stair well on the forth floor. They were used to him now. Appearing at their doorway like he'd been running from the end of the world.

  He scrawled his signature and took the unit from the shelf. It was eighteen inches long and dark gray and the unshiny surface seemed smooth and plain enough. All this fuss over a steel box. Five inches wide and ten inches deep.

  The installation's greatest challenge would be slotting a power input cable and four power outlets into the five polymer Sockets. He could have sent his boy to do it.

  It was easy to resent a thing that caused him such strife.

  He headed back down stairs. One step at a time now. Keep it safe. The glory days faded.

  "Remember the cause," he grumbled to himself. A new power supply to power a new rack of servers to speed up the supply chain. "Feed the troops and bring them home," he reminded himself.

  He stood by his desk and waited. He jiggled the lustrous sockets in the dull black rear panel. His ghostly reflection mimicked him. Testing each until its proof of immobility were beyond certain. A formation of midnight blue buttons stood along the front panel. Silent and sombre as the cops on the cemetery tarmac. A row of LEDs stood beside them, powered off and dull. Slivers of reflected light hinting at their potential to illuminate.

  "Over nine dollars a gallon, Linc!" Shaz slapped him on the shoulder as she strode past with her usual saunter. Like she had a length of two by four between her ankles. He'd never figured out if it was an injury that caused her to walk that way or because she was more of a good ol' boy than most good ol' boys.

  "I filled her up this morning and set a new record. Two hundred, forty five ninety three. That's just the beginning, you'll see!"

  Linc stared at her until she turned into the stair well.

  She stuck her head back around the corner, "And that's just my run-around. Wait till I fill up Goliath!"

  He wished he could be surprised but it was basic supply and demand.

  He sat down and studied the pressed steel edges, folded around one another where joins required it. Straight and true and without kink or flaw.

  Without a handle it would have been a cumbersome thing. Ten pounds and ungainly. But the sleek U-shaped handle was well centered. Stainless steel and solid. The unit had swung evenly at his side with each step, even on the stairs. It had a nice weight to it and made a satisfying thunk as he placed it on his desk.

  It was hard to resent a thing crafted with such precision. To resent a thing well made.

  He could have picked it up later, a quick trip upstairs. But any small delay would give Harry another excuse to start another task that would take him another half hour. Another picnic missed. Another promise broken.

  Not this time. Not today. Work seemed less important now. Since the wars. Not when weighed against who waited at home. Nobody knew what was coming tomorrow or the next day. Would he spend it at work? Not when they promise things and take them away each time. They blame the environment or they move the goal posts. They promise it will be worth his while next time. Not this time. Not when he can spend the time with his family.

  Linc sat, scrolling past emails and pushing buttons on his phone, restlessly waiting for it to ring. He'd taken more than his share of stick from his friends and workmates when that phone rang. The nasty lime green cover was bad enough. But no amount of heckling made a dent in the pleasure he got from that gawdy ring. The mischievous grins, the giggles that burst from that little face trying to stay composed and serious. Every hideous flashing ring, every time it changed from dazzling lime green to some luminous variant of pink that he could not even name brought back that birthday. The small gift, the cumbersome wrapping, the plain card. And the fits of uncontrollable snorting laughter when he opened it and connected it to his phone. The sheer joy that had lasted pure and untainted for the rest of the day.

  The phone flashed lime and something like pink.

  “I'm ready,” said Harry.

  “...the second major oil company to receive a government bailout in three months” crackled the thin voice. “Business confidence has dropped to the lowest level since the nineteen thirties according to the...”

  Linc hit the off button and waiting for Harry to whine about how this was his car
and he shouldn't mess with the controls without his permission. But he'd rather listen to Harry bleating than to the depressing state of the world right now.

  “Those blasted fools will get us all killed,” said Harry instead.

  “Sure,” muttered Linc trucefully.

  Harry’s contempt for the current administration was no secret. But right or wrong, Linc couldn’t face debating his deluded logic.

  Stare out the window. Enjoy the view. Clamp your mouth shut. Don't add fuel to a diatribe.

  Nobody knew, or at least nobody revealed, why the plant was at the end of such a desolate road. There were rumors in the office of secret tests and strange incidents but Linc figured the simplest explanation was probably the right one. The land had been cheap because it was miles from anywhere useful.

  Harry dawdled a long straight. They passed the turn off to the bikers clubhouse. Linc was relieved that he'd only seen them the one time today. They used to keep to themselves. But not now. Now they seemed to take every opportunity to make themselves known. Them and their rivals with the red bandannas on the other side of town.

  They passed rows of oaks, gnarled leviathans writhing their bulk upwards and reaching for the next breath of light. Crowns of a million leaves, green and golden and standing guard along the road, perfect and still. Indifferent to the intruding vehicle.

  Today Linc counted seven columns of the thick black smoke. One more than