IGMS Issue 49 Page 8

  "Yeah?" he said nonchalantly, giving his revenge plan time to fully unfurl. "I'm thinking of modifying my car to run on fryolator oil."

  "Sure, you can support the lard-giants." Ed shrugged. "I guess it just depends how deeply you're committed."

  Graham exhaled slowly, deliberately. The smug bastard. That was it.

  He fixed Ed in his gaze. "You hardly make a footprint, you said."

  "Yeah. I've been uber-responsible. By now, I hardly carbon tiptoe."

  "I'm afraid even decades of that won't atone for last night's misstep."

  "Misstep?"

  "Those two dozen solar panels you bought. They're great now. But what about the long-term, like you said? When those panels wear out, they'll leak as much cadmium as a million double-A batteries. Where will you put the waste?"

  Ed's mouth went satisfyingly slack.

  "I don't know," he stammered.

  Graham didn't know whether to laugh or feel sorry. By god, it had worked. Messing with Ed was almost better than firing him.

  "Billions of toxic molecules, dispersing into the air and groundwater," he said. "Oh well. We're stuck with it now."

  Ed's lips trembled. Graham hid his smile as he refilled his mug from the water cooler.

  That afternoon, the sound of banging, whirring tools, and metal sliding across the floor rained down from above. Ed had apparently returned to his work with the renewed vigor of an ant on crack.

  Ed's blog post the next day, however, unsettled Graham:

  Posted by Ed (@e-star):

  I can hardly see to type. I gave my cat to a shelter this morning. And now I am alone. I loved him, but I couldn't justify my interference in the life of a wild creature any longer. Or what would have been a wild creature, if I hadn't domesticated him, ruining his innate hunting instincts. The shelter was the only solution. At least I am free now. Free from all but one obligation.

  One reply followed:

  Posted by Chuck (@Truhealth):

  Ed, are you in some trouble? Why would you disconnect your number? You know I worry about you. Come back to Reardon before you go down that route.

  At five o'clock on Friday, Graham noticed Ed sitting paralyzed at his desk, his face forlorn. He paused on the elevator threshold. A new vision of himself formed in his mind. A good boss offered firmness, yes. But also emotional support.

  "What's up, Ed?" he asked.

  "I can't stand it," Ed said. He tapped his fingers against the security glass, squinting. "I sit here at night, working. The light from my desk makes insects fly up against the window. Look what I've done."

  "I see some cobwebs . . ."

  Ed's voice sounded pained. "They're there because of me. I attracted the flies, and as a result, the spiders have completely altered their habits. The bugs are feeding the spiders, not the bats that pollinate the flowers and trees."

  It occurred to Graham to wonder if Ed was stoned. But in the light of the desk lamp's compact fluorescent bulb, his pupils were focused and tight.

  "That's you, Mister Natural Selection," Graham quipped. But Ed continued on.

  "Yes. I am. Earlier this week, I didn't think about all the acorns I stepped on in front of the building. That's two dozen nuts the squirrels didn't crack open by themselves. That means more nutrients for those squirrels per day. More squirrel babies per litter, more litters per year. I'm changing the ecosystem."

  "Get serious."

  "If I'm not part of the solution, I'm part of the problem," Ed said. "Just like the solar panels. Always, something crowds in to ruin your best intention." His fingers worried his lips. "I have to balance it somehow," he whispered.

  Graham opened his mouth to speak, but found his sense of charity replaced by exasperation. Kind boss, tyrant boss.... he realized he wanted neither. He just wanted Ed gone.

  Two days later, a review of company invoices gave Graham all the evidence he needed. Once the disbelief wore off, he printed the transaction record and climbed the ladder to the warehouse roof, where he found Ed polishing one of the solar panels with a rag. The row of tilted glass faces reminded Graham of Easter Island. He gazed in wonder at the plantings spilling out around the perimeter and underfoot. A fuzzy odor from some nearby herb made his nose itch.

  "I've been meaning to show you the vegetable garden," Ed called out cheerily when he spotted him.

  The new brownness of Ed's upper body startled Graham. His torn shorts barely clung to his hips. Fairly certain Ed was going commando underneath, Graham avoided looking too closely at the holes.

  "The sod's going to regulate the building temperature all year," Ed said, giving a pea vine an affectionate pat.

  "You sold the shipping truck," Graham said. He brandished his print-out and waited.

  Ed grinned. "I'm rebalancing," he said. "I don't think that junker could clear even the loosest emissions test."

  "I warned you about going over my head like this. I'm the boss here." Graham swallowed a groan at how pathetic the words sounded.

  "I didn't ask because I knew you'd agree with me," Ed said. "How can we help our clients develop responsibility if we're stuck in the old patterns?"

  "How do we distribute without a truck?"

  "You said you were serious about going green, Graham. I can't think that you're a hypocrite."

  "No. I'm just the sap holding the paperwork when we file for bankruptcy."

  Ed laughed. "You see, that's just another cultural construct."

  Graham smacked his palm against his forehead. "We're a business."

  "And it's businesses that cover this planet in asphalt, waste, and poison."

  Graham fumed. Nature's Mill didn't practice blind profit-making. He was as responsible as his budget allowed. And sometimes that meant compromises. Bosses understood this.

  "You're fired, Ed," he said. "It's been interesting. Good, even. But - "

  "You want me to leave?" Ed faltered against one of the panels. Graham felt a twinge, remembering the office-sport afternoons. He kept his eyes on the jagged tree line across the gorge. "Let's not end it ugly. You don't have a lot of stuff. You can be out by the afternoon."

  "Or else what?"

  "Come on."

  Ed's lips thinned. "Or else you'll 'make me'?"

  Graham exhaled forcefully. Right. Like this was going to end in blows. Ridiculous. He headed for the exit ladder.

  "I'm out of here. Get your things and get out."

  He scolded himself for taking one last look, knowing the image of Ed's hollow-cheeked dismay would sear itself on his memory.

  A dark building greeted Graham the next morning. A good sign, he thought. He unlocked the door and took the elevator upstairs. To his relief, he found Ed's desk bare of everything except his computer. Graham felt his heart lighten. No messy interactions after all. He took his place at his desk. Time to rewrite the job ad and start again.

  His computer beeped with an instant message.

  Ed (@e-star):

  Good morning, Graham.

  Dammit. Graham bolted out of his chair and paced, his knuckles against his lips. He kicked the wall, then slid back to his keyboard. He pounded out:

  Graham (@grahamarama):

  Ed. Leaving the building means leaving the system.

  He finished with a whack of his middle finger on the 'return' key.

  Ed (@e-star):

  Graham,

  Who said I left the building?

  Graham craned his neck to look down the length of the office toward the packing tables. Vacant. Ed was either loitering downstairs or in the warehouse.

  He stalked to the elevator. The button felt strangely dead under his finger.

  He tried again. No response.

  "What the hell."

  The stairwell door, then.

  No exit. Locked.

  He returned to his computer.

  Graham (@grahamarama):

  Ed, stop messing with me and get off the property.

  He stilled his breath for a minute, inclining one ear,
straining to hear anything over the rush of the river.

  Beep!

  Ed (@e-star):

  Graham, I am sorry. This friendship is no longer sustainable.

  Graham sat with his back against the packing floor wall, slowly massaging his beard. In the two days that had passed, he had eaten all but a remaining pack of peanuts in his desk, developed a closer familiarity than he wanted with the Tempur-Pedic properties of the office floor, and put an Aeron-shaped dent in the elevator's doors.

  His cell phone lay in front of him, still cued up to 9-1-1. He'd dialed every hour for the last forty-eight hours, until he forced himself to stop wearing down the battery. No service. No service. Bullcrap. He'd set his stomach to boiling again if he thought too much about it. Ed must have mail-ordered a black market signal blocker. As an extra measure, he'd also taken all the office cell chargers. Though not the water cooler, Graham noticed.

  A pile of spent objects sat in front of him - scissors, boxcutters, the heavy, unscrewed blade from the paper cutter, all nicked and bent from his failed efforts to loosen the stairwell door lock. The elevator doors wouldn't budge, and the windows? Also no use. Even if he could bust out the safety glass and squeeze through the bars, he'd earn only a 60-foot drop to the rapids. The knuckles of his right hand still throbbed from his slamming them into the wall in a moment of rage.

  He read his blog post from his first night of imprisonment again. It was all he could do, since every URL he tried redirected him back to the company webpage.

  Posted by Graham (@grahamarama):

  I can only hope someone's reading this. If you are, you must believe I am in a legitimate situation. My colleague has gone crazy and locked me in my own office. I swear on all that is good and holy this is not a joke. PLEASE CALL THE POLICE RIGHT NOW to the Bufort Falls Mill, fifteen miles north of the Delaware River on the old mining roads. There's no signs out here, but the coordinates are 41.037995°N, 75.021687°W. Please. Give them the name Ed Leeds. He's unhinged. I don't know what will happen to me.

  Other posts had come through, from time to time:

  Posted by Ed (@e-star):

  The shavings from the paper shredder make a warm bedding for passing the night. My hollow is snug.

  Posted by Ed (@e-star):

  I'm learning there are so many unnecessaries. Soap robs the skin of its natural protective film of oil and dirt. I am liberated from all conventions that strip me of my essence. Hallelujah.

  Graham hated the pleading tone of his responses. "Ed. I apologize. I got hotheaded. You can have your job back, if that's what you want. Let's have a beer and talk." As the sun came up on the second day, he stopped censoring. "This is not a joke, you effing lunatic. Taking your ass to court at the soonest opportunity." At one point his heart leapt at the sight of responses spilling onto the screen, before he recognized them as a backlog of automated replies:

  %%%

  POST DENIED BY WEBMASTER

  POST DENIED BY WEBMASTER

  POST DENIED BY WEBMASTER

  %%%%%%

  Nothing he'd posted had gotten out. Not his call for help. Not his emails to every friend he could think of. Nothing.

  His empty stomach snarled.

  As if in response, over the tumbling of the river, a set of truck brakes released.

  Graham scrambled to his feet and pressed up to the glass. A shipping truck quivered to a stop in front of the building. Graham gasped at the sight of Ed trotting down the steps in a polo shirt and jeans. He jogged out to meet the man climbing down from the driver's seat.

  "Hey!" Graham hollered. The man's baseball cap brim shielded his face. Graham beat the heel of his hand on the glass, then rammed it with the butt of the paper cutter handle. The security glass cracked but held, supported by its embedded wire grid. The man looked off into the trees a moment, then turned back to Ed, who was writing in one of the office checkbooks.

  Graham kept hammering at the glass. As the man made notations on a form, Ed looked up in Graham's direction, his facial features narrowing.

  "I'm up here!" Graham shouted. He cursed. Even if the guy looked up, the mill was backlit this time of day, and the river's white noise masked all other sound.

  He watched them unload a half-dozen crates, using the lift at the back of the truck. "Humboldt Machinery"... "Steelcraft"... he read on their sides. What the hell is he buying now?, Graham thought. He groaned as Ed tore off a check, handing over another chunk of the mill's assets. Ed accepted the man's help loading the crates into the building with a hand truck, and when the two of them emerged, he clapped the guy on the shoulder. The man nodded and headed for the truck cab.

  Graham yelled, smacking the glass, until the roar of his voice became lost in the pounding of the deluge below. When he came to his senses, his throat ached, the rear lights of the truck were gone, and dust had re-settled on the road.

  The freight elevator squealed as it climbed. "What do you want from me?" Graham shouted as it came even with his floor. To his surprise, it stopped with a k-chunk, and opened a crack. Graham leapt to the door.

  "Ed. Open up. Let's talk about it."

  "You behaved poorly just now," Ed said through the slit. "I'm not going to let that slide."

  Graham jammed his fingers into the gap and pulled. The doors gave, just an inch. Inside, Ed's wiry form paced, a yellow blur swinging at his side. Graham caught a flash of wide, red-rimmed eyes before the object smashed against the doors. He yelped and fell back.

  He looked down in wonder at his crushed and darkening middle fingertip. The Wiffle bat. The psycho had injected it with concrete.

  The door slid back shut.

  "What was that you always said, Graham?" came the muffled voice. "Stewardship is about earning your place on the planet. Even more true for you, the amount of carbon debt you're carrying."

  "Ed," Graham croaked, cradling his bashed finger. "I'll write the damn post. I'll tell the world you won. It's what you want, isn't it?"

  But the elevator had already closed and lifted past him, like a judgment.

  The sound of drilling and banging on the ground level dominated as night fell. Graham had opened his last pack of peanuts when his computer screen flickered to life. He scrambled to the desk and read, squinting in the screen's light. The email had been sent to their entire list of customers and suppliers.

  Dear Clients,

  We at Nature's Mill have always treasured our partnerships with those committed to putting the Earth first. In light of those shared values, I know you'll support my decision to reexamine the Nature's Mill mission. Losing the environmental impact contest has prompted me to reset priorities and take the company in an exciting new direction. Consequently, I am shutting down the sales and distribution component of our operations, effective immediately.

  Graham's signature followed.

  An air-shattering crack sounded from the front corner of the roof. Graham ducked as a spray of sparks fell past the windows. His screen flicked off, and with a whump like the building giving a massive shrug, the power shut down.

  Graham blew on his middle finger to try to quell the pain. Under the broken nail, the bone felt fractured. He bit down on a Sharpie and wound packing tape around the joint. After Ed severed the electricity, the elevator doors had banged open on every floor. Graham couldn't tell if it was a safety default of the old building or something else, but he wasn't about to lose the chance to get out. He considered the unbolted paper cutter blade. What could he use it for? He knew exactly what, if it came down to it. Bring it. You don't have to use it. He shook his head in aversion, but threaded the handle through his belt loop all the same.

  Fighting a bout of hunger and nausea that turned the floor to liquid under his feet, he stuffed his phone in his pocket and lurched to the shaft.

  Dim light glimmered from the warehouse opening above. Of course. The bastard had a day's worth of solar power up there. Well, let him enjoy it for the few hours he had before Graham escaped and called the cops. Graham leaned f
orward, caught the elevator cable in his hand, and swung out. His finger flared under the pressure as he let himself down hand over hand, conscious every moment of the elevator's bulk suspended over him. He dropped the last few feet to the bottom of the shaft and clambered into the ground-floor vestibule.

  A glint of metal on the floor caught his eye. Without even approaching it, he recognized it as the head of Ed's front door key. The stem, he knew, would be twisted off in the lock. Through the door's four-inch window, he found the building's power line, not outlined against the starry sky, but on the ground.

  Clenching his jaw, Graham left the vestibule and felt his way between the dark lumps of machinery to the trap door. The rope and pulley would hold his weight. He'd slide down and swim to the bank.

  Graham swore as his fingers found a shiny padlock latching the grate closed. None of the scrap pipe nearby fit in the steel loop to give him leverage.

  He sank back on his heels, disgusted with the futility of his hands. From the new vantage point, an unfamiliar, dropcloth-covered mound in the corner caught his attention. He drew aside the filthy shroud, finding a bank of solar batteries, joined by cables. Ed's new power source, probably bought with the money from the sale of the truck. My truck, Graham thought.

  Somewhere up in the warehouse, Ed operated his cell signal blocker. A signal blocker requiring power. Graham looked at the batteries in front of him. He picked up a length of pipe, weighing it in his hands. Had Ed really left himself so open? He knows how toxic they are, he thought. How close to the water supply. He doesn't think I'll do it.

  He hefted the pipe over his head. "You want to be off the grid, Ed?" he hollered towards the elevator shaft.

  Then he let it fly.

  Graham's victory yell faltered when he noticed the light shining from the elevator opening. His cell showed no reception. The nutjob still had power. He had to have a supplemental source.

  Graham couldn't tunnel his way out through the brick walls. He would have to get to the signal blocker himself.

  He tried the first flight of steps. On the second flight, the metal creaked and began to swing. Graham's instincts stabbed at him. After a second's hesitation, he bolted back down. One flight from the exit door, he heard the top platform snap loose. Level after level clapped together above him in a screeching avalanche. When it hit bottom, dust sprayed over him where he had landed.