Christophe’s efforts had helped him steadily move up the chain of command, and, if everything went as hoped, by this time next year, he fully expected to be named the new president.
As he walked toward the station entrance, he noted that construction on one of the buildings across the street was still ongoing. Now, in addition to the scaffolding and piles of building materials that seemed to have been there for months, there was a large metal box on the street right out front — a shipping container, if he wasn’t mistaken.
He’d all but dismissed it when the most curious thing happened. The top of the box seemed to split lengthwise, then each section started to rise, creating an opening. Casually, he glanced at the building, thinking the construction people must be working late — an unusual thing, to say the least — but he could see no one around.
Odd, but then again, if a construction worker walked through his office and saw how advertising operated, that person might find things strange, too.
Nearing the station entrance, he thought he could hear a hum coming out of the shipping container.
Ah, he thought. A portable workshop. What a great idea.
He passed through the doorway and joined the crowd inside. As he headed for the platform, his thoughts turned to the items he would be discussing with Lunt, and how he would change a few things once he was in charge.
Unfortunately for Christophe, that day would never come.
It had been two weeks since Mary Jackson had first called City Hall to file a complaint. The person who had answered listened for a moment, then transferred her to the Department of Public Works. The man she talked to there had seemed pleasant and helpful, and had told her he’d make sure someone came out to check.
But after four days, no one had shown up. Mary knew this because she could see from her living room window the big metal box in the empty lot next to the convenience store. Sure, her neighborhood wasn’t the most beautiful in the world, but she’d lived there for over forty years. No way was she going to let it get any worse. And to her, someone dumping a corrugated eyesore right in her view was definitely pushing things in the wrong direction.
So she called again, this time talking to a bored woman who couldn’t even get her name right, and again the following day, getting someone completely new who acted like it wasn’t the responsibility of his department.
For the next week, she did nothing but stew and watch the box. If she’d been younger, maybe she would have walked over to see if there was a phone number on it anywhere. But at her age, she rarely even set foot on her porch anymore.
She had made up her mind that she would give it one more day then call again, only this time she’d bypass Public Works and go directly to the mayor’s office. But her plan changed when the top of the box opened, and it started to hum.
She reached for the phone.
“Office of Public Works. May I help you?”
She recognized the voice as belonging to the man she’d talked to the first time she called, the one who’d seemed so helpful.
“Yes, this is Mrs. Jackson. You’ve got to do something.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am?”
“About the box. I talked to you two weeks ago about it.”
“The box?” He paused. “Oh. Oh! The metal box across the street from you.”
“You said you’d send somebody out, but they never came. And now the thing has opened up and is making a weird noise.”
“Opened up?”
“Yes. Opened up. Did you not just hear me?”
“Are you sure?”
Her lips squeezed together. She was not in the mood to be doubted. “Never mind. I’ll call the mayor. I’m sure he’ll do something about it.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry no one has come out yet. There was obviously a mix-up somewhere.”
Yeah. With you, she almost said but held her tongue.
“As soon as I hang up, I’ll make a call and have someone come out right away.”
“Well, okay. But if I don’t see them in the next hour, I’m going to call the mayor.”
“I completely understand. Now, could you give me the address again?”
Once she had given him the information and hung up, she sat in her chair and kept an eye on the box. Even through her closed windows she could easily hear the noise. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who noticed the strange sound. Not long after she’d sat back down, a couple of teenagers wandered over to the box.
She watched as one of them boosted the smaller of the two up so he could get a look inside. Something very strange happened then. As the small kid leaned over the opening, the collar of his jacket started to flap like it was caught in the wind. He was only there for a second before he wiped his hand across his face, and jumped off his friend’s hands to the ground. He dropped to his knees and covered his eyes.
Mary leaned forward, muttering to herself, “I told them there was something wrong with that. I told them!”
The taller kid hunched over his friend. After several seconds, the smaller one rubbed his eyes and stood up. His friend asked him a question, and the short one shrugged and smiled. The tall one punched him in the arm, and soon they were both laughing. But as they walked away, the short one glanced back at the box, giving it a wary look.
He seems okay, Mary thought. But she still didn’t like it.
Twenty minutes later, a Public Works truck turned onto the street, slowed, and pulled into the lot where the box was.
How about that? I guess I should threaten to call the mayor every time.
The man who got out looked at the box with disinterest, walked around it, stopped back where he’d begun, and stared at it again. Finally he pulled out a phone and made a call. As he talked, he gestured toward the box several times, so Mary assumed he was talking to his boss. Finally, with a visible sigh, he put the phone back in his pocket, and pulled a ladder off his truck.
Setting it next to the box, he climbed up high enough so he could look inside. Unlike the kid earlier, he didn’t lean all the way over the edge. Still, his hair fluttered from the moving air coming from inside. At one point, he touched his cheek and rubbed it for a moment. When he moved his fingers away, he looked at them as if there was something on them.
When he climbed back down, the disinterest he showed earlier was no longer on his face. He whipped out his phone, his conversation considerably more animated than it had been the last time.
Within ten minutes, two more Public Works trucks and a city-owned sedan arrived. Five minutes after that, the fire department was on the scene.
Mary smiled. They should have listened to her earlier. At least now she’d get the damn thing out of there.
Unfortunately, she was mistaken. The only thing that would be moving was Mary, when she was taken to an evacuation center halfway across town, where, in a few short days, she would take her last breath.
Becker was getting impatient. He’d been sitting in his car for over an hour now, parked at the side of the road. What he shouldn’t have done was down the entire cup of Starbucks coffee as fast as he had. Now he had to piss. Bad.
He looked at his watch. Maybe something was wrong. His eyes moved back to the shipping container on the back of the parked truck just down the street. If things had gone according to plan, the Implementation Delivery Module — or IDM — should have opened by now. Was there some sort of delay? Had the directors decided to reschedule?