Jolyon Hallows - The Collapse

The bar was already crowded. About forty people jammed the small room, cheers erupting when he walked in, back slaps that would leave bruises, and a full glass of a tawny liquid thrust into his hand. All around him, the tumult of conversation echoed a common theme: forty-nine. The ale dulled his dread. There would be retribution.

A year after Todd Baxter joined his current company, they had sent him to an out-of-town course. His hotel room boasted a king-sized bed, a minibar, a security safe, and a dark wood desk with a pull-out drawer for his laptop. His first stay in a major hotel. Sure, after he graduated from university, he’d bummed around the country staying in hostels and motels whose sole merit was that they were cheap, but even on vacation with his parents, he’d only dreamed of staying in a hotel like this.

A file folder held a letter welcoming him to the course on Effective Communications, a course agenda, and an invitation to a greeting reception in the evening. There was also a name badge. Todd in large letters, Baxter in smaller ones, Calgary, Canada, at the bottom. To him, the course was a testament to his performance in the year since he’d joined the company. They wouldn’t spend this kind of money unless they thought he was worth it.

He unpacked and checked his watch. Was there time for a swim in the pool? No, the reception started in an hour, and he didn’t want to miss any of it. He took a quick shower to wash off the grime of travel, pinned on his name badge, and headed to the reception.

A young woman greeted him and gave him two drink tickets. “You’re from Canada. Welcome to Denver. Have you ever been here before?”

“No. My first trip to Colorado.”

“Well, I hope you find time to enjoy the city. I recommend the Botanic Gardens.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” He wanted to continue the conversation, but she was already greeting the next guest. Someone from New Jersey.

He circulated around the room, studying name badges, wondering if there was anyone else from Canada, maybe even Calgary. A voice said, “Hey, Calgary. Me too.” The man’s badge read Bert Tallman. They shook hands and chatted for a minute. Tallman said, “Have you met anyone else from Calgary?”

“Not yet. I just got here.”

“I’ll bet there are others. Meet you back here in ten. The one with the fewest Calgarians buys the next drink.”

Ten minutes later, he returned to that spot empty-handed to see Tallman with two others. Their name badges read Ross Candale and Ellen Sangster.

Over the next five days of the course, the four would meet in the evening, share a drink, and allow their friendships to evolve. On the third day, Bert Tallman greeted them in his room. “Welcome to CCHQ.”

“CCHQ,” Candale said. “Is that a new sex disease?”

“Calgary Contingent Headquarters.”

They laughed, settled down with their drinks, and enjoyed the companionship they knew would persist even after the course was over and they returned home.

THE WEEKLY PIZZA party at Todd Baxter’s apartment was glum. Bert Tallman announced his company was closing its Calgary operations, and he was being laid off.

“Laid off?” Baxter said. “Oh, man, this downturn is hitting you too?”

“I could see it coming. Our party last Christmas was pizza at the office instead of the formal dinner we usually have. I half expected an announcement after the New Year. I guess a few months is better than nothing.”

“Are they closing their other offices?”

“No, but even those offices are cutting back. They’re not transferring anyone.”

Baxter said, “Do you have any offers?”

Tallman snorted. “Have you looked at the unemployment figures lately? What with the drop in the price of oil and the uncertainty over getting it to market, the industry is contracting. There are no jobs.”

“So what’ll you do?”

Tallman shrugged. “I have an uncle who has a catering company. He said I can work as a waiter until the industry picks up.”

Sangster frowned. “Sounds like minimum wage. Couldn’t you do better on unemployment insurance?”

Tallman nodded. “Yeah, but that runs out in less than a year, and it doesn’t look like things will change much in that time.”

Baxter said, “Well, Bert, I’ll keep my eyes open for opportunities. In the meantime, let us pay for the pizza.”

“Hey, I’m not broke, and I don’t want charity. I’ll figure this out. Now come on. Let’s eat.”

The four friends reached for slices of the pizza, glasses of wine beside them, banter flowing. When the evening was over, Tallman and Candale left, leaving Sangster and Baxter in his apartment.

He poured her another drink. “I thought they’d never leave.” She didn’t smile. He studied her. “Ellen, you seem a little down tonight. Was it because of Bert?”

She shook her head. “Bert’s news didn’t help, but I figure I’ll be joining him on the unemployment line within the next few months.”

“What? Why? You’re a transport company. Is this downturn hitting you too?”

“More than you’d think. A few years ago, the company made a shift away from general transport toward servicing the oil industry. Today, that’s all we do.”

“Nothing else?” She shook her head. “That seems short-sighted.”

“You figure? I guess at the time, with hundred-dollar a barrel oil and every guru in the industry predicting even higher prices, it seemed like a good decision. Today, I know my boss is regretting having made it.”

“Do you think there will be layoffs?”

She sighed. “There’s been nothing official, but it smells bad. I know several of my co-workers are updating their resumes.”

“Well, for now, you still have a job and we have a half bottle of wine.”

“A HOUSE FIRE claims a life, the transit union is threatening job action, and a terrorist attack claims seventeen lives in South Sudan. This is the six o’clock news with Joanne Staples.”

“Good evening and thank you for joining us. We’ll get to those stories in a minute but first we have breaking news. In British Columbia, the Coanth First Nation has barricaded a railroad track blocking coal trains from reaching the coast. David Caraway is on the scene. David?”

“Joanne, I’m standing on the main line of Central Railway. The line has been blocked for the last eight hours by natives from the Coanth First Nation who are protesting the transport of coal to the coal port. I have Chief Sam Samuels here. Chief Samuels, can you explain to our viewers why you are blocking this line?”

“We object to the mining of coal and to burning it. We are guardians of the earth, and coal mining is a rape of the earth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you seen an open pit coal mine? It is an abomination. A pristine valley, home to countless species of animals and plants, destroyed just so someone can make money. And burning coal leads to carbon dioxide emissions that are heating our entire world. It is time for it to stop.”

“But the coal isn’t mined in your traditional territories. The Tsu-Wat First Nation mines the coal. They argue that the mine employs many natives. That it gives them prosperity.”

“We do not agree with our Tsu-Wat brothers and sisters. We believe they have sold their birthright for a few dollars.”

“But even so, when you block the railroad, are you not affecting the way of life they have chosen.”

“Yes. Because the way of life they have chosen is an offence against the land. Unlike them, we look beyond our narrow interests and do what is best for our mother earth.”

“The railroad has gone to court to get an injunction against your demonstration. If the court orders you to cease, will you do so?”