Freddie
There’s a faint buzzing. I don’t hear it, though.
It’s a vibration beneath my head, and it buzzes rhythmically.
Each time it stops, I drift further back into sleep, but it’s fitful.
My brow is twisted, my teeth are clenched, then there it is again, the prodding at the back of my neck.
It’s insistent. A nagging, but it’s not annoying.
It feels the opposite. I relax, my lips part, and I sigh out a breath.
There’s something about that buzzing that just seems right.
Things take a turn on my next breath in.
Through parted lips, it hits the back of my throat and tickles it enough that I cough.
I’m closer to awake than asleep, but I’m not all the way there.
I twitch my nose at the acrid smell. There’s a cacophony of smells, but I pick that one out—charred wiring, melting components.
My toaster had the same scent. It was old, didn’t turn off unless I used the plug on the wall, but I’d been in between jobs, low on spare cash, and skimping by was the done thing when you’re in your early twenties and think nothing bad will ever happen to you.
Ryker had not been impressed. In fact, he’d been furious, and told me while wagging a finger in my face that he didn’t want his first call-out to be to my flat because I’d torched the place toasting crumpets.
It was rare to ever see him angry, and the memory morphs into a smiling Ryker.
Now it’s not a memory anymore, but a dream.
He’s speaking but no sound comes out. My lack of reply fades his smile until he’s angry again, as angry as he’d been when he stepped into my smoke-filled kitchen.
I tell dream Ryker what I’d told real Ryker.
There’s nothing to worry about, everything is under control.
This Ryker looks as unimpressed as the other.
He keeps speaking, slowing his words down, pointing at his mouth but I still don’t understand.
I mimic his lip movements like I’d mimicked his breathing not long ago when I started to panic.
He helped me then, and I think he’s trying to help me now.
The back of my head vibrates again, the same pulses of movement that seem right, and then I get what Ryker’s saying. My lips move with his.
I say it out loud.
Answer your phone.
I cough, expelling air that’s too dry. There’s not a drop of moisture in my mouth. It’s as if sandpaper has been liquified, poured down my throat, and set to a rough stone. It hurts to breathe, and the tickle is unbearable.
The buzzing stops, and I realise it’s my phone.
It keeps ringing. And sure enough, it starts again as I shove my hand beneath my head to retrieve it.
I muffle a cough into my bicep, but it only makes the itch worse.
It’s aggravated the dryness, making me want to cough more, but if I start spluttering, hacking dry heaves, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.
My fingers hit my phone, then I snatch it up and pull it out. When I open my eyes to see who’s calling me, the air in the room hits them and sets them on fire. I curse at the sting, and rub them with my free hand, but it’s too late, they’ve been touched by whatever poison is in the air.
I blindly tap my thumb at my screen, hoping it connects with the caller.
“Freddie?”
It’s Liam’s voice, and I think of football again—him in goal, always at my back, reliable, a comforting presence despite his moody silences and his overly still posture.
“Like a statue,” I croak.
“Where are you?” Liam asks.
My brain hasn’t got that far. There are too many pieces of information to connect. My throat aches, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, my eyes sting, and there’s a horrid stench in the air. It’s dust, and plastic, and smoke.
“Please, Freddie,” Liam says. “Please tell me you’re not inside Hunter Healthcare.”
Hunter Healthcare, my place of work. We make small but vital component parts to fit medical equipment.
It’s not heroic like Ryker’s job, and it doesn’t carry the same authority as Liam’s.
I got the job, and I’ve stayed there out of loyalty.
It’s manufacturing, not my passion, but it’s rare to work in the field you’re passionate about.
My favourite lesson at school had been history, but there aren’t many jobs for that—historian maybe, but they’re in short demand.
“Freddie,” Liam snaps. “Tell me you’re not inside the building.”
Inside Hunter Healthcare? I drag a few of the pieces of this confusing puzzle together and get my first glimpse of the picture. It doesn’t make sense, but I’m hoping Liam will be able to help me with the rest.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I’m inside.”
I remember that much. I’ve been staying here, parking my car around the corner so my boss and my best friends don’t know.
Liam goes quiet, which isn’t unusual. I try to open my eyes again to peer around, to confirm to myself I am at work in the canteen.
There’s a haze inside the room, as if a cloud has formed in the space.
I wave a hand in front of my eyes, but the cloud or fog or whatever it is doesn’t dissipate, it remains the same.
The pain hits my eyes again, and I’m blinking, fighting a losing battle against the sting.
“Fuck,” Liam breathes. “Jesus fuck.”
I don’t voice my own discomfort. My pain is secondary to whatever is happening with Liam.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“The building’s on fire, Freddie. Where are you?”
Everything clicks into place with a snap. I see it now. The whole picture. I keep my eyes closed and feel around, running my hand along the tops of the chairs, my makeshift cot.
“I’m in the canteen,” I say. “Second floor, at the top of the stairs, in the middle of the building.”
“I’m on my way, about ten minutes out,” Liam replies. “Ryker’s already there.”
Of course he is . . . ever the hero.
“He doesn’t know you’re inside. None of them do.”
That’s not good.
“I don’t want to hang up to call him,” Liam growls. “Can you get to the window?”
“I . . . I think so.”
“Don’t think, do it.”
I nod and begin to make my way over.
“Freddie?” Liam barks. “Don’t go quiet on me.”
Well, isn’t that ironic.
“I’m here,” I say. “I’m getting to the window.”
It’s a few metres, but I take my time, flashing my eyes open every step to glimpse my surroundings.
I should know this place like the back of my hand, but throw in some fog, suck the moisture from the air, and it feels like I’m navigating Mars.
The headache isn’t helping either, it throbs at my temples, and I’m dizzy too, swaying, almost overbalancing.
I’m drunk but without the pleasant side effects.
“I’m there,” I tell Liam. I knock my fist on the glass, but it’s a weak thud that I barely hear. They can’t see in. I remember feeling so smug about it a few days before when Liam and Ryker were parked outside, but now . . . now I’m in danger.
“Open the window.”
I frown. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” he blurts. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t fucking know what to do!”
Liam doesn’t sound like himself at all. His voice has jumped a few octaves, wheezing similarly to mine.
“I could call Ryker?”
He’ll know how to help Liam, I’m certain of it.
“Don’t you hang up on me, Freddie, you hear?”
I rest my forehead against the window, but it’s not soothingly cold like I expect.
It’s warm, or my forehead is warm, I’m not sure.
Either way, it offers me no relief. Cotton wool fills the space between my ears, and my temples continue to throb in time with my heartbeat.
The pain expands into my jaw until that’s throbbing too.
I run my fingers along the bottom of the window, finding the catch and making my own decision.
It’s too hot in this damn room.
I push the window, but it jolts, only opening an inch.
It’s a safety feature Stephen had installed, stops anyone from accidently falling out and suing his arse.
I drop to my knees and rest my chin on the window frame.
It’s easier to breathe here, and I relish the cool air on my lips, taking a few deep gulps of air before shouting out of the window.
I go for the cliché, “Help,” and it leaves me as a bleat. I’m the world’s most pathetic lamb asking not to be barbequed.
That small word—those four letters—are the hardest I’ve ever had to speak. It breaks apart in my throat. The end and the beginning are both too soft, lost in the wheeze of my parched breaths. I’m incoherent, and quiet, and helpless when calling for help.
“Come on, Freddie,” Liam says. “Nice and loud. You shout for my brother.”
Ryker. He’s out there.
It’s more than four letters, and it’s not just a word, it’s a name, one of my best friends’ names, and my other best friend is ordering me to shout it. It’s not as soft as “Help.” It’s harsh, sharp, and it can’t be bleated. It’s strong like the man, like I need to be.
Liam needs me to be strong for him too.
We’ve started something. It’s new, terrifying, but I know it can beautiful too, and I don’t want to let it go, not yet, not ever.
I take in a deep breath.
“Ryker!”
I curl my fingers over the edge of the window and hang on tight.
The smell of burning is stronger now, the fog is thicker, and darker too, and my head .
. . Christ, my head. It doesn’t make sense.
It’s featherlight and boulder heavy all at once.
The weight of it pulls at my neck, and I drop the dead weight to rest on the window frame.
I can’t keep a single thought, they just float away, caught on an updraft.
“Freddie?” comes Ryker’s reply from outside, then he screams my name. I manage to wriggle my fingers, poking through the bottom of the window, then I drag my head up and open my eyes. But I wince as a beam of light is directed my way, and I duck back down.
They’ve seen me . . . now all they’ve got to do is save me.