I don’t know why the litter on the floor is bothering me. I sniff out petrol on the air again. That’s bothering me too. As far as I’m aware it’s not used in the manufacturing process, which means the kids have upped their game with an accelerant.
I shake my head and focus on the task, which is putting out these flames.
There’s film on the outside of the windows, and it’s blistering and peeling under the heat. When it melts away, Darren shines a torch at it, and we all curse. We’re confronted with black glass, stained by soot, and when we get close enough to the building, we feel the heat radiating from the bricks.
The film on the windows is hiding the severity of the blaze, and it’s much more advanced than we first thought.
I think of Freddie again, then check my phone to see whether either he or Liam has messaged me.
There’s nothing.
19
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 breathin. 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 rubthem 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.
