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The alarm blared, pounding in Neil’s ears. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and wiped the sleep from his eyes.
“Evacuate! Evacuate!” a robotic voice called between the klaxon sounds.
“Light on,” he called. The room remained shrouded in complete darkness. “Light on.”
If it wasn’t for the red flashing light on the ceiling, he would have assumed he had gone blind, something his glasses wouldn’t correct. He reached out and put them on before flicking the manual light switch beside his bed.
Still the room remained in darkness. He gave it a few extra test clicks but to no avail. Outside his door, Neil heard muffled shouts and the pattering of hurried footsteps, feeling a pang of jealousy. He had never spoken to his neighbours and felt a wave of regret. Did they even know he was still in here?
“Siri, what time is it?” he called into the void, knowing his phone always had answers. The siren remained the only sound in the room. “What the hell is happening?”
Picking up his phone, he saw it was just past midnight and he had no reception. Typical. His plan was the cheapest he could afford on his minimum wage as a computer technician, and the building’s internet was out. The alarm must be connected to the solar backup battery, generating only enough energy to alert the thousands of people shoved into the building.
After dragging his lifeless legs to the edge of the bed, Neil pulled his wheelchair closer to him. With a grunt of effort, he heaved himself into the chair, put his phone and wallet in his lap and wheeled himself to the front door, veering around his weights set, using his mind’s map. At the door, he looked pointlessly around his dark studio apartment for his important stuff, but with the siren continuing to sound, he felt pressure to leave. He opened the door to a wall of smoke. Small emergency lights struggled to illuminate the billowing dark clouds filling the corridor.
Neil coughed as the door began to swing closed behind him. With a spark of ingenuity, he stopped it from closing with his arm and moved back inside, heading to his kitchenette. Grabbing his two clean hand towels, he wet them before tying them around his head, making sure they covered his mouth. They smelled like his musty drawers, but they’d offer some protection for his lungs against the smoke outside.
He emerged once more, this time feeling more prepared. The door clicked shut, quietly ominous among the sirens. The absence of an orange tinge was a good sign: the fire was not on his floor.
Yet.
The exit was on the ground level; he needed to get down to escape. He began to move towards the lift only to realise it wouldn’t be working without power. And even if it was, would it be safe to lock himself into a metal box as it descended slowly, possibly through fire?
But what other way was there? For able-bodied people, there were stairs. Nice and easy, one step at a time. Neil knew that if he took the stairs, he’d probably need to leave his chair behind. His beloved wheelchair.
Yes, he was bound to his chair, but the freedom it gave him was irreplaceable. It allowed him to go wherever he wanted to.
Except up and down stairs.
They were able to invent a way for people to live underwater. They’d made holograms possible. Hell, they’d even created robots that could complete complicated heart surgery.
But they’d never bothered to give people with a disability more mobility. There was no money in it, he guessed, and money made the world go round. Money had also increased the rising sea levels from global warming, not that governments were any closer to acknowledging its existence. For three centuries now scientists had predicted the water below, lapping at the lower levels of the building he lived in, and those all around the city. At least they were luckier than Venice, which was now unliveable, its inhabitants evicted with no home address. Refugees in their own country.
Warmth emanated through the stairwell door’s white painted wood. Every set of steps felt like another place he wasn’t invited to as if they were purposely built to keep him out. These steps led to his freedom; these steps prevented him from freedom.
Perhaps someone will come along to help me downstairs, he thought as he opened the door. The smoke glowed orange upstairs, sending heat rushing downwards. His submersible craft waited in the garage below but he needed his wheelchair to work the machine, or he’d have nowhere to sit.
The sudden sound of silence echoed around him, leaving only the crackling of the fire to taunt his ears.
Sweat beaded his forehead as he thought about his descent. His breath was humid beneath the towels, a hint of smoke sneaking in to steal the fresh air. Glancing up, he saw the dancing fingers of flame make their way into the stairwell, consuming the door and cracking the concrete. It was only a matter of time before it made its way downstairs to him. He felt like a sitting duck; he needed to act.
Building up courage, he decided on his plan. He would have to push his beloved chair downstairs and drag himself along the railings. It would be heavy work with just his arms, but he knew he was strong. Was he strong enough to descend three storeys?
There was only one way to find out.
He held on to the railing, pulling himself forward and down to the ground, his chair wobbling beneath him. Once he was sprawled on the smooth concrete, Neil grabbed his chair by the frame, pausing as if he was listening to it whisper to him. If he wanted to be independent when—if—he got downstairs, then he needed to risk rolling his chair down the steps.
Above him, Neil heard a loud cracking noise and, as he looked up through the orange haze, he thought he saw long fissures appear in the concrete. He needed to move quickly.
With a grunt, he pushed his chair forward, grimacing as it bounced over the steps and rolled onto its side as it hit the landing below. Reaching out, he gripped the metal balustrade, the heat beginning to flow through the metal. It wasn’t burning hot yet, but it was warmer than his morning cup of coffee. He began to pull himself downwards, hand over hand, his legs trailing uselessly behind him. The chair lying lifeless, waiting patiently for him, encouraged him on.
Neil coughed. The towels had begun to dry out in the heat, allowing smoke to push through to his parched mouth. He licked his lips, but they remained dry. The building rumbled around him, whether from the heat breaking it apart or some kind of explosion, he didn’t know. He focussed only on dragging himself to safety.
When he had struggled to the first landing, he lifted his chair back onto its wheels and pushed it down once more, following it as he had before. The heat was increasing, the orange glow becoming fiercer as the fire spread above. He felt his lungs wheezing as they fought to breathe.
Somehow, he made it to the last landing before he felt like giving up. His body had become saturated with sweat; his glasses were smudged and dirty, making it hard to see; his breathing had become shallow and raspy; his arms ached from overuse. When he had pushed his chair to the hallway below—the hallway to the garage of freedom—he felt like that exertion had drained all his energy. The metal railings had burned his hand, blisters forming among the red skin.
Flames were now licking the ceiling above, like fingers scrabbling to lift the roof. The heat reminded him of his old outback town, now vacant, everybody agreeing the temperature had become unbearable year-round. Tears mingled with the sweat on his cheeks. Whether he was crying due to the smoke, the pain in his burnt hands, or the haunting memories of his youth, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was all his pain and suffering melting together. The fire burning around him juxtaposed the dying embers of desire within him. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and let the fire consume him, as it had his crumbling home.
One particular memory clamoured for his attention. He had been about fifteen and had broken down, a crying mess of despair. His mother had attempted to placate him, with minimal success.
“What’s the matter, Neil?” she had asked, embracing him in her arms.
“People always stare at me. I feel like some kind of circus freak!” His tears flowed freely, releasing the pent-up frustration he had been holding in. “I feel like they’re judging me. Walking around with their perfect legs. I’m sick of it!”
His mother had told him that yes, he was different. And yes, people stared.
“Who doesn’t stare at things they’re not used to?” she had whispered into his hair. “But we also stare at the beautiful things in life, like sunrises or art. You, my wonderful Neil, are beautiful. Your chair gives you different abilities. You’ll never get tired of standing up, for one. You’re not going to hit your head on things like I always do. Your story will always be different from others, and that will make you incredibly intriguing to people. I think you’re perfect. I love you forever and always.” Neil had smiled through his tears and, although he knew his mother would love him no matter what, there was a lot of truth in what she had said.
Since then, he had appreciated the beauty of uniqueness.
As the flames crackled around him, he felt the same sense of despair as he had then. His mother would be devastated if he was to die in the fire. He knew she would be cheering him on like it was a game of basketball he’d played as a kid.
With a sudden burst of energy, he reached out to the banister and pulled himself to his waiting chair, coughing up phlegm as he dragged himself down. When he reached the landing, he righted his chair once more and used the hot railing to help pull him into his seat. His burnt hands screamed in pain as they rubbed against scorching surfaces.
With one last burst of adrenaline-fuelled energy, Neil pushed his chair along the hallway, through the smoke, until he reached the clean air of the open garage. Waves lapped at the building’s foundations. A grey haze wafted along the water until it dispersed, replaced by cleaner air.
The garage was mostly empty when he moved through the door. He assumed most people had driven their vehicles to safety. Slight ripples waved through the murky water, debris and rubbish floating listlessly. He moved along the metal catwalk to the ramp where his own specially-built vehicle bobbed, waiting for action.
As he wheeled himself into his submersible vehicle and started the engine, Neil couldn’t wait to see his mother. He had one incredibly unique story to tell her.