Pastel

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Thankfully by the time my dangling feet had totally thawed, my mind had thawed as well.

"Uh, hey pal," I said, eyeing the height between the floor and myself as the door traveled down a metal track. "I may be too short for this ride."

Well that was a blatant lie.

If anything, I was too tall for it. Like that time at Disneyland when it was discovered I was too tall for the kitty ride, but only after I was latched into the seat and ready to go, forcing me to take the walk of shame across the platform to the exit gate as everyone watched.

Slung over his shoulder as I was, I could not see what was ahead of us. But as I stared down at my dangling feet, I noticed that light was seeping into the trackway, bouncing off the walls and the ground far below me.

Then, with no warning, we were speeding out of the dark corridor.

I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Now in total sunlight, the distance between the ground and myself was no longer fifty feet.

It was HUNDREDS of feet.

Still screaming, I jerked my head up, straining my neck to look directly above me.

A skylight that stretched out of my sight streamed mellowing sunlight into the room. Room.

This isn't a room.

This is... This is...

It goes on for half a mile.

All around me dangled doors—hundreds of doors, thousands of doors-- like the one Randall and I hung from. Some raced along the track, others were stacked on the walls like in a vending machine.

A vending machine taller than the Empire State Building.

By tenfold.

I think I'm going to be sick.

* * *

Mike and Sullivan broke through a final door and found themselves on the ground level of the vault. The glass ceiling above them might as well have been in the clouds.

It didn't take long for them to spot the swaying pink pajamas.

"There!" Sullivan cried, pointing upward at the racing door.

* * *

Randall peered at the ground below us. "Ah, good, they're arrived. A shame. I was hoping it would take us higher."

"Why? What are you going to do?" Hysteria crept into my voice. "What are you going to do?!"

"This is where you get off."

He released his grip around my torso, leaving me to slip off his scaly back and fall head first to my death.

He was right about one thing, though: This was the part where I got off.

As I fell forward, I grabbed the door track and swung myself upward, landing on top of the thin metal track. Right on my gluteus maximus.

That's gonna hurt in the morning.

"What?!" Randall cried, glaring back at me as the door sped away. In an instant, he crawled up the door and onto the track, standing upright, with vengeance in his eyes.

I rose to my feet, my knees knocking into each other like cymbals. My arms flailed as I struggled for balance.

My palms began to sweat. The arches of my feet buzzed with the eeby jeebies as I struggled to remain posed on the thin track. I was seconds from heaving my guts out. One wrong move, and I was cement paste.