Sunny, Bubba, and Colby ran for the nearby stairs. Sunny descended two at a time, her sandals slapping the shining marble.
Once on the lobby floor, they ran for the south side of the tower, to the revolving doors which would let them out onto North Tower Drive. They traversed the lobby floor, crossing from giant gold squares to giant emerald-green ones. Bubba again saw himself on an enormous chess board. From this perspective, however, the sensation of being a pawn on the board was even more overpowering. Now that they were down on the board, it was far more confusing; the squares were so big; they, the pawns, seemed so small. He focused on one of the gold revolving doors turning lazily at the lobby entrance and ran harder, determined to keep up with Colby and Sunny, who ran just ahead of him.
They reached the door and piled up on each other in one of the compartments. The harder they pushed, the slower the door spun. It finally spit them out onto the broad sidewalk adjacent to North Tower Drive. A doorman costumed in a long gold-and-green coat and matching green top hat and gloves stood next to the door. He shook his head in disgust as Sunny, Bubba and Colby extricated themselves from the revolving door.
At the corner lurked both SUVs. From this vantage point it was impossible to tell if the vehicles were waiting for an opening in the heavy traffic flow or if they intended to continue their straight-ahead course.
Bubba held his breath while they waited to see what the SUVs would do, in which direction they would go. Colby, meanwhile, investigated the pedestrian bridge Bubba had so succinctly declared would be the mighty stepstool by which they would climb onto the precarious backs of the big SUVs, assuming of course that the trucks stopped at all, that they happened to catch this light as they had the previous one, and that they stopped close enough to the walkway to allow them to drop from it.
“They’re turning!” shouted Sunny.
Both trucks made the right turn onto North Tower Drive and charged straight at them.
“This is never going to work,” said Colby.
“Then stay here,” said Sunny, and she and Bubba rushed past him. They ran to the bridge, hurried up the steps, and ran out onto the walkway. The street below was full of rushing cars honking and changing lanes with woeful disregard for common sense.
Up the street, the SUVs bore down on them like great charging bulls. They picked up speed. The closer they came, the clearer it became that they had no intention of stopping, for the stoplight had recently changed to green.
“Colby!” yelled Sunny.
He mounted the steps to the bridge. “What?”
“Hit the button for the crosswalk!” Sunny yelled over the noise of the rushing traffic.
“What?” called Colby, putting his hand behind his ear.
“The crosswalk!” Sunny shouted. She pointed violently down to the button mounted on the streetlight post near the steps for the pedestrian bridge.
Colby jumped down the stairs and ran to the light post. He slammed his palm against the big silver button.
The black SUVs sped closer.
Colby slapped the button again, then pounded on it repeatedly. He looked up at the light itself and could see the green hue still showing. He repeatedly pushed the button, despite knowing the sensor had been triggered and its continued badgering was useless; even if he hit the button ten-thousand times with a baseball bat it would not expedite the signal light’s changing.
The trucks were moments from passing by.
The stoplight flicked to yellow, then to a brilliant red.
The nose of the first SUV dove sharply and it stopped past the red light. Most of the truck protruded into the crosswalk. A gentle roar sounded from the tires of the second SUV, and it and came to rest right below Sunny and Bubba.
“Hurry!” Sunny called to Colby.
Colby bounded up the steps two at a time and reached the railing as Bubba and Sunny both climbed over its side. They stepped onto the girder supporting a small billboard depicting Colby Max inside his Battle-Suit, an ad his new movie. Sunny and Bubba lowered themselves down toward the black SUV rooftop looming below. They hung from the billboard, their legs dangling over the SUV’s roof. Bubba touched one foot down onto the roof, then the other. He grabbed Sunny by her waist and softly lowered her down as well. They both waved frantically at Colby but he only stared down at them. Finally, he climbed hurriedly over and easily maneuvered around the billboard. He saw himself on the billboard and pointed and smiled. Sunny and Bubba nodded the requisite appreciation and waved for him to hurry up. Colby hung over the roof and dropped from several inches up. He landed nimbly on his feet and bent his knees, making no noise.
All three of them lay down flat. The stoplight near their heads flicked back to a dazzling, buzzing green and both trucks sped off. The green-and-gold-drenched doorman stared at them, his mouth open, his eyes wide beneath his very tall hat. Obviously he had just witnessed their risky and quite bizarre behavior. Just before they lost sight of him, Sunny waved. The doorman cautiously waved back with one green-gloved hand.
Sunny, Bubba, and Colby lay flat on the roof of the SUV. They held tightly to the bars of the roof-rack, trying not to slide around, or entirely off, as the vehicle sped up and slowed down and turned around corners. The wind buffeted them and blew loudly against their ears, making it impossible to speak.
After many precarious miles, the SUVs slowed and turned onto a quiet side street. Sunny and Bubba lifted their heads and peered around, hoping to recognize something, anything. Trash and old newspaper littered the sidewalks and gutters. Most of the cars had shattered windows and flat tires or no wheels at all. Most of the businesses were closed. No girls played hopscotch or jumped rope on the sidewalks and no boys played ball or drove radio-controlled cars in the street, all familiar sights in Sky City South.
The SUVs drove slowly down the street.
Bubba popped his head up. “I smell donuts.”
“You do not smell donuts,” whispered Sunny, “now be quiet!”
“But Sunny—” He fell silent when Sunny held her index finger against her mouth.
The SUVs drove halfway down the street and stopped.
Bubba popped his head up again; his nose never lied. Nearby was small storefront. A sign above the store read: Mr. Glaze’s Donuts & Fritters. An image of a short, fat, bald man with a bushy mustache and wearing a white apron smiled at them. A silly, triangular hat failed to cover his shiny scalp. He was happily holding a rolling pin.
“Mr. Glaze!” said Bubba. “But he went out of business two years ago.”
“Looks like he’s back in business,” muttered Colby.
“I’m hungry,” said Bubba. He inhaled long and deep, smelling the aroma of fresh-baked donuts in the air.
“You just had pizza,” whispered Sunny, “and two Frinkies.”
“I could go for a warm, soft donut or two,” said Bubba.
“You look like a warm soft donut or two,” said Colby.
“Who asked you, Wizard of Crap?” said Bubba.
“That’s Wizard of the Sky, donut-boy,” replied Colby.
“Would you both shut up!” hissed Sunny. “If we get caught we might never see Parker again. Now shush!”
Bubba and Colby fell silent, glaring at each other.
They all waited.
Nothing happened. No one came out of nor went into Mr. Glaze’s Donuts & Fritters. Nor did any traffic appear on the small street. The SUVs didn’t move. No one got out. The engines idled. The exhaust gurgled deep and rich. Sunny, Bubba, and Colby began to cough as they breathed the fumes, clamping their hands over their mouths in a desperate attempt to stifle any sound. It seemed these SUVs were powered by internal combustion gasoline engines rather than by more expensive, environmentally-friendly hydrogen-powered engines fast becoming all the rage. Hydrogen-based fuel produced only oxygen and water out of the exhaust pipes. As a recent marketing ploy, Canary Cherrolet had chartered a hydrogen-powered bus filled with scientists, automotive engineers, and press personnel. Even late-night celebrity talk-show
host Brian O’Conan had been invited to come along for the ride. Naturally, at the end, a rather sardonic Brian was chosen by Canary to pose with him in the photographs as they each collected a champagne glass full of water straight from the exhaust pipe of the bus as it idled. They clinked their champagne glasses together and then drank the clean, clear water. The Sunday edition of America’s most prominent and widely-distributed newspaper, The American, ran as its front page story the photo of Brian and Canary toasting their glasses. The article claimed vehicles powered by hydrogen-driven engines would outnumber gasoline engines on America’s highways and byways before the end of the decade. The article went on to explain how Cherrolet owned more than seventy patents relating to their new hydrogen vehicles as well as a dozen automobile- and hydrogen-manufacturing plants across the country. It neglected to mention, however, that Cherrolet, the single largest automotive manufacturer in the world, was but a small subsidiary of Canary Unlimited, a multi-national conglomerate with assets listed in quadrillions of dollars. In addition to three airlines, various types of mines and textile plants around the globe, oil platforms in the Aegean Sea, a SuperVision network (which produced and nightly aired Brian O’Conan’s beloved show Say ‘Goodnight,’ America!), and the exclusive rights to all mining and proprietary processes and technologies on the Moon, Canary Unlimited also owned The American. Naturally, the Chief Executive Officer of Canary Unlimited was Canary Cherrolet.
Sunny, Bubba, and Colby struggled to breathe the fumes rising up around them.
A hissing sound emanated from the donut shop. Noisy jets of steam squirted out from the front of the storefront.
The store began to move.
It slid forward onto the sidewalk several feet and then began to move upward. Slowly, it rose into the air, higher and higher, until it was easily ten feet above the street when it finally came to rest, perched atop long, shiny metal hydraulic arms. Where the shop had been was an opening to a dark tunnel. Inside the shop was an elderly man sitting down, eating a donut, and another elderly man wiping down the counter and wearing a triangular paper hat like the one sported by Mr. Glaze on his sign. They were apparently unaware of or unconcerned about the donut shop being lifted by powerful hydraulics, becoming a second-story dwelling.
The SUVs began to move. Sunny, Bubba, and Colby clung tightly to the rack as the trucks drove toward and then quickly into the gaping square hole now visible in the building. Inside was a ramp, down which the SUVs drove. Sunny slid forward into Bubba and both of them slid into Colby, who lay near the windshield. Colby pushed as hard as he could against the roof rack, trying to halt their sliding, trying to prevent their sliding down onto the windshield.
Sunny and Bubba managed to grab the side rails of the rack and take their weight off Colby. Behind them, Mr. Glaze’s Donuts & Fritters returned to its proper position, until all incoming daylight was abruptly cut off.
Bright, bluish-white light shot from the headlights of both SUVs. They were in a tunnel, underground. The ramp leveled out and the trucks drove on.
There was definitely no going back now.
Chapter 3
A Day at the Beach