Sea of Stars(37)

 Wild-eyed, I flail my arms, trying to halt my progression forward. I knock dishes over the sides of the conveyor, watching them commit to gravity and fall several stories before they catch a different conveyor and are whisked away in another direction. A sharp hiss of scalding steam emits from the passage ahead of me, turning the air white into a billowing cloud of heat. Desperately, I rock back and forth on the cushion of air beneath me in an attempt to gain enough momentum to pitch myself over the side.

 Almost to the tunnel, I whimper as the first flood of steam touches me, turning my skin rosy. I lift my arms to shield my face from the burn. Thump, a muffled noise rumbles and rolls out, becoming louder and louder until the whole dishery ripples in a wave of shaking chaos. The conveyor tilts to the side, catapulting me off it before I reach the dish inferno. I hurtle through the air, arching upward in a flying heap before being caught in another slipstream. The forced air jerks me sideways before dumping me off the end of the belt of air. I fall with the other scraps of meat into a gigantic composting silo.

 The walls of the compost silo are steely and high. I take a few deep breaths, stunned that I’m still alive. As I lie atop the mound of squishy leftovers, I cringe in horror. More uneaten food pours out of a giant, overturned bucket swinging from a hook above me. I roll to the side, narrowly avoiding being buried. Floundering amid the carnage of discarded cuisine, I crawl to the side of the compost vat. I try to gain some footing, but I keep sinking into the sludge beneath me.

 When I spy metal ladder rungs on the opposite side of the vat, I flail toward them. The bottom of the vat makes a choking gasp; it rattles and come to life with a groan. The food beneath me moves in a circular motion, swirling as if it’s being flushed down a drain. In merry-go-round fashion, I’m dragged around the rim of the garbage silo. Coming to the ladder, I palm a rung, but it slips out of my hand as my feet lodge on the muck. I growl in frustration, gritting my teeth. I’m swept away from the ladder. A hole forms in the center of the vat; compost feeds into sharp, churning blades, shredding everything into crumbs with the viciousness of a wood chipper.

 I blanch, scrambling with renewed vigor to dislodge my feet from the muck miring them. Pulling on my calf, I can’t get it unstuck and I miss the ladder rung as it passes. Hurriedly, I unfasten the straps on my boots. An avalanche of rubbish careens into the middle of the centrifuge, rolling down to get sucked into the belly of the shredder.

 My lip curls in determination. I reach down, finding a jam-smeared piece of bread; I smash it between my hands, rubbing my palms with the sticky residue. I crouch in preparation as I go around again. When I near the ladder rung once more, I grasp the metal in my hand, getting a good grip. Pulling myself up, I loop my arm through the rung, catching the bar in the bend of my elbow. I lock my wrist with my hand and draw it to my chest. Stretching to full extension, I’m torn out of my boots while I cleave to the rung. I close my eyes for a moment, panting hard and holding back tears. When I open my eyes, I look down and see my boots tumble into the jaws of the composter.

 As I clamber up the ladder, I miss my footing several times in my haste and nearly fall back in. I pull myself over the lip of the trough and I lie gasping on a grated catwalk. Thump, thump, thump. Bombs! I’m nearly shaken off the walkway, but I manage to hang on by wrapping my arm around the railing. The lights flicker in bolts of yellow. Dishes crash down in pelting shards from the interrupted airflow on the conveyors; luckily, I’m shielded from most of it by the catwalk above this one.

 Sirens shriek in warning. When the trembling abates, I rise, my knees shaking. I clutch the railing and take my first limping steps. Pipes burst above my head, raining warm water on me, bleeding the splashes of muck from my hair and clothes. I stumble along the causeway, where a pearly light catches my attention and illuminates a hatchlike door.

 I lift the latch of the door, ease it open, and find myself in an empty room. The loud siren continues in here, echoing off the tiled walls while a light on the ceiling strobes the room in ominous flashes.

 I scream when metal showerheads drop from the ceiling and a clear glass tube rises from the ground, trapping me just over the threshold. I gasp, staring up at the spouts, and my hands press and push against the solid walls surrounding me. A fem-bot voice activates, “Contamination detected. Please remain still for decontamination.”

 The showerheads rain down foamy soap and warm water on my head while an arch of mini-jets hits me from all sides. I cringe, scrunching my eyes closed. Loose strands of food and slime flow away into the drains at my feet. After a couple of minutes, the showerheads turn off and retract. The clear tube disappears back into the floor, freeing me.