☁️

Abby’s heart was pounding and her stomach was churning.  She sternly told both of them to calm down.

“I want air.”  She glared at the doorway.  “I want open air and rain and nature.  I want out.”

Vic-French murmured to one of the Livs.  The Liv responded in French. Vic started to pull back.

“I don’t know if she can get back to her own mall from here,” Abby admitted.  “Or even go through a door without help. She might be better off staying with us.”

One of the Livs translated that, just a murmur.  Abby caught a word here and there, enough to be pretty sure Liv was actually relaying her message.  Then she glared at the door again.

The Liv on her right released her hand and grabbed on to her belt loop.  Abby wondered if, when they got out of here, she’d ever stop needing to know where Liv was all the time.

They had to survive, first.  She grabbed the door, turned the handle.  

Behind her,  one of the employees of the place, the ones who’d been no help at all when she was dangling near her doom, shouted.

She pulled the door open and stepped through, her little party behind her.

They stepped through – into nothingness.

Abby flailed, grabbing for her friends, for a door, holding onto her Livs for dear life.  There was absolutely nothing

No, she realized, as her feet didn’t fall out from under her, she was – they were – standing on a nearly-see-through bridge between two more nearly-see-through bridges.  Down – she swallowed and let herself look down carefully – there were more of those bridges, and more, and the sound of water somewhere far, far below.

From the looks of things, the shops – if there were such things – were ahead.  She grabbed on to the thin cabled railing with one hand, glad Liv was still holding her other hand, and walked forward carefully.

Vic was complaining in French.  Abby was really beginning to doubt th wisdom – never mind the kindness – of bringing her along, but they were going to need help

Grated, help that understood what they were getting into would be nice.

The bridges, they swayed.  Not a lot, but there was definite movement every time she took a step forward.  And when she turned to look at her friends – and Vic-French – they swayed even more.

Abby swallowed.  “All right. We’re looking for something upwards – a stairway, a ladder, anything that won’t break on us – and something to the left.  Up,” she gestured carefully, because even that started the swaying again, “and… a gauche? To the left.”

“Not bad.”  Liv – probably Liv-skinny – grinned at her.  “You remembered something.”

“It was you telling me French hated left-handed people.  Adoit, gauche. I might not remember much, but I remember that.”

“Gauche.  Un porte a gauche?” Vic asked.

Porte was easy, too.  That was like portal and port and – well, yes. “Oui,” she agreed.  “All right. Let’s try not to go plummeting to our dooms.”

“You know,” one of the Livs murmured as she turned around, “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

Thanks to https://wandering.shop/@qwertystop for this mall!