The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fan-Fiction -- Prologue, Escape From Zoo York

The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Prologue, Chapter 5

Skidding down the passageway, Dylan found himself caught in the grip of a full-court panic, thrashing wildly, desperately, grabbing for something, anything to arrest his fall.

Arrest...

By now the cops must be in the basement...and when he hit lower the hatchway they'd hear him. Then they'd pull the cabinet away from the wall, yank open the hatchway, and iron paws would seize him by...

Dylan stuttered to a halt as he hit a patch of the corrosion. For a long moment, he hung there, fighting to get his breathing—and his terror—under control.

The thing that finally brought him down earth was the realization that he had a crying need to gag. In the midst of his free-fall, he had somehow managed to get the penlight pushed halfway down his throat. He worked it free with his tongue and lips and took inventory. Amazingly, the backpack and duffle were still there, albeit just barely in his grip.

Taking hold of them a bit more firmly, Dylan slowly turned his head and shined the light upwards once more; the exit hatch was not only still visible, it looked barely any further away than before his 'death slide'...three, maybe five feet at most.

If he'd had a free paw, he'd have slapped himself.

With a concentrated effort, the young fox untangled and straightened himself, working carefully so as not to lose his gear. And then he was pressing onward and upwards once more. He was three-fox lengths from the exit when he felt the pack hang up on something. Ahhh,eeyarrrrrgh, now what?

Muttering and growling, Dylan reached over the backpack, and felt his paw wrap around a bar of metal. Wha...? Now what the heck was...? Wait hold it, that's a rung—a sweet, wonderful, beautiful rung! Oh thank you, thank you, thank...

He felt the duffel bag slip out from beneath him. ("Not again!") He made a desperate grab with his free paw but felt his fingers only brush the surface before the bag slithered away and down the chute. There was nothing he could do but let it go; otherwise he'd lose the backpack as well; he couldn't even look to see where...

Something jerked his tail taut, nearly pulling him down after it. (If it hadn't been for the rung he was holding, it would have.)

After a short, grueling moment the young fox had the backpack propped against another rung and was finally able to look downwards.

The duffel's shoulder strap was tangled in his tail fur; sometimes bad luck is good luck in disguise.

Gingerly, carefully he curled his tail upwards and reached with his paw to retrieve the duffle. It seemed to take a year-and-a-half, and twice he nearly lost the backpack in the process.

"I'm just glad Danny and Kieran can't see this," the young fox grumbled as he worked, "I must look like a one-fox Goofball Troop... Agggh, grrrrrr, no you don't... c'mere!"

Once he finally retrieved the duffel, things went a lot more smoothly; unhooking the bag's shoulder strap, Dylan looped it through a ladder rung, and then did the same with one of the backpack straps. Now at last, he had both paws free. He climbed the last few feet and braced his left arm against the ladder's topmost rung, then reached up and pressed with his other arm against the exit hatch. Taking two deep breaths he pushed with all his might.

His only reward for the effort was a creak and a groan, plus maybe an inch or two of movement. Even so, the young fox felt encouraged. The cover had moved; he had gotten it to move. The exit wasn't locked or sealed up as he had feared.

Now, moving slowly like a yoga-master, he turned himself over into a head facing downwards positon. And then, closing his eyes against the vertigo, he compressed himself into a tight, furry ball and grabbed the third rung of the ladder with both paws. Another short, deep breath followed and then he braced his back against the wall and pushed up hard on the hatchway with both feet.