The distance between the two tentacle bases was about the width of the truck plus a little optimism, and she was already committed before that problem finished pretending to matter.
The truck hit the right tentacle base on the way in. The right panel slammed first, and the contact was not gentle. The panel crumpled, and the right headlight housing cracked against the tentacle, the casing bending inward at the corner, the lens splintering.
She felt the impact through the steering wheel and kept the accelerator down through all of it, because once you are already inside a mistake, braking is mostly a decorative gesture.
The truck steered along the tentacle's surface for two full meters before the gap widened and she was through.
The right headlight was still on. Half of it was pointing at the floor.
She was inside it.
"Okay," she said, eyes forward, hands steady on the wheel. "Here we go."
The interior was large and dark and the walls were moving.
