Motorhead

by Kate Gilead

  “Testing,” he’s saying. “Testing. Can you hear me, sis? Testing.”

  I nod, and give a thumbs up.

  “Speak up, ya doorknob,” Callum says, leaning into the car and smiling. “I need to hear you, too.”

  “Ten-four, Rubber Ducky,” I blurt out. All three of my brothers chuckle over the headset.

  “I hear you all,” I say, and my voice comes out much more calm and confident than I feel.

  “Good,” Callum says, giving everything a last look before leaning back out of the car and shutting the door. “Listen up for your last-minute reminders.”

  “Ten four,” I say.

  “One: Remember, this ain’t actually NASCAR, alright? There are only twenty-five laps on a short oval track. There will be no starting drive around the track and you will drive directly to your designated starting position in an orderly fashion. Copy?”

  “Copy.”

  “Two: I repeat, there are only twenty-five laps. You don’t need to stop for gas, you do not need to scratch your ass. You do not need to take a nap, you do not need to stop for cats.”

  I smile.

  “Do your best not to need a pit stop, Marie-chan. If you do, try to wait for a yellow flag. This will be such a short race, there may not be any. Let’s hope there won’t be any red flags, either. Copy?”

  Marie-chan? Did he just call me Marie-chan?

  Naw…why would he do that?

  A shard of this morning’s dream comes back, bringing a sense of foreboding; the creak creak of the rocking chair…and Kazuko’s whisper: “Don’t follow.”

  “Marie? Do you copy?”

  “Copy.”

  “Three: Once again, there are only twenty-five laps. That means that the purse here equals two grand per lap. Some of these guys would cut your throat for a lot less. Be careful, Marie. Do your best but mainly, survive. Just survive. Okay baby sis? That is a direct order from your family. Copy?”

  A lump rises in my throat. “Copy.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s go time. I’m heading out.”

  “Ten-four,” comes Callum’s calm voice. “Good luck.”

  I look around at my brothers and give them a high five. At that moment, Callums gaze moves to somewhere behind me and he freezes.

  Then a wide, incredulous smile creases his face.

  “Maggie?” I hear him say in my ear. “Wha…? What are you doing here?”

  Maggie? His ex-wife…that Maggie? She came to see the race?

  But there’s no time to think about that. I have to get moving.

  I drive to my position at the starting line.

  Heart pounding, sweat trickling from my temples and hairline, I wait in position with all the other drivers, the field staggered according to the random drawing.

  In the background, the announcer is babbling in his droll, glib way, giving the statistics of all the race entrants. I hear my name mentioned as the only girl driver, and the crowd goes wild. I lift a thumbs up so that people in the stands can see me, then I quickly put my hands back on the wheel.

  Survive. Just survive.

  All the drivers by now are well aware that the track here is a mid-range, or regular track, and therefore we can pretty much trust the surface.

  It’s a good track, and although its surface will be affected by temperature, moisture and other variable, we’ve taken it all into account and don’t expect any surprises.

  There’s no question that all the drivers here intend to put the pedal to the metal and go all-out.

  Problem is, with only twenty-five laps, it could easily turn into a free-for-all.

  All I know about Mark’s position is that he’s somewhere in the field behind me. I also know that my relative position ahead of him and other drivers will quickly amount to nothing if I don’t drive well.

  I flick my gaze to my rear-view mirror and see cars pulling into position in the last row, well behind me. Then my eyes flick back to the flagman, high above the track in his box.

  The seconds tick down as the crowd grows quiet, nervously anticipating the appearance of that waving green flag.

  In that hush, in that calm before the storm, my eyes fix on the flagman as my spine continues to glow with that welcome sense of peace.

  A drop of sweat trickles from my scalp down my neck. Without thinking, I push my helmet violently upwards and scratch the back of my head with one gloved hand.

  When I push it back into place…uh oh.

  Crack…zzzzztttt….followed by radio silence.

  Oh no…don’t tell me the fucking headset broke again!

  “Callum…Tommy…can anyone hear me?”

  Nothing.

  Shit!

  The flagman holds up the green flag, letting it hang high in the air for one second…two seconds…three seconds…four… and then, in a sweeping arc, he waves it, hard and fast.

  With a roar, the crowd surges to its feet.

  No choice now…time to fly!

  My foot stamps on the throttle and my car leaps forward.

  And my focus narrows, intent on threading a path through the pack ahead.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Marie and Mark

  Marie

  Perhaps it’s some survival instinct kicking in.

  Having my radio down means I’m on my own to watch for flags and other conditions.

  No encouraging voices, no warnings, no advice.

  My heart tries to jump out of my chest. Somehow I have to seize control of my fear and shrink it.

  I breathe deeply and evenly and just focus on driving as best I can.

  There’s no time to think, no time to work anything out.

  Now, my brain seems to fill with a high-strung, nervous energy that I can feel…a singing, sizzling energy that climbs in pitch like a musical scale, rising along my spine…zzziiii-eeee-iiihhhh-iiiinnnnnggg….and when it reaches my skull, it goes tink!…and stops.

  And just like that, I’m in the Zone.

  Totally in the Zone.

  The roar of the crowd and the roar of engines recedes, becoming distant…like the sound of a far-off storm.

  The announcer’s voice over the loudspeakers becomes a muffled drone, no more consequential than a mosquito or a bee, buzzing outside of a closed window.

  All of my being is focused in a tight bubble that encompasses myself and the four-wheeled extension of myself that I am steering with my hands and fueling with my foot.

  In my ears, all I hear is the sound of my own heart beating; Just by intending it, I can make my vision narrow to the tiny stretch of track in front of me and a tiny slice of the cars directly in front of, and on either side of, my four-wheeled body.

  Conversely, my vision widens when my gaze flicks around, taking in the front view, the rear view, the flagman, the sky, the track ahead, the infield, everything except the roaring, pulsating crowd.

  Then it narrows again when I focus on the track.

  Yep. Must be survival instinct.

  I am on Super Extra Freaky Auto-pilot and it feels fucking great.

  Empty mind; just drive.

  Just be a machine; just be a mechanical bird in flight among a mechanical flock.

  A flock of herons, my mind whispers, and flashes up an image of that flock of paper herons from my dream this morning.

  Bringing with it, a flash of grief.

  I frown.

  Never mind that!

  This odd flock of metal-birds-on-wheels that I’m in the midst of right now, is flying in a kind of jerky ballet and I have to pay attention.

  Right away, I have to fight the other ‘birds’ to keep my place; fight for the room to pass any of the others without touching them and disturbing our strange flight.

  My focus is on finding that legendary groove, that perfect line of driving that’ll give me the maximum speed with the minimum effort.

  Some part of me begins marking the laps and as so
on as the second one is done and my tires are warmed up, I make my move…knowing, without having to think about it, that this is my best chance to pull ahead.

  The early bird gets the worm, after all.

  So I spread my imaginary wings and, on the first turn into the third lap, I slide my wheel a quarter-inch, press my foot downwards and smoothly overtake two of my fellow fliers.

  Ahh…here it comes…I’m sliding into the racing groove, exactly where I need to be.

  Emboldened, I swing further outwards towards the bank, throttle, twitch the wheel, and am instantly rewarded by overtaking a third.

  Then, a fourth.

  On the straightaway, I hit the gas again and dart back in front of them, closing off their chance to fly ahead of me and push me back in the pack.

  In the back of my mind, far off, I hear the sound of roaring.

  The drone of the mosquito-announcer rises in pitch.

  I hear my name somewhere in the announcer’s droning but I ignore it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this flight.

  Back on the straightaway, my fellow-fliers pull tightly around me, trying to encroach from all sides.

  I have to maintain my position until the next turn. That’s all I have to do.

  Just maintain my position and keep this bird-on-wheels on the wing.

  Mark

  I hit the gas and take off, nearly smashing directly into the guy right in front of me. What’s he think this is, a Sunday fucking drive? I try to swing to the left, get some air between us, but it’s no go, no go!

  Fuck! I drew a shitty starting position but I’m not gonna let that stop me. I need to win this race and that’s what I plan to do.

  First lap, second lap…and now, into the third.

  My eyes flicker to the pack ahead, seeking out that pink and yellow car. I don’t see her…I don’t see her…then we hit the turn and…holy shit!

  Holy shit! She…she must be suicidal…no Marie no, don’t…shit, she’s driving aggressive, she obviously found her groove!

  But I gotta watch my own driving here, I’m about to ram the guy ahead again…okay okay, swing wide, swing wide…yeah…touch the gas…yeah…yes! Fuck yes, I manage to pull ahead of two cars, that’s excellent, that’s awesome.

  Back on the straightaway, I keep my spot. Gotta find my own groove, worry about myself now.

  Freddy starts talking excitedly in my ear.

  “You’re doing good, doing good. Watch car fourteen I think his gramma’s driving…get around him ay-ess-ay-pee Markus! Holy…FUCK!!” His voice rises so high on that last word, he sounds like a shrieking girl. “HOLY FUCK!! Car oh-two just passed four vehicles HOLY FUCK Mark… this chick has some BALLS!”

  Car oh-two, pink and yellow, the only female driver in the race.

  Yep. My Marie.

  “Ten Four Freddy, dial down the yelling would ya? You’re hurting my….”

  “HOLY FUCK!!! She just passed TWO MORE ON THE FUCKING CHUTE!!! YOU BETTER GIDDY-YAP MARKUS!!!”

  I grimace. “Freddy! Jesus, would ya…”

  In my ears comes a muffled shuffling, followed by Mason’s calm, quiet voice. “Okay Markus, Freddy’s, ah…on break now.” In the background, I can hear Freddy still screaming excitedly as Mason continues talking to me. “You’ll want to…yes, that’s right…that’s right…pull ahead on the outside…excellent! Now, deke back in and then go around the other way…awesome! Grab that groove, Mark! Atta boy! That’s three more guys behind you. Good job, good job, keep it up my man, and you’ll be fifty grand richer in about twenty minutes or so.”

  Yep. That’s the plan.

  In my mind, I start talking to her.

  Marie…I’m sorry, sweetie.

  You’ll just have to settle for second or third place, my love.

  I’ll try to make it up to you, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

  Marie

  Fifteenth lap now…and we’ve had some yellow flags. Slowed us down some but not too bad.

  Already lost a goodly portion of contenders but I myself am still good.

  Yes. Wee Marie is still in the race and I am still good.

  No pit stops for this girl, nope, no no. Godspeed to me, Godspeed girl, please God keep me in your hands this day and I promise I’ll never race again, haha!

  But for now…right now…It’s just me and the wind and this flock of herons…these roaring mechanical birds.

  The laps are flying by…and I’m flying too, my body and mind one with my car, operating smoothly, seamlessly.

  My head is sweating and my heart is pounding.

  But I’m not afraid.

  I’m exhilarated.

  This may be my first and last race but right now, I’m in perfect sync with this car. It’s a perfectly functioning piece of machinery.

  Heading into the sixteenth lap on the turn, I spread my imaginary wings and overtake three more cars.

  It’s so easy, it’s almost like they were all nailed down.

  A smile curls my lips.

  Flying! Flying…this is so much fun!

  Lap seventeen.

  Now, other drivers are becoming more aggressive, encroaching on my space more and more.

  But they’re not particularly effective. I don’t know why that is, when so many of them did so well at practice, but…who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

  Effortlessly, I block them and pass another vehicle.

  Eighteen laps, holding steady.

  Nineteen laps, maintaining my ground.

  Aaaaaannnnd…twenty. I take to the outside, pedal to the metal, and get around another car and hold on…hold it… holditholdit….yessss!

  I manage to pull in front of it, as cheeky as you please.

  Now, there’s a burgundy colored vehicle coming up fast behind me now. The only burgundy car in the race.

  Mark.

  He’s making his move, pushing at me from behind, drafting in my wake…now he’s weaving to and fro…testing me…looking for weakness or a way past me.

  I’m sorry Mark, but I won’t give you any.

  Mark

  Every. Goddamn. Lap. is a battle. Every driver, including me, push everything to the limit, straining their vehicles hard for that nice fat purse.

  The few that have to pit stop are out for the count.

  It’s too short a race to get back into, so they don’t bother trying.

  Good.

  Yet, I’m beginning to think this race was a bad idea…too many entrants are rank amateurs, either too timid or too reckless…but with the size of this purse, it was bound to attract all kinds.

  Frankly, I’m surprised so many of them are driving so poorly today. Unless I’m imagining things, a lot of them did better at practice.

  Now we’re seeing some yellow flags; some vehicles limping off the track with smoke trailing from their engines or sparks from something hanging off the underbelly.

  NASCAR…this ain’t.

  The yellow flags slow the race down, but not much.

  It was always gonna be a short contest.

  And my car is a dream machine thanks to Mason and his crew.

  Well, and me too, of course.

  The color won’t win any beauty contests but it’s a winner mechanically.

  “Fifteen laps and no red flags,” Mason’s voice says in my ear.

  At that moment, a car bounces off the retaining wall and slides all the way across the track to the infield.

  “Yellow flag, just a yellow flag.” Mason says. All the drivers slow down until it’s clear that there’s no debris on the track.

  “He’s fine, he’s out and walking around,” Mason confirms.

  I’m mid-pack. Time to step it up and catch up to the front runners.

  I can see that Marie is driving well, steadily overtaking everything in her path.

  Sixteen laps now…with Mason’s steady voice feeding me calm, succinct instructions fr
om time to time–while Freddy screams himself hoarse in the background–I watch in amazement as Marie’s Barbie House-colored car passes yet another three entrants.

  It’s amazing how her vehicle seems to float daintily past them.

  Lap seventeen and I’m right behind the bunch of cars Marie just passed.

  Now, too late, they’re stepping on it…shit, they’re really pushing her! Forming into a tight pack, they’re menacing her from behind…which leaves an opening for me to sneak into.

  I twitch my wheel to pass but Marie twitches hers simultaneously, blocking not only the cars behind her, but my route forward as well.

  Damn!

  Now she’s passed another one, leaving me struggling behind the pack.

  On the eighteenth lap I start sneaking around them on the turn, and I hit it hard on the straightaway, passing two of them by the start of the nineteenth lap.

  Marie holds her ground, flying along steadily, using all the real estate of the track like a pro.

  I’m so fucking impressed with this girl.

  My girl.

  Lap twenty…here it comes. Time to put my money where my mouth is.

  I’m gritting my teeth so hard, I think a little piece cracks off one of them. Oh well, so much for my perfect smile I suppose.

  For some reason, the thought makes me cackle like a madman.

  Pedal to the metal, I take to the outside and scream along the straightaway, flying down that chute as fast as I dare. This is it, baby, I’m coming for ya…sorry sweetie, but…shit!

  No!

  Shit shit shit!

  She swings in front of me, the garish little-girl colors of her car belying her guts and valor.

  When I pull to the right, she blocks me.

  Pull to the left…blocked again.

  Damn, she’s good. What happened to the scared young woman I held in my arms only a little while ago?

  Twenty-one laps and she holds ‘er steady. There are two cars in front of her…I need to put myself in there and make it three. I twitch my wheel…but…dammit! She fucking blocked me again, almost touching my right front bumper!

  I back off, swallowing hard.

  Lap twenty-two and that’s it, I have to get out front now…now…now!

  Desperate to gain ground, I take the farthest outside position I can and put it into overdrive. Right at the same moment, Marie does the same.