by Davida Lynn
The car in front of him instantly snapped sideways, kicking up a plume of white smoke as the rear of the IndyCar began to rotate.
Chance let off the gas, keeping the car low on the track. He aimed Annabelle towards the spinning car, knowing that centrifugal force would force the out of control vehicle up toward the outside of the track.
“Caution, caution, caution." Derek spoke quickly, but he remained calm as ever. “Turn three."
"Way ahead of you." By the time Chance replied, he had passed the spinning car. He caught a glimpse of the impact in his rearview mirror. Yellow lights along the fence on the outside of the track flashed yellow. Chance turned the engine mode down to the largest fuel saving level and took a moment to stretch his fingers. Three hours clenching a steering wheel made it seem like arthritis had its death grip on Chance’s hands.
Less than fifty laps to go, and Chance was just outside of the top ten. After the last pit stop, he would be free to push the car as hard as he liked. Instead of passing cars as they headed off for the pits, he would actually be able to race. Wheel to wheel with some of the best drivers in the world, Chance wanted to prove he belonged among them.
Derek’s voice crackled over the radio. “Pit lane closed at the moment. We're going to bring you in as soon as we can. We will have to make one more stop, but it will be three laps later than everyone else. Coast as much as you can. We can move up a spot or two with a good stop."
Chance let off the gas, gearing up to sixth. The engine revved low, almost rattling the car as he passed the start/finish line. Chance hated that feeling, that vibration made him think every bit of the car was on the verge of divorcing itself all at once.
Putting that horrid thought out of his head, Chance tried to think ahead to the cars in front of him. He was catching up to them as they also coasted. Caution laps gave the drivers a bit of a break, but it was so close to the finish. Chance felt like he was already pushing his luck.
“Pits open, Chance. Bring it in slowly. Fuel save until the cows come home. We’re putting on four new tires, no adjustments.”
“Copy. Let’s bring this one home.”
He edged the car down onto the entrance to pit lane. All the cars Chance could see were coming in along with him. He wouldn’t gain any spots unless the team had a flyer of a stop. All-American Pro wasn’t as professional as the top teams, but Chance was impressed with how quickly they’d become a solid team working together time after time. He loved every single man that put their lives on the line jumping over the wall to change his tires.
Every position he moved up was more of a bonus for the boys. That pushed Chance forward. It focused his mind and drove him faster, harder, stronger. He wasn’t driving for himself anymore. Last year, yeah, it was all abut Chance. This year? He was driving for Billy, for Kiwi, for DJ, for Heather.
Sixty miles an hour was a snail’s pace, but the button on the steering wheel made sure Chance didn’t speed. One penalty would ruin the race, and he couldn’t risk it.
Chance hit his marks, pulling into the pit stall and coming to a halt. The car jacked up in the air as the mechanics pulled the old tires from Annabelle. The new ones went on and the car was fueled in less than ten seconds.
“Go, go, go.” Derek urged Chance on. Tire smoke shot from the back end as Chance pulled back out onto pit lane. He tried to count the cars he was passing to see if he had gained or lost any positions, but the shuffle was too much for him to keep track of. As he passed the gigantic digital screen pylon, Chance scrolled down the list looking for #59. Before he could spot the car number, he had passed it. Sixty miles an hour was fast at all the wrong times.
The flashing lights of the pace car passed turn one, and Chance pulled back onto the track, waiting for a report on where he was in the running.
“Eighth. We are sitting eighth.”
“Holy hell, are you shitting me?”
Derek didn’t respond for a few moments. “Fun fact, Chance. When you’re this high up, you tend to get some TV time, so let’s keep the profanity to a minimum.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to Chance. Other than a finish just outside the top five, Chance was rarely shown on TV, and his radio transmissions had never made it on air. He was in a whole new world.
Sure, there were close to four hundred thousand people watching him around the race track, but there were nearly three hundred million watching him around the world. He would surely be interviewed after the race, and for most race fans, that would be their first real taste of who Chance Pierce was.
“Two laps until green. We’re gonna go on strat three until the last stop. Just meet your deltas and you’ll be in good shape.”
“Can do, boss man.”
Chance weaved Annabelle back and forth, building up heat in the tires. He jerked left, then right, letting a little frustration out. Laps behind the pace car were interminable. Chance just wanted to get back up to speed. He wanted to count the laps down and cross that finish line.
Chance hit the radio button. “Who’s leading?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not exactly. Let’s say it’s morbid curiosity. Who’s leading?”
Derek groaned in response. “Jack Savage. He’s driven a flawless race. So have you. You’ve started last and moved up twenty five places. Keep that in your mind, not who’s leading the race.”
“I know, I know.”
Chance took the time to watch the grandstands go by. He would miss the screams from the crowd. The sound was infectious.
“Going green this lap.”
The crowd vanished. He focused his mind on the car in front. He was back at work, and that job was the most important thing. It would be the only thing for the next forty laps, and then Heather would take the top spot in his mind.
Derek, always the steady voice in his head, said, “Make sure you’ve got heat in the tires, don’t let them get a jump on you. I want you glued to Martinelli’s rear end.”
“Copy.”
Chance was a gunslinger. Where they had their right hand hovering just above their gun, his foot was steady on the accelerator, ready to pull his weapon. He waited, listening for Derek to tell him the green was back out.
Under a caution, all the cars bunched back up, ruining any gap the leader might have gained. Two hundred laps would come down to forty. A race that began as endurance would end as a sprint.
“Get ready.” Derek wasted his words. Chance’s heart was already back up to race levels, pushing one hundred and fifty beats per minute. Before the action heated up, Chance took a few pulls from the on-board drink system that hooked into his helmet. The electrolyte mix had grown warm over the last two hours, making the vaguely salty taste that much worse.
Coming off of turn four, Chance saw the pace car pull down into the pits. Wringing his fingers around the wheel, Chance waited. The leader decided when he wanted to take off, and Derek would relay as soon as he saw Jack Savage accelerate.
Waiting gave birth to doubt and questioning. Why was Jack waiting so long to go? Had the green been waved off because of some unknown problem?
Each question distracted Chance, as it would every driver behind the leader. Racing wasn’t just about going faster than the competition. If there was a way to make them slower, that could be just as important. Psychological warfare.
“Green, green. Go get ‘em.”
Chance did just that. He hammered the gas, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the mirrors and the cars in front. Everyone was on fresh tires and full fuel tanks, so there was no politeness. Respect, yes, but nothing resembling kindness.
On the back stretch, Chance followed the car in front of him to the low side. Before he could move back up to block, a car was passing him near the outside. He had to let off the gas early going into turn three, letting the #17 machine past. Nothing to be done.
Chance knew he had to stay out of trouble. If a car was faster, he had to let them by, counting on that last stop to get him back ahead. The stra
tegy was unnatural, but it had worked brilliantly so far.
Lap 176 saw the first of the leaders head for pit lane. It would be his last stop, even if the caution came out. The tires would last twenty four laps, and the tanks would be full. Chance’s team could short fill the car, making his pit stop take half as long.
Two more laps went by, and Chance was second. Jack still hadn’t come in. Hanging back, Chance watched the lines that Jack drove. His car was smooth into turns one and three, but heading onto the straights, the car couldn’t quite hit the apex. At the end of each straight, Chance was gaining noticeably.
“Alright. Strat one, bring it in at the end of this lap. Smooth into the pits. Savage will probably stay out one more lap.”
“Copy, bringing her in.” Chance changed the engine to use every bit of fuel it could. By the time the lap ended, Chance had gained to within one car length of Jack, who was most likely saving fuel.
Coming out of the last turn, he kept the car low, ready to hit the brakes as late as possible.
At the last second, Jack dove to the left, cutting Chance off. He hit the brakes hard, locking up as he turned hard to the left. The white concrete wall was too close for comfort as Chance struggled to keep Annabelle facing forward.
“What the hell?” He shot over the radio. Raising a hand out of the cockpit, Chance gave Jack the one finger salute.
"Don’t worry about it." Derek's voice was beginning to crack. Even for someone as level headed as him, the stress was mounting. "The stewards will review it. If he gets a drive-through, that's just one more position you move up. Focus on hitting your marks and a clean stop."
He stopped perfectly. The stop felt much faster because only half as much fuel went in. Jack Savage’s stall was at the very end of the pits, so he had a clear shot back out onto the track. Chance had finished his stop and was on the limiter before Jack had even reached his stall.
The stop had been fast, but depending on how much fuel Savage’s team was putting on board, it might not be enough. Chance inched closer and closer, crossing the start/finish line.
Jack’s car veered to the left, taking his stop. Even though he was gaining, it felt like Chance was nowhere near Jack’s car. The constant revs of the engine teased Chance, daring him to take his finger off the speed limiter. In just a few seconds at full throttle, he could pass Jack Savage, but it would be for nothing. Any pass had to be done on track.
Jack’s back tires lit up as he pulled from the stall. Again, he cut right in front of Chance with no regard for safety or respect. Chance waved a hand, again, though he knew it wouldn’t do a damn thing.
Once the two cars crossed the stripe of white paint at the end of the pit lane, they were back and full bore, chasing down the last few laps and eternal glory.
“You are P2. You’re both going to be close on fuel, so don’t trade back and forth.”
Chance had never wanted to disobey more in his life. “I can take him.”
“Chance, we’ve been here before. It’s a bad idea. Follow him, fuel save if you can, and we’ll talk on lap 195.”
“Deal.” Chance focused everything he had on sticking with Jack.
On the straights, he would let off the throttle just enough to stay behind, but each time, Chance knew he could pass. He saw the opportunity. Jack blocked every time, but Chance had enough momentum to get past, either way.
Wait. Some voice of reason screamed in his ear. It wasn’t Chance’s voice. It wasn’t DJ or Derek. It was Heather, her voice stern like she knew what was best. She did, but it was so hard to hear.
A win was so close. Not just a win, but the win. The win that made a racer’s career, cementing his place in the history books. It was just two car lengths ahead.
Seven laps to go, and Chance checked in with Derek. “Tell me I’ve got fuel to burn.”
“Just a second.” The pause was far longer than a second. It was half a lap. “You are good to push. Heather checked the numbers. Go kick his ass, Chance.”
Maybe it was hearing her name. Maybe it was knowing that she was doing her part. Whatever it was, Chance was hit with a strong feeling. Switching the small knob on the steering wheel, he prepared to make a pass on Savage heading into turn one.
He was leading heading onto the back stretch. Heather couldn’t stand it. She would stare at the TV screen, turning away seconds later.
Kiwi laughed. “You’re gonna go crazy if you keep it up.”
“I know, I know.” She shook her head. “This is insane. A month ago, I wouldn’t have cared less about any of this.”
“You’ve got a horse in the race. Changes things, doesn’t it?” He elbowed her and winked.
“Shut up,” she said with a laugh. Heather was thankful for the conversation, though. It was keeping her mind off of the drama on track. Chance and Jack were swapping places twice a lap. She couldn't stand how close the cars were, how fast they dove into the turns.
More than once, the wheels of the two machines were dangerously close. Neither man gave the other any room.
Pops waved an arm over his head, catching Heather's attention. He pointed to his headset, making a motion to put them on.
Looking around, Heather searched for hers. Hearing the radio traffic had only made things worse. She found them sitting on the last stack of tires. Heather slid them into place over her ears, Unsure what she would hear
"I can get in by the end of this straight, but probably not by the finish line. Unless he comes out of four worse than usual, I'll be halfway past him at the line." Chance’s voice was higher and faster than Heather had ever heard it. She could almost hear his heart in the radio transmission.
If she was nervous, Heather couldn’t imagine how he was handling the pressure.
“Come on, come on. You can get him." Heather mumbled the words to herself through clenched teeth.
Derek tried to calm Chance down. “Run your race, not his. He's pushing on fuel, but that doesn't mean it will last. Four laps to go, four more chances."
As if on cue, Chance and Jack passed by, almost side-by-side. Heather jumped up onto the concrete wall to watch them make turn one. She was sweating. Between the heat of the day and her nerves, she was sweating like a man, and Heather didn't care.
Once the cars were out of sight, she turned back to the large screen hanging from the upper grandstands. The cameras followed the two leaders as they diced back and forth. Chance had the lead heading down the back stretch, but Jack Savage passed him on the high side going into three.
“Dammit."
It wasn't just about winning the race. She wanted to see Chance beat Jack. She wanted that smug smile wiped off the Aussie’s face. He and Isla both could use a hearty slice of humble pie, and Chance was the man to serve it to them.
Again, they swapped positions down the front straight, but like Chance said, he passed after the finish line. Three laps to go. Neither car showed any signs of slowing down, and their nearest competition was fifteen seconds back. It would be a two-man fight to the finish.
“Fuel is good to the end, Chance."
Heather wanted to hit the transmit button so badly. She wanted to give Chance some words of encouragement, but what would she say? He knew what he had to do, and he knew she believed in him.
Her finger danced over the button.
This time, Chance lead over the line. Jack was a full car length behind with two laps to go.
Heather grabbed her tire temperature gage, stabbing it into a rear tire from the previous stop. She noted the temperature and moved the gauge to the center of the rubber.
Frank tapped her on the shoulder. “You know our job is done, right? You don’t need to mark down the temps.”
“I need to do something. I’m going to explode, Frank. I. Am. Going. To. Explode.” Heather probably gave him crazy eyes, because Frank threw his hands up and took a step back.
Jack was in the lead once again, and the flagman threw the white. One lap to go. Heather threw the tire gauge blindly to the gr
ound. Forty seconds and it would all be through. Three and a half hours, and it would come down to one single lap.
Heather fought to look up at the screen. She knew that if she missed the finish, there would be no forgiving herself. The two cars shot down the backstretch, side by side. Jack led going into turn three for the last time.
“Come on, come on.” Her heart pounded harder than ever as she watched Chance hunt down Jack Savage.
They came off the last turn, and Chance had a run. Heather could see right away that he was going to get past. He was going to get past in a hurry, maybe before the line.
The TV switched to the camera mounted on Chance’s car, just above his helmet. Jack Savage moved left, and Chance followed. The two cars moved closer and closer to the inside wall as they neared the checkered flags and the finish line.
Chance was still gaining, and when Jack Savage’s back wheel continued left and touched Chance’s right front, Heather’s heart came to a violent stop.
Smoke filled the screen as Jack’s car hit the inside wall then upended. The last thing Heather saw on the screen was Jack Savage’s car flying up a few feet and landing upside down on top of Chance’s. Then the camera cut out.
She snapped her head to the front straight, seeing sparks and debris flying up. The two cars tumbled down the front straight. An audible cry of panic and fear came from the crowd, even over the sound of the two cars colliding.
Heather’s breath held in her throat as fear gripped her. Flashes of Chance’s qualifying crash came to her. This was worse, though. Much worse.
As the remains of the two cars crossed over the finish line, the flagman waved one checkered and one yellow flag.
“You ok?” Derek’s voice had given up on being calm. He was scared. “Chance, let us know you’re alright. Rescue is coming from turn four, there in fifteen seconds. Give us a sign.”
Nothing. Nothing came over the radio, leaving Heather aching from head to toe. She saw smoke rising up from the wrecked cars just beyond the finish line. Two rescue trucks sped past, lights flashing, engines gunned.