Awakening
Page 112
*
For the next hour, Kingston was hard at work, darting around while covered in sweat and oil as he worked to restore the vehicle to working order. Barsch, for the most part, merely stood and watched, unable to keep up with the old man’s pace. Occasionally he would pop out from under the bonnet and ask if anyone had seen his wrench, or if Maloch could spare any more oil for the engine. Bit by bit, the Voxner was transformed, from immobile wreck to elegant speedster. Even the paint was redone, though Barsch did not ask how or why. What had once been a myriad of red and black overlapping arrows was now a green flame ringed by a sea of blue. The engine had even purred when Kingston flipped the ignition switch. Even the gaping hole was gone, covered by several spare sheets of metal. In short, it looked roadworthy and substantially less likely to kill them.
Barsch found himself struck by the same ear to ear grin that had settled into Kingston’s withered face as he took in the marvellous machine. He reached out a hand towards the cooling paint, feeling the soft hum of the engine through the metal.
“I changed my mind... It’s actually pretty cool.”
“I knew you would say that, m’boy!” When Kingston turned away Barsch heard him mutter, “Pity I couldn’t fix the engine properly though...”
Out of the corner of his eye Kingston saw the colour drain from Barsch’s, so he quickly added, “Oh, don’t worry, she’ll run just fine! I mean, I patched the hole in the engine with some Quik-Fix Glue, so it should hold for at least a couple of hours. I think...”
Before Barsch had the time to protest, Kingston bundled him up into the cab, strapping him in with no less than three seat restraints. After calling Alza and Maloch and ushering them to the cargo container, he hopped into the driver’s seat. Just before Kingston put the vehicle in gear, Barsch caught up to reality and asked, “Um... Kingston, don’t take this the wrong way, but... are you sure you should be driving? I mean, isn’t there an autopilot or something? And even if there isn’t one, can’t Maloch drive?”
Instead of looking hurt, Kingston merely reached into one of his dashboard containers and brought out an ancient pair of sun-visors. Slipping them on in what looked like a well-practiced manoeuvre, he turned to Barsch and said, “Why whatever are you talking about m’boy? In my day, all my friends used to call me the Speed-King... well, until that accident with Jonathan... anyway, I’m the best driver we have!”
“He’s definitely too old to be having a mid-life crisis… maybe an end-life crisis instead?
Barsch tried to point out that Kingston had not driven a vehicle in decades, but was cut off by the roar of the engine. Almost immediately, a thick plume of greyish-black smoke began rising from under the bonnet. “Hmm... I thought I fixed that... oh well, I’m sure we’ll be fine without it.”
Once more, Barsch tried to say something, but the old man moved the gear selector into ‘Turbo’ and floored the accelerator. For a moment or two nothing happened, then, at breakneck speed, the Voxner moved backwards. It took a couple of seconds for Kingston to realise that the scenery was travelling in the wrong direction, by which time Barsch was praying desperately to any gods in the area for a painless death. Kingston, in a display of driving finesse, did not even bother with the brake, instead opting to spin the wheel 360 degrees and wrenching the gear selector into ‘Reverse’.
For a moment, it seemed as though the Voxner would flip over and crush them, as nine of the fifteen wheels lost contact with the ground and the vehicle started groaning and creaking. In the cracked side-mirror, Barsch saw the flimsy sheets covering the hole in the cargo bay rip away, which was followed by Alza poking her head through the newly created gap. Barsch had never seen her openly display fear or surprise, but he thought that he could see the traces of both emotions in the pale pallor of her skin and the edges of her frowning mouth. Their lopsided trajectory through the air seemed to go on forever, until the rest of the wheels finally reconnected with the hard earth. The vehicle gave a brief shudder, and for a moment Barsch thought that it might fall apart around him, but after a few tense seconds, the engine started up again and they were off.
“See? I told you that there was nothing to be worried about!” Barsch couldn’t help but notice the beads of sweat lining Kingston’s wrinkled brow, nor could he un-see his leathery hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. Just to be sure, he checked and re-checked his safety harness, and even briefly considered searching for a helmet. However, as the Voxner cruised leisurely along the unseen path, his worries began to fade a little. The fading light threw up hundreds of shadows, which could have been anything from harmless plants to gaping chasms. In response Kingston flipped a switch which resulted in a beam of harsh light scything through the deepening darkness. In a rare display of pattern recognition, Barsch began counting under his breath.
On the tenth count, the light died, and they were swallowed by the night.