For this first stage, no one will die of the lightning strikes. It’s the drivers trying to avoid them that might kill you. The last five to check in at the rest stop will be eliminated regardless of how many cars actually make it through the first stage. Of course, that’s unless only five remain. This is highly unlikely. I bite my lower lip to relieve some of my growing tension.
I reach up to my earpiece and say, “Mac, are you there?”
A crackle, then “Reading you loud and clear, RC.”
Relief replaces the overwhelming weight on my shoulders. Nothing got done on my side in the two days since getting back to the garage. Mac and Screw got saddled with most of the heavy lifting like adjustments to the GT and analyzing stats for the best contingencies in every possible scenario that can come up in this battle of the fittest. I couldn’t even muster enough strength for a practice run up and down Mount Giga. I’m barely standing on two legs as it is today.
“Are you in position?” I ask, shifting my weight from one foot to the other and wincing. Moving, not good. My muscles are stiffer than boards. The cuts might not open during the drive, but my ribs won’t appreciate the jostling. I send a silent prayer to the racing gods for fortitude.
“Screw is parking the truck at the paddock now,” comes Mac’s response. “You sure you’ll be fine without a navigator?”
I sag against my GT. “With a killer on the loose, the last thing I need is to worry about someone else. I’ve been doing this on my own from the start. I don’t see that having to change now. I’m winning this.”
“Is it true that you stabbed Bedlam?”
The sudden question distracts me away from my conversation with Mac. I let go of my earpiece and turn to face Star. For this leg of the race she’s chosen thigh-high boots, fishnet stockings, a frilly concoction she calls a skirt, and a corset. She looks like she’s going to a BDSM party instead of participating in a grueling competition. Her pink hair tumbles in long wavy strands down her back and shoulders. She takes a lock between her fingers and commences twirling.
“Where’d you hear something like that?” I ask back, my throat suddenly drier than the flatland we’ll be driving on shortly. Why I’m uncomfortable with the fact that Star knowing means surely others do too, I don’t know. It’s not like someone from the Mob will come and arrest me. Prosecuting crimes isn’t at the top of the Mob’s to-do list unless it directly impacts any of the families. The boss maintains order by spreading fear. He’s executed enough people publicly for various things that the citizens of Terra One will think twice before doing anything. And Bedlam filing a complaint? I don’t think so.
“So it’s true, then?” she persists, cocking a seductive hip.
“I… ugh….” I’m saved from having to put together a coherent response by Slipstream’s yellow GT90 rolling into his slot beside Star’s Cobra. I’m on him the second he steps out of his car. “Why the hell are you here?”
Instead of raising both hands in surrender like I’ve come to expect, Slipstream flicks his hair to one side, then pins me with a serious stare. “To race,” he says matter-of-factly.
Not cowed by his defiance, I rake my gaze up and down his body. His coloring does look much better, but he’s still too thin. “But you should be resting. There’s still next year.”
His eyes widen a fraction, and then he pokes me on the bandage protecting the stitches on my neck. I jerk at the electric pain the contact caused. “Then let me throw your words back at you. I heard you took a bad spill off a road bike a couple days back. Shouldn’t you be in bed recuperating?”
The underhandedness of his accusation takes me aback. Like literally I take a step back. “That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”
“Oh yeah?” He crosses his thin arms over his chest. I’m sure if I yank his sweater up, I will see his skin tight against his ribs, and his abdominal region will look like a hollow bowl. “If I punched you in the side would you be able to stay on your feet? I may be emaciated, but I can drive. Mistress Anne and the doctor cleared me. The vibrations from your machine can cause you to pass out from the pain, and then what will you do? The first leg is approximately two hours of rough driving. Are you absolutely certain you can do it without a navigator for support?”
My gaze flicks to the young guy in Slip’s car and the middle-aged woman in Star’s. Having a navigator isn’t a prerequisite to join the IC, but drivers prefer having someone with them in case things go sideways. I’m taking a pretty big risk going solo. Not even Ace does that.
Backed into an ugly corner and knowing the truth behind Slipstream’s words, I close my agape mouth and turn on my heels. I head back to my GT, leaving Star with him. So much for showing concern for the guy I consider my baby brother. If he wants to kill himself, then it’s his suicide mission. I have my own to focus on. With Wrench missing, presumed dead, Viper is the obvious next target. He hasn’t arrived yet in his white STi.
I called Brody before arriving at the grid and he assured me Viper is being watched. He’s not the type to run away from danger and has welcomed a security detail. In fact, one
