“Of course I did. It’s in the purple snack bag. I’m not going to refuse Belgian chocolate even if it comes from my worst enemy. I’ll share with you, since you’re such a quiet passenger.”
“You can have me taste test it to make sure it’s not poisoned.”
She snorted. “Horse isn’t going to poison anyone with chocolate. He uses his personality for that.”
I laughed and settled down for another hour of driving. It wasn’t always even terrain, and sometimes the other vehicles would come out of nowhere and give Trix a hard time, but she returned the favor with interest, cutting them off and sending them rolling when they hit a big rock wrong that I hadn’t noticed, but Trix used to her advantage.
“How did you become an off-road driver?” I asked as we drove away from an upside-down monster vehicle, wheels spinning in my rearview mirror.
“I’ve been racing as long as I can remember. My uncle has a track in Jersey, one off-road, one paved. It’s always made sense to me- mechanics, the physics of motion, and while pavement is fine, it’s not as dynamic as dealing with the changing terrain. I wasn’t serious about it until I needed to raise some money, andthat’s when I realized that I really liked to beat boys. I was fat when I was a kid, not very pretty, and boys gave me a hard time when my mom forced me to wear a dress, but when I raced, or boxed, I earned their respect. It was easier for me to be one of the boys than a pretty girl that they liked. Then I got pretty, and my fat turned into curves, and everything got weird again. Racing was never weird, and if I gained weight, I’d just add more power to the engine to make up for it. Now that’s empowering. How about you? How did you get started with the music stuff?”
I didn’t talk about my family, but she’d been so open, like it was normal to have childhood reminisces. “My father was a great cellist.”
She nodded, but looked at me, like there should be more.
“He died, and my mother and I moved in with my grandfather. The cello was her one remaining rebellion, and she made it one of the main conditions that I would learn the cello, and then she would let me learn whatever else he wanted to teach me.”
“Business?” she asked, only mildly curious.
“That and dislocating fingers.” I meant to make it sound casual, but the sudden memory was so visceral, my stomach knotted up and I opened the door, throwing up on the rapidly passing ground.
I closed the door and sank back against the seat, my stomach still delicate.
“They don’t seem to go together,” she said, like it was a practical matter.
“The one made the other possible. I could endure anything knowing that I had Straw to play at the end of it.”
“That’s the name of your dad’s cello? Cute. My first car’s name was Calvin. Went off a wet road in him when I was seventeen. Calvin didn’t recover, and I barely did. I should probably go in and get more surgery, try to fix things, but whohas time for that? Would you grab the chocolate? I think both of us could use something sweet.”
I reached back for the chocolate at the same time I saw something in my periphery, red, white, a blur coming towards us. Trix swore and spun the wheel, and then the world vanished in a spinning whirl of black, red, and light. We hit the ground, rolled, while flames wrapped around the vehicle. Up and down were vague theories until the truck finally came to a stop on its side. White foam exploded inside the cab and outside. Fire retardant, I vaguely remembered from Nitro’s lectures.
I was suspended from the body straps, my arm at an awkward angle from reaching into the back seat when it hit.
Trix was quiet, eyes closed, blood gushing from her head wound. Good, because moving blood meant she wasn’t dead. Bad, because she might bleed out in the middle of the desert.
Someone had shot a rocket at her? Why would anyone do that? Rage spilled through me at the thought of someone putting Trix’s life at risk to beat her in a race they couldn’t win on their own merit. She was tough and strong, but someone had shot her down like she was target practice.
I undid the straps and landed on Trix’s door, on her bloody hair. The smell of gasoline was strong in the air, and fire was still flickering in between the white foam. What did I need to do? Stop the bleeding. Stop the gas leak. Get this vehicle over the finish line, where medics and mechanics could take over.
I needed to get the vehicle upright, but it was on its side, the driver’s side, and the beast was heavily armored, or we’d both be more than singed. I unlatched the passenger door above my head and shoved it open, ignoring the pain in my left arm. Pain was a distraction I couldn’t afford, so I turned it off and focused on the task ahead of me. Nitro had talked about crashes, what to do, how to stop leaks, how to get back in a race, and all thoseconversations came back to me as clear as if she were talking beside me.
I pulled myself out of the truck and stood on the side for a moment before dropping to the ground. I needed to get it upright. I’d worry about how impossible it was later.
I gripped the metal frame and closed my eyes. Trix, my wild-haired friend, would not die in this desert. I wouldn’t let her.
I hauled up with all my strength, and at first, nothing happened, but then with a shudder, strength flowed through my arms and I hauled the enormous truck upright until it rocked onto its tires.
I tried to open the door, but it was crushed into place. I snarled at it and yanked harder, ripping the metal apart with an ear-rending screech, but that door was open and I could get to Trix. I found the first aid kit beside the purple snack bag, now mostly empty with its contents scattered all over the place, tampons mixing with jerky sticks and chocolate bars.
I checked the wound, but it seemed clean, just cut on the metal from the door. Her ankle looked bad, probably broken, but I didn’t have the time or skill to set it. I applied pressure to her head wound, then sterilized it, bandaged it, and dragged her into the passenger’s seat, buckling her in with her blood on my hands. It was a rough job, because broken arms, or sprained, or whatever it was, weren’t great for functionality, even if you can ignore the pain.
Once she was situated, I went to the engine. Getting the hood open was another herculean effort, but with Nitro’s voice in my head, I patched the hole in the gas tank with the rough patch kit set into the frame just for such emergencies. Would it hold? No idea, but I didn’t have time to worry about that.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and then checked all the gear shifters. There were so many more buttons than I was usedto, but when I closed my eyes, I saw Trixie driving, recalled everything she’d done, and so that’s what I did.
Her baby started with a roar, and we shot forward, barely missing a massive rock, and bumping through really rough terrain as I tried to get us back onto the trail we’d been shot off.
The GPS map tracker on the screen was broken, but I could remember what it had looked like, the dot that was Trix’s truck, and the dotted path that led to the finish line.
