LEG FIVE: ACROSS THE CLEAR BLUE SEA
Morning comes earlier to the racers. There isn't anything so formal as an official wake-up call, but most of the competitors have arranged for the hotel staff to rouse them before the sun is completely up. Some want to stretch or exercise before today's part of the race. Others want to do a final check of their car.
The first leg of the race's second day is going unique. Thus far, the competitors have had a choice in route. Some sections of the race might have limited possibilities, but this morning, there's but one. Fort Solastis is on the edge of the Mifune Straights, the (relatively) shallow bit of water between the Larryian mainland and the South Island. Except for ferries, there's really only one way across: The cross-channel highway.
Built in the '50's, the CCH amounts to a continual bridge. It anchors itself on several tiny bits of land that don't really deserve the term 'island', and a couple of larger specks that generally have little communities on them. A few sections are built higher, to allow shipping to pass, but other than that, the road is a long, straight, drive from Fort Solastis to Gulfbay.
By seven am, all the competitors are assembled and in their cars. Most look rested, relaxed, though Prince Brightonburg is squinting away a hangover -- while not an easy drunk, Southern-style liquor has more kick than he's used too -- and Nero, the busty Goth, seems lethargic, which might be the reason her redheaded partner is driving today.
Dietrich Kell and Wade Gree both note that change. Kell learned a lot about the Goth-girl driver yesterday, but her companion will likely play a different tune. He'll have to revise some assumptions. Gree, still determined to pass the pair, hopes Clarissa is more apt to let him slip by. He also gives Duchess van der Prutt a wary glance (through a solid windshield, thanks to overnight repairs), but the she-devil in the Jaguar is paying him no mind.
An official gives Duncan Hawke a hand signal, and the Devon's Islander starts up his Aston Martin and pulls out of the garage. No one else follows....in order to maintain the earned positions, racers depart in the order they arrived at the layover point, and with the same time interval. Hawke is aware he has a chance to strengthen his lead; if he can get onto the CCH and put the accelerator down soon enough.
Lynn Cutter waits with mild impatience. There's a bobble-headed cat toy on her dashboard, a present from her repair crew's employer. Cutter dislikes cats. She'd remove the thing if she wasn't just superstitious enough to suspect it might be good luck. An official signals her, and the electric-blue Camaro roars out of the hotel garage, once again bearing two good headlights.
Toomblee is next, and her departure comes only a few moments after Cutter's. The little Kobald is already chanting, already 'becoming speed'.
Krazy Red Karver has to wait a couple of minutes for his turn. His wife, blessed be the morning, is quiet. Karver is hoping it'll last when he gets his signal and hits the gas.
Prince von Brightonburg is next, and when his turn comes he roars off with his usual vigor. The Southumbrian nobleman continues to rub his eyes. The liquor that blonde woman introduced him too was potent, and the after effects are lingering. He remembers only vaguely the torrid love-making session that'd followed his inebriation. His life is littered with such bits of half-memory.
The Murdermobile gets it's turn next, and Clarissa pulls the car into the street in a rather conservative fashion. Nero, still half-asleep in the passenger seat, doesn't seem to mind.
Laura Blair's midnight-blue Charger blazes off a few seconds later. Her car is a sprinter, and she's grinning at the prospect of a nice long run on the CCH. An expended cigarette flies out her window.
Duchess Lena van Der Prutt waits for her go-ahead. The bright red Jaguar pounces on the asphalt when she's allowed to go. The top is down again, and the noblewoman's hair is back up in it's scarf.
Wade Gree's Supra follows her out. The Wellutrian is giving the Duchess a wide berth, today. He's not one to tempt fate.
Finally, Dietrich Kell's turn comes. Ahead of plenty of racers, he's still in last place among the big ten. He's not worried. He's been waiting for this stretch of the race since he was sitting at the starting line.
Duncan Hawke makes it onto the CCH well ahead of everyone. The racing green DB9 accelerates, it's immaculate engine pushing to car to greater speeds than the driver has bothered with up to this point. Traffic is light on the CCH today; it usually is on race days. He slips from one lane to another to another as he weaves between cars and minivans and semi-trailers. He can't help but gaze out off the bridge occasionally, though. Playful blue water so clear he can see the sandy bottom, spot the silhouettes or sharks and rays and schools of fish. It's shallow water all across the straights, well suited for a spot of recreational sailing.
Cutter and Toomblee aren't far behind the Devon's Islander. Passing the blue Camaro is difficult. The Kobald expected it to be. She's over water. Not unfriendly, but not an ally. The Larryian in the Camaro, the sailor in the Aston Martin...they're friends with water. There's something feline about the Camaro's driver, too. Odd for someone who water liked.
Cutter is focused on Hawke. Toomblee is focused on Cutter. Neither notices that Krazy Red Karver's purple pony car is on the CCH and rapidly closing on both of them. Linda is talking now, but still relatively quiet, and the pro rally car driver is trying to make the most of it. He decides that if he's going to move up on this leg, it has to be before she gets out of her quiet mood.
The '60's era Camaro pushes itself up to unheard of speeds. Toomblee's Silver Bullet doesn't try to block. The Kobald doesn't think in terms of blocking. Instead she speeds up. Larryian and Ponkapaugi jockey for the lead spot.
Prince von Brightonburg, on the CCH now, notes that Karver is pulling away. He'd intended on reclaiming his dominant position over the Larryian, but he's got more a more serious problem at the moment. A big, black problem with a flame job. The Murdermobile looms in the rear-view mirror, and the Prince can see the sleepy-eyed Goth and the redhead behind the wheel quite clearly. He applies some gas, tries to pull away, only to find that the '57 Bel-Air is quite capable of keeping up. Despite his best efforts, the lowered hot rod pulls up alongside him.
While in his own way he's more progressive than most of his countrymen, Prince George still has a scoopful of anachronistic male superiority in his soul. His judgement a little fuzzy from last night's revelry, he decides he simply cannot let a woman...a foreign woman at that...pass him by. Ahead, there's a semi trailer in the Murdermobile's lane. If he can put on enough speed to catch it, it'll block the girls from passing him. He puts his foot down on the pedal and his little modified surges forward...but the Murdermobile, while following slightly behind, is still quite close.
"Now?" Redheaded violinist and Freaky Goth ask each other simultaneously. Both grin.
"Jinx!" yells Nero, who hits the black button on the dash. The gothwagon's engine noise changes from a rumble to a roar as a sudden application of nitrous oxide flows into it's cylinders. Tiny Modified and old school hot rod are suddenly even again, as the semi ahead looms bigger. Clarissa cuts the wheel to the right, and Prince George, at a definite disadvantage were he to collide with the monster, brakes and tries his best to avoid the Larryians. They slide into his lane ahead of him, overtaking the semi-trailer. Prince George, reflexes a bit fuzzy, scrapes the bridge rail and his little racer spins into traffic, miraculously avoiding a collision, but coming to a dead stop facing entirely the wrong way.
The Prince indulges in a display of soldierly cursing as a midnight blue Charger flashes past. Then a red Jaguar, a neon-painted tuner car, and the sleek black Vektor of Dietrich Kell.
Kell is accelerating. The last onto the CCH but with, potentially, the fastest car in the line-up, he's starting to build up some real speed and a real chance of improving his position. The Kieric grins with satisfaction as Wade Gree cannot prevent him from passing. Up ahead, Lena van der Prutt's Jaguar speeds along. Kell watches it grow larger and keeps a firm grip on the wheel.
At the front of the pack Duncan Hawke is frowning. He's been unable to pull any farther away from Lynn Cutter's Camaro, and there isn't much more speed to wring out of the Aston-Martin. He knows all the cars in the race have been tuned and modified to go far beyond their textbook statistics, but whoever had tweaked the Larryian cowgirl's ride had done an impressive job. He blocks her from passing, slips across lanes to block her progress with civilian traffic. He recalls a long-ago incident, when the ship's launch he was commanding was fired upon by Northumbrian pirates. It'd taken him a second to realize he was in a real fight then. He has a similar experience now.
Duchess Van der Prutt is enjoying the high speed run across the CCH, but it's not really her kind of racing. Not shortcuts, no sudden tug of fear when you wonder if your car will hang on to the gravel of an old dirt road...smooth asphalt is boring by comparison. That doesn't, however mean she can't drive on good roads. Ahead of her, Laura Blair's midnight blue Charger is having some trouble getting past a passel of civillian cars. With an instinctive eye for a shortcut, the Duchess notes that the wide shoulder of the bridge is quite clear. She smiles radiantly and veers out of the marked lanes, then accelerates, left side of her car mere inches from the bridge rail. She zips past Blair, several non-racer cars, then swings back onto the road. There's the sound of squealing brakes and honking horns behind her. Apparently her little manuever surprised a few people.
Blair fumes as the Duchess passes her by, but at least the noblewoman's Hail Mary had broken up the gaggle of cars blocking her way. Her Charger lurches forward, working back up to high gear. She can catch the Jag, she knows. There's a flash of motion in her mirror, though, and it gets her attention. Something low and black and...passing her.
Kell gives Blair a sarcastic wave as he zooms past her. The Larryian woman can't see it due to the heavily tinted windows, but it's the thought that counts.
Well behind Kell, Prince Brightonburg gets his car turned around and moving forward again. His hangover is gone, banished by adrenaline. He's lost several positions, but his car is functional. He's far from out of the race. The little modified accelerates.
Wade Gree isn't all that worried about Kell passing him. In fact, he has ideas about how to use it. His little tuner car's flat-out speed isn't good enough to keep up with the Kieric for long, but he can keep close enough, let the black supercar open holes for him. Then, when the situation is more to his advantage, he'll pass the arrogant snot. He zips past Blair with some effort, accelerates. Ahead, Kell's Vektor is moving up on Duchess van der Prutt's Jag. Gree is planning on passing her too, though at a comfortable distance, when he feels an old familiar tingling in his belly.
He glances quickly around. There are civillian cars around him. One of these, a nondescript car with a non-descript paint job, has a window rolling down. Gree sees the chubby barrel of a silenced submachine gun poke out, swing his direction.
The 'Wellutrian' can't just hit the brakes, as there's too many cars behind him. Instead, he hits the gas, and the nitrous oxide and his car zooms forward. Something...several somethings...tear into the body of his car, but nothing serious is hit. Too his surprise, the nondescript car accelerates, keeping up with him. He'll have to be more creative to get rid of this pest.
He sees an suitable opening and flips his car into a 180 degree turn. His pursuer matches the manuever, but the opening that works for Gree has closed. A big Dodge truck with a deer-catcher bumper slams into the side of the nondescript car. Metal rends, airbags deploy, and Gree finds himself minus a pursuer, but speeding into oncoming traffic. Blair's Charger nearly takes him head on. He finds another opening, pulls another bootlegger turn, and he's headed the right way again, flashing past the wreckage of his would-be-killer.
Dietrich Kell doesn't see the crash. He's too intent on the bright-red Jaguar just ahead of him. The CCH is crossing an island now, and actually curves slightly. Kell knows better than to be too aggressive with the Duchess. He passes her wide, using pure speed. For a moment he gets a good, long look at the noblewoman, the intent blue eyes, the pursed lips. He shakes off the split-second entrancement and keeps on trucking, but the sudden itch in his fingertips lingers.
Lynn Cutter knows she's about to pass Hawke. She's just got that feeling. The Devon's Islander is good behind the wheel or he wouldn't have dodged her this long. He's not doing badly. It's little things. Cars in his way at the wrong moment. People changing lanes as if to inhibit him. She, on the other hand, is so 'on' it scaring her a little.
Hawke moves to block her yet again, but he has to abandon the effort thanks to a beat up old El Camino. Cutter sees her chance, accelerates, and pulls ahead of the Devon's Islander. She gives him a winning smile as she edges past.
It's been quite a while since the racer's left the hotel. The blue water under the CCH gets shallower, and ahead, the opposite shore grows larger.
Dietrich Kell isn't satisfied. He's moved up well, but once the CCH is behind him, he won't have as clear-cut an advantage. Temperance be damned, he decides, and takes no pressure off his gas pedal. He might have other motivations, as the car ahead of him is the Murdermobile.
He draws up next to the Gothwagon. It's a slow, painful process for the thing is far faster than it should be. He glances over. The Goth girl isn't looking his way. She's talking, with some animation, to her redheaded partner. Oh well, he decides, and begins to draw ahead.
Nero's hand is poised over the black button. Clarissa's eyes snap to the heat indicator. She shakes her head. Nero agrees. Behind then, a red Jaguar slides closer.
The racers swoop into Gulfbay.
CURRENT POSITIONS
Lynn Cutter is in 1st, with a lead measured in feet over...
...Duncan Hawke in 2nd.
Krazy Red Karver is in 3rd and moving up fast on the leaders. Will his wife stay quiet enough for this to continue?
Toomblee is in 4th, but now back in her native element.
Dietrich Kell, after a stellar performance, has moved up to 5th place!
Clarissa and Nero are close behind Kell, in 6th place, but their position is being challenged by...
...Duchess Lena van der Prutt, in 7th. Will gunfire be exchanged next leg?
Laura Blair is in 8th place and cursing up a storm. Cigarette sales in Larryia increase dramatically.
Wade Gree, having avoided some old friends, hangs onto 9th place, and his skin.
Prince George von Brightonburg, after a nasty complication, is in 10th. Both he and Gree are still quite capable of moving up, though perhaps this will teach the good Prince the value of alcoholic moderation.
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#5 was a fun leg to write. And I know it's Kieran's favorite so far.
Topic: The 15th Annual Transnational Road Race (Read 20096 times)