LEG EIGHT: OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY
Morning comes to Norlan Heights, with a dramatic sunrise over Mt. Mifune and peaceful birdsongs from the many trees. You can't really hear the birds today; there's too many people lining the streets, eager to get a good, close look at the start of the third and final day of the Transnational Road Race.
The racers pulls themselves out of their beds, make their morning preparations. Despite the idyllic surroundings there's a deep tension in the air. Today, someone wins, and lots of other folks lose. Most of the drivers are eager to get started.
Most are also a bit frustrated, for whatever forces that decide such things have made an early start impossible. A dense layer of fog has settled over Norlan Heights, and the race officials have ruled that today's leg will not start till it clears. There's some talk among the foreign drivers about this; it makes sense to them, but the Larryians have been rather fanatical about the anything goes nature of the competition. Delaying a start due to weather seems inconsistent.
The officials have their reasons. The next leg, from Norlan Heights to Lyttonfield, goes straight through mountain country. It's a dizzying spiderweb of narrow roads, ridiculously sharp curves and extreme inclines, and should a racer fail to negotiate any one of those, there's usually a long drop to the bottom of a deep canyon. This has been, historically, the single most dangerous section of the Transnational Road Race.
For several years in the mid-nineties, the leg wasn't even part of the race. One too many racers had taken a fatal plunge, and protests from various groups had pressured the race sponsors to insist on a safer route. Through those years, the racers took the freeway from Norlan Heights, which is a far longer route, circling 'round the mountains rather than traveling across them.
The leg was restored in 2000. Two years later, it claimed another driver: A racing veteran named Joseph Sykes, better known as 'Old Black Joe' due to his age, name, skin color and wardrobe selection. The leg might've been cut again, had it not been for Sykes' family's insistence that Old Black Joe would've wanted to go out in such a fashion (a claim reinforced by audio recordings: As the veteran driver's '78 Firebird flew out over Bottomless Gulch, his last words were 'Oh hell yes!')
Old Black Joe is on several of the racer's minds today. Especially the mind of Krazy Red Karver. He'd raced against Joe a time or two, back in the day. Karver wonders, maybe, if the old man had pulled a Vanishing Point. He'd been past his prime, no longer all that competitive in the sport that he loved. Karver himself has had ideas of that nature, of going out in the driver's seat by design rather than chance.
Such thoughts aren't bothering him today. Hot memories of the night before, a quiet wife, and the revving of a whole posse of engines have the Larryian driver feeling younger than he has in years. Today would be a good day.
Nearby, Toomblee is similarly convinced. Fog or no fog, she's ready for some velocity. This is her leg, she knows. The mountain roads are windy. She can't go as fast. But the roads go through the mountains. Ancient stone. Stone is her element. Stone will help her win.
Over in the Murdermobile, Clarissa and Nero banter in their usual fashion. Nero's driving today, though not for tactical reasons. It's simply her turn, and besides, the big black Gothwagon is her baby. If the pair win, it's only right that Nero be behind the Bel-Air's wheel.
Lynn Cutter adjusts her Cowboy hat and lounges in the driver's seat of her Camaro. She's studying the girls in the Murdermobile with a certain degree of interest, though who can say why?
Duncan Hawke and Lena van der Prutt aren't staring at each other this morning. This seems to require effort on their part, as mechanics and other drivers note the occasional glance, or a quick grin from one to the other. If anything happened between the Devon's Island sailor and the Brochenstein noblewoman, they've managed to keep anyone from knowing, and the charade, if it is one, continues.
Dietrich Kell could care less about inter-racer relationships. He's been keeping pace through most of the legs, neither advancing or falling back except for one incredible sprint early yesterday morning. That's dandy, as far as he's concerned, since he's kept relatively close to the leaders...but he can't settle for that today. Today he has to win. This next, mountainous leg isn't to his advantage, though. His car likes straight lines and high speeds. He has an idea, though, and smiles as he thinks about it.
Wade Gree is really in the same boat as Kell, having neither moved up or fell behind. His one real pass has him tied with the dark-haired Larryian in the car next to his, and she seems to have a temper. He'll deal with that when the time comes, he supposes.
Laura Blair does certainly have a temper, and she's giving Gree's Supra the evil eye. The Wellutrian's little tuner is better on mountain roads than her burly Charger. She'll have to be creative to get loose from him and move up. Creative...or aggressive. Bulling the little rice-rocket and it's driver around is a thought that keeps bubbling back up...
In last place among the big ten, Prince George von Brightonburg can't decide whether he's pleased or irritated with his mechanic. Obvious signs have led the Prince to believe that someone had a little fun in his vehicle last night. Alex denies any skullduggery of course, but who else could it have been? The Brightonburg nobleman ponders the issue at some length. On one hand, such hijinx could only enhance his partying reputation, but on the other, if anyone should be coupling in his car seat, shouldn't it be him? It's an issue.
There's some discussion among the race officials, some curious peering out of the garage. It's almost midmorning, but the sun has finally burned off the mist.
Karver roars out of the Breeze Resort's garage before the green flag is halfway up. There's a squeal of tires, a shift of gears as he turns onto the road, as the middle-aged driver turns onto the city streets and blazes off. Karver is not a curve-oriented driver. He knows if he wants to keep his lead today, he needs as much distance as possible before the other racers start. Tourists cheer as the purple Camaro zips by. A bevy of Karver's Kuties squeal and flash the passing car. Karver doesn't notice. He's already 'in the zone'.
Back in the garage, the countdown begins.
Minutes pass. Just how much of a lead Krazy Red Karver grabbed the day before hasn't become clearly apparent until now. Toomblee fidgets in her seat, making not a sound, but obviously eager. Finally the right Larryian gives her a signal and the Silver Bullet takes off like a rocket...with the Murdermobile almost kissing it's bumper. The roar of the big, black, Bel-Air drowns out the peaceful hum of the Ponkapaugi racer as Nero follows the kobald through Norlan Heights and onto the mountain byways.
Lynn Cutter has to wait a minute or two more, but she's not a high-stress driver. Seconds count down, and she pops in a Nightwish CD. There's a song on there appropriate to today's leg. She puts it on repeat just as she gets her signal and the blue Camaro takes off. Somewhere removed, an older gentleman eagerly watches the race on his television set, and urges his daughter to catch up with the leaders.
There's another short countdown. A half-second before the light flashes green, Duncan Hawk and Duchess van Der Prutt exchange a meaningful glance. A reporter notices. The lead story of the Larryian Investigator is being typed up about the same time the green Aston-Martin and the candy-red Jaguar launch themselves out of the garage.
Dietrich Kell's Vektor screams out of the garage only a second or two later.
Wade Gree and Laura Blair emerge from the Breeze Resort already neck in neck. Blair's decided that, if she can, she'll just out-muscle the little tuner right at the starting line. She's got the horsepower, and the plan almost works. Her midnight-blue Charger pulls ahead of the wildly painted Supra, but she knows she hasn't got quite enough distance yet. The tuner tries to slip past on the first turn. Gree doesn't quite make it, though, and the two cars are again parallel. Sprint, turn, sprint turn...the exchange continues until Norlan Heights falls behind them, and the Wellutrian dark horse and the Larryian hothead are still close enough to spit on each other.
Prince von Brightonburg gets his signal about the same time Gree and Blair pass the city limits sign, and he guns his little modified with enthusiasm. The city streets are lined with people. He waves to them, but without his usual noble verve...he's got to catch up soon, or there will be no more chances. His little racer buzzes around corners and down narrow streets until he's out of town. This has to be his day.
The drivers are being conservative today, for obvious reasons, and as the line of racers works there way into the mountains, there are few attempts to pass, to better ones position. It won't last. It's the last day, and while good sense might dictate caution, fans and even the driver's know they'll start being more aggressive soon.
It's Lena van der Prutt that notices that there seems to be a racer missing. She knows Dietrich Kell should be behind her. She doesn't give it much thought. Some of the tourists lining the street do, and the television commentators are already talking about him, for the sleek Kieric supercar and it's driver are headed away from the mountains, away from the race, really. A heliborne reporter catches sight of the Vektor pulling onto the freeway.
Kell's hand's grip his steering wheel, his blue eyes watching with worried satisfaction as his speedometer dials upward. It's a stupid plan, downright mad. It hadn't even been his idea, really. He'd simply heard one of the lesser racers mention that, were you fast enough, you might be able to get to Lyttonfield via freeway, and get ahead of the other racers. Sure, the distance was longer, but it was straight and easy, and no one would be bumping or blocking you. Kell had listened to the half-drunk fellow for a moment then had walked, excitedly, to his room. A map had been pulled out, distances measured. The math was right. If you could go fast enough, it could be done.
Cars fast enough had been in the race before. Ferrari's. Lamborgini's. But no one had tried it since the mountain route was undeniably shorter, and perhaps there was a certain allure in testing yourself against the 'Dead Man's Leg'. Still, why hadn't it been tried? Was there a reason?
There had to be, Kell worries. It was a mad plan, almost Larryian in it's temerity...but then he was in Larryia...perhaps there was something in their water. Despite himself, Kell grins.
Meanwhile, the other racers have penetrated deeply into mountain country. Karver's Camaro rounds dangerous uphill curves, throwing gravel when he strays too close to the shoulder. In the passenger seat, Linda is as white as a ghost. That suits Red fine, he's got better things to worry about than her. There's a flash of silver in his rear-view.
Toomblee is in heaven. She zips around curves as fast as her little racer can manage, accelerates up hills and does her best to manage the acceleration on the downward grades. Even better, she's catching up! She can see the madman's purple car ahead of her. She has company, though. The girls in the death car are hugging her taillights, and she can't manage to ignore them. Powerful girls. Powerful bond. Sisters? Not enough. Sisters by choice. Very worrisome. The Kobald accelerates, trying to pull away.
"Freaky little critter won't slow down!" Nero complains, taking with effort the turns Toomblee is scooting around ably. Clarissa is oddly calm. Roads like this seem normal to her. She looks out the window at the uneven terrain, the dense trees...it's the land of her birth.
Lynn Cutter isn't gaining too much ground on the Murdermobile, but she can at least see it occasionally. The bobble-kitty on the dash is quiet; her friends aren't going to distract her right now. Another well-known voice is quiet, too. There were old things in these mountains, these woods, that even it respected.
Duncan Hawke, not being of a mystical bent, respects the mountains as well. Like shoal-ridden waters, they could kill him if he's not careful. Thus, he's being careful, even forgoing the usual playtime with the Duchess. Careful observers note that he's not losing much speed, taking curves with elegant grace.
Next to Hawke, Lena van der Prutt is waiting. Finally, the side road she's waiting for comes up, and off into nowhere's-ville she goes. Mud flies, gravel crunches, and a redheaded noblewoman shouts with excitement.
Hawke almost follows her. With a shake of the head, he decides against it. He's not taking any kind of chance this leg.
Blair's deep-blue muscle car and Gree's neon-green tuner are still locked together, roaring around dangerous curves with reckless abandon. Blair's getting aggressive now, bumping and pushing the little tuner car. She isn't quite trying to run him off the road, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows that a crash here will likely put him out of the race. At this particular moment, few things would make her happier.
Gree is answering the Larryian's bullying with sheer evasiveness. She tries to nudge him into the guardrail, he brakes, tries to slip by on the other side. It almost works, but again, he can't quite get ahead. The Charger sideswipes him, and for a second, he's peering off the road, down the long slope into a wooded canyon. He lets off the gas, let's Blair have a momentary lead. The road's uphill grade sharpens, and suddenly he has the advantage, his lighter car pulling even with the bigger Charger once more.
Close behind, Prince von Brightonburg sees the dueling pair. He's not in a cautious mood, and slams his foot down on the accelerator. His featherweight car leaps forward, streaking uphill easily. Blair is nudging Gree over again...there's space for a pass.
Blair snarls as the Prince's tiny modified zips by, and for a heartbeat, forgets all about Gree. She gives her car what little gas she isn't already giving it, straightens her course, determined to keep pace with the rocketing nobleman.
In the dayglo Supra, Gree does not hesitate. He lets his car drift into Blair's, giving her a tap. It's enough, with her sudden course change to disorient her, and the Charger is suddenly headed for the earthen wall on the 'safe' side of the road. Blair turns, brakes, but the actions sets her car a spinnin' and the dark-haired Larryian tries desperately to stop, regain control, anything. Her eyes go wide as she sees the guardrail, the canyon. Only a wild manipulation of her steering wheel keeps her from going over the edge, but there's an ugly screech from the back end of her car which ceases only when the Charger comes to a merciful halt. Blair takes a moment to reorient herself. Her car is facing the wrong way. She hits the gas. The engine roars and there's the sound of gravel and a weird rocking. She looks out the window. A section of the guardrail is gone, and her passenger side rear tire is off the road. Disturbed gravel rolls down the canyon wall. Blair screams a curse.
Not far ahead, Gree is grinning slightly, and gaining on Brightonburg.
Far away and at much lower altitude, Dietrich Kell's Vektor blasts down open freeway. He's going fast, though not quite as fast on yesterday's sprint on the CCH. Top speed won't help him as much, with his crazy plan, as a higher speed her can sustain. He's got his car at a comfortable roar...but comfortable for the Vektor is faster than some cars can go at all. Numbers roll in his head. Will this work?
He frowns when an orange road construction sign comes into view, a line of slow-moving cars becomes visible. He takes his foot off the pedal....but a white truck with a 'follow me' sign pulls onto the road in front of him and slides onto a 'construction vehicles only' path. There's a well-tanned arm sticking out the truck window, motioning him to follow, so Kell does....as he follows the truck past the stalled cars, the Kieric driver hears horns honking, people shouting. Stuck drivers and construction workers are giving him thumbs-ups. The Kieric blinks. The positive attention is new to him, but he doesn't know how people are talking about what he's doing, doesn't know that his risky maneuver has gotten him a little more 'over' in Larryia. He waves back, regardless. A chorus of air horns from various tractor-trailers cheers him on as he pulls back on to unobstructed freeway. The 'follow me' driver waves goodbye, and Kell guns it.
Back in the mountains, Krazy Red Karver is fighting a losing battle. The silver car chasing him is quick on the turns, and he's on the type of road that's just not suited to his skills. With each curve, Toomblee gains a little, and there's hundreds of curves on these lonely mountain roads. He gains a little distance on a straight stretch through a small town called Mt. Edna, loses it as soon as the twists and turns start again.
Toomblee can see that she's gaining, can feel the mountain giving her help. She's ecstatic. She loses no speed when turning. She's a little faster than the madman. He takes a turn too loose. She slips by him. She's in first. The little Kobald howls with delight.
Karver curses. In the passenger seat, Linda smirks. Red feels himself slipping backward towards the guy he was yesterday morning, and tries to stop the regression. A quick glance out the passenger window helps; There's a green-eyed Goth staring at him from the driver's seat of a black Bel-Air.
Nero winks to Red as the Murdermobile races alongside the Plum Krazy Camaro. Then she sticks out her tongue, making suggestions with it. Clarissa laughs and shakes her head.
Karver grins widely and hits the gas. The Murdermobile can't get ahead, but doesn't fall behind either. Clarissa decides mood music would help. She pops in a Led Zeppelin CD. There's an appropriate song on it.
Lynn Cutter zips through Mt. Edna. A trio of men, sitting on the open tailgate of a grey El Camino, toss out a few catcalls. There's three of them...one thin, one medium, one husky. The biggest one is kind of cute. She waggles her eyebrows at him as the blue Camaro blows by. She can see the Murdermobile and Karver wrestling for position ahead. It'll be hard to get by them on this part of the race. Hoping for a convenient side road or runaway truck ramp, she keeps pace with them, takes a look in her mirror. There's a green DB9 advancing on her.
Duncan Hawke might not be taking any chances this leg, but perhaps there's something to be said for conservative driving. He's slowly gaining on Cutter, who's not far behind the leaders. He reminds himself that greater chances might be necessary later, but for now, he's in a tail chase with a knot or two of advantage: Given time, he'll pass someone.
Duchess Van Der Prutt, on the other hand, has no use for conservative. Insane is much for fun. Her mint condition Jaguar snarls down roads marked for ATV use only, through mud puddles so deep her engine almost drowns, and through deep-woods recreation areas that haven't seen use in years. She's on her way to a healthy advance when she 'rounds a corner and suddenly slams on the brakes. In the middle of her well-planned shortcut, there's the immovable bulk of a fallen oak tree. She blinks at it, notes the deep culverts on either side of the road making a turn around impossible, and begins cursing loudly and at some length in her native tongue.
She had taken such possibilities into account: Her pacenotes document an alternate route. It's a couple miles back. She pulls out her Luger and, still cursing, puts four rounds into the fallen tree, then throws her car into reverse. A few hundred yards back the way she came, there's enough room to whip the XK-E around, and she's on her way again.
Prince von Brightonburg has no need for shortcuts. His car is proving ideal for the twisty mountain roads of this area, and though he dislikes the mountains, he's beginning to wish following legs had more of them. He zips into Mt. Edna, noting the people gathered on the side of the road, watching the racers come through. He gives them his best royal wave and is rewarded with a barrage of empty beer bottles. He doesn't understand why, but does note that the projectiles have but one source: a trio of men sitting in the back of a grey El Camino. He shakes his head. There were hooligans in every country, he supposes.
Wade Gree is making good time, but not quite good enough to catch up with the Prince. He's not slipping behind though, and that's good. At least his biggest problem is out of his hair.
Laura Blair fumes and curses as she ratchets up the jack. A couple minutes of effort have raised her snared tire away from the embankment. She runs forward, puts the car in neutral. It doesn't roll forward, but she feels some give. She gets out, and, heedless of the steep slope that she has to brace her feet against, she puts her shoulder against the back end of the car. It begins to roll downhill with surprising ease, the forgotten jack falling onto the asphalt. Blair almost falls on the loose dirt of the mountainside, but keeps her footing, and manages to get herself in the driver's seat before the Charger gathers too much speed. With a squeal of tires, she's in the race again, the brawny Dodge roaring like an angry rhino.
The dark-haired Larryian narrows her eyes. She has time to make up, and a score to settle with a certain Wellutrian.
Miles pass, and slowly but surely, the racers begin to emerge from the mountains. Toomblee notes the gentler hills with some sadness, but even that can't change the fact that she's in first and going very very fast. She hasn't stopped singing since she passed Karver.
Karver and the Murdermobile are beginning to speed up, beginning to draw closer to the Silver Bullet, but neither can seem to pass the other. Not far behind, Lynn Cutter is having similar trouble getting past them. She adjusts her hat and passes the Lyttonfield checkpoint.
Duncan Hawke eyes the sides of the road, wondering from which side road the fiery Duchess will emerge from. She's nowhere to be found. He feels a little worry as he passes a sign saying 'Lyttonfield -- 1 mile'.
Prince von Brightonburg has noted the smoother terrain as well, and though he regrets no longer having a great advantage, he's confident he can speed past Hawke. The Devon's Islander is up ahead, perhaps even unaware. Brightonburg speeds up, hoping to catch Hawke's DB9 before the checkpoint, but he brakes suddenly when a low black shape rockets onto the road from the freeway.
Dietrich Kell has a very very large grin on his face as he cuts off his continental rival and accelerates. Hawke is practically alongside him, and he knows from his radio that the sailor is in 4th, with only one tied pair ahead. Kell had hoped to steal a bigger march than two spots, but he's moved up, and that's what mattered. The Kieric can't wipe the satisfaction off his face. He hits the gas as, behind him, Brightonburg struggles to keep up.
Lena van der Prutt emerges from an ill-used mountain road and sprints off down the highway. She knows she's lost some time. She thinks she's lost more than she actually has: She can see the 'Burger ahead of her and last she knew, he was in last place. Her usually happy expression tightens a bit, and the red Jaguar picks up speed.
Gree's neon-green tuner isn't far behind the Dutchess. The Wellutrian has put one overly aggressive woman behind him. It'll soon be time for another. He's not aware that a few miles behind, Laura Blair, red-faced with anger, is eating up the distance between them.
Lyttonfield passes like a quick daydream, and the next leg begins.
CURRENT POSITIONS
Toomblee is in 1st place and having the time of her life! But close behind....
....Krazy Red Karver and Clarissa and Nero jockey for 2nd place!
Lynn Cutter is in 3rd, looking for an opportunity to pounce.
Duncan Hawke is in 4th place and having to contend with Dietrich Kell, tied for the position after an incredible freeway sprint!
Prince George von Brightonburg has moved up to 5th place, regaining much of the ground lost in yesterday's reverses. Will this trend continue?
Lena van der Prutt is making good time after an unfortunate reverse, holding onto 6th place.
Wade Gree is gaining on the Dutchess and occupies the 7th position. The Wellutrian seems to be, at last, dipping into his reserves, but will that help him when...
...Laura Blair in 8th place, catches up?
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The title of this leg is a 4-way reference. One is obvious, two are mentioned in the text of the leg, and the last is more of a 'titling style' thing. While this leg is 'in the past', as far as the current status goes, I haven't gotten any correct answers. Name one or more of the references and...erm...karma point, cameo, something.
Topic: The 15th Annual Transnational Road Race (Read 21222 times)