Crescent Bound (62 page)

Our cars start revving our motors, waiting, the electronic sign displays the time, 9.69.  Ok
ay
, I got this, steadying my body in the seat, we wait for the lights.  The cars are on the line telling the officials we are ready.  The light flashes green and I hit the accelerator hard, flooring it and shifting as fast as I can.  We are both soaring together down the track.  I shift fast through 1st, 2nd, and 3rd then hold 4th through the finish
line;
I hit 5th gear just as I cross the line.  I feel
it;
I should have a good time
because everything
clicked. 

The shif
ts were good, no hesitation.
“
Shelby
, your time
i
s a 9.33 and Acura your
s
is
a 9.57, head to staging as soon as you
’
r
e
ready, you
’
r
e both
in round two, good job.
”
  The track official broadcasts through my earpiece.  I
’
m feeling really pumped with how the
Shelby
did.  I am eager to get right back into the line.  I watch as they pull the Acura behind me and move a beautiful blue 1969 Chevy Camaro with racing stripes down the hood beside me. 

I
’
m back by the burn
out area once
more;
as I wait I loosen my stra
ps on my helmet a bit.  The ear
piece the track has me wear
ing
is really uncomfortable.
They shoot p
ictures and I am glad my car has tinted windows. 

I close my eyes for a moment a
nd a different song comes to me,
“
Cross
The L
ine
,
by the Super chicks again
.
”
 
Opening my eyes and see some of the guys up close, taking pictures with different angles of the car.  I smile to myself,
yeah
;
I don
’
t want
or care to see myself on some Sports Illustrated M
agazine, but to have the
Shelby
on a H
ot
Rod C
over, now we
’
re talking.

The track official
’
s voice rings through my ear
piece again tel
ling me to prepare for the burn
out area.  They motion for me to move my car forward, running the tires over the water.  Pulling up I begin burning out, letting the rubber burn. White smoke fumes through the air and rolls around the back of my car.  I let off the ga
s and slowly move to the line.

The Camaro did his burnout, not as hard as I thought he might and soon moves up in the next line beside me.  The light flashes showing we are on the line correctly and ready to race.  The announcer briefly goes over the second round to us and the spectators.  I hear cheering and screaming.  I even think I hear
Megan yelling something like,
“
Smoke
’
em!
”
 

I shake my head and tell myself
,
y
ou
’
re
just hearing things
. I focus on the digital board before us, waiting for the time...8.66 whoa, now we
’
re going to really push it.  Ok
ay
, gripping the shifter, take a deep breath and watch the lights flash, yellow...yellow...green, we both nail it and launch off together.  Jetting down the track, I run through the gears, shifting quickly from 1st, to 2nd and then to the 3rd.  I
’
m already hitting a hundred and twenty miles an hour. 

As I feel the click shifting into 3rd, I hear a faint noise gradually becoming louder, like a crackling sound and then a pop coming from the motor.  Before I can react I hear an earth
-
shattering, deafen
ing
boom.  My hands shake hard from the sudden violent explosion.  The entire front of my car is engulfed in flames from the blast.  It has my car airborne within seconds.  I realize then there
’
s nothing I can do to stop the car.  I let go of the steering wheel and shifter and raise my hands out to extinguish the inferno before me.

Before I can
aim
the car lands and begins rolling, end over end.  All I can see is shimmers of light here and there that outline down the track.  Flashes of light and dark, light and darkness consume most of my vision as the car relentlessly continues rolling. 

The flames are reaching to
new
heat intensity, completely devouring the dash. The sounds echo of smashing and twisting metal each time it hits the concrete.  I can
’
t see, or begin to tell if I have even hit a safety barrier.  Even if I did, I will probably just bounce right off of it with the extreme speed and momentum of the burning incinerating car I am strapped into. 

It feels like I have rolled a dozen times or more.  I raise my hands out once more and calling
my ice element to me.
I
have to
stop the blazing hell that is melting my steering wheel away.  I feel the flames torching along my feet and legs.  I know the obvious, cars can and
do
catch on fire, but this
is very
different, this was more....severe.  In a blink of an eye my universe is spinning, rolling, and shattering around me.  My ice shoots out from my hands with as much force as my body can possibly give.  Every fib
er of my being directing toward
one objective and one objective only, completely eradicate the unworldly inferno. 

The car rolls one more time, sparks run along the window as the car drags upside down on the concrete, screeching to a final stop.  With endless blasts of my element, I have finally enclosed the entire front of my car in solid
crystallized,
stone cold ice.

I am now hanging upside down,
Well, I
’
m still alive,
I begin to take in a deep sigh, when pain radiates through me.  I start to loosen and un-strap my helmet, my ear is absolutely killing me.  I had the tracks earpiece in that ear.
Yep, I knew it would be a real pain for me,
rolling my eyes I think,
I better try and get out or they will have the track
’
s emergency unit down here.
 

I feel so weak and I figure it
’
s due to how much force I used to extinguish the blaze of
glory
.  I try to take in another breath and this time I find myself in excruciating pain.  I look down to find a metal object about four inches jutting out of my ribs, just below my left breast.  I know it must have been part of the motor as it flew out from the
explosion;
the heat has deformed it so bad that I can
’
t tell
what it is
anymore
except 
that it is inside of me and causing me unbelievable pain.

I place both hands around it and with the last bit of energy I have I pull.  Blood pours out rapidly and I see bloody air bubbles forming from the gapping hole in me. 
“
Ah, fuck,
”
I say to myself, the object hit my lung, and that
’
s when I realize why I am having so much trouble trying to breath
e
.

I start taking in
shallower
breaths, slowing it down, and trying not to panic.  I begin chastising myself,
I know better than to pull something like that out
. I immediately place my hand over the hole, but the thick, crimson blood continues seeping through my fingers. 

Can my day get any better
, I wonder sarcastically.  I clench my teeth together, as I feel my car being levitated upright again.  The noise of the ca
r reminds me of being at a junk
yard, and the sound of the cars being tossed to the ground, that grinding and moaning of the metal.  I close my eyes and clench my teeth even harder than before, breathing through my nose.  The pain has become so bad I think I might just pass slam out. 

I hear David
’
s voice and Marc
’
s too, but before I can figure out anything my door goes flying off. 
I hear
the door hinges break.  I just sit here as still as I can, biting my lip so I won
’
t scream or cry from the pain I
’
m trying to endure. 

The first face I see through my half charred helmet
visor
is my d
ad.  Tears stream down my face, partly because of the pain and the other because I am so glad to have him here.  I must of bit my lip a little harder than I
thought;
I can taste the saltiness of my blood.

He leans in more and ever so gently pulls my helmet off, and throws it in the passenger seat.  Our eyes meet, I want so badly to smile at him and say,
“
What
’
s
my time?
”
but I can
’
t.  I do find one word I
’
m able to
breathe
out through an exhale of agony,
“
Dad
.
”
 

He gives me one of his reassuring grins and begins assessing me.  I feel his fingers follow a trail of blood down my neck, and realize it is from the
earpiece
that
buste
d a
part
, perhaps when I was rolling, my head must
have
hit the
driver
’
s
side window.  It all happened so fast, I hear David m
umbling behind my dad.
T
hat
’
s
strange
,
I can usually hear exceptionally well considering he is just a couple of feet away
. 

My dad looks back at me, grabbing my hand and using his authori
tative
voice,
“
Alyssa, blink twice for me.
”
I do, I
’
m also focusing on my breathing, keeping a slow and steady rhythm.  I never thought in all my life how it could be
come a torturou
s challenge just to
breathe
.
I hear my d
ad
’
s next words,
“
Squeeze my hand.
”
I do it, but I
’
m not too pleased in doing so, my already drained energy is running on empty.  That
’
s when I watch his eyes look down. 

His reassuring grin vanishes almost instantly.  He places his hand over mine, blood is still flowing, my bloody hand is still trying to cover it,
and my
shirt is completely soaked on that side.  He quickly removes my hand along with his and rolls up my T-shirt to fully expose the gapping wound.  He never makes an expression, but I can see it in his eyes,
fear
.

He turns his head and looks over at someone leaning across the passenger seat and in a hurried tone,
“
Break off the visor from the helmet.
”
  I slowly turn to see who he
’
s talking to.  Marc is leaning in the seat next to me.  He never speaks a word and did exactly what my dad instructed him to do.

Ok,
I tell my
self,
this is the second strangest thing that
’
s happened, I can always feel Marc
’
s presence our bonding makes that part of our connection.
I now start to fully comprehend the severity of my injury. 

David speaks again, it sounds closer, like he is next to my door. 
“
Mr. Worth—
”
but my dad
abruptly
cuts him off.

“
David, Go get your car...
”
before he can even finish his sentence David is gone.

Dad places the visor directly over the open chest wound, and applies pressure to it. 

“
Marc
,
unbuckle
her seatbelt.
”
  I feel the release of the belt.  My body starts to slump forward, but
Dad
holds on to me.  He leans over me, in a gentle and very concerned voice,
“
Alyssa, I
’
m going to lift you up and move you...
”