Rage (24 page)

The White Rabbit.

He had expected a NASCAR-style track: a big loop, mile markers, pits where you could get a quick repair.

No pits here. A high wall around the sides made the arena look sunken. And while the stadium might have been a loop, it was dotted with odd structures as though someone forgot to clear it for the race.

Dead ahead—a trio of metal tubes. In between them Raine could see wavy chunks of metal with hooks sticking up.

Nice.

What the hell were they?

Past that barrier, at the far end of the stadium, he saw a ramp leading up two, three stories high. No telling what was on the other side, as the loop curved around.

Another name, and a driver appeared beside him.

Raine hadn’t even checked out his own vehicle.

“Done this before?” Raine asked.

The driver to his right shook his head.

So the setup was—a bunch of new drivers to provide the
show, while a handful of regulars did the real driving for the prizes.

Except Sally’s friend, her Jack, had been a real driver until Starky took him out.

And even though the other driver didn’t seem interested in talking, Raine went on. “Why the ‘White Rabbit’? Why is it called that?”

The guy barely looked at him, just a glance as if he wanted him to go away.

“Some story. About holes. Falling. Got to get into the holes and out again. Jeez, I don’t fucking
know.
Wished it was anything but a White Rabbit.”

Suddenly—so did Raine.

The roll call continued, leading up to—apparently—the real drivers.

Now the crowd roared, a sound he felt in his gut. Raine saw that some of their vehicles were nearly twice as big as his.

Others were more like sleek tanks. These had the armor plating of a prehistoric monster.

No engines had started yet, but Raine could imagine that the beastlike nature of the cars would be matched by the deep roar of their engines.

More roars and applause from the crowd.

Until the last name—

“Ladies and gentleman, three-time Dusty 8 winner, undefeated in the White Rabbit, creator of the Blue Sky Rally, Wellspring’s own master driver, the one … the only—”

Jackie Weeks didn’t finish it.

Because the crowd did.

“Starkyyyyyyy!”

Popular guy. And his car, a sleek black thing that didn’t look
quite as dangerous as the others, bore the logo of something called
SALVAGE EMPIRE.
Yeah, salvage was big here. Sally had mentioned that.

Raine looked up at the crowd. He saw a special box and spotted Clayton, his monocle catching the fading light. But Raine wasn’t interested in him. Rather, he was looking at who sat near him.

Men in uniform. Talking to Clayton and to each other. People brought them drinks.

Authority brass?

The people I’m supposed to avoid.

Then Weeks came back.

“Drivers … time to get in … and … start your engines.”

A
s if choreographed, the line of drivers hopped into their vehicles, Raine the last one in.

Engines were switched on, and the combined roar filled the stadium—met with an equally loud roar back from the fans.

The air felt electric.

Raine could hear the difference in his buggy, the engine deeper. He saw a lever to the right. The panels Jackie had told him about.
Defensive panels.
He had noticed the hooks protruding from the front and rear of the buggy before he got in.

He looked ahead. Three tubes—each tube a quick shot forward on the track—while to the side, the road turned into a bumpy obstacle course, with metal pylons to be avoided.

Getting into a tube would be the difference between winning and losing.

Maybe living or dying.

Jackie Weeks’s voice filled the stadium …

“Are we ready for racing action?”

The crowd cheered.

“Are we ready to run … the White Rabbit?”

Another great roar.

“Then … three … two … one … go!”

Raine hit the pedal as the line of vehicles zoomed forward.

He immediately saw the experienced drivers in their Cuprinos pull ahead, all jockeying for a good position to get into one of the tube openings.

No way he could outrun them, not with their initial burst of speed. So he planned on laying back a bit and hitting one of the express tubes second.

But he noticed a driver who had appeared on his right, apparently with the same idea.

The guy’s car had a ring of metal spikes all around the perimeter, sharpened to a point.

The guy swerved toward him.

This is no goddamn race, Raine thought, not for the first time. It’s a demolition derby …

As if in confirmation, an explosion came from behind him. Two cars jostling for position. He didn’t look back—but he could hear the sound.

Meanwhile, the guy next to him gave his car another swerve to the left.

The three tubes were just ahead, but Raine was on target for the one on the left. No time for him to readjust and target one of the other two. It wouldn’t have helped anyway, since each one had cars scrambling to be the next into these holes of the White Rabbit.

The driver to his right managed to jostle into Raine’s buggy, a quick side ram with his spikes.

Raine’s car punctured. A warning tap perhaps.

Get the hell out of my way.

But next time, that car could easily slice deeper into his buggy and this race would be over before it began.

The tube opening directly ahead looked like a funhouse ride.

Raine eased up a bit on the accelerator. The driver battling him ended up slightly ahead. And now Raine aimed to the right and floored the accelerator again.

Whatever the hell Mick had done to his engine worked, as his buggy rammed the right rear of the car that had just passed in front.

The driver reacted slowly, then overcorrected, wasting speed and getting off target for the tube.

By the time the guy corrected his path, Raine was now ahead, the opening just there—

And in!

Dark, the tube seemed round from the outside, but with a flat bottom, it was an expressway past and over the corrugated racetrack on either side, the rolling bumps and pylons designed to slow or even disable a vehicle.

Raine flew out the other end.

Three cars ahead, with one on his left now.

I’m in the front five, he thought.

Not too fucking bad.

But then as they came to the big curve ahead, he saw the second part of this White Rabbit.

He muttered:

“Fucking
bad.
”

•  •  •

Most of the next obstacle was hidden by the bend in the track. But what Raine could see as he got closer looked nasty.

The track turned into a massive ramp leading upward. At its peak, an open space … to be
leapt
over. As if that wasn’t enough, there was a bigger problem: only the driver in the dead center would have the shortest jump. The more to the side you were, the more you had a chance of not making that jump, and having your vehicle smash into the wall of the opposite down ramp.

He studied how Starky and the other two drivers handled it.

Starky had taken a center position, and then—as jagged metal spears popped out from his side—Starky slid left, first slowing down, then speeding up. The other car didn’t have a chance as Starky literally chewed it up.

That driver’s car started to spin around, out of control just as it hit the up ramp.

Spinning with enough force to keep it flying up the ramp.

And as Starky commanded the center, the third driver wisely settled for a position to the side. The out-of-control car cartwheeled into the gap at the top, and then plummeted off the edge.

You lost drivers fast in this race.

No wonder Clayton wanted him to drive. If this was the bread and circuses for Wellspring, well, they needed a lot of clowns. Men willing to take their chances on getting hurt or even killed out here.

Men with nothing to lose.

Just like me.

He was now in a race on the ramp with the driver to the side. Both held a portion of the dead center of the up ramp.

Probably, with this position, they could both make it across. With a goddamned compromise, they both could do it.

But that wasn’t good enough for the other guy.

His car didn’t have hooks. Instead, gleaming blades like giant knife points jutted out from the front and back of the vehicle, as if it was a razor blade on wheels.

With such nice sharp edges, they could probably slice a car right down to the engine block.

Raine considered backing away, ceding the spot to him. But then he’d be so far behind Starky, he certainly couldn’t make good on his deal with Sally.

You could live to drive again, he thought.

But a deal’s a deal.

Besides, amusingly, now that he was into it, he didn’t feel like losing. He reached to his side and threw the lever that Mick had built into his car. Panels on either side of his buggy came down. Nothing fancy, nothing as shiny and gleaming as what he saw on the other vehicles. But the panels—each flying at a forty-five-degree angle and with a long, rough serrated edge that ran from the front of the car to the back—looked …

What was the word Jackie used?

Defensive.

Right. Just defensive.
Sure.

The other driver took note of the panels and hesitated.

Raine made a small swerve left, then another. The other driver backed away …

Ceding the center of the ramp. In seconds Raine hit the gap and went flying over, his engine still roaring, wheels spinning madly, but
flying
through the air. He hadn’t thought of this before, but a question popped into his head:
Could his buggy take it?
It was a battered heap before. What would this do?

But then his buggy landed hard on the down ramp, bumping up and down; it didn’t explode into a hundred pieces, and Raine flew down the ramp, gravity kicking him forward.

He now was number four behind the front runners.

But was it possible to catch them, to catch Starky? It didn’t seem that way. He had other things to worry about, though.

He had come to the third part of the Rabbit.

And it was a goddamn maze. Metal walls in the track at staggered intervals. But he also saw that there were a few panels with wires.

Could they be raised and lowered?

For a little surprise …?

Driving through this maze, he’d have to guess how fast he could go, hoping that his steering and the response of the buggy were up to the weaving in and out.

Now—just behind Starky and two other drivers—he got a chance to watch and see how they did it.

Drivers two and three got into a battle just before hitting the metal walls. Something large and bulky jutted out of one driver’s car, like a battering ram. It smacked the other driver hard just as they were about to enter the maze of walls, pushing him so there was no way he could avoid smashing into the first wall.

Which is what he did, his car exploding.

Even with the noise of that explosion, Raine could hear the cheering of the crowd.

Loving the mayhem. The fire. The death.

Are you not entertained?

Raine had to take that first opening with the flaming vehicle still shooting gusts of fire and black smoke.

He closed his mouth. The stench was practically overwhelming.

As soon as he entered the maze, he cut the car left. In this last part of the Rabbit there were multiple ways to go. He saw a panel pop up, and swerved at the last minute.

So now he knew he’d have to watch for that as well.

Did Jackie Weeks do that? If he wanted to amp the action,
could he raise a panel and make the race all the more interesting, all the more deadly?

Raine cut left, then right, alternately hitting the brakes, then the accelerator.

His brakes seemed feeble, and one time he nicked the side of a wall. Then, as he got a clear shot for a hundred meters or so, another wall rose from the floor right in front of him, and at the last moment he had to cut his buggy left again.

And then he discovered he had an advantage in this section:

The buggy was small, maneuverable. The steering responsive. And what he lost with bad brake action he gained with the improved engine performance, kicking the small vehicle ahead.

He heard cheers.

It dawned on him.

They’re cheering for me.

To win? Or to catch up to Starky so he can take me out, like he did to Sally’s last driver?

Caution
, he told himself.

Four more laps.

He had a good position. And now he knew the traps on the track.

Caution. Take his time.

And see if he could get a shot.

He had made it to the last lap, and over the roar of the crowd, Jackie Weeks yelled, stirring them to a more insane burst of approval.

“
Here they come … your final four. The homestretch for the
big
prize.
”

Starky ran neck and neck with a driver. Another driver lagged behind Raine, seemingly no threat.

But in the previous lap, especially when he hit the maze, Raine had pulled up close and tight behind the front two.

He let those two battle it out over the tubes, then the three moved onto the jump, keeping their positions.

And he got to see Starky in action.

Not merely battling for position, Starky moved like a shark over to the other driver and, with a quick flick of his steering wheel, cut into his opponent for the lead. His spikes slid into the side of that driver’s car. Then Starky played with the accelerator and the brake.

The other driver tried to pull away but discovered he was trapped, hooked and pinned by Starky’s spikes as they chewed back and forth, until finally the car did spin free, tilting forward.

And in a moment that had to have the crowd with their mouths open, that car nose-dived forward, just before the gap. It began cartwheeling, end over end, then disappeared, rolling into the gap before the jump.