Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Worthless ❯ Speed 7: The Fall of King ( Chapter 7 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

By: MellyN

Worthless

By: Melissa Norvell

Speed 7: The Fall of King

Today was the day.

The weekend was here and to be truthful, I was nervous. I was going to go up against a car that was unmatched in street racing. Blake was hyped up and excited as he walked out of the door early this morning. The blonde had an extra kick in his step and he had gotten a haircut. His once long hair was short in the back and combed over to one side.

He was dressed to impress, and I was shown to perfection. King was as casual as ever, and Jordan dressed in his regular attire: a white, semi-tight t-shirt, his backwards ball cap and holey blue jeans. Even now, it didn't seem like there was really any pressure on him.

Our masters hopped inside of us, and the garage door slowly creaked open. Never did the grinding of gears and crunching of the metal sound so nerve-racking as they did today. If I had a mind of my own, I'd drive away so fast you'd think my engine was on fire. I felt the sunlight as it bathed us both in its white hue.

This was it.

"Good luck at the race," King said with a smile as it pulled out of the driveway.

"You too," I wished it luck as I backed out and followed it to what I thought was The Strip. I thought that we would start our race there, but I was oh so wrong.

We drove to a barely inhabited section of a straight highway. We sat at the on-ramp, which had gathered a small group of people. I guess they had all walked to get to that place, since I didn't really see any cars.

"What's going on?" I asked King.

"Our race is about to start. We're just waiting for the flagger."

"Flagger?" I remembered that King had told me something about the flaggers when we first discussed the races. Usually, there is a flagger when there is no set starting line, or the cars didn't want to line up. I can see why, actually. I am a much longer and larger car than King is. In fact, King was considerably smaller than I was.

That made me nervous. I had more mass to move. It didn't matter if I was a NASCAR certified Special Handling Car or not. If King was lighter, it was going to win.

I just had to think positive. If I lost, it would be no big loss, because it was only my first race and it was against King. It wasn't like I was going to lose against a car off of the street.

"Yes, our flagger for today is someone out of our wonderful audience," King beamed. It really loved its fans.

I feel like I'm just going to embarrass myself.

"You seem all revved up about this," I commented. It seemed like King had put on its show face again, being the wild, party-loving car who lived on the edge. That was the King I knew back then.

"Oh yeah, I'm ready to show you what I can do! We're going to destroy this pavement," I could tell that this was truly its thrill. King lived for these moments. "I've always wanted to challenge a car like you. This will be my best win yet!"

I was reminded of the one fact that scared me stiff. King was the undefeated champion. I tried to think of the other sports models that I've seen King defeat: Headhunter, who was a 1969 Plymouth GTX and Phantom, who was a 1973 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. I've seen it beat a 60's model Mustang, a Chevelle, another Barracuda, a 1969 Corvette Stingray, a 1959 Ford Zodiac…The list went on and on. I had to admit that I felt pretty on edge when I saw the flagger drive up.

It was Ken and the stoic Phantom.

"Good luck to the both of you," Phantom drove in front of us and parked between the two of us. The Asian boy jumped out of his car and stood in front of its tail end, raising the flag high above his head.

"Good luck, Blake. Remember, this is just your first race. Don't get too discouraged if you lose," Jordan said as he rolled down his window.

"Sure thing," Blake smiled at his friend. "We'll see who wins this one."

King started up its engine and revved up beside of me. I could tell how truly powerful it was just from being this close to it. The sound of its engine was ground-breaking. Its robust blower did its job well as King concentrated on the flag ahead.

I was so focused on the Barracuda that I didn't notice that my own engine was also extremely powerful. My fluids were racing through me as the felt that glorious moment. The moment where the anticipation and tension made me feel as if I was on the ultimate high. The moment where everyone went completely silent and all depended on the wave of the black and white checkered flag. The smell of the smoke pouring from our tail pipes and the feel of our master's foot on the gas pedal.

The countdown began.

Three…

Two…

One…

GO!

Ken waved the flag around wildly as King and I burst from our place with a whistling roar. I felt my entire front end lift from the ground as I sped down the road. King's front end did the same as we went full-throttle and pedal to the metal.

As predicted, King was ahead of me, but surprisingly, not by much. My master was determined to prove himself on the raceway and used me to my full potential.

Soon, we were nose to nose as we shot along the road, gaining speed. We each tried to gain inches on each other. Faster and faster we went, and I soon knew the experience and rush of being a racer.

It was a feeling like no other. The rush of the wind around my body, the feeling I got when my speedometer need could go no higher, and my speed was at full. This, I felt, was my true purpose.

It was absolutely wonderful, and I didn't even think about the consequences of my actions. This was the feeling that King had been talking about. This was what it couldn't describe.

I could see why the racers picked odd times of day to race. There were hardly any cars on the road this early in the morning. It gave us plenty of road to work with, and we didn't have to worry about being such a risk.

I did see a couple of cars that were in our way. Due to a Ford Customline driving the speed limit in front of me, I had to slow down and let King get the edge on me. The Barracuda was able to pull ahead a three car distance while I was stuck behind that Ford. If I wanted to catch up to King, then Blake had better hurry.

After riding its bumper a little, we finally managed to get around the Ford and pulled out in front of a white Cadillac, who honked at us as we sped off towards King. The Barracuda was in the lead, but I was catching up quick. The three car distance between us because a two car distance as I tried my best to catch up. It took a couple of tries, but I managed to get on its tail.

We were soon nose-to-nose and coming towards the off-ramp. The two of us kept gaining speed as the wind whistled around my streamlined body. We passed a couple more cars like they were standing still.

Suddenly, a green and white car switched lanes in front of me, and if I didn't make a dangerous move, I could cause all sorts of damage.

I could crash into the car, destroying both it and myself and possibly killing both people inside, or I could dart around it and cut in front of the car, nearly clipping it's front end and risk bending my axel on the curb.

There was no way that I was going to let my first race end like Number Seven's. I had to leave it up to Blake to make this decision. I could only hope that he chose wisely, or we'd both suffer a horrible fate.

When I rode up on the old SUV, I didn't even have time to read the license plate to realize who it was.

It was Nash.

I missed Nash, and I wanted to see it again, but not like this.

I shot around Nash and cut it off; it had to slam on its brakes as I darted off onto the off ramp, barely missing the curb.

That moment had seemed like it was going by in slow motion. As I turned in front of Nash, our head lights met and we instantly recognized each other. I saw its orange headlights light up with shock as Mr. Seinsnig honked its horn at me and yelled some kind of obscenity out of the window.

"Expresso?" A whisper of a voice asked, but it was lost to the wind as I sped away with a large dose of guilt.

I nearly smashed someone I thought of as family.

Please, forgive me Nash.

I could hear Blake from inside of me say, "Oh my God! That was my dad!"

In a panic to get away before he was found out, Blake floored it as King and I barreled down the off ramps. I flew past King, who sped up in an attempt to keep up with me.

For a while, we had been nose to nose, but it only lasted for a short moment as I passed King entirely and blasted in front of it with incredible power that I didn't even know existed.

I could see the small crowd at our designated finish line. They were dead silent in anticipation as King barreled around me and we switched places a couple of times. The finish line was getting closer as it came down to the bare wire.

When we were nearly there, Blake pushed me to my limit and I pulled ahead more than enough to establish a clear victory over my opponent. I passed King as if it were parked on the side of the road.

I could hardly believe it! Was this for real?

As I blasted past the crowd, their faces were lit up in shock. It even took a few minutes before Ken waved the flag. It was a good five minutes after that before anyone even clapped.

King slowed down and just stared straight ahead. I thought I saw it just die where it was.

Blake, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He honked my horn wildly as we slowed down and cheered. He laughed in astonishment that he not only beat the undefeated King, but won his first real street race against the Barracuda.

My master certainly carried on and celebrated for a while. It made me happy to see him so excited. I was glad that I made him proud, but a part of me was stuck in a daze.

I beat King! I still couldn't believe it!

Blake parked me in the emergency lane and hopped out as Phantom drove up beside of King. Ken hopped out with the flag tucked in his back pocket. Jordan exited King, who was very unresponsive. I could hear Phantom talking to King behind me.

"Hey, King! Win another race? I bet you're pretty happy now that you beat that Superbird, huh?"

No response.

"King?"

It simply stared and remained silent.

"What? Did you lose or something?"

Nothing.

"No way…Expresso…beat you?" Phantom was shocked at my achievement as well.

To me, this moment didn't feel real. Even though the masters were around, celebrating Blake's victory, it all seemed surreal.

King looked horrified. For the first time in my life, I actually saw King just fall apart over something. I didn't know that it would take it so hard. The Barracuda didn't even speak to anyone. All it did was stare ahead. I heard the other sports cars trying to communicate with it later, when the rest of the racing crowd met up with us in a parking lot near the finish line.

Blake certainly became popular. Then again, beating King was a great accomplishment, especially for his first time racing. I mean, King was an undisputed champion. To get beaten by a first time racer was a hard hit for the sports car.

I should have been happy for my win, and I was partially but I felt really bad for King.

I think I'll talk to it later, when it's just the two of us.

Everyone threw Blake a huge party outside. They celebrated with loud music, pictures and a small picnic with a few alcoholic beverages. I felt a little awkward when people wanted to take pictures with me and Blake did at first too, but after a few pictures, he really came around. Jordan told him that he was proud of him and that they had a good race.

I could tell where King got its good sportsman-like attitude from. I just wondered why King didn't act the same way. At that point in time, I wondered if it hated me for stealing its glory, its fans and making it look like a fool.

"Hey, good race," Headhunter spoke up as it drove up to me and Kim got out. She walked over to the crowd that had gathered around Jordan and my master.

"Thanks," I replied, a little down.

"Why so sad? You beat King ! Do you know how many races that car has won in a row?" It asked in excitement. "Twenty-nine! This race would have been thirty and no one thought that you'd win."

"King didn't take it too well. It's not talking and it hasn't been acting right," I was actually more worried about my brethren car than I was about my win over it.

"I think you broke its racing spirit," the lime green GTX lowered its tone. "I kind of see what you mean."

Should I feel this guilty if I won the race fair and square?

Even on the way home, King was silent and it ran a little slower than usual. I don't know if Jordan drove it slower or it just felt that ashamed.

After we were about a block from the apartment, I found out why King wasn't acting quite right. We turned the corner and I heard a loud noise that was like a mix between a pop and a boom. King's right front tire had blown out and shredded all over the road.

The Barracuda swerved to one side and nearly took a nose dive into the curb. Blake parked me on the side of the road and hopped out to go to his friend, who stood in the grass and shook his head.

I could hear the two of them talking as I worried about the red car.

"What happened?" Blake questioned as he made his way over to his distraught friend. "Are you alright?"

"I can't believe this!" Jordan exclaimed. "I just got these wheels!"

"That's torn up pretty bad. I'm glad that we're only a block from our apartment. I can go and get you a spare if you have one," my master offered.

"Yeah, it's in the garage," the long-haired teen instructed. "I took it out before I went to the race because I wanted to be light. I took everything out that I could think of, which is what I normally do before a race," he lifted King's hood. Blake walked up to the apartment, but he didn't get very far before he heard Jordan's frustration a second time.

"Oh man! Is this for real?"

The blond turned around in front of my nosecone. "Oh man, what? What happened?"

"My belt broke. It snapped in two, probably when my tire blew out. Now what am I going to do?" The racer was highly irritated.

"Your car is falling apart on you," Blake laughed a little. "I think you worked it too hard trying to beat me."

"Laugh it up. I'll win next time. King is still the King of the Street Races," Jordan forced a smile as he patted King's hood.

"Too bad I broke your streak," Blake replied, then turned the topic back to its original theme. "I guess I could go and get a belt for you, unless you have one of those too. I know how you like to collect random parts."

If I learned anything about Jordan ever the short time I had lived with him, it was that he was the pack rat of car parts. He went to the junk yard all of the time and took other Barracuda parts that he thought he could use later on. I guess he knew that he'd need a lot of upkeep for a car like King.

"Hmmm…" Jordan looked thoughtful as he scratched his head a little. "There might be a belt in the drawer of the nightstand in my room. I bought a couple a weeks ago when I saw that sale they had at the auto parts store. I'll wait for you here and watch our cars. At least I left the jack in here. I'll get King off of the ground while you get the tire.

My master agreed and headed off to get the parts in question while Jordan took the blown out tire off.

Poor King.

Was this…my fault?

Maybe King wasn't well earlier? That couldn't be it. It was perky as could be before the race. How did the belt break? Did my win really stress King out that much?

I'd be upset if I was about to win thirty races in a row and some nobody car beat me like that.

Oh boy…The garage stay tonight was going to be extremely awkward.

Soon, Blake was back with the tire and the belt. After about two hours of hard work, elbow grease and a lot of sweat, they were able to get King in full operational order and the two of us drove home in silence.

We sat there as the setting sun made everything grow dim and our bodies only shone in a pastel orange.

I didn't want to lift my retractable headlights to look at the Barracuda. I didn't know what to say, and even if I did, I wouldn't know how to say it. Slowly, I lifted my headlights to see the dejected and tired-looking Barracuda.

"It seems like you had a rough day. Are you alright?" I asked softly. I didn't know what King's reaction would be or if it would give one at all, but I was ready for anything.

King was silent for a while before it said anything. It slowly looked down. "Don't worry about me. I can go through anything," the red vehicle nearly laughed.

Who were you trying to kid, King? You aren't as happy as you try to play off.

"I may seem confident about my street racing ability, but in truth, it's the only thing that I feel like I could be confident in. It's the only thing I felt like I was truly good at. You see, before I belonged to Jordan, I was owned by a man named Nataniel Shio," the Barracuda explained. Little did I know that its story was not what I thought it would be. "Mr. Shio was my very first master. I love him very much, and was happy like no other the day that he picked me up off of the lot. There were so many cars there and I was one of the many red Barracuda out there on the lot. I couldn't have been happier that first day….Until I found out what kind of man Mr. Shio was."

"What do you mean 'what kind of man Mr. Shio was'?" I asked. King made it sound so dire, like the man was an axe murderer or something.

"Mr. Shio was a heavy drinker after his wife left him. Before he bought me, he had a wife and kids. His family left him because of his violent behavior. He always drove me to the bar and spent every last penny he had on liquor. He was so reckless, a real fast and furious man, and boy did he wear out my brakes."

"That doesn't sound like anyone I'd want for a master," I interrupted. That sounded horrible, actually. I didn't want to offend King but its first master sounded like a real dead beat. "Didn't he ever fix you?"

"Fix me?" King questioned with a slight 'heh' afterwards. "No, he never fixed me. It was my job to get him to the bar, to work and back home. The only thing Mr. Shio did was change my tires when I got a flat. My oil was never changed, and he drove me fast and hard. I always passed other cars, tailgated people and honked a lot. If my master thought the car in front of him was too slow, he gladly used my horsepower to push it out of the way. He also loved to show off for the ladies. My life was lined with skid marks and burnouts."

"Even back then you were a daredevil on the road." No wonder it was like that. It made me wonder if King still had that disregard for its life. "Weren't you ever afraid back then?"

"Oh, I was scared out of my tires. My poor, bald rims shook down the highway. Well, mostly because my front end was out of alignment. I was a living scrap heap for a while there."

"But you are a brand new car," I reasoned. "Your model came out this year." How could something so new seem so old? I looked younger than King, and I was five years older than it was.

"You know how Nash said that cars are like guns. We just do what we're told?" It asked and I agreed. I remembered that saying very well. The SUV said it in defense of King when Metro chewed it out. "That was my only choice. I ran myself into the ground for Mr. Shio. I tried to be the best car I could with the little life I had left.

I was sickly, and I no longer purred like the big cat I was. The mighty Barracuda was reduced to a guppy. I felt like a crippled old man and I rattled, ground, knocked and screeched. My brakes let out noises of pain whenever they were stepped on. Soon, they went out because my ball bearings locked up.

I nearly made my master crash, and he had to turn me into the grass to stop me. I thought for sure my reign as a free spirited car was over. Without brakes, I was worthless. I sat there, day after day, tired and worn down. I remembered that day that I ran off of the road.

Mr. Shio was beyond angry…and beyond drunk, which didn't help his awful temper. He cursed and yelled and called me a piece of crap car. He said that he couldn't believe that he bought a piece of junk like me and that I should be recalled. Then he kicked my bumper and walked up the road.

After I was brought back, he put a for sale sign in my window. I didn't think anyone would want me until Jordan came along.

He was my savior. I owe him so much for fixing me up and rebuilding all of the pieces that were destroyed by Mr. Shio."

I knew that King didn't seem like it had a very good life, but I had no idea that it was like that. King was loyal to a master that abused it. "Do you feel like you failed Jordan because you lost to me?"

"I really felt like I could beat you, just like I beat the other cars in my life. I've beaten so many fast cars. Phantom's max speed is 135 mph, Headhunter's is 150 and they were the it cars of their time," the Barracuda explained lowly. "You…You're like nothing I've ever seen. I was going max speed and all you were doing was keeping up with me. You make me look slow. No car has ever done that before. I could tell that you weren't even really trying when you beat me."

I felt extremely guilty, but King was right. King's max speed was 225, which was high for a Barracuda. The speed I beat it at was 250, which was only a little less than half of my max speed.

"How fast is your max speed, Expresso?" King inquired cautiously, almost as if it didn't really want to know. I dreaded that answer. How do I tell this street racing icon that I can beat it by double its max speed?"

"Well…" I trailed. "That is…I can go pretty fast…and…Well…Uh…It's like this…"

"For goodness sake, just tell me," I suppose my stuttering was killing King with suspense.

"I can max out at 450 mph," I shamefully admitted.

"What?" The Barracuda exclaimed. "Is that with a factory engine?" I wasn't sure if King was impressed by that or appalled by it.

"Yes, I'm actually NASCAR certified. I could race on the track. I know that Blake had talked about it before. I'm also one of the few of my model who have the faster and more powerful hemi engine." That went over better than I thought it would. I had expected something completely different.

"What kind of bells and whistles do you have?" Now King seemed interested. At least it wasn't sad anymore.

I explained to the red car that I had a 440 Super Command V8 with a Mopar six pack carburetion, a Hemi 4 speed and 4.10 Dana.

"That's a ton of power under that hood," King forced a smile. "Looks like my days as King are washed up. Everything that's good is short-lived. That's okay though, I don't mind giving my crown to you. I could have had some engine damage from breaking that timing belt." It informed me on its condition after it admitted its defeat.

"Are you alright?" I nearly forgot to ask about the racer's condition.

"I'll be alright. I told you, I can go through anything. I'm just worn out. I need to sit a while and do a little light driving," King was right. It should take it easy for a while.

"I didn't mean to stress you out," I apologized. "I'm a little stressed out myself." Worrying about King and nearly slamming into Nash was enough to fry my wiring.

"Why?"

"You know that car I cut off?"

"Yeah, you did an awesome job there. I thought you'd smash it for sure. You handle real well in a situation like that. That sure would rip your nosecone off. You hit that bad boy and you'd be racing without a front end," I didn't even want to imagine what would have happened if I would have crashed.

"Well, I would feel horrible if I hit that car," I didn't think that King really knew who that other car was.

"Why? Was that car special to you or something?" King asked apathetically.

"That was Nash," my headlights retracted a little as I glanced at the ground and the garage fell silent.

"I see what you mean," King looked a little guilty. "I'd be sad if I hit the Volvo, or even killed it." The Barracuda didn't stay on the subject very long before it changed it. "You know, I've been thinking about something lately that stumps me a little."

"What?" I asked.

"Why are dogs called man's best friend?"

That was really random of you, King. I inquired what it meant by that out of nowhere question.

"If you abuse a dog, it's afraid of you, or it will get defensive. If you make it mean, it will bite the hand that feeds it. Cars aren't like that. If you abuse a car, it still works and serves its purpose. If you abandon it on the side of the road, it still waits faithfully, even if it feels that the situation is futile. If you leave it, it doesn't develop an outward anxiety. It just waits, never giving up and not straying or backing away in defeat. A car doesn't question being abused, kicked, smashed, wrecked…We put our lives in our master's hands. The hands that guide us in our own lives. We are just as dependant on them as they are on us. It's a little unfair, don't you think?" Somehow, that made all of the sense in the world when I thought about it.

"We're not supposed to complain. We're here to serve a purpose, aren't we?" At least, that's what Nash had always told me, "although, if you want my opinion, I'd have to agree."

…To Be Continued