Back-up Plan
~Sarge never switched McQueen's fuel.~
Cars 2 (c) PIXAR 2011
It was said that an explosion began the world. And now, for a few individuals, one ended it.
Fire. That one word said it all. An encompassing, blazing inferno, with enough force to curl paint, devastate metal, shatter glass. Roaring wildly, erratically, uncontrollably. Murderously. A macabre mix of the fieriest reds and orange, tongues of blue mixed into the seemingly living monstrosity. The explosion had seemed so sudden, so abrupt, so painfully quick…but in the end, inevitable.
And Mater—still hanging, tied over Big Bentley's rapidly rotating gears— was forced to watch in unabashed horror as Lightning McQueen erupted into flames.
The silence that enveloped the pits was heavy, not a soul daring to break it. The jumbo screens and smaller televisions alike blatantly showed the young race car's fiery collision, the sudden eruption of flames, and the terror that flashed through his eyes a second before the explosion played again and again—like a grisly movie reel.
The colorful residents of Radiator Springs stood gaping in blatant disbelief, staring at the smaller television screen embedded in the wall, incredulity painfully clear in their features. All were silent, eyes wide and incredulous for several seconds, as if hardly daring to allow what they continued to see truly sink in. Red was the first to break the peace, his sobs reverberating through the entirety of the pits. The others could hardly blink in response, but the realization began to gradually, finally, set in past the shock.
Flo leaned heavily against her husband, fruitlessly attempting to hold back her weeping. Guido had joined the fire truck in his anguish, while Luigi, Fillmore and Ramone only stood in stunned silence.
Sally gazed up at the television monitor, hardly daring to imagine what the cars who weren't with them could've been thinking—those few that remained at home, or Sheriff at Scotland Yard, and Sarge calling up some old military allies, all hearing the same awful, heartrending, dreadful news on their own. And...she had been the one to encourage the stock car to race...unaware of the fate that awaited him. Porsche bowed her hood, her pride nonexistent, finally allowing the sobs to shake her frame.
"I...I can't believe it…."
The announcer's southern accented voice penetrated the silence over the crowd, his fellow race cars and hosts as shocked as the rest of their viewers. Although, Darrel Cartrip seemed to be the only one adept to speaking at the moment. The Buick swallowed, as if finding his following words to difficult to utter, but continued despite his co-hosts' silence, turning to gaze almost shakily at the camera.
"Not over five minutes ago, the American race car, Lightning McQueen….burst into flames on the track without warning. And as the only racer using Allinol, the only possible culprit could be the alternative fuel."
Brent Mustangburger found his voice then, pausing as he listened to someone over his headset, "emergency vehicles have just been dispatched, making their way to McQueen—but whether or not the race car is alright has yet to be announced."
The three vehicles, all previous award-winning, professional race cars, were long used to crashes in racing, from the most insignificant to deadliest. But this….the young stock car's accident was different….unlike anything they'd ever seen or experienced.
After a moment of anxious silence, the elder Buick spoke again, "all we can hope for is—"
"W-wait a moment, Darrel," David Hobbscap began, cutting off the flame-patterned race car with a rather alarmed look in his blue eyes."I have just received word from our emergency vehicles over by Big Bentley. Lightning McQueen did not survive the crash."
Speeding around a narrow bend, Francesco Bernoulli's proud smirk grew only wider when the sound of another engine didn't accompany his own from behind, instead filled with the lingering cheers from spectators and rev of his other opponents' engine far in the rear.
McQueen had perhaps blown a tire, or some other minor inconvenience. Francesco didn't worry. And this only further assisted the Formula One, and the race was as good as won now, with the other cars several feet away. His fuel, purely Italian, burned intensely through his engine, thrusting him forward with sporadic revolutions.
He could almost see the finish line, and the large trophy that would await him…not to mention rubbing his win in the American stock car's face.
A sudden shout over the Formula One's radio startled him, Francesco loosing control for a moment before swiftly righting himself, a dismayed cry answering his crew chief's unexpected yell. The Alfa Romeo—instead of answering in horribly accented, and unintelligible English, actually spoke in rapid Italian, none the less stressed. The race car's brow furrowed, and though his crew chief spoke far too swiftly to be understood, as was his usual habit, the American stock car's name came up more than it should have.
Giving a swift rebuttal in his native tongue, Francesco cut off his elder mid-sentence and demanded to know what he was ranting about.
The Alfa Romeo faltered over the radio, interference from multiple other headsets making him cringe, mixed with the usual uproarious background noise. Although, his crew chief's final, morbid answer -seeming to silence all others- made Francesco's oil run cold.
A/N: Yeah...I have no idea.
I was watching Cars 2 (for the millionth time) and one of the scenes that stood out most to me would have to be when the pulse emitter -i.e. TV camera- was trained on McQueen, on full power, and could've easily killed him had Sarge not switched the fuel. And so this idea came to me- what if he hadn't? Then the movie would tell an entirely different story, which I am doing now. Next chapter will be posted soon, but until then, please review, and NO flames.
BTW- I apologize to all who are currently reading Alfa and Omega- I will finish the story, but I have yet to make myself sit down and type it out.
Oh, and there's supposed to be a dash between 'Back-up' but it wouldn't show up in the title :(
