Chapter 7 : 'Brewing A Storm'
When 4PM arrived, Melise was surprised to see the stadium become a parade of screaming fans– young and old, hyped for the race. The grandstands filled with cars from the front row fences, to the far away seating. Subwoofers echoed music throughout the Speedway, and the revving of racers with the scent of exhaust and gasoline, filling the atmosphere.
Melise had been finishing the delivery of several canisters of oil to a number of racers, when she glanced down the pit lane, observing each team preparing. She had to admit, even for a staff member, she was looking forward to the roaring of engines filling the raceway. It was something different, something interesting. Melise's vision suddenly caught sight of something, one of the sponsors, decked out in the same black with neon royal blue paint scheme.
She studied the IGNTR colors and logo in contrast to the brighter, friendly tones lining the pits ahead of it. How could a fuel be so ominous? She glanced down the lanes, observing as teams made their last minute inspections of tires, gasoline, and oil. Ensuring the desired quantities received, matched their manifests.
Shannon's confident voice filled the air nearby. In front of her, idled Lightning McQueen, sporting a relaxed smile for the camera.
"Here, at Copper Canyon Speedway, for the 2017 Piston Cup series, our reigning veteran champion, Lightning McQueen,"
The red race car drawled out his famous, "Ka-Chow," winking for the viewers at home.
"So Lightning, another start to a great day for a race," Shannon spoke, "what are your thoughts for competitors, and rookies alike?"
"It's a great day for racing, the stands are full of excitement," McQueen gushed, as photographers focussed on the legendary man in front of their headlights, snapping shots.
"I think today is going to be revved up on the track, we've got new racers, veterans all fighting for that Piston Cup, today's gonna be great for sure." Lightning smiled to Shannon.
"You heard it here, from the legend himself, not a day to missed for racing fans," Shannon's voice resonating above the roaring crowd. McQueen nodded once, revving his engine as he drove off, headed to the track, other racers tagging along.
"I'm Shannon Spokes, LIVE, from Copper Canyon Speedway, bringing you action from the Piston Cup Series. Stay Tuned!"
The camera man began panning the grandstands as Shannon adjusted her headset, glancing up to see Melise smiling proudly at her.
"Ahh, I thought I wouldn't see you again with all the commotion!" Shannon grinned, "how have you been, 'Hun?"
Melise tried to find the words to express her astonishment with the atmosphere inside the arena.
"This is extraordinary, e-everything!" Melise spoke, her words finding their place.
"You're just like me when I was on my first day of coverage. Awestruck and eager!" Shannon laughed.
The P.A announcer suddenly echoed through the chanting and revving in the stadium, "Brought to you by Canyon Plains, the rocky terrain and mountains lining vast groves. Welcome to the Piston Cup Series, here at Copper Canyon Speedway."
The crowd began roaring louder in excitement as the P.A continued, "Racing Teams proceed to the track, while we ask that spectators, avoid touching, climbing, or shaking the guard fence."
The announcer repeated the safety warning once more, as the arena filled with the smell of exhaust, gasoline and loud revving race cars as they cruised along the track.
"Hey, Melise," Shannon said, the camera man began accelerating towards Victory Lane as Piston Series photographers scrambled towards the sidelines in the grandstands and into the infield behind the pits.
"I have to go now, stay safe, and out of the way of the crew!" Shannon shouted as she followed her Press. Melise took the cue to head back to her own station.
The arena became louder and louder with more screams of faith and chants of ambition. Within seconds, Melise turned her attention to the track, her eyes widening as the racers' engines roared, and the green flag waved brightly across the checkered line.
Thinking was irrelevant now, all those countless days and nights training, blowing off steam, burning rubber, fueling up gas, it paid off for each racer today.
The cars roared down the track as they entered the first turn. Vehicles in the stands merely a blur with fading and gaining hollers.
Boosting ahead of the top ten, McQueen, Weathers and Swift sped to the top three positions, holding their lines, and fighting for first place.
"Get around these guys on your right," Ray called over the headset to Storm on the track. He watched as the rookie accelerated around, and in front of the two racers.
"Remember to keep your cool, Jackson," Ray spoke. Jackson's eyes focussed on the track as he answered.
"Yeah, but I keep getting stuck!" the racers roared past the second turn of the fiftieth lap as Jackson remained boxed between three racers fighting for eighth place.
"Hey, I've never heard of this, IGNTR?" one of the racers chimed in, behind Jackson, reading his rear.
"Don't mind him, he's probably a poser, we always get those guys sneaking on the track!" another replied, both cars speeding firmly behind Jackson. His front end contoured a dumbfounded expression, as he kept his focus on the track, approaching the turn.
"Hey, they're trashing me, Ray!" Jackson shouted through the speaker, "One of them thinks I'm a damn poser!"
"Keep. Your. Cool." Ray replied, "You've gotta get your hood away from the negativity!" He watched as the leaders sped by, and the top ten racers behind them close on their tails.
Jackson was progressively getting better with his maneuvers around the track as the laps sped on past one hundred, two hundred and three hundred. Entering the pits every 60 to 70 laps, Storm was brewing into a professional with each turn maintaining his position in sixth place. The leaders didn't seem to take notice of him, while fans cheered for them– McQueen, Weathers and Swift– eagerly in from the grandstands. Some even dressed like their idols, decals and all.
"Make your way to the pits," Ray commanded, as Jackson headed down the lane passing staff and on looking teams. Other racers headed to get their tires replaced, following behind him.
Jackson braked in front of his pit crew, as Leon and another forklift began their routine of changing his tires. Quincy filled his tank with gas.
From the back of the commotion and squealing of tires racing out of the pits, Melise watched as racer after racer zoomed by, entering the track like it was a left turn on a simple street. Jackson Storm sped by suddenly, as his neon glow reflected over the metal of her supervisor beside her in a quick flicker. Two racers followed closely behind, panting in unison as they lined up behind Jackson, attempting to overtake him, but lacking the energy.
Melise glanced at the jumbotron displaying number 20 resting in sixth place while lap 398 began. The race was coming to an impasse, as the racers rounded the second turn, lap 399 beginning then finishing with the roar of the audience as lap 400– the final lap, commenced.
Racers began accelerating at their top speeds, their engines echoing in unison as they fought around the first turn.
Melise headed to the start of the pit lane behind the caution line. Engulfed in the excitement, she watched in amazement as the racers approached the second turn, hearing the crew chief of IGNTR announcing his last words to Jackson, meters away.
"Now! Go, Storm! Now, or never!"
And Melise watched the rookie accelerate his engine, it's distinct revs audible in the excitement. He began speeding past the other racers with ease, his teeth baring slightly as he picked up speed through them. Observing the distance of the racers closing the space between the checkered line and the turn, Melise hollered her loudest over the noise,
"YOU CAN DO IT! GO JACKSON!" her eyes briefly closing between her chant, she opened them to a new and unexpected sight from the track.
Jackson Storm, coming out of turn two, staring right at her. His expression changed from it's stern state to a slightly surprised face.
His eyes trained on hers for a moment as his expression calmed, before he zoomed past clocking well over 195MPH on his turn. he zipped from fourth, to third, second, then first, in a matter of seconds.
Crossing the finish line ahead of the leaders, McQueen's front end wore a look of disbelief and shock as Cal and Bobby stared on, mouths forming 'O's' in surprise. The audience was a mixture of cheers and chatter.
In a matter of seconds, everything changed.
Melise reversed in shock as she turned to go back to her station. Team Rust-Eze– all perplexed, and curious of the recent turn out. Team IGNTR celebrated with hoots and hollering, as the crew chief was looking at her, his face warming up to a half-smile. Melise remained in a trance of stupor as she drove, the world around her suddenly foreign.
"And it's Jackson Storm for the win!" the P.A announced.
McQueen and the other leaders slowed down on the track, falling behind the racers accelerating past. The long, anticipated race was over.
Jackson headed for the Victory Lane, driving past the stunned RSN camera crew, grinning behind their filming cameras set on the rookie.
He headed up the Winner's Circle with confidence, cars cheering around him as the confetti rained.
"Relish in the joy," Ray's voice came through his speaker, "You earned it, Jackson."
With those words, a smile spread across Jackson's front end. He smiled to the cameras, listening to the hollering of the crowd.
Storm glanced to his right, seeing Gale backing up his trailer beside his crew. They knew him so well, wanting to get out of the spotlight. Jackson had to admit, he was enjoying the attention right now, but that could wait. He rolled off the ramp, thanking several patrons as he rolled away. Before getting a chance to reply to Ray, the revving of another engine approached, and greeted him in a friendly tone.
"Jackson Storm, right?"
It was one of the old-timers, Mister 'Champion' McQueen. He congratulated Storm on his win.
With all the RPM's increasing in the arena, Jackson's mind bended to the realization he had beaten the odds. His first attempt– magnificent. He said it, he did it, he won it.
The last thing Jackson needed to hear was appraisals from old race cars. The only thing on his mind was the glory of speeding past McQueen, and crossing the finish line.
As the hatch of Jackson's trailer opened, obscene music rang through Ray's bolts as he headed around Gale. He cringed at the volume. Was that supposed to be music?
Jackson approached with a smile on his front, reversing into his trailer.
Gale grinned indifferently as she heard a 'beep' signalling that the hatch was now closed, and headed out of the stadium.
Ray noticed McQueen staring off with a look of confusion as the Press horded after Jackson's trailer. He must've still been in shock from the race, that– or Jackson said something as obscene as his tunes to the veteran. Ray ignored the racer as he thought about the fuel he could bring back to the hotel.
The crew chief headed back to the pits with Leon and two other team pitties following. He tapped his speaker once with his tire, listening as the mic static fuzzed.
"She was beside you," Jackson's voice came in.
Ray suddenly had a dumbfounded look upon his front end. He was uncertain.
"The convertible?" Ray asked, "the one who cheered for you?"
"Her," Jackson confirmed, "she's the one from last night too."
"And how are you sure, Jackson?"
"Her voice, simple." The racer replied.
Ray shook his frame in disapproval, despite only the pitties seeing it.
"Well it's great to see you have a fan, now don't go eating cakes in celebrations, we've got a few more races to get through" Ray changed the subject. He didn't need his racer losing his focus over a single fan.
Jackson breathed a deep sigh on the other end, as if he was lost in thought or tired, sometimes Ray couldn't tell the difference. He waiting for a response, from his racer, it never came.
"So, you have any plans to celebrate tonight?"
"I have plans," Jackson answered, "they just don't involve celebrating. I need to be alone, need some privacy."
Ray nodded once, "Fine by me, just don't get into any trouble."
With that, Jackson turned off the mic in his trailer. He glanced out the tinted windows at the mountainous terrain in the distance slowly passing. He had no clue where Gale was going, but he knew she was trying to get him away from the Press, as Ray had warned about them in the event of a win.
But the mountains didn't matter, they weren't much of a thought. After all, the scenery didn't raise his RPM till he felt like he could move at the speed of light. The screaming crowd didn't make him speed past McQueen to his victory.
Jackson couldn't much believe it, but he didn't give his all, and wasn't breaking much of a sweat catching up to McQueen and his pals. Beating them felt greater than the cheering of a simple arcade audience.
But his engine came closer to life when he heard that girl cheering for him. He had someone– besides IGNTR and Ray, who believed in him, and they didn't know a thing about him.
Who was that convertible?
