Summary: An alternate sequel for the World Race movie. Our favorite characters are back, and the stakes are higher than ever! Written after I saw WR many times, but before I knew about AcceleRacers. Please enjoy, and feel free to review!
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't anybody or anything.
Author's Note: Yes, I finally have something for you guys! I'm so sorry this was so long in the making, I promise I'll do better next time! Things have just been so busy. I traveled a lot for a couple weeks, and now I'm starting my first full time job. And, far more importantly, I got my first car! I'm so excited, I love it! Well, I don't want to make you guys wait any longer, so read on and enjoy!
Chapter Eleven
For what seemed like the millionth time in the race, Kurt Wylde glanced nervously into his rearview mirror. This time, however, he had to resist a sudden impulse to burst out laughing. Who would have thought that here in the sixth track, only two away from what would easily be the most important race of his life, the two allies remaining to him would be Vert and Markie? Inexplicably bemused, Kurt shook his head. If nothing else, Fate certainly had an ironic sense of humor.
"Hey, Kurt, you ever think the race would come down to just us three?" Markie abruptly voiced Kurt's own thoughts with impeccable timing.
He maneuvered around another perilously sharp turn at high speed and noted with great self-satisfaction that he was gradually inching closer and closer toward his older brother.
"I think I might make it to the last track after all," he taunted.
Kurt snorted softly at that. "Don't count on it," he retorted. He had no intention of letting either of those two kids reach the final track before him, especially not Markie. "But to answer your question: no, I never really expected either of you guys to stay in this long."
"Ouch, Kurt, that hurts," Vert teased him, deftly passing one of the three remaining drones. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten what happened last year?"
"No, don't worry, I haven't forgotten," Kurt grimly assured him, fervently hoping the two teens wouldn't wear out his patience before the all-important final track. He would need every bit of his focus then, and the hours of constant, unpredictable driving were beginning to take their toll as fatigue slowly but surely set in.
"It's not that I don't think you two are good," he further explained, despite the energy it expended, "cause I know you both are. But let's face it: at this point, we were all expecting me and Taro to still be around, and then probably Dresden or Banjee since they're both some of the more experienced drivers here."
"But anything can happen on the track," Markie pressed back, more to aggravate his brother than anything else. "Experience isn't the most important thing. I mean, me and Vert seem to be doing just fine without a whole lot of it – Hey!"
Vert chuckled as he slipped past Markie on the inside of a turn and quickly accelerated to increase the distance between them. "Sorry, Markie, but it's like you said: anything can happen on the track."
Kurt couldn't resist this golden opportunity. Making sure his attention remained focused on the drone Captain and the track still ahead of him, he said, "You gonna let him talk to you like that, Markie? I thought you were supposed to beat me to the last track – or did I just not hear you right?"
If looks could maim, Kurt's car surely would have burst instantly into flame from the glare Markie leveled in its direction. The younger Wylde sibling even went so far as to stick his tongue out at his big brother, something he hadn't done in years.
"Ha ha, Kurt, very funny!" he shot back. "And you know what, you can have that final track! I'm getting tired anyway."
"Me, too," Vert admitted, stifling a yawn. "Adrenaline can only keep you going for so long. I'll actually be glad when this is all over."
"Believe me, you're not the only one," Kurt agreed. "But until then, stop yawning, will ya? It's contagious."
"Okay, okay, I'll try," Vert promised, furiously blinking his eyes back into focus.
But almost as if his brother's words had been some kind of prearranged signal, Markie sighed tiredly and succumbed to the sudden need to yawn. And though he fought to keep his eyes open, he couldn't prevent them from squeezing shut for a brief moment.
Unfortunately, when he did force them back open, he found himself already in the middle of another wicked curve, a drone beginning to pull past him on his right. Saved by another powerful surge of adrenaline, Markie jerked his car to the left and was thrown hard against his safety harness.
Thankfully, the evasive maneuver had stopped him from colliding into the opposite wall of the track, but the drone that had taken the turn correctly was now obstructing the teenage driver's erratic path. Markie hit the brakes, and his tires squealed in the effort to stop, but it wasn't enough.
He clipped the front of the drone's vehicle, and though the bump wasn't hard enough to crash the robot, its perfect adherence to orders prevailed above all other logic. Remembering how Banjee had inadvertently crashed one of its fellows earlier in the race, the drone now retaliated with a vengeance. It zipped around to come up on Markie's left and rammed ruthlessly into his car, causing the already skidding Stingray to lose control altogether.
Markie let out a strangled cry of surprise and fear, but there was no time for anything else. His head spun, and he was aware of a sharp pain in his shoulder before darkness suddenly overtook him, and he knew no more.
The drone looked back, satisfied, and sped onward. Its work was finished.
Vert heard the harsh sound of scraping metal from behind him, but due to the track's serpentine layout, he couldn't see what had happened.
"Hey, Markie, everything okay back there?" He was only mildly concerned, considering how many close calls his friend had pulled through over the course of the race. But there was no response, and Vert's stomach involuntarily twisted itself into a tight knot of apprehension.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Markie? Markie!"
Now considerably farther ahead on the track, Kurt's attention was riveted on the drone Captain directly in front of him, well aware that the end of this sixth track was due to come up shortly. He was debating with himself about whether or not it was finally time to pass the Captain, when he thought he heard a strange sound over the communicator – a sort of quick gasp that had been suddenly cut short.
He shook his head, bewildered. Perhaps this cursed underwater track was getting to him, and he was beginning to hear things? He was about to shrug off all memory of the noise and prepare himself for start of the next track, when something else reached his ear. But this time, it was impossible to doubt his hearing.
"Markie? Markie!"
The panicked urgency in Vert's voice was as clear as a cloudless summer day, and there was absolutely no mistaking what it meant.
Without thinking, Kurt slammed on the brakes and whipped his car around, the drone Captain and the entire Underwater Race forgotten. Right now, his only thought was for his little brother.
Still hoping for a response from Markie, Vert had deliberately slowed down and was anxiously waiting. Just when he had decided to turn around and see if his fellow teen needed help, he was shocked by the sight of Kurt's Sling Shot flying past him in the opposite direction.
"Kurt!" he cried. "What're you doing?"
"I'm not leaving without Markie, Vert," came Kurt's hurried reply. "You're gonna have to finish this thing."
But Vert still hesitated. "What about that Captain? He's too far ahead of me now."
"Vert, you can catch him! You came from behind to win the World Race last year, I know you can do it again now!"
Vert nodded and resumed driving with a new relish, though his mind was still groping to grasp this new unexpected twist of events. He managed to stay ahead of two of the drones for the remainder of the track, but by the time he reached the portal, he hadn't gotten so much as a glimpse of his chief opponent.
His shadow shaken off at last, the Captain had passed unopposed through the portal long before and was inexorably making his way to the end of the fateful race.
Meanwhile, Kurt sped toward the wreckage of Markie's crash, his heart racing even faster than his car. At last, he rounded one of the innumerable turns and screeched to a halt. For a moment, time itself seemed to stop, and Kurt could only gaze in horror at the sight before him.
His brother's convertible – mangled and smoking – had been flipped completely upside down. And the gloved hand that protruded from the driver's side, though barely visible, was lying bloody and motionless upon the ground.