Chapter Five
A Taste of Darkness
"RarararaRARARARA…"
Thunk.
"PONCH!!!"
Nita's eyes flew open and she rolled over in her sleeping bag, shocked into wakefulness at Kit's surprised yell. She stared, open-mouthed, then burst out laughing as Kit flailed pathetically at Ponch, who slurped Kit's face, yipping delightedly and whacking Kit in the leg with his tail.
"Kitkitkitkitkitkitkit! You awake?"
Kit groaned, his voice coming out as little more than a strangled wheeze, mainly due to Ponch's two front paws, which were firmly planted on his "Boss's" chest.
"I am… though I'd be a lot better if you got off my chest," Kit hissed.
Ponch obediently removed his paws, then pranced giddily around Kit as he sat up, massaging the sore area where Ponch's paws had been.
Nita bit her tongue, going red in the face as she struggled to keep from laughing as Kit stared at her, trying to preserve what was left of his dignity.
With all the finesse he could muster, Kit asked haughtily, "What?"
Nita snickered, caught herself, and lost it again, dissolving into an uncontrollable fit of laughter as Kit looked on in bewilderment.
He shook his head, muttering under his breath, "I'll never understand teenage girls…"
Emily pranced into the tent, her head held high, tail erect, then promptly dropped the pose and skittered over to Kit, where she looked up at him and said "Mew."
I'm hungry. Tuna?
Mumbling darkly under his breath, Kit unzipped his otherspace claudication and pulled out a can of tuna, opened it, and set it in one corner of the tent. Emily bounded over and, abandoning all traces of dignity, buried her face into the tuna can and began eating ravenously.
Nita, pink-faced and slightly disheveled, finally stopped laughing, her giggles fading away to the occasional snicker as she remembered the moment of comedy.
Kit shook his head, then got up, stretched, and walked out of the tent. Nita, now starting to shake with silent laughter, shook her head and fumbled in her purse for her pair of glasses.
She found them, slipped them on, and was about to lie down when a loud, mechanical roar cut through the natural surroundings of the forest, followed by a yell from Kit.
Nita was up and out of the tent in a second. Kit, breathing hard and white-faced, stood across from a shining '68 Shelby GT500, clearly never been driven, and equally obvious that its main goal was to take out Kit and Nita.
The Mustang was a terrifying beauty to behold; brand new, except for the fact that it lacked the front pair of driving lights, finished in a bullet silver paint job with twin, pitch black Le Mans racing stripes running the length of its body. Both Kit and Nita would have loved the car if it wasn't about to kill them both.
As it was, Kit stared at the Mustang, watching it warily, knowing that one false move would turn him into instant roadkill. The Mustang's V8 rumbled threateningly, the headlight covers dilating as it focused on Kit.
Nita didn't move, didn't breathe as she watched the Mustang back slowly toward the thickets, the engine revving occasionally, ominously, as if warning Nita and Kit that they only had a few seconds to live.
Kit went mad. Throwing caution into a bonfire, catching the ashes, and throwing the ashes to the wind, Kit made a mad dash for his Chevy Silverado. The engine started before Kit had even reached the cab, and the door swung open to allow Kit inside. The door closed, and the truck's V8 yowled a hefty challenge.
The Mustang, which had been eyeing Nita hungrily, dropped the mortal in favor of a pickup. The steering wheel spun to the right as the Mustang twitched its nose to face the Silverado.
Inside the cab of the Chevy, Kit gripped the wheel tightly, knowing his and Nita's lives were on the line, and was prepared to die trying to keep Nita safe.
The truck, however, had other ideas, and did not intend to let its driver interfere with its duty.
Three hundred and fifty horses were let loose as the Mustang's Goodyears spun and bit into the dirt, lunging straight for the front grille of the truck.
Kit jammed the gas down, and was horrified to find that the truck's engine revved, despite the fact that the truck was an automatic.
"Oh s," Kit hissed, panicking. "C'mon, you stupid thing… MOVE!" He frantically flipped switched and hit levers, trying to find the object that kept the truck from moving.
The Mustang drew closer and closer, intent on the kill.
What it did not expect is the fact that the truck's knobby off-road tires provided eight times more grip than the Mustang's racing treads. Kit, taking his foot off the gas, was surprised to feel the truck lunge forward, going from a standstill to sixty miles an hour in six seconds.
Kit barely had time to shield, close his eyes, and hope for the best.
Nita could only watch in horror as the Silverado slammed into the Mustang, smashing the hood of the Mustang in and instantly destroying the big block engine. Instantly, the hood began to reform, the engine to sputter, then to roar, and the Mustang was a shining, new vehicle again, but even more intent on the taste of blood than ever before.
The Silverado's engine roared again, and this time, it rolled straight over the Mustang, ripping the roof off and sending the dashboard flying everywhere.
The gas gauge landed at Nita's feet, and, terrified, she backed away from it, her gray eyes wide with fear.
Something in her head hissed, The gauge needle!
Nita looked at the gas gauge needle, and was just in time to see it move another quarter inch toward the empty mark as the gauge rolled back toward the car, and the Mustang began to reknit itself.
Kit, she hissed urgently through mindspeak. Keep hitting it. There's only so much it can take before it dies.
Kit's mind voice came back, clear but urgent. Do I have a choice? Help me, you idiot!
Nita managed a scared nod, and her eyes went wide with terror as the Mustang whirled and came at her. She sidestepped quickly, but not enough to avoid the right-side rearview mirror taking a good chunk out of her arm. Nita gasped with pain, clutching her arm, and, her glasses hanging askew, coordinated an immense blast of energy roughly equivalent to the force of a Peterbilt tractor and fully loaded trailer slamming into an object.
She squinted though her shattered glasses, then, coordinating the Mustang, sharply spoke the syllable of release. She reeled back, as if struck by a large blow, as she felt the energy drain out of her body and into the blast. She sank, shaking, to her knees, where she watched the energy ball streak toward the car with no little satisfaction.
The Mustang had no time to move before it was blown into about ninety little parts by the force of the impact.
Quivering with weariness and from loss of blood, Nita took the same spell, alternated the power guidelines, then fired another shot. It missed horribly.
Trembling and quivering weakly, Nita wiped the blood off her face, then fired off another shot, ripping the trunk and rear axle off the Mustang, fervently hoping that Kit would seize the opportunity to finish the Mustang off.
Kit did. Or, more correctly, it was the truck.
The Mustang crumpled and twisted as the Silverado hit it multiple times, intent on pounding the passenger side door straight through the driver's side door.
The gas gauge finally hit empty.
The Mustang glowed red, and a piercing shriek rent the air as the beaten, battered body of the old Ford, in pain, overthrew the command to kill, sending it screaming up into air, burning and disintegrating, showering down onto the forest floor in tiny ashes.
Nita staggered up from the ground, panting and throwing her arms around Kit as he came unsteadily over to her, blood streaming from a large gash on his forehead.
Kit hugged her back, and he noticed the large gash in Nita's arm. He winced, then took blood from his own forehead and wove it into a minor surgical spell for his friend. He applied it, and watched, satisfied, as Nita's skin reformed, the muscle strengthened itself, and her arm was whole again.
Nita gave him an even tighter hug, squeezing most of the air out of him, and only when he began to choke did she let go.
Massaging his throat, Kit managed to croak, "D'you get the feeling that that was only the beginning?"
Nita's eyes sparkled. "What? The hug? Or the Mustang?"
Kit laughed, watching the GT500 rebuild itself one last time, idle, then shut itself off, obedient to Nita and Kit's wills for the rest of its life.
"Both," he told her, slipping an arm around her waist. She didn't resist.