Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Pixar. All OCs belong to me.
Chapter 7 – Stabbed!
"Hey, loser! Cough up the money!"
With a weary sigh, I slammed my locker door closed before I turned to face my tormentors. I had found out the names of the three school bully trucks earlier that morning. They were, Larry (the semi), Darren (the crane) and Raider (the dump truck). It was my second day of school and, after my humiliating encounter with the bullies the day before, I was determined not to let them get the better of me for a second time. After all, I was supposed to be the tough street kid wherever I went.
"F*** You! You're not getting another cent out of me, Larry!" I retorted. "And, for the record, just because I've got lunch money, that doesn't make me a 'rich kid'. I've forgotten more about living on the streets than you'll ever know."
"And that's supposed to impress us?" Darren mocked.
"Having a tailfin bolted on doesn't make you one of us," Raider added, smirking when he saw my newest addition. "You're nothing more than a worthless little brat."
Darren swung his crane arm towards me but, determined not to get caught and hung upside-down again, I accelerated nimbly out of the way. Unfortunately, in my haste to get away from Darren, I clipped Raider's front left headlight, breaking the plastic cover.
"You f***ing son of a bitch!" Larry exclaimed.
At that moment, I felt something sharp strike me in the front of my right rear wheel well. Yelping in pain, I spun around. I heard a loud snap as I spun, causing the pain to momentarily increase. Larry and I stared at each other, stunned for a moment. My eyes widened when I saw a broken carving knife in his claw arm.
"You stabbed me!" I said, shocked.
Larry looked equally as shocked. However, before he could think of anything to say, a student who'd paused to watch us, called out, "Security's coming!"
Larry, Darren, and Raider took off down the hallway. Not wanting to get into trouble myself, I hurried across the hallway to the gents. Luckily, the bathroom was empty. I could feel warm oil starting to drip down inside my injured wheel well, so I quickly grabbed a wad of toilet paper. Using my claw arm, I pressed the paper against the wound. When I pulled it away, the wad of toilet paper was soaked with oil. The sight made me feel dizzy for a moment.
I can't let anyone know about this! If I report Larry, he'll just deny it was him, and he'll continue to bully me. Maybe he'll leave me alone now that I've stood up to him?
With renewed determination, I tossed the soaked wad of toilet paper into the bin. Then, after pulling a fresh wad of toilet paper out of the dispenser, I repeated the process. It took five wads pressed firmly against my wound for several minutes to finally stop the oil from bleeding out of me. Unfortunately, by then, lunch was almost over, so I returned to my locker to gather my books together for my next class. My stab wound had by that time settled down and become nothing worse than a dull throb. Having a high pain threshold, I knew I could put up with that without limping or showing any other signs that I'd been injured.
The bell rang just as I'd finished gathering the necessary books together. My stomach growled hungrily, but I ignored it. After all, I was used to skipping meals. Perhaps that was why I wasn't growing as rapidly as my peers.
Turning a corner in the hallway, I paused when I saw the school principal, Mrs Bumper, driving down the hallway in my direction. I quickly dropped my gaze before I attempted to drive past her without being noticed. Unfortunately, luck wasn't on my side.
"Oh, hello, Monty!" Mrs Bumper greeted me happily. "How are you settling in?"
Begrudgingly, I stopped. "Fine, I guess…"
Mrs Bumper moved to try and make eye contact with me. "Is everything all right? I know you were caught by security yesterday."
"I just lost track of time, that's all."
"Well, make sure that doesn't happen again. I'm glad to see you're on time today."
I merely nodded before I continued on my way to class. After all, I didn't want to get caught by security two days in a row.
…
After school, I made my way to the racetrack for my first official training session. Frank met me in pit row.
"Hey, kid. How was school?" he asked when he saw me.
"Not too bad," I replied casually. "I got my first assignments today."
Frank nodded. "Make sure you start them tonight. We can't let you fall behind in your studies, can we? Your foster father won't let you race otherwise."
"I know. So, what do you want me to do today?"
"Well, we know you have plenty of speed, so today I want to start building up your endurance. The best way to do that is to practice with ten slower laps, followed by a lap or two of sprinting. Keep doing that until you're exhausted, and then push through one more cycle. Over time, your endurance will increase. I'll talk you through the exercise today, okay?"
"Sure," I replied eagerly, bouncing around on my tyres. "I'm ready!"
"No, you're not. You need racing tyres first," Frank reminded me.
"Oh! Right. I'll, uh… I'll be back!"
A few minutes later, after having racing tyres bolted on, I drove out onto the track. Unlike yesterday, I ensured I'd completed my warm-up laps before I started the exercise. Frank monitored me from the pits. Since I didn't have a racing computer installed, he couldn't see what speed I was going at. However, he had enough experience to make an educated guess.
"Stay at a hundred miles an hour for now, Monty," Frank reminded me on my eighth lap. "I know you like to sprint, but if you want to make it to the Piston Cup Series one day, you need to learn to balance it with endurance."
Reluctantly, I reduced my speed. The sharp thirty-one-degree bank angle in the turns of the track aggravated my stab wound a little, but I did my best to ignore it.
It'll heal. Just focus on racing, I reminded myself.
"Okay, Monty," Frank said over the radio just as I was coming around turn three on my nineth lap. "Get ready to start sprinting... Now! Go, go, go, go!"
I accelerated out of turn four. Since Frank hadn't given me a maximum top speed for sprinting, I pushed myself hard. My speed increased to a hundred and sixty-five miles per hour before Frank ordered me to slow back down to a hundred.
We continued in this manner for about an hour. By then, the sun was starting to set, so the track's floodlights were turned on. Although I was tiring, I continued to push myself without complaining. I knew that I needed to do everything I could to be selected for the Junior Cup Series.
Finally, Frank ordered me to do a couple of warm-down laps before coming into the pits. When I returned to the pits a few minutes later, I saw Frank talking with Uncle Alan.
"…and so, there's not much more I can really teach Monty one-on-one," I heard Frank say. "He has natural speed and endurance, but he needs to be taught how to use both to his advantage during a race. I'd like to put him in a trial race next weekend, to see how he copes with being in a field of racers."
"Are you sure he's ready for that?" Uncle Alan asked worriedly.
Frank shrugged. "There's only one way to find out. Keep a close eye on his diet this week. I know kids of his age eat all sorts of junk. I'll do my part and keep working on increasing his endurance for the rest of the week."
"There's something about Monty that reminds me of someone…" Uncle Alan mused. "I'm sure it'll come to me one day soon. What do you think his racing style will be?"
"I'm not sure yet. A trial race will give me a better idea."
Seeing me approaching them, Frank and Uncle Alan broke off their conversation and they turned to face me.
"Good job, kid. I'll see you again tomorrow, same time?"
"Yeah," I agreed.
"Come on, Monty," Uncle Alan said. "Let's get you home. Frank tells me that you have assignments to work on for homework."
I rolled my eyes. "Can't I have dinner first? I'm starving!"
Uncle Alan and Frank both laughed.
"See?" Frank said to Uncle Alan. "The training is already increasing his metabolism!"
I pouted just as Uncle Alan gave me a gentle nudge. "I'd better feed him before he devours something he shouldn't! See you tomorrow, Frank."
"Yeah, see ya," Frank replied dismissively.
…
I managed to keep my stab wound hidden from Uncle Alan and Aunt Sarah until the following morning. My alarm clock woke me promptly at seven a.m. When I stretched, I immediately regretted it. My entire right-hand side ached and throbbed, while my engine felt as hot as it normally did after I'd been driving for several hours. Still, I knew that if I didn't get up quickly, my foster parents would come barging in to wake me.
With a pained groan, I started my engine and rolled off my sleeping mat. I drove slowly into the bathroom to shower and empty my bladder. Once I'd finished and, feeling a bit better, I drove downstairs to the kitchen.
"Morning Aunt Sarah," I greeted my foster mother with forced cheerfulness.
Aunt Sarah looked up from her breakfast. "Morning, Monty… What's that oil doing on the floor?"
"What oil?" Glancing behind me, I was shocked to see a trail of oil drops behind me. I realised that my shower must have opened my stab wound.
Aunt Sarah hurried over to me. "Monty, you haven't…leaked, have you?"
"Of course not!"
Aunt Sarah drove around me, trying to see where the oil was coming from. Her eyes widened when she saw more oil pooling in front of my right rear wheel.
"Monty, you're bleeding! You must have injured yourself. Stay still and let me take a look…"
Remembering that Aunt Sarah was a doctor, I spun my rear end away from her as quickly as I could. Unfortunately, one of my tyres slipped on a patch of my leaked oil, sending me sprawling onto my chassis. The heavy fall sent a stabbing bolt of pain from my wound racing throughout my entire body. Even more oil gushed out onto the floor, causing stars to dance before my eyes.
"I'm fine!" I insisted before groaning miserably.
Aunt Sarah scoffed. "Clearly, you're not fine. And Alan's just left for work…" She drove over to the landline phone, and I heard her phoning for an ambulance.
"No! Please… Don't call an ambulance…" I begged with increasing weakness. However, my oil loss had reached the point where I could no longer maintain consciousness, and a moment later, I finally passed out.
…
I didn't regain consciousness until many hours later, in the late afternoon. The first thing I was aware of was the steady, rhythmic beeping from a machine. As my senses slowly came back to me, I became increasingly aware that I was inside a hospital room. I could feel an I.V. needle stuck inside an oil line beneath my engine, and several sensor pads stuck to parts of my engine. Opening my eyes, I glanced around the room in a daze.
At first, all I saw was sterile white walls. Then, as my eyes began to focus, I saw two other teenage boys sharing the ward with me. It was the that panic set in, and I started to hyperventilate. My mind screamed at me, telling me that I was in danger and that I had to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Half-dazed, I started my engine and floored it. I bolted straight for the open doorway, dragging the monitoring machine and I.V. pole behind me. Naturally, the noise of crashing machine and the roar of my engine attracted immediate attention from the hospital staff. However, I was now in such a blind panic that I didn't even notice what I'd done. That was until the I.V. needle suddenly pulled out of me. I yelped from the sharp sting it caused.
As I continued racing down the hallway, I barely noticed that the machine had stopped crashing behind me. That was because the connections had snapped, setting me free of it.
Some distance down the hallway, I saw about five security guards parked in front of a pair of swinging doors. I slammed my brakes on hard, skidding to a stop. Given my long history with the police force, I didn't like security guards either. I spun around, hoping to find another way to escape. However, I was shocked to see that a large number of doctors and nurses had been following me. I was trapped.
"It's okay," one of the nurses, a forklift, said kindly when she saw just how terrified I was. "Nobody's going to hurt you." She drove slowly towards me.
"Get away from me!" I screamed. I reversed towards the wall, trying to weigh up my options.
"Monty?" a familiar voice called. The crowd of medical staff parted, and Aunt Sarah made her way slowly towards me.
Relieved, I rushed over to Aunt Sarah, and I snuggled up next to her side. As my panic attack started to subside, I began to cry.
"What's going on, Aunt Sarah?" I asked her through my tears and sniffles. "Why am I in hospital?"
Aunt Sarah didn't answer me. Instead, she looked up at the crowd of vehicles surrounding us. "It's okay, everyone. I can take care of things from here. He's just suffered a severe panic attack."
Seeing that I was starting to calm down, the crowd dispersed. Some of the nurses set about cleaning up the mess I'd made.
"Let's go to my office, Monty," Aunt Sarah said kindly. "I'll explain everything to you there."
A few minutes later, I found myself parked on the hydraulic examination lift in Aunt Sarah's doctor's office. She gently removed the broken remains of the sensor pads from my engine bay. I looked up at the clock above the desk. It read five-fifteen pm.
"I'm late for training!" I wailed, and I tensed up.
Aunt Sarah gave a longsuffering sigh. "You're not going to training today, and probably not for the rest of the week."
"Why not?"
"Because, Monty, you've been badly injured, and you've got a mild fever," Aunt Sarah explained. "After you passed out this morning, the paramedics arrived. They managed to stabilise you before they brought you here. The doctors were able to stitch your wound closed, and then they gave you a complete oil change. They want to keep you here overnight for monitoring."
"Do I have to?" I whined.
"Yes, you do," Aunt Sarah replied firmly. "And given what's just happened, I think it'll be best if I give you a sedative before I leave tonight."
I whimpered miserably. "But I'm feeling so much better!"
Aunt Sarah ignored me. Instead, she held up a clear plastic medical bag in her claw arm. Inside it was a five-inch tip from a knife blade. I gulped when I saw it.
"The doctor who cleaned up your wound found this inside you. It was quite deep, which explains why an infection had started, and why you lost so much oil. Anyway, you don't have to explain how it got there to me…"
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
"…You can explain it to Adrian tomorrow morning," Aunt Sarah finished sternly.
"Adrian's coming here? But…"
"Given the nature of your injury, we had no choice but to report it to CPS. I hope you'll be prepared to answer all his questions honestly, because if you don't…" Aunt Sarah sighed sadly. "…You might be taken out of our care."
I gulped worriedly. Now I was in a pickle. If I didn't tell Adrian what happened, I'd probably get placed in yet another foster home. However, if I did tell him, the bullies would most likely come down on me three times as hard. I didn't know which option was worse.
While I was weighing up my options, Aunt Sarah put on her stethoscope, and she started listening to my heart, lungs, and stomach. When she'd finished, she made a few notes on my chart.
"Okay, Monty. Let's get you back to your ward now. I'll sedate you after you've had something to eat."
"It's okay, Aunt Sarah. I don't need to be sedated. I promise I'll behave."
"I'll be the judge of that. Come along now."
Reluctantly, I followed Aunt Sarah back to the ward I'd bolted from earlier. The nurses were just replacing the machine I'd damaged. They frowned at me crossly when they saw me.
"Do you have any idea how much damage you did here, kid?" one of them scolded.
"It's okay, Mary," Aunt Sarah said. "I'll take care of it. Monty's sorry for what he did. He just got scared and panicked. It happens."
The nurses left in a huff. Aunt Sarah ensured I was settled on my mat before she set about reconnecting me to the monitoring machine. I yawned sleepily.
"It looks like you've worn yourself out," Aunt Sarah soothed. She gave my side a gentle rub. "Go to sleep. I'll look after you."
"What about dinner?" I asked wearily. I never heard Aunt Sarah's reply though, because I promptly fell into a deep, healing sleep.