Gloved hands gripped the rubber wrapped steering wheel whilst intense eyes stared out at the well-lit track in front of the car and the idling shapes of the competition. Adrenaline fueled anticipation built up inside his system as the low growl of the engines vibrated the air around him. Outside his field of view, a muffled voice echoed above the din of an excited crowd packed into the stands spanning the length of the first and final stretch on either end of the starting line.

Rookie sensation Donald Davis rested easy in the seat of an '87 Buick Grand National, it's body painted green and blue and bedecked in a constellation of high profile sponsors. This was the 1987 Winston Cup, held at the Alabama International Motor Speedway; there were many celebrated drivers on the grid with him tonight, but he was by far the crowd favorite.

The NASCAR official raised the flag, in his mind Donny began the countdown. The flag waved down and his world became a din of screeching tires and roaring engines.

Around and around they went, Donny's Buick spat flames from the exhaust as it overtook one opponent after another, none of them coming even close to matching his car or the driver handling it. He could hear the crowd outside the vehicle cheer his name, his number, his title. On this track, he was a god.

Donny was midway into the eighteenth lap when his crew chief's voice crackled through his helmet, worry tinging his voice.

"Donny, we have a situation. The pace car is on the track, it's heading right for you."

Sure enough, on the other side of the loop, Donny could spot the sleek silver '87 corvette with it's flashing yellow light bar speeding down the track in the wrong direction.

When the pace car took out the lead racer, Donny's heart stopped in his chest. A massive fireball bloomed out over the track ahead of him, and the pace car – tires trailing the flames of it's victim – barreled through like a freight train, promptly taking down the unfortunate vehicle right next to him. A charred helmet bounced off his windshield.

"Holy shit!" Donny cried out, swerving to avoid the lead car's burning hulk.

"Sorry, Donny NASCAR's ratings have been falling a bit lately so they changed the rules… they told us not to tell you, sorry." The chief explained sadly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! I'm going into the pit!"

"Pit's closed Donny, the suits don't want anyone getting out. You have to win the race!"

The pace car was making another run on the racers. Donny sacrificed his position, slowing down to let other racers pull on ahead of him to provide a barrier between him and the ironically hazardous safety vehicle. Three racers were obliterated in the blink of an eye, the corvette plowing through them like a cannon ball through horse cavalry.

He fought to keep his vehicle steady as he weaved through the wreckage and the fires, other cars were not so lucky. Number 56 was aflame and it's panicked driver was swerving out of control, Donny passed the immolated race car, his mind too transfixed on his own fortunes to spare a thought for the man who was likely burning alive.

"Damn it! Tell them to stop the race! People are dying out here!"

"I know, can't you hear the crowd going nuts?"

No, no, no! This is not the way he wanted this to happen! It wasn't supposed to be this way!

The pace car was just up ahead, and he knew that it was gunning for him now. He veered left to throw off the maniac's aim, then right as the corvette matched his movements. Donny gritted his teeth in panic as the pace car's headlamps blinded him, it was going to get him! It-

Donald

Donald "Donny" Davis rose out of bed like a dead man crawling from his grave. The morning light stung his eyes through the gaps in the blinders covering the bedroom window, illuminating the racing posters spread across the wall. To his side, a head of long dark hair was turned away from him, groaning tiredly as he shifted under the covers. Never a morning person, Donny blinked away the pain creeping from behind his eyeballs as he searched for something to wear. His eyes fell on his bedroom mirror. A well muscled, square-jawed Caucasian of twenty-three with a bedraggled bush of sandy blonde hair stared tiredly back at him. He wasn't given much time to dwell on his unkempt appearance before his partner swung a pair of long tanned legs over the side of the bed and stood to join him in his task.

"Those aren't yours, they're mine," she groused, snatching a pair of red panties out of his hand.

"Just trying to be courteous," he chuckled tiredly while slipping into a pair of worn jeans.

Autumn Matthews, a friend with benefits he had kept in touch with out of high school; not just for her looks but for her impressive talent for all things mechanical, cars specifically. He had originally asked her over to take a look under his Mazda's hood, then they moved on to dinner, and then a little something extra to wrap up a great evening.

Pulling on a gray t-shirt with the Pontiac logo printed on the front, Donny left Autumn to it while he left his bedroom and stepped into the living room. Donny's home wasn't overly large, but it was comfortable and sat on a respectably sized property in Mill Valley a little ways northwest of Sausalito.

He set about preparing breakfast, coffee and eggs; the easiest and quickest things in the world to make. He heard the shower turn on in the bathroom and knew he wouldn't be using it for a while, so he took his time. He finished the eggs before the coffee, so while scarfing down his plate he decided to pop on the television.

The television flickered on and with it the morning news. A moderately hot reporter was looking quite excited; some distance behind her, police cars and several Army Humvees accompanied by heavily armed soldiers provided a formidable front against curious intruders. The doors of the Hummers were all marked with a pair of plain black characters; S-7. Like that wasn't shady as hell.

"… I am standing outside Pier Ten where last night what could only be described as an armed skirmish broke out. Witnesses describe seeing explosions, hearing gunfire, and at least one account of a military helicopter being spotted hovering over the harbor during the disturbance. The site has been closed down by both the Police and an as yet unidentified military unit..."

Sounds like something exciting went down last night.

The coffee finished brewing and he poured himself a mug, taking it black. He continued to watch the newscast, it went on to discuss the possibility of a terrorist attack or gang warfare, one weirdo even said something about giant robots. He wasn't taken seriously. Since the Army was involved, Donny briefly wondered if his father had any inkling of what was going on.

Donny downed the rest of his coffee, after a few minutes he felt some of his humanity return to him as the caffeine worked it's wonders. He heard the front door close, and knew that Autumn was now out of the house, leaving him all alone again. Looking at the clock, Patrick and Jonathan wouldn't be showing up for another hour; he should probably be getting his cars ready.

There were two cars in his garage. In the right space was his trusty black 1977 GMC Sierra 2500 pickup, a sturdy beast that he used for his day job at the shop. And in the left spot was his pride and joy, a 1985 Mazda RX-7 colored white with red racing stripes, this he used for his greatest pleasure in life; amateur racing.

At the end of every month, he would take the Mazda down to the track and race like minded people for fun and sometimes profit. Last month however, something truly miraculous had happened after he had thoroughly trounced the competition.

After coming off the high of his victory, he had been approached by a man in a shiny suit. His name was Jason Donahue, he was a dealership owner that operated properties both here in Sauselto, one in San Francisco and another all the way down in Pasadena. His business sponsored a wide variety of events at Laguna Seca down south, and he was so impressed by Donny's driving he had invited him to bring his car to partake in the latest event happening today.

Donny, both overwhelmed and honored had immediately accepted. This was a golden opportunity to build his credibility as a driver, another step towards his ultimate ambition; to race professionally.

The Mazda wasn't exactly fit for driving all the way to the track, that was where his Sierra came in, he had a flatbed trailer sitting next to his garage. Opening both doors, he started off by taking the pickup out first. The engine came to life with a deep growl, and the truck rolled out into the warm Summer sun like a bear from it's cave.

Sliding a mixtape into his Walkman, he then busied himself hitching the trailer to the Sierra.

'When I die and they lay me to rest'

'Gonna go to the place that's the best'

'When I lay me down to die'

'Goin' up to the spirit in the sky'

After the trailer was secured to the Sierra's hitch, Donny lowered the trailer's reinforced ramp and got into the Mazda. His RX-7 had been carefully modified for the task he had bought it for; it came complete with a three point safety belt, a roll cage, and a custom dash. Turning the key, the import car's eight cylinder engine hummed smoothly to life.

Donny grinned as he steadily guided the sleek two-door up the steel track ramp onto the flat bed before shifting into park and turning off the engine. Ten minutes later, his buddies finally arrived.

Two cars pulled into his driveway, both a stark contrast to one another. The first one was a beautiful yellow Lamborghini Urraco, the other was a slightly dated Honda Civic with fading brown paint.

Patrick Whittle was a world class hoarder and an artist when it came to modifying vehicles. The man was overweight, close to obese, with a prominent pot belly. He was fairly boring past those points. He loved to talk about food, watch cooking shows, but he couldn't cook anything himself and subsisted mainly off McDonalds and Chinese takeout.

Very emotional though, kinda like he belonged in a reality show.

Patrick liked collecting things. Spare car parts, autographs, movies, music cassettes, and other things he got at a bargain. Whenever the swap meet organized in town, he'd go from stall to stall and grab… whatever the hell they were selling, no matter how useless or tacky. And every year, his place would be filled closer to being uninhabitable as his piles of junk just lay there collecting dust.

Jonathan Reeves was a fellow member of Donny's auto club and no slouch behind the wheel himself. Jonathan was rather on the short side at five foot eight, and wasn't near as muscular as Donny.

Both of Jonathan's parents were into banking, and their investments had enabled their son to grow up in a fairly affluent environment. In fact, that Lambo wasn't even used in his races, the man also owned a powerful Nissan 300zx.

He had not thought much of the guy when they first met two years ago, the man had come off as just another rich kid with no idea what he was doing, that was until Jonathan managed to snatch a win away from Donny right before the finish line two years ago. It started as mutual respect, but eventually grew into a tight friendship that both young men reveled in.

Greeting his friends warmly, Donny invited them into his home.

"Feeling nervous?" Jonathan asked, pouring himself some coffee.

"Who wouldn't be?" Donny admitted, sparing his friends his usual front of bravado for once, "I mean, this is my first real chance to stand out and be noticed. Some very important people keep an eye on races at Laguna Seca, I need to put on a good showing for them."

"I've seen you drive," Jonathan said, sipping his mug, "You'll be fine."

Of course, it was not mentioned that if things went sour, he would probably not get a chance to return to Laguna Seca for a good long while.

"I noticed you are taking the Lambo out for once," Donny mentioned, breaking up the silence.

Jonathan's Lamborghini was a cruel bitch to maintain. Early Italian sports cars were apparently made of tinfoil and held together by chewing gum, it aged poorly and required constant restoration work to keep in mint condition. Jonathan had spent so much time working on his Urraco, spilled so much of his sweat and blood into it's upkeep, the car was basically a relative at this point. The Urraco spent most of it's time sitting in it's own little garage.

"Felt like a good enough occasion to stretch the old girl's legs," Jonathan replied, "I didn't spend all that time restoring her from scrap just to let her stand around looking pretty. Besides, my other girl is already on her way ahead of us."

Jonathan did not tow his own car, he was wealthy enough to hire others to do it for him.

They heard the toilet flush and a few moments later, Patrick waddled out to grab his own coffee. "You mind I grab a bite for the road?"

"Help yourself," Donny answered, "Just don't touch my leftovers."

"Thanks, you want me to take a look at your car before we set out?" Patrick asked as he opened the fridge.

"Nah, I already called Autumn over last night to take a look at it."

Both of his friends paused and Jonathan shot him a slightly disapproving look. Donny had a girlfriend, Holly Woodsworth, who he had been going steady with since his second year at UC Berkeley, it was no secret to them that Donny had been seeing other women on the side in the years since. Jonathan already had a fiance that he was marrying next year, and had been pressuring Donny to confess the truth to Holly and release her from their farce of a relationship.

"Really Donny?"

With those two words, Donny was immediately in defense mode, "Let's not get into it, not today."

Jonathan grimaced before setting his coffee on a coaster, this had always been a sour point in their friendship, and he could already tell this would not end happily for Donny.

"Fine, we should probably hit the road now while the traffic is good."

It was roughly a three hour plus drive from Mill Valley to Laguna Seca, so they were setting out early. Donny stepped into the Sierra and started the engine, taking in the comforting growl as he shifted into gear. The sexy smooth whine of the classic Lamborghini sounded out soon after, followed by the generic puttering of the Honda.

Donny led the three out of the driveway and past the scornful looks of his elderly next door neighbors, and through the clean narrow roads of Mill Valley's suburbs, every so often he glanced backward to make sure his Mazda was still sitting on the flatbed.

Turning onto route 101, the small convoy drove onward – passing by Sauselito and it's rich neighborhoods until the city of San Francisco appeared over the treeline, sitting picturesque across the Bay, a few minutes later Donny caught sight of the Golden Gate Bridge; American landmark, California's most popular suicide venue, and all-around beautiful piece of engineering. When they reached the bridge, Donny took note of a vehicle rushing up through the left lane.

It was a dandelion yellow '77 Chevy Camaro with black racing stripes. Always one to appreciate quality American-made muscle, Donny kept an eye on it in his mirror. Whoever was driving it clearly had no respect for the rules of the road, the Camaro was weaving through traffic without turn signals and was driving well over the speed limit, as the Chevy came up alongside him, he looked to his side and saw…

… nobody at the steering wheel.

When the driverless Camaro cheekily honked it's horn, Donny choked on his own spit. The yellow car then overtook his Sierra, revving it's engine flauntingly as it sped away from him. Donny stared out at the road in front of him, his brain stalled out.

When they stopped for gas and to piss out the morning coffee, Donny brought it up.

"Did you guys see that yellow Camaro on the Golden Gate?" Donny asked his two friends, unsure of himself.

"Yeah," Jonathan confirmed.

"Sorry, what Camaro?" Patrick asked.

"The one that was driving all over the place, 1977 model, black racing stripes," Jonathan explained to him.

"Wasn't paying that much attention," Patrick explained.

"Nobody was behind the wheel," Donny said, somewhat shakily, "The car was driving itself."

The two gazed at him, Jonathan was amused, "I think you have been watching too many movies, besides Christine was a Plymouth, not a Chevy."

"I know what I saw," Donny defended, "There was something up with that car."

Neither Jonathan or Patrick believed him, so Donny chose to drop it.

The encounter with 'Satan's Camaro' stuck with Donny all the way to Laguna Seca. He had seen odd shit before, but cars driving themselves was a completely new brand of crazy for him. What the Hell was driving that thing? An evil spirit? Computers? Did he just hallucinate the entire thing?

When they eventually pulled into the prestigious track, Donny saw to the unloading of his car and registered himself into the upcoming heat. Jonathan's impressive red white and blue '85 Nissan 300zx had already been rolled out, ready to be placed on the grid. To pass time, he stepped out onto the grandstands to watch the heat already in progress.

Donny glanced at the pit on the other side of the track, he spotted the pace car sitting peacefully off to the side. Though it didn't look like the one in his dream, his unsettled mind wondered if it might pull a Christine and assassinate him during the race. After all, cars can apparently drive themselves these days.

"Mister Davis!" A charming voice called out. Donny turned around to see Jason Donahue approaching him. The middle aged man was wearing another of his ridiculously expensive tailored suits with a red power tie, his oiled comb over was putting up a valiant – but losing – fight against the strong Summer winds blasting over the track. Next to him was… is that a talent scout? Donny's bravado returned with full force, and gave Mr. Donahue a thousand dollar smile.

"Mr. Donahue!" He greeted, holding his hand out for a shake which the older man enthusiastically accepted. Donny casually turned the charm up to eleven and spoke with upbeat confidence, "Thank you for inviting me here sir, it's a real honor!"

The businessman gave a wry chuckle, "Think nothing of it son, I got an eye for talent and I believe you will give us an afternoon to remember for years to come! Mister Davis, I would like you to meet Alan Sharpener, he took the '77, and '79 SECA championships in his day!"

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Sharpener," Donny grinned, holding his hand out to the man he really wanted to please.

"The pleasure is all mine, kid," Sharpener smiled knowingly, "Jason would not stop talking about a hotshot he picked up out in the boonies; I understand you already have a few wins under your belt?"

"Four so far, working on the fifth presently," Donny confirmed.

"Ha, ha! That's the spirit," Jason barked, "You are starting to remind me of Alan here back in the-"

"Donny! There you are!" A stone dropped in Donny's gut as he turned to see his parents and younger twin sisters coming for him.

"Ah, I see. We won't take up any more of your time Mister Davis," Mr. Donahue winked, Mr. Sharpener nodded and left with him. 'No! NO! You can have my time! Take all of it!' But it was too late, Donahue and his very important friend were already walking away.

A frown crossing his face, Donny turned to lay his eyes back on his family. 'Damn it! They are not going to cost me my chance to go pro!' They were always doing this, always getting in the way. They might have meant well, but he could not afford to be held back from destiny.

"Hey," he greeted neutrally. His father raised an eyebrow at the cold reception, but his mother powered on, not noticing the coldness in her son's eyes.

Trudy Davis, proud mother of three, swept her eldest into a hug that he did not return. He was stiff as a board.

"We came here to watch your race!" She gushed, "Mr. Donahue sent us the tickets, and your father and I decided to make it into a family outing!"

"I see," Donny replied, trying to get his temper under control. At this point, Trudy realized there was something off about her son's demeanor.

"Is everything alright Donny?" she asked, her excitement ebbing slightly.

"Everything is fine," he answered blankly, "Now if you excuse me, I've got a heat to win."

Mr. Davis

General Roger Davis, father of three, watched his only son stalk away with his back still rigid with pent up emotion. His wife returned to him, looking confused and a little disheartened. He put an arm around her in reassurance.

"Why is Donny so boring today?" Kelly asked. Both of his daughters idolized their older sibling, even though they did not get to see him much between him going to college when they were growing up and now living out on his own. They were enamored with his exciting and risky lifestyle, and did not easily perceive the divide that had grown between Donald and the rest of the family.

"Donny is just focused on his race honey," Roger assured her, Susan had a more penseive expression on her face, she had always been faster on reading into things than Kelly had been.

"Will he be all right?" Trudy asked, her worry showing through.

"Donald will be fine, we'll sort things out with him after he finishes his race."

Roger had never wanted his son to engage in motorsports; there were few activities more pointlessly dangerous in his opinion. He had already lost his father and uncle to the second World War, and was not eager to know the pain of losing his firstborn, especially to something so stupid.

But for once, just this once he had brought himself over to see things from Donny's perspective. It did not take long for him to realize that his son's perspective was skewed like all hell, like a man who did not know his priorities in life.

He partially blamed himself, Roger had turned Donnie away from the military, not wanting him to get mixed up in the pointless wars like he had been back in Vietnam. He couldn't help but feel that the Army might have given Donny the structure and discipline that he was lacking in today.

Roger had brought his wife and girls here to show his son that they still stood by him, despite their differences. And also, because this was probably going to be the last time they would be able to support him like this for a while. He had gotten a call last night that promised to completely ruin his week.

The Secretary of Defense had given the call for all domestic commands to move to DEFCON 3, and to standby for a possible escalation to DEFCON 2. The reasons for the escalation were murky at best, but word from the grapevine was that Sector Seven was involved, and the incident at the harbor last night had something to do with it. He would find out everything at the staff meeting tomorrow.

But until then, he would spend the day with his family; and watch his son fight for his dream.

Donald

Donny's heat had been exciting but uneventful. Eight laps around the track with six other cars, in the end he had earned his position in the main event.

Thankfully, he didn't have to see his family again, he was able to camp out in his car until he was given the go ahead to put his car back on the track.

His Mazda was sitting snugly among a grid of other relatively new import cars, all of them modern vehicles of the highest sporting caliber. Donny's car was lined up close to the back, all the better for him to put on a better show.

The race official stepped onto the track after a few minutes and pointed his wrapped flag at the racers. Donny recognized it as the signal for the drivers to enter their cars and start their engines, Donny did not need further encouragement. Donny's eight cylinder engine joined the droning cacophony that washed over the track. The official raised the flag high, prompting Donny and the other drivers to raise their hands out of their cars to indicate their readiness. With a dramatic flare, the green flag whipped down and he stepped out of the way as the combined power of a million horses was unleashed upon the tarmac. The field of cars immediately began to spread out as differences in horsepower began making their tells, Donny was bringing up the rear, his focus bent on bringing his Mazda into the first position.

Flying over the first corner, and sliding down through a tight left hair-pin, Donnie expertly handled his turns, taking advantage of other driver's need to break on turns and passing them on the outside.

Donny was in his element, more importantly he was living his dream. Rushing down the straight, Donny overtook another Mazda RX-7, swerving on the inside of the fourth turn to leave the competitor in the dust. He turned down the power as the race went uphill before dropping down abruptly as he pulled through Laguna Seca's famous Corkscrew. Donny handled the blind decent with ease, though his heart hammered. It was a different experience reading about it and seeing the pictures than actually driving it. His heart hammered as he began the second lap.

Up ahead he could see Jonathan's distinctively colored Nissan. His friend was also doing very well, having moved up two positions since the race began. But the race was still young, and he could afford to cruise a little bit and wait for the competition to make mistakes.

As the race wore on and it came to the last couple laps, Donny made his move. Having sneaked up to fifth position, he had Jonathan square in his sights. Taking a powerslide down the next turn, he slammed down on the gas, shifting the gear down and downshifting again for a burst of power. Jonathan must have noticed him suddenly gaining on him because he was also accelerating. Both Japanese imports braked as they hit the corkscrew, taking the turn as carefully as they could without smashing into the outside wall. Donny grinned, he was right behind him now. When the next hairpin came up, Donny pressured Jonathan into braking too late allowing his Mazda to overtake him on the inside turn.

The race was in it's final lap. And it was here, Donny's luck failed him.

In second position, a red and white '87 BMW M3 was having trouble. The driver could see smoke coming from the hood of his vehicle and was growing increasingly concerned. His distraction caused him to botch a corner, the BMW's wheels rolled into the dirt, kicking up a large cloud of dust behind the race car. Dismayed and a little panicked, the driver stepped on the brakes without thinking. Meanwhile, right behind him, Donnie's Mazda RX-7 was coming in at over a hundred miles per hour. Donnie could not see the other car through the dust cloud, and drove straight into it without slowing down.

Before Donny knew what was happening, he was pushed into the straps of his three-point safety harness and the Mazda was airborne and somersaulting. He had enough time to see the dirt outside of the track facing the front of the car as it nosed over, and knew that this was going to hurt.

Back in the grandstands, Trudy Davis screamed in horror as she watched her son's vehicle roll violently off the track, throwing pieces of wreckage in all directions. Roger Davis could only watch as his worst nightmare was made real before his widened yes.

In position five, Jonathan Reeves saw his friend's vehicle spin like a top towards the fence, and on instinct turned his vehicle off the track and after the wrecked Mazda.

The race car slammed into the earth, throwing Donny into his three point restraints, the door and the seat, his neck screamed in pain, he cried out in fear. He briefly saw the sky again, then saw the fence pass underneath him.

As quickly as it happened, it was over. The Mazda was upside down, there was something sticking through the windshield. Donny could feel a piercing coldness in his gut, and his hand numbly grasped at the affected area only to find a long length of something poking him there.

His hand came away and he found his white gloves stained red. It was at that moment, the coldness began to overtake the rest of his body.

"Donny? Donny! Are you okay?"

He tried to answer, but the only thing to escape his lips was a ragged cough, he could taste copper in his mouth. Trails of red were now streaming down the length of the metal spar lanced through his windshield.

"Oh… crap," he said hoarsely, looks like those were going to be his last words. He was feeling very tired now. Darkness tugged the corners of his vision and he found himself unwillingly letting go.

"Oh my God… Donny!"

There were people standing outside the car, he thought he could see Jonathan's face, pale as a rice sheet screaming at him, desperation written in his eyes.

"DONNY!"

He could not answer him, he could not-

Author's Note: Not sure if this is my best work. Action sequences are difficult for me. Reviews are welcome.