Chapter 4
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Got a head on collision
Smashin' in my guts, man
I'm caught in a cross fire
That I don't understand
~Bruce Springsteen, Badlands
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Lightning knew, long before anything so catastrophic as this had happened, that Chick was a real jerk.
So he supposed he shouldn't be so stupid as to get all surprised about it. Surprised that Chick had turned tail, leaving him alone and helpless in the middle of nowhere, with no fuel and no clue as to how to get back home.
Piston Cup be damned, he wasn't going to let this one slide with Chick Hicks.
Lightning stared about the vast surroundings, making tiny mental notes; like how best he might extract his revenge on Chick if...when he got home. Maybe pull out the sorry stock car's innards, maybe pierce a tire on the track. It would only be fair when it came to racing Chick.
"Oh yes, revenge is gonna be sweet," Lightning said aloud, if only to try and comfort his dismal predicament. He was painfully aware of his scratched paintwork; all courtesy of Chick, of course. And his hurting tires. And the unspeakable pang which had hit his engine, somehow causing him to halt in his tire tracks.
Chick was right; Lightning really could have used Doc's help right now.
Lightning's eyes drooped, and though he knew he could afford anything but sleep at this moment, he couldn't help it. He was tired and felt ill, and the sun splitting over his hood only helped lull him into a light, much needed slumber.
He dreamt of Sally, being back at Radiator Springs, and then of Chick; who looked, for some reason, quite distressed.
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Chick was distressed.
He had good reason to be, as well.
He couldn't believe he hadn't spotted the two bikers in the orange glowing horizon of midday. And now he had, it was far too late to make any grand presumptions of escape. He knew he was as good as captured, even as he floored the remaining fuel residing in his mistreated engine.
As he growled along the dirty ground, the motorbikes engines gradually closed in; an angry roar of sound which easily cowed Chick into braking.
He wasn't so proud, nor so stupid as to keep up a losing race.
Not when there were no whooping spectators to watch, anyway.
He veered round and faced his car‑nappers with defeat.
"Okay, you got me, boys. Now what's the deal?"
The two motorbikes were large and chunky, both equipped with boosters, and unnecessarily flashy accessories. Their headlight eyes were narrow and snake‑like as they stared at Chick, and their mouths were set in thin leers.
Chick wasn't one to show fear with ease, but right now his gut was churning dread. And he was positive the feeling had extended onto his face.
"Boys," he repeated, clearing his throat, "What do you want with me?" he watched through wide eyes as one of the bikes rolled wordlessly to his rear, in case he might still attempt an escape, probably.
The other biker spoke; "where's the other car? The red one?"
Chick had not paid Lightning McQueen much thought. No other reason, only that thinking about an abandoned McQueen gave him a mixture of spiteful satisfaction and, bizarrely, some strange sort of guilt.
Chick wasn't very accustomed to that feeling; so he had thought it best to block such causes for it out of his mind altogether. That cause being Lightning McQueen of course.
Now, when he blinked at the questioning biker, he pretended he was bored. "Lightning McQueen? How the hell am I supposed to know where he is?"
The biker nodded shortly, as though expecting the answer. Then his face hardened; "Well, seeing as you and he escaped together, I would have thought you'd be the best car to ask, is all," there was obvious menace in his voice.
"We got split up," Chick replied cooly. It was not entirely untrue, after all.
"We know that," the biker spat, impatient, "so you're telling me you've spent the better part of this day on your own?"
"Yeah. I'm a big boy.. I can take care of myself, y'know."
"Nice to hear," the biker at Chick's rear sounded darkly amused, "then you should have no problem coming back with us, quietly, on your own,"
Chick turned slightly, raising his bruised windshield at the biker with false intrigue.
"Why? We having a party?"
The bike smirked. "Something like that,"
The other bike veered round, studying Chick critically. "So, when you were out here, all alone, how did you manage to get so trashed? Crash into an invisible wall, did we?"
"I'm not trashed," Chick heard himself say in a scandalised voice, before he could stop himself. "I'm perfectly okay."
He felt foolish when the two biker's laughed about him. And then he felt that familiar rage for Lightning McQueen;
"It was that moron, McQueen!" he snapped, "he did this,"
The two bikers' laughs were quelled back into interest.
"So you do know where your friend is?"
Chick snorted. "Friend? Yeah, right." he looked between the two bikers; "yeah, I know where he is."
"So you'll take us to him, right?"
Chick felt uncomfortable, but the telling strain of his engine and his tired, battered body easily told him he was at a loose end. He could do little more than cooperate with these bikers, despite what he wanted to do to the contrary. Which was to get the hell out of here and get back to his familiar looking pit crew, chief and all general buzz associated with his beloved Piston Cup final.
"Okay. I'll take you to the stupid rookie."
And he did, as far as he could remember he had travelled. They reached the gleaming red of Lightning McQueen in less than half an hour, and for the entire journey Chick felt a bunch of weird feelings mixing about his insides.
He hadn't really wanted to lead these bikers back to McQueen. No more than he had wanted them to spot him in the first place.
But what was done was done.
He thought perhaps McQueen might understand the uncompromising situation he'd been placed in; that he'd really had no choice on the matter.
The curled lip and narrowed eyes on Lightning McQueen's face told Chick otherwise.
"What's this? You've joined them?" Lightning was glaring at the two bikers with indignation. Then he turned to face Chick, furious, "You...you did have something to do with this, didn't you? You‑you were behind it all along!"
Chick rolled his eyes. Clearly Mc‑drama‑Queen had been out roasting in the sun too long. "It's not like that, McQueen."
"Right," Lightning was fiercely unconvinced, "it's looking pretty suspicious to me, Chick." the red car made to roll forwards, towards Chick, but was cut off by his own pained groan. The two biker's laughed in amusement at the sight.
Chick looked at them coldly, before turning back to McQueen. "No, you got it wrong, McQueen. These jerks caught me. I couldn't get away. You know I nearly bust my tires earlier‑"
"And bust tires somehow made your mouth tell them where I was?" Lightning looked resigned, disappointed, even. "You coulda gone to the next stop off, like those road cars told us. Then called for help. Use what's left of your manic brain, Chick..."
"Hey, watch your mouth, rookie!" Chick growled, rolling forwards.
"Road cars?" one of the bikers spoke up, looking interested. "So you've been in contact with other cars, then,"
"Maybe," Lightning said, "what's it to you, anyway? And what's with capturing me in the first place?" he looked back at Chick, as though expecting him to give a full and elaborate answer.
Chick sighed his annoyance. "I already told you, McQueen. I don't have anything to do with this! Any of it!"
"Then why did you leave me?!"
Chick opened his mouth to respond, before realising he didn't really have much in way of a comeback. What was he going to do; beg McQueen's forgiveness? Confess he'd been a bit of a jerk and feign an apology?
No way.
He clamped his mouth shut, and was saved any further awkwardness by the advancing of one of the bikers. It drove behind Lightning and shoved him roughly forwards without warning. Even Chick was a little startled by it.
"Ow‑hey!" Lightning yelped, "What...whatta you doing!"
"Get moving," the biker said gruffly. "We can't hang about here all day, waiting for you two to sort out any precious tiffs you might be having. We gotta get you back to base,"
"Base? ‑what‑what are you talking about?" Lightning was struggling against the push of the bike; Chick could see the desperate scrambling of the rookie's tires, trying to dig deep against the dirt. "I'm not going to any base! You can't make me!"
"Is that so‑"
"He really can't," Chick interjected calmly. And both bikers and Lightning blinked at Chick. "He's busted his engine. I had a quick look earlier. He's not movin anywhere, boys." despite everything, Chick allowed himself a smug smile. He liked to see all expressions of interest directed at him, and him only at the best of times. And the worst, so it seemed.
"Well that's a shame," one biker said in a plastically concerned voice. He turned a nasty face back to Lightning. "Guess we'll be pushing you the whole way then, won't we?"
Lightning's eyes widened, and he looked reviled. "I won't have you...you weirdos pushing me to whatever place you're planning on taking me!"
The rookie was panicking ridiculously, and Chick felt it appropriate to interrupt; "Look at it this way, McQueen. We can't get‑"
"You," Lightning was glaring at him now, "if you'd have just stopped and helped we might have got away from these guys...I coulda been at the Piston Cup now! But you had to go and be a total jerk, and leave me...and now..."
Chick opened to his mouth to argue, but at the same time was hit by an extraordinary explosion of white hot pain in his left side.
He turned, feeling dizzy, to see one of the biker's panting, but he was grinning as he did. And then Chick strained his eyes to his side and saw a nasty, great dent pressed into him; thick smoke accompanying it.
For a moment he was furious at himself for not being more guarded around these bikers. But upon catching Lightning McQueen's recoiled and horror‑stricken face, he was a thousand times more furious at the rookie.
And before he passed out, he blamed everything that had led up to this agonising pain on Lightning McQueen.
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Lightning was stunned, frozen to the spot.
Not that he could really move much anyway. The terrible biker pushing his behind more than made that slight disability clear. But still, he could only stare as Chick was dragged alongside him by the other burly biker; the green car trailing dark smoke from his innards and quite unconscious of their predicament, for the time being at least.
Well, Lightning had thought bitterly. It at least confirmed that Chick had nothing at all to do with their car napping.
Though he'd known that all along really, hadn't he?
As they were pushed along, in cold silence, Lightning kept his gaze ahead, not wanting to look at Chick whilst he was like this. It made him feel uncomfortable.
"Why'd you do that?" he demanded finally, breaking the dire atmosphere about him.
One of the biker's laughed; "to prove a point,"
"Well...you coulda‑you might have hurt him," Lightning stammered, and wondered why he even cared.
Well, he didn't, really. He was just making a moral point.
Yes, a moral point. A point about morals. Lightning assured himself. And again avoided looking at the battered Chick.
"Oh, boo hoo." the other biker jeered.
Lightning pulled a face, but decided he wouldn't bait them. Besides, he was still quite busy trying to arrange his guilt in his head, never mind focus on any anger that might have betrayed him.
Well, it was still Chick, after all. And Chick was a jerk.
Lightning wasn't much comforted by this, no matter how true it might have been. The rest of the journey seemed to take forever, and Lightning found himself beginning to fall into sleep before they abruptly reached their mystery destination.
"We're here," one of the biker's announced, and he released a nosing grip on Lightning's rear with a sharp thump. Lightning winced and grumbled, before focussing anxious eyes on the base he'd heard so little about.
It was a smallish garage, rundown and scattered with tumbleweeds. There was a single gas station which looked like it might not have been used for years. Despite this, Lighting was not reminded of the once rundown abandoned Wheel Well Motel near Radiator Springs. There it had still had that glow of welcome about it.
This place, wherever this place was, was nothing if not foreboding. Almost like something out of a bad horror film.
"Er, what is this place?" Lightning couldn't hide his fear.
"Our base," one biker said ominously, the one who still had a rear hold of Chick. He let go of the green car with unneeded sharpness, and Lightning winced once more as Chick's suspension whined tellingly.
Lightning supposed, in a weird way, it was good that Chick was out of it for all of this. Because for Lightning, the whole being‑dragged‑along‑by‑the‑rear ranked as one of his most humiliating experiences. Ever.
He watched, guarded, as both bikers retreated quickly into the dimness of the solitary garage, disappearing from sight.
Lightning had had plenty of time to panic about everything for the past few hours, so he supposed he was just completely panicked out by this point, as he turned back to Chick.
As he had observed earlier, after their fight, Chick was a sorry sight indeed. And now with the added biker injury; a large indent in Chick's side, he looked even worse. With nothing to distract him; no menacing looking bikes, anyway, Lightning took the time to feel bad.
It wasn't very nice. He'd only just gotten used to this whole "feeling bad" thing, after all. Ever since his stint in Radiator Springs, when he'd learned compassion and proper friendship in the forms of a rusty old tow truck and a gorgeous Porsche, he'd learnt to cast aside an over demanding ego and slow down a little bit.
Maybe understand others a little better.
Now, when he looked over Chick, this not unfamiliar but still fairly foreign emotion washing over him, Lightning thought maybe he could try to understand Chick a bit better. At least try to understand why his racing rival took such pleasure in being such a first class jerk.
Then, as he was comprehending this pretty radical idea, Chick came to with a low, whimpering groan.
Lightning started forwards, maybe to help Chick, until he realised he was still hopelessly immobile. Instead he could only watch as Chick's eyes flickered open; and they looked glossy and shiny against the evening light.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Chick muttered, blinking at Lightning; "...fine. Never felt better, McQueen." the sarcasm was thin under an obviously pained voice.
"He got you in the side." Lightning said, feeling amazingly unhelpful. "I saw it. It was pretty nasty."
Chick shut an eye against the midday sun; his bruised eye, and then looked at Lightning through the better one with faint incredulity. "No kiddin', McQueen. You really think?" then he winced, and turned his gaze away from Lightning, toward the dingy looking station. "What...where are we?" he asked hoarsely, rising on his axles as far as his strength might allow.
Lightning looked bleakly ahead. "I have no idea." feeling amazingly unhelpful seemed to be a habit he was quickly forming these days.
"Those...those bikers? Did they bring us here?" Chick's daze was quickly being replaced with outright anger.
"Yeah. Not like we could do much about it, though."
"Why not?"
Lightning was a little startled, but explained as helpfully as he could anyway; "Well, I don't think one unconscious car and another totally engine‑bust car would be much of a match against those two." he shrugged his wings. "Just a presumption. You know."
Chick scowled. "Don't get smart with me, rookie."
"Hey, you're the one who led them to me!"
"You're the one whose engine bust!"
"Yeah? Well you're the one who bust it!"
"Oh boys, arguing again, are we?" a gravelly voice interrupted.
Both Lightning and Chick turned to face it, their sniping forgotten. There, stood before them casting a large shadow, was a truck, the truck which Lightning recalled had car‑napped them in the first place. It was grinning nastily.
Hit with an anger far stronger than anything he currently felt for Chick, Lightning opened his mouth to shout some thoughtless obscenities, but was interrupted;
"You're the one who car‑napped me! And stuck me with this jerk;" Chick gestured to Lightning, "and now I'm gonna be late for the Piston Cup. The last race of the season!"
Lightning resisted a roll of his eyes, and interjected; "this isn't just about the stupid cup, Chick!"
"What're you talking about, McQueen? Of course it's about-"
"Listen, you jerk, we could be in real danger here!"
"Enough," the powerful voice of the strange truck was enough to quash a newly forming argument between the two race cars. The truck was looking between them with a vague interest. Then his grin rested on Chick. "Your friend is right‑"
Chick scowled. "He's not my friend!"
"‑and," the truck continued, regardless, "you really should consider yourself in danger. Though of course I've seen to it that no‑one knows of your whereabouts. Not even those cars you ran into earlier. My biker friends are seeing to that right at this moment."
"What...what are you sayin'?" Chick frowned, as though trying to ward off an intense headache. "None of this makes any sense. Why are you car‑napping us?"
"Inquisitive though you are, I don't think it's really any of your business to know," the truck carried on. "Of course, I had expected you both to scarper, which is why I only hire the best, the fastest. You might have noticed my bikers are both very fast."
Lightning snorted. "We out drove them easily." he thought he did a good job of sounding supremely confident, despite a trembling undercarriage.
"Maybe," the truck was still smirking, "But you seem to have picked up a few nasty injuries along the way. Are you saying these were not a result of my bikers?"
"No...we..." suddenly Lightning felt embarrassed. And idiotic.
"We got into a fight," Chick finished, quite unexpectedly. He was eyeing Lightning oddly. "We got into a fight with your bikers. And the rookie bust his engine."
"I...oh..." Lightning wanted to be confused. Wondering why Chick had chosen to disregard their earlier fight. He blinked up at the expectant truck; "Uh, yeah. That's right. They bust my engine. And Chick was knocked out like a light." he ventured a smug gaze at Chick, but the green car was looking at the truck with apprehension.
The truck seemed to mull over their explanation. "Okay. I see. My biker's certainly know how to get you wear it hurts." then for some reason he looked a little annoyed. "Right, you're getting in the garage. And resistance is most certainly impossible."
Chick seemed to want to contend the idea, as he started his engine; but it only gave a frightened whimper before puttering out.
"As I thought," the truck looked pleased, and Lightning hated him.
"So what do you plan on doing with us?" he asked, as the truck, large as he was, was able to push both of the race cars to the garage entrance at the same time.
"Like I just told your friend here, it's not any of your business, Mr 95." and Lightning was shoved ungracefully into the dark garage. Chick followed; flinching as his suspension reacted poorly to the impact of tires on ground.
"Nice to know," Lightning called into the blackness as the garage door was swung shut.
Engulfed in the dark, Lightning felt frightened all over again. As he had when he'd first found himself in the strangers truck that morning, alone with Chick.
Remembering the other car, Lightning squinting against the darkness and tried to catch the outline of the green car sat a bare metre away from him.
"Hey, Chick?"
"What?" Lightning couldn't catch Chick's expression, but he sounded quiet and dispirited.
"Hey, uh, listen," awkwardness hung about Lightning, apparently torturing him into a flustered mess, "I, uh, I'm, I'm sorry about before. You know, with the blaming you...and all that. When it wasn't, I mean, I don't think it was you anymore."
Also a verbally incapable mess.
"Nice to know, McQueen." Chick's scathing response shocked Lightning back onto the defence‑
"Hey, listen. I'm trying to apologise, here!"
"Good for you," Chick said, and Lightning could imagine the sneer through the darkness. "It must be so difficult for you, too."
Lightning was confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean having to apologise to me. After all that time spent in Radiator Stinks, suddenly you're all moral and wonderful. I guess that silly Porsche and her hillbilly friends really trained you well, huh? How to be polite and nice."
"I'm...I'm just apologising!" Lightning snapped, disbelieving. "And I want to apologise! I didn't get trained, you jerk! It's just the right thing to do! Sally and Mater stopped me from becoming a total idiot. They stopped me from becoming like you!"
Despite the darkness, Lightning could almost see Chick flinch with with the outburst.
He lowered his eyes to the ground, realising he was breathing heavily. Then he heard a low creak of metal, nearer to him than he had expected.
Lightning shut his eyes, almost expecting, dreading, some violent confrontation with the other race car.
So he was sort of surprised when Chick spoke, in a quiet and vaguely sarcastic voice;
"Why don't you tell me how you really feel, McQueen."
Lightning blinked up, and Chick was rolling away, into a corner of the garage.
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It was quiet throughout the night. Lightning had not ventured any further conversation with Chick, and he didn't really expect the green car would respond anyway. So he spent the night in tormented thought; wondering about their predicament, but mostly awkwardly aware of the other car sat not too far away from him in sullen silence.
Lightning regretted what he had said.
Maybe, as a harsh morning light swam into the opening garage doors that morning, he had regretted too late.
Because stood before him, all with equally menacing faces, were the two bikers and the great, hulking truck.
"Time to get down to business, boys."
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