The Appalachians were the most welcome sight as it grew dark that evening. Strip landed on a desolate stretch of road near the top of one of the peaks and drove, hoping that would be the last time he'd ever have to use his own wings. He pondered how much it would cost to get them removed.
The mountain air was as refreshing as ever, and the extended drive gave him time to think. What was he to do now? He had no job, no home of his own. Sure, Wayne would probably let him use that guest room in his house, but that wouldn't last forever. He wouldn't want it to. And Lynda, what was he supposed to tell her? He hated keeping her in the dark.
He reached the outskirts of the only town he was familiar with right at dusk. As he rounded the last corner on the only highway that led in and out of the town, a familiar pair of headlights passed him. His tires squealed against the pavement as he braked and slung himself into the opposing lane to follow her.
Alarmed, Lynda slowed down and pulled over onto a gravel patch on the side of the road.
"What are you doing out here on a Wednesday?" she asked as she turned to look at him. Her eyes widened as she noticed his primer-covered fenders and patchwork paint job. "Strip, what happened? Are you okay?"
He couldn't say 'yes', and he didn't want to admit 'no'. His gaze flickered around like he was looking for something, but he didn't know what.
"I really need to talk to you," he said, audibly nervous. "You're not busy, are you?"
"No, no." She shook herself. "Just goin' out for a little drive before settlin' in for the night. Tell me, what's wrong?"
"Is there some place private we can go?" he looked around again, paranoid.
Lynda thought for a moment. "Yeah, come on, follow me."
Up the road a little ways, they exited the road on an overgrown path that led through a thick patch of forest. A couple hundred yards later, it opened up into a nice grassy area. It looked like there had once been a house there, as the foundation blocks were still laid in the ground. There was no way anyone from the town or the nearby road would ever see them there.
Lynda flipped her lights off and turned toward him. He snapped his shut as well and observed the area.
"Talk to me, what's goin' on?" she prompted. "You're scarin' me."
"Lynda, I haven't been straight with you this whole time," he jumped straight to the point, taking a deep breath. He couldn't contain it anymore.
She looked hurt, but didn't move. He saw the look in her eyes and knew he'd never forgive himself if what he was about to tell her upset her. He prayed this wouldn't be the end – he needed her. He needed someone he could trust, someone that would understand.
"What do you mean?" she asked, watching him rile himself up.
"That job at the factory I told you I had," he blurted. "It wasn't voluntary. I didn't want to be there, but I didn't have a choice. I had to do what they told me to survive."
She frowned. "I'm not followin' you."
He tried to collect his thoughts in a way that made sense, but they were too jumbled. "Did you watch the news today?"
"Yeah, I saw the attack," she said. "It looked terrible. You weren't in that buildin', were you? Is that what happened?"
"No," he shook himself. "I was one of the guys that took out the tanks. I'm a fighter, Lyn. I didn't wanna be, but that's what they made me. Look."
He closed his eyes and forced himself to convert into his aerial mode. Lynda watched with shock and astonishment as he turned into one of those flying machines she'd seen earlier that day. In the dying light, his matte black paint almost made him disappear.
"What – " she whispered.
A feeling of betrayal overtook her. This wasn't her boyfriend, this was a rugged war machine, one that had undisclosed power. They'd been together how long, and he never felt the need to divulge this information? Tears began to well up across her windshield.
But then he opened his eyes and looked at her. Those were the same gentle, loving eyes she knew, the ones she loved. For the briefest moment she felt as though she saw straight through him. He was scared. He was pleading that she'd understand. This was her sweetheart.
She blinked the tears away and drove up to him to get a closer look.
"Well, I wasn't expectin' this," she admitted after brief hesitation, reaching out to touch his wing. "You're really a flier?"
"Yeah," he answered quietly, allowing her to look him over.
She observed the roughness of the seams between his panels in this form. They fit because they were forced to, not by eloquent design. She looked closer. There were scars all over his body.
"What did they do to you?" she whispered so quietly he wondered if she'd said anything at all. He didn't answer.
He withdrew his wings again and sighed. "I'm really sorry I couldn't tell you before. I'm not supposed to let anyone know."
"Hey," she said in a warmer tone, sidling up beside him and leaning against him. "If it's classified, it's classified. I'm just glad you're okay."
He nodded and leaned against her, drawing comfort from her touch. "I'm glad it didn't scare you off."
He felt her shrug. "So my boyfriend can turn into somethin' that flies, big whoop. Strip, I fell in love with you because of who you are. That guy I know hasn't changed. All this does is explain to me how you got from here to Michigan and back all the time."
She felt him sigh a sigh of relief, and laughed a little before growing quiet again. There was still a lot she didn't understand.
"So why are you here?" she asked. "It's the middle of the week. I thought you could only come on weekends?"
Strip looked down at his hood. "You remember that nice lady I told you about? The one that always brought us stuff? I was gettin' this bodywork done and she took my tracker out. Told me to leave if I wanted. She finally gave me a choice, and I'm not going back."
"Really?" Lynda pulled away with more excitement in her voice than she meant. "So you'll be stayin' around here?"
"I don't have anywhere else to go," he said. "Everything I know is right here."
"That's great!" She gave him a quick kiss. "Now I don't have to wait to see you all the time."
"Yeah," he said, smiling for the first time that day.
He looked up at the sky and saw the same constellations she'd pointed out a couple weeks prior. They looked different, maybe because he felt different. He couldn't see the stars in Michigan through the smog in the air, and usually when he looked up at them with Lynda, there was always the disappointing thought that he'd have to leave soon. That feeling was gone now. He'd never have to leave again if he didn't want.
He wondered if Diego had ever taken the time to try to look at the night sky.
Lynda watched as his brief moment of happiness fell into something else. He looked confused, if not hurt. She shot him an inquisitive look. He looked at his mismatched fenders and sighed.
"Those machines today," he said, looking at the ground. "They killed my brother."
"Oh my," she whispered, horrified. "I am so sorry."
He shrugged. The guilt had turned to numbness over the course of his journey.
"We didn't get along at all. Honestly, we hated each other. We had a fight this morning, that's where this came from." He gestured to his fenders. "I didn't get hurt in the battle, but… we couldn't save him. I guess there's a couple things I wish I'd been able to show him."
Lynda looked up at the sky and thought back to the night she'd shown him all her childhood pictures among the stars. It had never occurred to her that somewhere out there was someone who'd never done the same. She drove nearer to him again and gave him an affectionate nudge.
"I'm sure there wasn't anythin' you coulda done," she told him.
"Yeah, I know," he said, looking back up at the sky. "I just wish I could forget and move on already."
"You don't have to forget in order to move on," she pointed out. "Sometimes it's better to remember the past, prevent it from happenin' again. Movin' on will happen on its own."
He looked over at her and smiled. "Why you always gotta do that?"
"Do what?" she almost sounded offended.
"Say things that make me like you more."
They casually drove back into town, making their way towards Wayne's house. There wasn't much work to be found in this town, but Strip was banking on his connection with Tex. Maybe there was something basic he could do in the Dinoco building to get him by until he found something he enjoyed doing.
The bells from the single church tower in town were striking eight in the distance as they pulled onto Wayne's front porch. Inside, Strip could see the TV on with the same old recordings playing on the news channel. The country wasn't taking very kindly to the violence.
Lynda reached out and rang the doorbell.
"Come in!" Wayne shouted from within. "Door's open."
Strip nosed the door open and found Wayne in the kitchen, who took one look at him and breathed a sigh of relief. Lynda squeezed through behind him and went to change the channel.
"You look like scrap, man, but I'm glad you're alive." Wayne came over from washing a cup to give his buddy a slap on the side. "Had me worried."
Only then did it seem like he saw Lynda in the background, and caught his tongue. "Snap, sorry, I – "
"It's alright," Strip assured him. "I told her."
"Really?" Wayne looked at Lynda. "So you know about all the weird bits and you're still hanging around this guy?"
"I'm not critically judgmental, like someone," she quipped.
"I'm jokin', I'm jokin'," Wayne defended.
"That doesn't mean you can go around telling others," Strip reminded him. "I, uh, I'm trying to lay low for a while."
"Dude, they track your every move."
"Not anymore," Strip corrected. "Stacey took my tracker out. Said I could leave if I wanted."
"You're kiddin' me, right?" the Fury asked in disbelief. "They put all that research into you and they let you drive right out the front door?"
"I took the back way out, but yeah," he admitted. "I think the guilt was startin' to get to her. Especially after today."
"I thought I saw someone bite the bullet on the news segment." Wayne's voice dropped as he got more serious. "Who was it?"
"Diego."
"Hmm." Wayne looked down and nodded. "Sucks, man. Can't say I'm surprised though. I'm glad it wasn't you."
"Yeah, so I'm out of a place to stay," Strip changed the subject. "I was hopin' you'd let me stay here until I get things figured out."
"Yeah, sure. You can have that empty room over there," he pointed across the living room. "You sure you don't wanna stay with Lyn instead?"
"Do you really think my dad would allow that?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm really not too keen on meeting the business end of a shotgun right now," Strip explained, casting a glance at her. He'd only met her parents once, and that old New Yorker intimidated him.
"Oh, he doesn't mind you," Lynda countered. "You gotta do something stupid before he breaks out the gun."
"That shouldn't take long," Wayne mumbled, returning to finish his dishes.
Before he could reach the sink, the phone rang from across the room.
"Want me to get it?" Lynda asked.
"No, I got it, I got it." Wayne rushed past her.
Lynda drove over to Strip as Wayne answered the call, and leaned against him.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asked. "You've had a hell of a day."
"I'm certainly not gonna make you leave," he appreciated the gesture. "You don't think you'll get in trouble for it?"
"I'm an adult," she put her tire down to prove a point. "I just haven't moved out yet. I can do what I want, can't I?"
"Your call." He gave her a little nudge. "But you know I wouldn't mind."
"I think I'll stay."
The warmth he felt from her helped dissipate the numbness. Like a drug, really, her presence remediated pain and offered a true sense of security.
"Thank you," he said quietly, shifting his weight more evenly across his tires.
In doing so, he remembered the box Stacey had given him with all his belongings. The thought of the old videos excited him ever so slightly.
"Hey, you know those racing films I told you I found?" he asked.
"The ones with the Hornet you always talk about?"
"Yeah, I got to bring those. We can watch them later!"
"Finally, you get to show me 'the greatest racer that ever lived'," she said, mocking him playfully. "Let's do it."
"Alright." He started to move towards the guest room in the house, but slowed to a halt as Wayne hung up the phone.
Lynda looked over with concern, glancing at Strip with a question written on her face. Wayne sat in front of the phone, staring at the wall, not moving.
"Hey man, what's up? Who was that?" Strip asked.
Wayne slowly turned to face them, his brow furrowed as he digested whatever information he'd received.
"Tex," he said taking an exhausted breath. "It was Tex."
"Is he alright?" Lynda asked.
"He said a janitor found Old Man Dinoco dead in the exec suite about an hour ago. I don't know if 'alright' is the right word."