Author's Note - Welcome to Part 2! We're now in the mid 1980's, so about 15 years have passed since the previous chapter.
Also, because I like to write while listening to music, I'll let you know I wrote chapters 2 through 5 and the first part of 6 while listening to Imaginaerum (The Score) by Nightwish (not to be confused with Imaginaerum, the album, by them). So if you like reading along to theme music, check it out when you get to those chapters! My favorite key tracks are "Orphanage Airlines", "Undertow", "Wonderfields", and "I Have To Let You Go."
"Looks good, don't it?" Strip asked, closing the glass door to his trophy case.
"I'm so proud of you," Lynda smiled and gave him a quick kiss. "You really deserved it this year."
He sat before his collection of trophies in a room he'd dedicated solely to racing paraphernalia, staring at the shining gold Piston Cup in the center of the case. It had been a good year for Team Dinoco with eighteen wins and their second championship title. This Piston Cup seemed to shine even brighter than the one sitting next to it. Who would have thought he'd get one, let alone two? He certainly never would have guessed.
"You're gonna have to stop winnin', or we're gonna need to get another room." Lynda joked.
"Better start makin' plans now, then," he smirked.
She rolled her eyes, but didn't stop smiling. She could feel the excitement radiating from him as he looked at his prize. The night before, it had been such a close finish. The entire stadium had been on edge as Strip and one of his closest racing friends came out of turn four nose to nose. He'd beaten that Gran Torino by mere inches right at the last moment. What ensued from that point on was nothing more than haphazard celebratory chaos.
Strip thought back as he and Lynda left the trophy room to settle in by the fireplace. The last fifteen years or so were nothing less than perfection. His racing career had taken off from the get go, and he'd finished seventh overall his rookie year. Even his worst season had placed him in the top half of the field. There was talk around the track that he was a legend in the making, but that didn't faze him. He didn't need to become a legend. He just wanted to be happy and enjoy the sport, and at that moment, he was right where he wanted to be.
He looked around the house, taking a moment to appreciate it. Lynda had truly made it into a home over the years. It was so open, so warm and welcoming, that he wouldn't mind staying there forever. He looked over at her. It had been nearly thirteen years since he'd asked her to marry him, and she'd said yes. In fact, she'd dropped the derby scene like a bad habit and gotten herself repaired to showroom model status, all for their wedding. He wouldn't have thought she could have gotten any more beautiful, but she did, and now she followed him to nearly every race. He felt he'd never be able to repay her for all the sacrifices she'd made, all the love and support she'd given him.
The weather was oddly cold that morning as the tail end of autumn fell across the mountains. The trees bordering their secluded property glistened with frozen dew as the leaves changed colors, and the frosty grass looked brittle to the touch. This was Strip's favorite time of year. As much as he loved racing, these four months of downtime in between seasons were every bit as precious. It was the time of year he could fully focus on his other love.
"So," he asked, "Is there anythin' you wanna do this year?"
"Hmm." Lynda thought, staring at the peaceful flickering flames in the fireplace. "Honestly, I ain't gave it much thought. This here's what I look forward to the most."
She leaned in, put her front fender against his, and closed her eyes. He sank into his suspension to be closer to her and relaxed. She was right. They spent so many nights on the road, sleeping in separate trailers, and so many days at the tracks in the public eye that there didn't ever seem to be enough alone time.
"Well, then I guess this is what you'll get."
That moment stretched to hours as they dozed on and off together, momentarily released from the hectic life that all racers lived most of the year. The fire burned itself out before they felt rested enough to carry on with the day.
"Do you hear that?" Strip asked as something outside broke through the silence.
"Sounds like someone comin' up the driveway," Lynda answered. "You invite someone over?"
"No, but that never stopped anyone before," he grumbled, driving over to look out the front window.
"I don't recognize the sound," she added. "It sounds more like you than anyone else we know."
Through the trees, Strip could see the vague outline of the car coming their way. As it got closer, he could see flashes of pink through the foliage. Cold, icy dread splintered through his frame. Lynda pulled up next to him to look for herself.
She knew enough about her husband's past to recognize the pink Daytona as she entered into the clearing. Over the years, Strip had occasionally opened up about his past at the factory – what he'd been through, and what was expected of him. Lynda knew it was something he'd sooner forget, so she never prodded further than he was willing to share up front.
Strip slowly rolled away from the window. Lynda turned to look at him and saw an expression she hadn't seen since that night he'd opened up and told her his secret. He looked at her, but didn't say anything as he hesitantly made his way over to the front door.
Why would Izzy show up now? There hadn't been an attack on Chrysler since the Chelsea Proving Grounds incident. The world had more or less assumed the manufacturers had come to their senses and stopped the war on their own. Strip's own past felt more like a distant fever dream than a past reality.
He opened the door before Izzy could ring the doorbell. She met his stare startled, but apologetically. Neither of them said anything for several seconds. It had been fifteen years since they'd spoken. Not once had either of them bothered to go see the other or write a single letter.
Strip sighed. He thought he'd be mad, either about being bothered during his time off, or about the lack of communication for which he was partly at fault, but it wasn't in his nature. Izzy looked exhausted, anxious, and otherwise roughed up. There were patches of paint scratched off her left side, and an assortment of minor dents and dings across the rest of her body that all looked relatively fresh.
"What's wrong, Iz?" he asked quietly. "What happened?"
She looked off to the side, hesitating. "Have you not seen the news?" she asked in an equally quiet tone.
He shook himself. He hadn't seen anything. The first thing he tended to do after a season was cut himself off from any media for a couple days to clear his mind.
A cool wind blew across the porch, and Izzy shivered. Coming to his senses, Strip backed out of the doorway.
"Come on in," he gestured inside. "It's warmer in here."
She rolled through the doorway and came to a rest in the foyer, looking around. "Wow. You got yourself a nice place here."
Lynda rolled up next to Strip, taking in the sight of his battered sister with concern written on her face.
"Can I get you somethin' to drink?" Lynda asked out of courtesy. "You had a long flight, no doubt."
Izzy seemed a bit surprised to see her, but nodded. "If it isn't too much to ask."
"Oh, right." Strip suddenly realized they had never actually met each other. "Izzy, this is my wife, Lynda. Lyn, this is my sister, Izzy."
"Nice to finally meet you." Izzy smiled through her discomfort. "He used to talk about you all the time back in the day."
"Oh?" Lynda said as if it surprised her. "Did he now? Well, I'm glad I finally get to meet the one that kept him in line before I got him."
"One of these days we'll get together and tell stories." Izzy said as Lynda passed her a can of oil. "I have a feeling there's a lot that's been left out."
"Oh, definitely."
"Anyway," Strip cleared his throat. "Izzy, I know you're not here to say congrats on the win. What's going on?"
"Well," she said after taking a long draw of oil, "that was gonna be mentioned somewhere. I did watch that race. You did good. We were cheerin' for you."
"We?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah." Izzy caught herself. "Sorry. Things have changed a lot since you left. The brigade dynamics are different now. We watch a lot of your major races together."
"Hm." Strip couldn't picture it, but Izzy wouldn't lie to him, not about something that trivial. "I always reckoned they'd be mad I left."
"They were, for a while," she admitted, "but I think their anger was a coping mechanism, more than anything."
He knew what she was driving at. Diego had played the part of their ringleader, the car they looked to when they needed guidance. With him gone, whom would they follow? To whom would they listen? Without the constant dissent, in hindsight it seemed obvious that they'd eventually come around.
"But no matter." Izzy corrected her tangent, and grew serious. She sounded significantly older, and more worn than the last time they'd talked. "Strip, I came to warn you. I wouldn't bother you otherwise."
"There hasn't been an attack in almost fifteen years. What changed?" he asked.
"They came early this morning." She kept shifting her gaze from him, to her hood, to the middle distance and back. "We weren't ready in the least. Things aren't like they used to be – the training every day, the constant exercise. We lost our edge and paid for it."
She paused and thought back on the morning. Even though it had been recent, the exact chronology of the events were jumbled. Strip patiently waited for her to continue.
"The alarm went off before the sun came up, and we were in the air almost immediately. Within minutes. They were coming from the west this time, and at first glance, we thought they were drones – like the ones we fought the last time. Well, they weren't."
"Was it Ford?" Strip asked.
Izzy nodded. "Yeah, a whole slew of those new fox body Mustangs. We didn't realize until we were close enough to see their badges. It was too dark, and they all had black paint. There were maybe a dozen of them, I don't remember. They started firing, and we tried an airstrike, but we couldn't get close enough to do so without putting ourselves in harm's way."
"Did we lose anyone?" he asked quietly.
"No." Izzy shook herself, but frowned. "But Howie and Laura are in the ICU right now. Four or five of the others had to go in for basic repairs. I don't think there was a one of us that didn't get hit or have a hard landing afterwards. We only managed to take out three of the Mustangs."
"Only three?"
"They're not normal, which I'm sure is no surprise to you," Izzy explained further. "They've got some sort of crazy armor that's nearly impenetrable. I think the heat from the bombs is what killed the three."
"That had to be what those drones were testing in those first couple of battles," Strip pieced together.
"That's what Rick said," Izzy agreed. "But here's another thing – the cleanup crews salvaged what was left of those Mustang bodies and examined them. They said there was some sort of second wiring harness that had melted together in the heat, like a second set of nerves. Looking back on it, they were all so synchronized, I'm not sure if they were acting on their own."
"You mean, like remote control?"
"Exactly. I'm not so sure these guys were alive. And if they were, to what degree they could control their actions."
Strip considered it. If what Izzy said was true, it could be one of two things. Ford could have taken soulless bodies and wired them to react to command. While sickening to think about, it wasn't exactly the most unethical approach if they wanted to keep living subjects from coming to harm. If Ford could win with this technique, using makes and models true to their manufacture, controlled remotely, it would prove their superiority.
The second option was considerably darker. Ford could have chosen live subjects and rewired them to do their bidding. Strip thought he used to have it rough, being thrown into the war without a choice, but this would be far worse a fate. Imagine being trapped not only within a factory, but inside your own body as well.
"Izzy, why did you come to me? After all this time?"
She looked him straight in the eyes with a deadpan expression. "Because you're in danger now, too."