The first thing Strip registered as he regained consciousness was the quiet hiss of an air compressor off to his left. It had a soothing rhythm to it. Hiss. Stop. Hiss. Stop. Hiss. As he came to, he made out the sound of a paint gun operating in synchronicity. The hum of a repair machine served as a relaxing backdrop.
He cracked his eyes open and looked around. Unsurprised, he found himself in a repair bay. Across the room, Izzy sat motionless in another booth, eyes closed, getting a new coat of paint. He watched the machine move back and forth across her spoiler, giving her a final coat of black paint to finish off her stripe. Seeing her made him feel content.
He then looked at himself. From what he could see and feel, he was in one piece, with a plain, but color correct coat of Dinoco blue paint. He rolled out of the booth and went through the motions. Engine running? Check. Transmission shifting? Check. He could even feel his wings and secondary engines had been fixed and replaced. Drowsily, he cruised over to a nearby mirror.
"Sorry we couldn't replicate your sponsor's design." Rick called to him from behind. "The machines only do factory-specified paint schemes."
Strip turned to see his CEO approaching him. At the sight of the Power Wagon, the memories came rushing back. His engine sputtered to a rough stop as it all came flashing to the front of his mind, as though he were experiencing it all over again. His talk with Rick, the severed hall, the fall of building one, Jess burning as she fell through the air, that young Mustang…
Rick saw him dissociate and came to a halt several feet away, wary. He didn't know what Strip had seen or experienced before they'd managed to dig him out of the wreckage. They'd found him near the body of one of Ford's Mustangs, who had long been gone at that point. It was a miracle Strip was still alive.
"What happened?" Strip asked when he found himself again.
Rick took a deep breath as he pondered where to begin. "Well, we found you under a building, for starters."
Strip knew that. He looked toward Izzy. "Is she alright?"
"Hm?" Rick followed his gesture toward the Daytona. "Oh, yeah, she's fine. She flew out of there on her own. Impressive, really. She just didn't want to get worked on until she knew you were gonna make it."
"Was it that bad?" he hesitated to ask.
"It… was something." Rick looked away. "You spent nearly half a day down there before we got to you. You got lucky though. Some support beam got caught above you and kept you from being completely crushed. Just knocked you out."
"Half a – " Strip's mind snapped into action. Half a day, plus all the time needed to repair him… "How long's it been?"
"About six days. We got you in here as soon as – hey, where are you going?"
Strip made like a bandit toward the exit as Rick kicked himself into gear to try and catch him.
"Strip! Wait, don't go in there."
"I need to find a phone, Rick." Strip called behind him as he pushed through the door. "Now. I was supposed to – "
He screeched to a halt as he saw the scene in the neighboring room. One, two… five… eleven? Eleven. Ten sheet-covered mounds were about his size, with varying degrees of structure left to them. Some looked to have wings, others didn't appear to have anything more than a frame. The eleventh was shaped differently, more like an older car - a Monaco to be precise.
Strip slowly backed away until his bumper contacted the wall near the door. "No." he whispered.
Rick looked across the covered bodies, hesitating on the last one. He blinked away his emotions as best he could and cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry," Rick muttered. "There wasn't anything else we could do."
"All of them?" Strip could feel his throat closing up.
All that effort, all those months – years for these guys – of training, and they all fell in a single night? Their lives had ended before they ever got a chance to experience them, and yet he was the one that survived.
Rick didn't answer, but the look in his eyes said it all. He'd not only lost his wife, but the majority of the only other cars he dared care about – young cars he'd taken from the assembly line himself to fight for him. In a way, he felt he was responsible for taking their lives. Guilt didn't begin to cover it.
"Come on," Rick motioned back toward the repair bays. "Let's go out the other way. I'll find you a phone."
Strip tore his gaze away from the covered corpses and followed, shaken. This wasn't right. They'd done well, hadn't they?
"I thought we were winning?" Strip asked as Rick took him to a nearby conference room.
"We were, but we're not bulletproof. We managed to take out all eight of those Mustangs," Rick said in a numb tone, "but not before they did their fair share of damage."
"They were just kids, you know." Strip whispered.
"I know." Rick frowned. "I'd say Stephen's gone mad putting them at the forefront of something like this, but I suppose I wasn't so different with you. I can't tell you how sorry I am."
Strip sighed, remembering his conversation with the dying Mustang. "There's nothin' we can do now."
"I guess not. I do intend on giving them as proper of a burial as I will the brigade, though. They deserve better than being left to rust in the elements."
Strip nodded in agreement, lost in thought and trying to fight the overwhelming grief. "What about the Buick?"
"Got away." Rick shook himself in unbelief. "I don't know what that dude's made out of, but Izzy's airstrike only wounded him. He's all that's left of Ford, ironically enough."
All this loss, and there was still some piece of a war left to fight, against an indestructible foe no less.
"Here." Rick motioned to the phone in the center of the conference table. "Press 9 before dialing an external number."
"Thanks."
Rick closed the door on his way out, leaving Strip in peace, and going back to check on Izzy's progress.
Strip reached for the dial pad, typing in his home phone number so quickly he screwed it up on the first try. He prayed Lynda was okay. After everything that had happened and everything he'd seen, there was nothing more he wanted than to hear her voice again.
After half a ring, she picked up. "Hello?"
Her voice sounded stressed, but even so, Strip smiled.
"Hey, Lyn," he said softly.
"Strip!" she inadvertently shouted, frantic. "Oh my… Strip, what…? I…"
"Shh. Listen. Take a deep breath. It's all right. I'm right here." He could hear her breathing raggedly like she always did after a good cry. It pained him to hear her like this, to know it was his fault. He continued talking as she lapsed into quiet sobs.
"Lynda, I am so sorry I couldn't call you sooner." He kept his tone even and calm, despite the dozen conflicting emotions trying to grapple their way to the surface. "You deserve better than this, I just – I promise I'll come home and try to make it up to you."
"What happened?" she asked in between shaky breaths. "Are you okay? The footage was horrifyin'."
Strip sighed. "It's a long story. And I'm… still kickin' I guess. It's bad up here, Lyn. Real bad. I need to see you. I miss you."
"I miss you so much," she sniffled and started to ramble. "You didn't call for nearly a week and I thought that maybe – "
"Hey," he cut her off before she could go any farther. "Remember what I promised you when I left? I'm not gonna break my promise to my girl, now am I?"
"I was so worried," she whispered.
"I'll be home in a couple hours, okay? I promise. I'll explain it all then."
"Alright. I love you."
"Love you, too."
He ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, he closed his eyes and imagined himself at home, alone with her. It was so peaceful. Those moments by the fireplace really were the most valuable.
He exited the conference room and headed back to the repair bays. He had to talk to Izzy before he left again; he couldn't just leave her all alone in a place like this, not after all they'd been through.
She sat motionless in the booth as he entered, void of any predominant emotion, staring at something invisible in front of her. She didn't seem to notice his arrival.
"Hey." He greeted her quietly.
Izzy's gaze drifted over to meet his before falling to the floor. She felt empty. There were no more tears left for her to cry, just dry pain to be felt.
"I'm so sorry I dragged you back into all this," she whispered.
"It's not your fault." He shrugged, trying to be strong for her. "You did what you had to."
She rolled forward out of the booth and started to head toward the main exit, but stopped. She knew what awaited her there, under those sheets. Fifteen years of laughing, fighting, movie nights, arguments, and more, all reduced to burnt, crumpled metal.
"Izzy," Strip watched her cautiously, unsure of her mental composure. "Come here, I wanna talk to you."
He turned to drive out the way he'd come in, and after a few seconds' delay, she followed him. He led her to the front of the building they were in, over to an empty lobby where the outer wall was nothing but several large panels of glass. It offered an excellent view of the training grounds in the waning light. He parked in front of it and waited for her to join him.
She parked as close as she could to him without risking the integrity of her fresh, wet paint. The fact he was alive was a miracle, and she found herself focusing on that. She'd waited days to repair herself because she had to know he was going to live. When that crane pulled him from the debris, she thought it was over, that he'd passed on just like all the others. Never was she so happy to be wrong, and somehow, amidst her suffering, that offered hope.
"I watched you fall." She spoke first in a rough tone, frowning. "I watched the building collapse."
Strip looked over at her, surprised she wanted to talk about it. He didn't even want to think about it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt different. Unsurprising, of course, as no one can watch that much death firsthand and be unaffected.
"I remember back when we were both young." She continued after a brief pause. "Really young - you'd just rolled off the line. You barely knew how to drive, but you did know you wanted to be friends with me. It's all a little fuzzy, but I remember. The first clear memories I have were those days you stayed with me when I was sick."
"Rick told me all about that before the attack, oddly enough," Strip mentioned. "I don't remember hardly anythin' before we started trainin'."
"You were only a couple weeks old at best. I had several months on you," she explained. "I remember Stacey bringing you in to see me every couple days. We'd play and do stupid kid stuff until you had to leave. But one day she left you there. I'll never forget the look on her face when she gave you up. My god, Strip, she loved you so much. That day I swore to myself I'd never let anything happen to you."
Strip felt himself slip back into numbness. He never got a chance to properly tell Stacey 'thank you' for everything she did for him – everything from the occasional treat while growing up to letting him free all those years ago. He couldn't imagine the life she had to have lived knowing what she knew. He almost wished he didn't know. Almost.
"I thought I failed," Izzy whispered.
They were both silent for several minutes. The outside lights flickered on and illuminated several charred patches of grass across the field. Strip looked up at the sky, hoping to see the stars, but instead he saw only the blurry outline of the moon through a layer of smog and thin clouds.
"You can come with me," he offered. "You don't have to stay here."
She considered it silently for a few moments. "What would I do? This is all I know. All I can do is fight."
"You know that ain't true," he countered gently. "You're a leader, Iz. It's what you're best at. Didn't you always wanna become a doctor or somethin'?"
He thought he saw her smile briefly.
"A pipe-dream, that's all that was," she shook herself.
He cast her a sideways glance and changed his tone. "You remember all those old racin' videos you used to make fun of me for watchin'?"
She nodded. "Yeah, Mr. Piston Cup champion. I see where you're going with this. But the war isn't over yet. I still have a primary directive."
"The war as we know it is over," Strip argued. "You think that Buick is gonna come fight us by himself? As indestructible as he seems, I doubt it. Things are gonna be more subtle from here on out. You could afford to do both."
"You think?" she asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice.
"Yeah. What else are you gonna do?"
She considered it some more, growing quiet again. "I have to stay and keep a watch on Rick. He's lost everyone. I can't just leave him. He hasn't acted right since."
"Well, truthfully, I don't think any of us will ever be quite right after that," Strip confessed.
Izzy sighed in agreement. "Yeah. I'll stay for him, but I might do a little studying here and there, see what comes from it. But you – you need to go home. Be with your wife. I feel she needs you more than anything right now."
Strip nodded, eager to go home, but hesitant to leave his only sister behind all alone. "You gonna be alright?"
She looked at him honestly. "I'll survive. It's what I do. Don't worry about me."
"Alright." He backed away from the window. "You better come visit more often, you hear? And don't wait until you need to. Me and Lyn have a lot of things we'd like to show you."
"Okay, okay. I'll be around. Now go on."