Dillon awoke the next morning with a clear head and his hair sticking out in every direction. He and Kayla headed to their rooms immediately after the planning session, where he’d taken a long, hot shower and then immediately went to bed.

  He continued to look at himself in the mirror, ignoring the hair. You’ve gotten this far and you’re still in the race. You’re working with Basher, his daughter, and his best friend. One of the biggest AADA events is tonight and it’s going to be on television across several states, if not the nationals. A slow grin spread across his face. Sammy, I’m sorry you didn’t believe. I don’t think I’d have made it this far with you instead of Kayla.

  In the hotel restaurant, Basher was enjoying a cup of coffee, the remains of breakfast on the table. It looked like he’d been joined by at least one other person.

  "Mind if I sit," Dillon asked when he walked up to the table.

  Nico motioned to an empty spot. "Be my guest. How you feeling?"

  Dillon sighed. "A hot shower last night and another one this morning, and I’m finally feeling back to myself. Sitting in a car for several hours for a couple of days, interspersed with hard combat, tends to give you some interesting muscle cramps."

  A waiter came by with a menu and refilled the big man’s cup. After he was gone, while Dillon was poring over his choices, Nico said, "You know, I envy you two. Here you are, doing something I never got the chance to do. You’re making a new kind of history in autoduelling."

  Dillon looked up sharply, tension twisting his stomach. "Um, you envy us? But your career…"

  His sponsor waggled his head. "Oh, I’m not saying I didn’t accomplish anything. What you're doing, you’re going beyond the arena. I think that the allure of trying something new is a lot of what drew me to this rally. That, and proving to the AADA that I was right, of course."

  They both chuckled at that, and the older man continued. "You and Kayla are doing great things in this competition, Dillon. Never doubt it. You proved that an untried gunner and speed-obsessed Division Three driver can hold their own with more experienced crews. You two belong here. You’ve proved it."

  Dillon set the menu down, tension easing into a warm feeling. "Thank you, sir. That… that means a lot, coming from you. I hope we can keep proving you right."

  Nico’s affable expression hardened some. "Kayla doesn’t need to prove anything to me. She’s my daughter and I’ll always be proud of what she does. You, on the other hand, continue to hold my daughter’s life in your hands." He set the coffee cup down and looked the younger man square in the eyes. "You’ve done well so far. Keep doing so and we’ll get along just fine."

  The butterflies were back in his stomach, still Dillon returned the hard gaze with one of his own. "I never forget who’s in the seat next to me. Your daughter saved my life out there. That’s something you never forget and you never betray."

  Nico smiled briefly and picked up his coffee cup. "Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Dillon, I like you and I like your style. You have my respect as a fellow autoduellist. In a purely business transaction, there wouldn’t be any problems. When it comes to Kayla, I have to be sure. So, eat hearty. We have another planning session in about an hour."

  The big man rose and left the dining room. Dillon gave a deep sigh, releasing the remains of the butterflies. He hadn’t expected to meet Basher the Father this morning, and it was an experience he didn't enjoy.

  ***

  Jerrod and his five fellow BLUD chapter members stood in the line outside the arena, waiting to be processed in. They didn’t stay together, spreading out instead, in ones and twos. He didn’t expect any problems with their IDs or applications. Not only did they have a top-notch forger, but the Brotherhood penetrated the arena’s security thoroughly. At least one of the in-processing team, if not more, were in on the job.

  Callie and Franklin were with him, on the arena floor. They were the newest of the BLUD members, and the one the cops would have the least information one. Their plan hinged on them being able to disrupt the race and take out whomever they could. The drivers in the Karts were like control rods, guiding the targets into positions where Jerrod’s team could take them out.

  And once that was done, their friends in the stadium staff would sneak them out, right under security’s nose. If there was any security left. They were equipped with enough weapons to deal with them, too.

  The chill October air, combined with the lower angle of the sun, meant that autumn walso and truly on its way. And what better way to mark the winter of the AADA’s demise, he thought.

  ***

  Dillon came out of his dressing room in his Nomex suit, carrying the gloves in one hand. Kayla was already dressed and sitting at a vanity, braiding her hair to fit inside the helmet. He raised one arm and examined the material.

  "I don’t know what you guys do differently, but I definitely like your suits better than theirs." He wiggled his hips. "Yours fit better, too. Good thing I’m not going to be in a car for hours in this thing."

  She smiled. "Proprietary formula. I could tell, but then I’d have to kill you."

  He walked over to the wall rack, from which hung their ballistic armor vests. Hers also included thick thigh and shin pads. She looked at it through the mirror and made a face.

  "I know. Plan A is to not get shot. However, since I'll be standing in one spot, I'll need all the armor I can manage."

  He smiled and sat down. Then he stood briefly and adjusted the fit around the crotch before sitting again. "This could be worse than getting shot at," he muttered.

  "You think that’s bad?" She swiveled in place and held her arms out. Her suit included a molded chest plate with two protrusions. "At least you don’t have to deal with boob armor."

  "If it’s not uncomfortable, then I’m still in the discomfort lead. Besides, without those, how will they know you’re a girl?"

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  She threw her hairbrush at him and stood, eyes blazing but smiling. "They’ll know by the way I shoot my opponents in the balls."

  He stood also and held out a fist. She bumped it with hers and they smiled together. "All the way, D."

  "All the way, K. Let’s go show them who’s the best crew out there."

  ***

  The crews gathered in a large open room, with a set of double doors that led to an access hallway out to the arena. Arena staff moved around them, doing last minute sound checks on the wireless microphones in the helmets. They would all have their own individual channels, as well as a team one.

  Gabe leaned against a wall, eyes closed. His gunner sat on the floor, listening to music on his headphones. The other crews drifted into their own method of relaxing, used to the pre-fight jitters and with their own way of countering them.

  Dillon was running through the course once again in his head, thinking about the inside turns, when he felt Kayla fidgeting beside him. He looked at her. She was distinctly uncomfortable and trying to get control of her nerves.

  "Think about spreadsheets. Or computer code," he whispered.

  "What?" Her snappish response made him grin.

  "Seriously. Think about something that grabs your whole attention. It’ll take your mind off your nerves."

  "I’m not nervous. Just… tired of waiting."

  He smiled. "We’re going to wait a lot more, too. Your nerves will get you wound up too early, and you’ll feel drained by the time things start. Just… go somewhere in your head. Somewhere that you have control over."

  She continued to glare at him for a few more seconds, and then pulled her gaze away. After a few seconds, closed her eyes, muttering, "Spreadsheets are for accountants. Engineers know databases are better."

  ***

  Jerrod and his two compatriots stood with the others in their ready room. They’d been outfitted with body armor and a sidearm and shown their individual positions on the map. Those who’d been chosen to drive were off in their own corner. Three of his best drivers were in that group. With sixty percent of the firepower under BLUD control, they were going to lay down a field of fire that none of those AADA saps would survive.

  One of the arena staff was going over the rules, and the BLUDs didn’t pay much attention to the briefing. Their rules would soon define the event. One of his drivers said to him in a whisper, "Our guy in the garage said they couldn’t get to but two of their cars. Too many cameras and people checking stuff."

  Jerrod pursed his lips and shrugged. "Two is better than none. Do we know which ones?"

  "Car three and car five."

  ***

  The doors opened, one set leading to the garage while the other led to the arena floor. Dillon gave his gunner one last fist bump and smile when they split to go their separate ways.

  He walked behind the others, running through the course in his head. The two transition points between the inner and outer ovals concerned him the most. Those were predictable points for speed changes, where they would be forced to decelerate to enter the inner track and then get up to speed for the outer one. If any of the contestants in the fixed positions had half a brain, they’d either already know or figure it out after the first lap.

  Their vehicles were lined up two by two, with one car by itself at the end. A member of the arena staff waited at each vehicle to help them suit up. His car was the last one, since they’d arrived at the check point last.

  The Karts were not known for roominess or comfort, and even Dillon needed to squirm a bit to fit through the driver’s side window. He attached the five-point harness and sat back, examining the dash while the tech double-checked his harness.

  Dillon ran his fingers across the embossed number five on the hood of their Kart, noting the difference in thickness between the cheap armor on this vehicle compared to the high-tech ceramic on the ATSS car.

  Inside was even more of disappointment. The only displays were a speedometer, a battery gauge, and an ammunition counter. A manual charging handle stuck out from under the dash, to clear any jams and next to it was the safeing switch. The cheap molded plastic of the steering wheel contained two buttons at the thumb positions, either of which could fire the front-mounted machinegun. A simple, fixed cross hair on top of the dash gave him a basic aim point.

  The tech patted his shoulder and stepped back. Dillon hit the ‘start’ button and the familiar electric whine of the motors spinning up filled the air. This was repeated four more times, the rest of the drivers starting their cars. A lighted path in the floor came on, showing them the way out to the arena proper through a tunnel.

  ***

  Rebekah sat side by side with Dave Jensen, the lead commentator for Seagull Stadium. They were about to kick off the broadcast for the day’s event. Fortunately, her studio flew out her preferred makeup and style artist, so she looked perfect. Her trim pant suit was cut in an athletic style to complement their topic.

  "Well, Rebekah, you’ve been following our racers for the last three days. What can you tell us about them?"

  "Dave, it’s been an adventure, let me tell you. This road rally is unlike anything they’ve encountered and that I’ve covered in autoduelling." She leaned forward in her chair, putting more emphasis on her words. "They have been pushed to new limits on this rally, and things are going to continue to get tougher."

  "Why do you say that? They’re back in the arena, with an event that’s more like what they’re used to. The Battle of Grand Junction was a real change from what we see in the arena."

  "Yes, and it’ll be interesting to see how they transition back to their roots. Almost every autoduellist competed at least once in a Killer Kart night, and this will be very different than what we’re used to seeing." Rebekah paused while the screen changed, to show the layout of the arena. "As you can see, this is a quarter-mile dirt track. Only one curve, coming out of the back stretch is banked. Speed control is going to be vital for these racers, Dave."

  "Yes, Rebekah. And those highlighted positions on each side of the back stretch are where the gunners from both teams will be positioned. That’s going to be a nasty crossfire zone in that straightaway."

  "It’s certainly going to call for different tactics. Take the current leader, Gabriel Santos. He’s known for blasting his way through any problem in front of him. That’s not going to work here. He can’t shoot at the fixed positions, only at the other cars. That same problem will affect the others to one degree or another."

  Dave motioned at the screen, and it changed to show Dillon’s face. "What about this young man? Dillon Hodges has made quite a name for himself in situations exactly like this. He likes his speed and he always manages to get in front of the pack."

  She fought to keep the sneer out of her voice, and instead tried to project concern. "True, Dillon is more of a driver than the others. Although his performance in this last leg doesn’t seem to reflect that. He let his car be disabled, and only a heroic effort on the part of his mechanics made it possible for him to get here today. Which Dillon will we see in the arena today?"

  ***

  An arena employee led Kayla and the other gunners to their positions. It wasn’t much, she saw. The only weapon, a light machinegun, was mounted on a swivel stand that was held in place by heavy sandbags on the feet. Twin steel gun shields to each side of the weapon protected the gunner, along with a pane of clear, bullet-resistant Lexan directly in front. Four additional ammo cases sat behind the position, ready to be attached. There wasn’t any other protection than the gun shield, and they weren’t even dug into the ground.

  Hmm. Some protection from the front but not much from the side. Makes you careful not to aim too far up and down the track. She measured the shield’s width and concluded it would stop the light rifle-caliber rounds they were using. However, even though the shield protected her body and head, it stopped about a foot off the ground, making ricochets a problem. Now the heavy boots and leg armor made sense.

  Their positions were about ten feet apart, and behind them a dirt-filled berm blocked their view of the front stretch of track. It extended across the entire length of their position and then some, making it all but impossible to turn and fire behind them. Doing so would also expose themselves to their competitors, so they were limited to shooting at targets on their part of the field. The only other fixtures on the field were tarp-covered piles of equipment, and they were told those were off-limits for cover. Yeah, don’t want to damage valuable equipment. Just people.

  Being the last ones to arrive meant she got the end spot. She would be the last to shoot and when she tested her firing arc, realized she would be able to fire at targets when they entered the banked curve. With a little cooperation from her fellow gunners to watch her open flank when she did so, she might be able to send someone out of control on the curve.

  Across the track she could see the other side getting the same introduction. They all handled their weapons with experienced motions, and at least three of the five began to talk among themselves. Recognizing the same need, Kayla approached the person next to her to start coordinating their tactics.