Gabe led the procession out and up a ramp to the arena entrance. The shadowed halls of the underground garage gave way to the brightly lit interior of Seagull Stadium. They continued into the arena, following the feeder path that led to the start line. Even through his helmet, Dillon could hear the muted roar of the crowd, and he smiled. No matter how many hours he’d just recently spent on the highways, this was his element. And this is my kind of race. All that matters…

  He stopped himself from repeating the old mantra. Finishing mattered but finishing as a team mattered the most.

  Their opponents, those who’d won a spot in the lottery were already in their Karts at the start line. Dillon slowed to a stop behind the car in front of him, looking over at the vehicle lined up next to him. A helmeted head watched him, visor already closed. Dillon gave him a thumbs-up, but the other driver didn’t return the gesture.

  Mentally shrugging, Dillon made a few minute adjustments to his seat. Then he tapped the channel button for Kayla.

  "We’re at the start line. You all set?"

  "Our side is. The other side is still getting things arranged. Apparently, some people can’t follow directions and are in the wrong spots. The arena staff is working things out."

  "You have spoiled me, you know."

  "What?"

  "The setup in this Kart is really basic. I mean, I’m aiming through a fixed cross hair on the dash."

  "I know the feeling. I’m using iron sights on this machinegun. I think my dad had better gear starting out."

  The digital banner flashed ‘Start Engines’, a throwback to the old days, since their engines were already running. Twin vertical light bars on either side of the track, holding a red, two ambers, and a green light flashed on, blinking all lights three times. Then all the lights extinguished except for red.

  Dillon steadied his breathing, preparing for the countdown. The Race Director came on over their general channel on the radio.

  "All contestants, the track is green, and we are ready to start. Remember, you have to complete the first quarter lap before going weapons free. No contact between vehicles before then, either. Stand by for the starting lights."

  He did a quick scan on the panel and flipped his arming switch on. Just to be sure, he pulled the charging handle. It didn't move.

  Frowning, he pulled on the handle again. There was a little give, maybe an inch. His stomach clenched, wondering if he was going to have to race with a jammed weapon. Holding his breath, he cycled it a third time, and finally the handle came free. He felt the vibration of the gears moving through the handle, and a round flew out the discharge port, the lights of the arena reflecting off the brass case. He sighed, wondering what else could go wrong, when the red light changed to the first amber.

  His instincts kicked in, both hands going to the steering wheel. In front of him, the rest of the cars seemed to tense, while they awaited the green light.

  The second amber light illuminated, and he rested his foot lightly on the accelerator pedal, not depressing it yet. His left foot remained on the brake. He knew he’d have to wait for the rest of the pack to move and he’d be constrained by their speeds.

  The green light flashed on, and the two lead cars moved out. The next pair followed, and it was several seconds before he could move. These Karts really don’t have much acceleration. I have to watch out how much energy I lose on those turns, because it won’t be easy to get it back.

  Everyone stayed in their two-by-two formation while they headed in the turn. Once they exited, the no contact rule would end. What’s this guy next to me going to do? Yeah, he’s going to wait for me to get in front. He knows I need speed so he’s going to count on me to push ahead and try to dodge his fire.

  They went into the turn, and the formation started to break up somewhat. Three of the opposing Karts were slowing, obviously waiting for rear shots when the racers pulled ahead.

  "All right folks, remember what we talked about. Get ready." Gabe’s voice on their general channel was tight and clipped.

  There was no response, and Jaslyn, behind him, began to slow somewhat. Then they were exiting the turn, and Gabe’s car, ahead of his twin by half a length, slid sharply to the right. His back quarter panel slammed into the other Kart with a screech of plastic on plastic. That sent the front end to the right, swinging the tail end around right into Jaslyn’s front arc.

  She opened up with her machinegun, hammering the rear end. Pieces of plastic armor went flying, while Gabe slid back to the left and accelerated. The driver appeared to be distracted by the bullets chewing up his rear end and forgot for a second he was steering hard to the left. His car went into spin across the track, passing out of bounds and into the grassy area. The sudden resistance of the ground caught his tires and the car flipped end over end.

  ***

  The screen in the booth replayed the flipping vehicle in slow motion, while Dave and Rebekah watched. "Well, looks like first blood to the racers. Rebekah, it sounds like Gabe set up that maneuver ahead of time."

  "Yes, Dave. Gabe has a reputation for massive damage, but he does know how to work with a team? Let’s see if they can keep up that cooperation."

  ***

  The rest of the pack, racers and contestants alike slowed to avoid a collision. In a burst of caution, the next three opposing Karts drifted to the right, out of danger of immediate contact with their counterparts. Dillon’s twin slowed even more, and Dillon kept pace with him.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Kayla, we’re exiting the first curve. I’m still in the back, and my guy is to the outside. On the straightaway, I’m going to force him into the open so you can hammer him."

  "Understood. Everyone here is ready on the trigger, so you might get hit by both sides."

  Well, he’d face that when it happened. Right now, he needed to focus on his position. Everyone in front was jockeying back and forth, trying to find an angle. Gabe was still opening the distance, and every time the number two opponent tried to line up a shot, Jesse drifted right and caused him to break off his attack.

  The group hit the straightaway on the back stretch still in a rough two column formation. Dillon took his foot off the accelerator and started a cut to the right. His twin, watching him carefully also drifted to the right, trying to stay out of Dillon’s firing arc.

  Ahead, the crossfire began when the light machineguns on both sides opened up. There was very little a driver could do, and friendly fire was inevitable. Still, this initial round of fire didn’t seem to be too effective, given the number of targets and the relative crudeness of the weapons.

  Dillon followed the last opponent Kayla’s arc, and she adjusted her fire. Light machine gun bullets zipped across the track to pepper the target Kart’s front and left side. The driver accelerated, trying to clear her zone of fire as quickly as he could, forgetting that his vehicle wasn’t generously equipped in the engine department.

  Taking advantage of the lapse in concentration, Dillon drifted right, bringing the car into his cross hairs. Firing in short bursts on the left rear quarter, he tried for a tire. This tactic helped him to aim, since the fixed sight did nothing to help him. Watching the tracers and the impact did far more to get him on target.

  The other driver, desperately trying to get away, kept accelerating but he could only go so far since the rest of the pack was in his way. His only option was to go all the way to the outside, and he almost succeeded.

  The amount of fire directed at his car made it impossible to tell who scored the ultimate shot, blowing out his left rear tire. The rubber came apart, hit by several rounds in quick succession. The wheel mount dug into the dirt, like a ship’s anchor catching on the ocean floor. The front end came left when the vehicle slowed, throwing it into a spin that left the car half off the track and facing toward the arena wall.

  Then they were past the back stretch and headed into the banked curve. Dillon switched to their team channel and said, "Nice shooting there, K."

  She replied, slightly out of breath, "That was a lot of fun. Still, I miss my own setup. This iron sight is crap."

  ***

  Dave was smiling broadly at the screen, clearly enjoying the event so far and inviting his viewers to enjoy it with him. "Wow. That was a bold move for that young team. Another fine piece of teamwork, wouldn’t you say, Rebekah?"

  She brought up her on-screen smile, nodding. "It certainly was, Dave. It looks like the ATSS team has showed up to compete today. A complete turnaround from their own rollover in Grand Junction."

  ***

  In the ATSS suite, Eric and Basher stood up simultaneously and cheered. The president’s drink went flying, spilling over the plush carpet but neither man noticed.

  "What did I tell you, Nico. Those two make a great team."

  Clasping his friend by the shoulder, the former autoduellist watched the track with a growing smile. It wasn’t like the old days, he thought. This was better.

  ***

  Dillon moved into position behind the car in front of him, keeping pace with the pack when they exited the curve and into the front stretch. His instincts screamed at him to make a move and get ahead in the pack, but his brain remained in control. This wasn’t the place for a one-man show. They were only on the second lap, and teamwork succeeded in getting rid of two opponents.

  The three remaining enemies started darting back and forth at the rally members, almost daring them to break formation and take a shot. No one took the bait, but the tactic was starting to break up their formation when people changed speed in response.

  After watching these maneuvers, Dillon got the feeling these guys were deliberately working together. Or communicating with each other somehow. Maybe both. Their tactics were too well coordinated.

  Then they were into the flat curve, and speeds started dropping rapidly. The three enemy Karts braked hard, dropping back toward Dillon. He was obliged to slow even further, to keep them from getting behind him.

  Unfortunately, they were now in a position to shoot up the rear of the column, with only one opponent behind them to worry about. As if on a signal, one of them steered to the outside and started braking, trying to get behind or at alongside Dillon.

  "Dillon, what’s happening over there? We can see you coming out of the curve."

  He barely registered her question, cutting the wheel to the right and blocking the car from getting behind him. Their bumpers touched for a moment, putting them both into a fishtail. Dillon mashed the firing button while he steered for control, hoping for some hits at such a close range.

  "Kayla, they’re behind our guys. Focus on those two, not me."

  The other car cut to the left, diving for the inner lane. He let him, not quite grasping the driver’s tactic. Maybe he was reverting to a habit, or maybe he panicked. It didn’t matter, because now Dillon had a straight shot at the other two cars, who were firing bursts at the rest of his teammates. He began firing his own bursts, trying to disrupt their attacks as much as he could.

  A furious crossfire appeared in front of him when the lead racers entered the fire zone once again. Tracers flew left and right, some impacting on the ground and ricocheting high into the air. Brief, small fireballs announced shredded tires, and Jaslyn called out on the general channel, "I’m down a tire!"

  The pack was completely disrupted when they entered the banked curve, Gabe still far in the lead. The other two were trying to get the correct entry angle to maintain their speed, but their approach was thrown off. The same went for their competition.

  Only Dillon, at the rear with no one to block his approach, was able to position himself correctly. Unfortunately, his solo place at the rear guaranteed all of the fixed positions were firing at him. Rounds began spanging off the asphalt ahead of him when he entered the fire zone. His teammates were shooting past him, trying to suppress the incoming fire. It must have worked, because he didn’t lose any tires and despite the hits, nothing penetrated the armor.

  ***

  Kayla released her grip on the machinegun’s grip, letting the barrel point skyward. This kind of split-second decision-making was intoxicating. She was breathing hard, even though she was standing still this whole time. Her ears were ringing despite the helmet with the noise suppression, and the burned powder smell filled her nostrils.

  She’d never felt more alive than now, she realized. Or at least, not since that close fight outside Montrose. I know now why Dillon does this. Why he’s committed to this sport. Why my dad was, and what it cost him to get forced out.

  There was activity on the far side, at the other fixed positions. One man left his position and run over to the adjacent one. Both of them disappeared behind the berm for several seconds, and then they stood up together, some kind of rifle in their hands. They pointed them in her team’s direction, although they were aiming upwards, not directly at them. Small puffs of smoke emerged from the barrels of each of them.

  Shocked, she realized they were grenade launchers. Her mind spun the fact round and round, like a tire slipping on ice. Where did they get those? That’s not allowed in the rules.

  The two grenades landed on Danalee’s position next to her. The explosion hammered at her ears, and she fell to the ground, partly stunned. Two thoughts ran through her mind; I’ve got to tell Dillon and They can’t do that.

  Her mouth moved, trying to form the words while her hand shakily pressed on the transmit button. Nothing came out except a croak. She tried to crawl, but her head was swimming, and the ground seemed to move underneath her like it was alive.

  She tried to call again, thumbing the transmit button with a clumsy grab. All she was able to manage was a gasp and a cry, and then two grenades landed near her position.