One For The Road - Chapter 31: Chapter 31

Just as the fight was about to begin, I looked over to Drake. He leaned forward with his hands on his knees, and he stared down the robot from the other side of the glass.
He seemed convinced I could figure this fight out, and to do that, all I had to do was treat it with the same amount of pure chaos as every other one. It all boiled down to the basics of racing: quick thinking, decisiveness, and a willingness to destroy whatever necessary.
Sacrilege was a heftier robot than The Jackrabbit. The weight favored us, but the opponent was obviously geared to generate as much force upward as possible. Like the first flipper strategy, I had to control the fight or it could easily get out of hand.
Apparently, I had a few of the all-time greats of combat robotics watching my every move in this fight, and I didn't have it in me to give them anything less than my best. Sure, I won quickly last time, but that was a whole two days ago. The past practically didn't exist in moments like this.
The lights dimmed, and as soon as a green light flashed, I fired up the spinner and rushed out to start the fight. The Jackrabbit had two main weapons, the flipper and the damage I did to myself, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna let the second one cost me. I did that enough in real life.
The spinner hadn't really gotten up to speed when the robots met, and it barely brushed against The Jackrabbit without doing any real damage. But before I could back up and give myself a little extra time, the opponent got under Sacrilege and flipped her up a few feet off the ground. She crashed back down, and I spun her around in a circle. Everything seemed fine.
It wasn't as high of a flip as in the video I had seen, but robots were like cars in that they didn't bounce very well.
"Not so aggressive," Drake said from beside me, which wasn't entirely in my nature.
I retreated back, but The Jackrabbit followed me and continued pushing me back. If they got under Sacrilege, the second flip could be all they needed to take me out. That was just long enough to get the spinner up to full speed, and I got a few solid hits in before The Jackrabbit snuck out of my reach. It looked like there were a few dents on it but otherwise, there wasn't any major damage. I still had plenty of time to rectify that situation, though.
I originally thought that Sacrilege was the tougher robot, but whatever kind of armor they used on The Jackrabbit was a little bit tougher than our own.
With the flat design of their robot, it looked like a bitch to control, but they sure as hell knew what they were doing with it. Every single time I got close, I could only manage a couple minor blows before they got out of the way.
I bit down on my cheek, and a flood of heat washed over me. I knew I was still a rookie at this, but I also knew my tendencies when it came to racing. Frustration always came quickly, and as I had learned with Drake recently, I did dumb shit when I was mad.
New plan.
"Catch me if you can," I said, and I turned the robot around. If I just stayed out of their way, The Jackrabbit couldn't flip me again. It was simple, and when time ran out, it would be clear who did more damage and was therefore the winner.
I looked up at the clock. There was just under a minute to go, and as long as I didn't get flipped again, I would be in good shape. Everything was still intact, and we did some damage to the opponent.
The only aggressive I planned on being for the next little bit was aggressively careful.
The maneuverability of The Jackrabbit wasn't very smooth, and I kept Sacrilege out of harm's way.
When the clock struck zero, I released the death grip I had on the controller, wiped my hands, and tried to take a breath. But despite the fact that I really didn't have anything to worry about, my hands were a little shaky and my heart was slightly faster than usual.
Every fight that I had been in was a knockout. Either I kicked the shit out of the opponent, or I got the shit kicked out of me. But this was the first time that the decision wasn't made in the arena. My fate rested in the hands of the judges who knew the technical details that I hadn't actually bothered to learn.
I preferred it when I could let my results shine. When other people got involved, it didn't end as well for me.
Fuck.
I knew all about having wins ripped from my fingertips. Talladega, anyone?
But none of that snuck out of my mouth. Instead, I asked, "Did we win?"
"I don't know. I'm a little biased, but it's two completely different robots with different styles of fighting. One's methodical and cutthroat, and the other is pretty spectacular. Who doesn't love to see shit get launched fifteen feet into the air?" Drake replied.
I hesitated. "Methodical?"
"It's insane. You think faster than your brain realizes," he said. "I don't know if it's your driving experience, but it's fun to watch."
I had heard my style of driving was every adjective in the book: chaotic, thoughtless, natural, too nice, too bitchy, dangerous. But never methodical.
Before I could respond to that, one of the officials came out to the middle of the arena. The judges made a decision that fast? Maybe I had spent a little more time freaking out about the results than I had thought.
"And the winner, by unanimous decision, is," he paused for effect. For fuck's sake. "The Jackrabbit."
Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I lowered my head, and I took in another shaky breath. My heart sank into my throat.
"I don't get it. I thought for sure that we did way more damage," I muttered.
Drake shook his head. "I thought so too, but it's not just about that. It's about control, aggression, and other factors."
"Well, that would have been nice to know."
"It was in the packet we gave you. You have no one to blame but yourself," Josiah said.
"Why don't you just kick me a little harder while I'm down?" I shook my head and bit my lip. "Fuck this. I just want to go."
"For what it's worth, I thought you did pretty well, Katie. They're a good team," Drake said.
"Great, so I can win against horrible teams, but when it really matters, I shit the bed. That makes me feel better," I said.
"I'll give you a second to calm down, and then we'll talk about what went wrong, okay?" Drake asked, and he and Josiah went to go collect the relatively undamaged Peanut.
I probably wasn't going to calm down for a while, but I nodded anyway. That was absolutely how I wanted to spend my Friday night, going over all of the ways I fucked up in three minutes.
Before I could go help Drake and Josiah put Sacrilege back on her little cart and wheel her back to our pit, one of the judges came up to me.
"Can I talk to you for a second, Miss Moore?" he asked.
Didn't he kinda just say that I sucked at fighting?
"No need for formalities. It's either Katie, or it's Moore. Not a fan of the Miss," I said.
Truscott used to call me that, and he demanded that I called him Mr. Truscott. He claimed it was more professional that way, even though Griffin could call him Shithead for all he cared.
"Of course. Well, I'd like to talk to you about your team," he said.
"Okay, so Drake is our captain, and he'll be done getting the pieces of our robot in a few minutes I'm sure," I replied.
"This is more about you, though. Ever since we found out who you are and you've talked about your life now, it's generated a bit of interest in combat robotics from groups that we normally wouldn't get," he continued.
"Hillbillies and rednecks?"
He laughed. "You said it, not me."
"Gotta love them. They've been nothing but kind to me. A few kitchen jokes, but what can you do?" I laughed. "But anyway, if it has something to do with the robot, you probably should talk to Drake. He's way smarter than me."
"Alright. Which one is he?"
I pointed him out, and he headed over that way to go talk to Drake.
Hopefully, he had something good to say. Otherwise, I was gonna look like a fucking idiot.
Once I explained that I promised Griffin I would go to the race on Sunday, Drake, Josiah, and I decided to spend just a few more days in the US before we headed back to London. They didn't have to wait around for me, but it was nice that they did, especially after the last fight didn't go our way.
Pocono was one of the fastest tracks that NASCAR visited, and it was also one of the weirder ones. It was shaped like a triangle, and it fucking sucked. Wrecks came out of nowhere and were catastrophic thanks to the speed, but it was a lot more fun to watch from outside the car.
Griffin and I had a tradition where we spent the time right before the race together, and when I found my way back for the All-Star race, we kept it up. Of course, this was the first time that I wasn't actually driving, but—
There were only two times I couldn't bring myself to climb into a racecar for a while: when my parents died and when I just about got killed at Talladega. This was the first time that I wasn't the one keeping myself out.
As much as I hated that fucking track, all I wanted was just one more shot at Talladega. Either that or a bottle of whiskey.
Just before a prayer and the national anthem, I took my spot next to Griffin and his sixty-six car.
"Can't win here, can't win fighting robots, what the hell's the point?" I said.
"Good attitude. That'll get you far," he replied, then he looked down at me. "Don't be a dumbass. You've won in the past, and you'll do it again. Maybe it just isn't your time right now."
"I hate the way I get so high on one win. It sucks when it ends."
"It does. I was the best car out here until you left, and now I only make it to the finish line about half the time."
I glanced up at him. "Well, I guess Roger really fucked up by letting me go, huh?"
"Make sure you tell him that if you run into him today."
"I will. You know I will."
Griffin chuckled. "Yep."
Although it wasn't as bad as a Baton Rouge summer day, it was still hot as hell on the track before the race. But that didn't matter. There was something comforting about standing by him, like no matter what stupid shit I did, he'd still be there for me.
"I'm really glad I'm here." I paused for a moment. Sure, it was like a knife to the heart, but it meant a lot to him. "I mean, I'm fine where I'm at right now, but this would be better."
"Yeah, there are just some people who are born for the road. You're one of them," Griffin said.
"So are you, Griffin."
"And maybe that's why the highway isn't as lonely of a place as they make it seem."
A voice over a loudspeaker interrupted our conversation, and as soon as he stopped talking, Griffin would have to climb into the car.
We didn't have to say anything, though. We both knew what it meant for me to be there.
Just before the race was set to begin, I climbed up onto the platform where Griffin's crew chief and engineers sat to study the race and car. Griffin was to start in tenth, and I spotted his sixty-six car as it passed by.
I continued scrolling through the field, and finally, I picked out my old ninety-five car from the rest of the crowd. Not much had changed on the exterior of the car, but there sure as hell was a major difference on the inside.
My stomach leaped into my throat, and I brushed my hair out of my face. That was my car, and that bitch stole it from me.
It had been a few months since I last sat in that car, and it certainly wasn't the same exact one as the one I got wrecked in during the Talladega race, but that didn't mean it wasn't mine. Every single data point Elizabeth got to use was mine.
But was I bitter? Not in the slightest.
"We're hoping this will help Griffin get back on track. He hasn't finished well since Tonkin replaced you," Griffin's crew chief said.
"He better win. How's his car?" I asked.
"He was complaining about it being loose, but we think we fixed it up for him as much as we could," he replied.
"Just gotta have a better car than most people to have a chance."
He nodded, but he didn't say anything else. Even with the cars only coasting, they were still practically impossible to shout over. If anyone would have been trying to get my attention, there was no way I could have heard them. Years of hearing damage only made that problem even worse.
I reached down into my bag to grab a water bottle, and I caught a glimpse of two people standing close to our station.
Two familiar faces. Two that found incredible ways to insult me.