Conflict

Part 3, Chapter 9

Bullets rained from above as a dark shape went streaking overhead at high speed. Chick screamed as several bullets deflected off his hood and bit into the dirt around him. He flinched and pulled the trigger. The projectile missed McQueen by mere inches and exploded against Willys Butte. Large chunks of rock fell as the fiery inferno dissipated.

Lightning wanted so badly to escape, but his body wouldn't react. Drive! Drive you idiot! His mind raced. It couldn't escape the sight of the barrel that had been pointed at his hood. He saw the bullets tearing at the ground around Chick. Chick had tried to kill him - kill him! Now someone was trying to kill Chick? What?

Chick instinctively snapped his attention to the enemy in the sky. The black flyer was mid-bank, turning around to fly back at him. The early morning sunlight glinted off the gun barrels extending from either side of the fighter. Chick took aim and waited.

"You," Hicks growled as one of his long forgotten enemies lined up for another strike. "Where's your friend?"

Strip righted himself as he bore down on Chick a second time. It had been too close. If he'd shown up a second later, McQueen would've been a goner. This was no time for narrow escapes. He had to get Lightning clear of the situation.

Krakakakakakak. He fired another set of rounds at Chick. These bullets wouldn't penetrate the Buick's armor, but they would penetrate rubber, and that would slow him down. In a few seconds, Hick's right two tires looked like they'd gone through a shredder. Bmpsssshhhh. Chick fired another short-range missile. Strip corkscrewed around it.

Click. The sound snapped Lightning's attention from the inbound – what was it? A car? A plane? Both? – back to Chick. Hicks frowned and shook the weapon he wielded. Click. Chick swore. He hit the gun again, but to no avail. It was jammed. Lightning watched in horror as his rival's left front fender folded away to reveal a smaller counterpart weapon. A backup.

Chick aimed to the sky once again, but before pulling the trigger thought better of himself. Chrysler's fighters couldn't pierce his armor. He knew that. They knew that. His job was to take out McQueen. McQueen was still sitting there, mere yards away, frozen like a statue. Chick lowed his gun and returned to his original target.

Strip pushed himself. Chick took aim. Strip saw the trigger pull as he pushed himself into the space between the two cars on the ground. A deafening blast hit him square in the side as he intercepted the shot. He yelled in pain, but didn't feel the telltale signs of internal damage. The new panels must have worked.

Chick limped backwards in surprise as the jet reeled back and regained its composure. They hadn't been able to do that before – had they? Chick watched in growing uneasiness as his enemy came to a halt nearby, rotated the secondary engines, and returned to hover in front of him, blocking a clear shot to McQueen. Dust filled the air as the force from the jet engines pushed against the ground.

Strip watched as Chick slowly backed away. There was fear in his eyes, but also rage. It was a deadly combination. Strip took aim at the larger gun and let loose another round of shots. The mangled piece of metal fell harmlessly to the ground. Chick's gaze settled somewhere in the middle distance.

"Kid, what're you doin' sittin' there?" Strip turned slightly to look at Lightning, half hidden in the cloud of dust he was kicking up. "Get out of here! Drive!"

"Huh?" Lightning looked up at the hovering fighter, shaking.

"Go," Strip told him in a gentler tone, pleading with him and speaking only loud enough to be heard above the roaring winds keeping him afloat. "Drive, and whatever you do, don't stop. Now!"