Conflict

Part 3, Chapter 10

Lightning shot up the winding mountainside road, testing his tires' grip against the pavement as he rounded every turn. All he could see was the image of the gun barrel branded into his memory. That, and of course, Sally.

Without fail, her early morning drives always ended at the Wheel Well overlook. On occasion, he'd even beat her there and they'd spend quiet time together watching the sun rise over the horizon.

He was not about to lose that.

"Sally?" he called as he skidded to a stop in front of the abandoned motel. "Sally!"

He drove through the motel once. She wasn't at the overlook, and she wasn't inside the structure. Subtle fear rose in the back of his throat. If she wasn't in town or at her favorite spot, and he didn't pass her on the way up the range, where was she? Immediately he thought the worst.

Chick had been gone all night. He hadn't shown back up until the morning, but was that before or after Sally had gone for her drive? What if he'd done something to her? What if they crossed paths while he was out training and Chick wanted to use her as collateral against him?

Why was Chick trying to kill him in the first place?

Lightning let out a yell in frustration. He could feel the tears coming. He didn't know what to do or where to go. The more he tried to make sense of the situation, the more unanswered questions he garnered. His town was in trouble, the love of his life was in trouble, and somehow it was because of him. It was because of him, and he didn't have the slightest clue as to why.

Before Lightning could make the impossible decision between fleeing the area and going back to town to look for Sally, the deafening roar of nearby jet engines rose from beneath the edge of the cliff. Alarmed and stressed to the point of an absolute meltdown, McQueen kicked himself into reverse and backed away. The dark figure ascended from below the drop off and settled onto the flat ground. It shut the engines down. The whirring faded until it stopped completely as Lightning stared.

Sarge had been right. This was one of the Chrysler designed warriors from decades ago. Lightning vaguely remembered them being mentioned in a history lesson long ago. He hadn't paid attention. He suddenly wished he had. He examined his company suspiciously from a safe distance, if there was such a thing.

He was just a modified car – one of the winged warriors from the muscle car era, except this one had taken that nickname and made a reality of it. Lightning noticed the dented panel and scorch marks on his side from taking a hit.

A hit that had been meant for him.

The fighter peered at him from behind a tinted visor. Lightning felt the urge to look away. He struggled to keep himself from hyperventilating. This car was a killing machine, was it not?

"You alright, kid?"

Lightning jumped at the sound of his voice. He'd forgotten it could speak even though the car had talked to him during the fight. Something about it was eerily familiar, though he was too strung out to pinpoint it. He forced himself to look back at the motionless fighter. Strangely, even through the visor, he saw a look of concern in its eyes.

"I – " Lightning struggled to find his voice. "What's - ?"

He had been asked a question. He should answer that question. Come on, Lightning, cooperate.

"No."

The winged warrior nodded, as though he didn't expect otherwise. "We need to get you out of here."

"What?" Lightning asked in hushed alarm. "What? No. The town. I can't – Sally – she's..."

The volume in which he spoke rose consistently although complete sentences continued to evade him. He rolled forward toward the overlook as though he were acting under someone else's direction and looked down at the town. Visitors were lazily cruising through and starting up the mountainside.