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.
One car was driving down the highway, against the flow of tourist traffic.
"Sal?" Lightning muttered. Where had she come from? He squinted and observed the town below as she reentered. Something green had just rolled out of Luigi's.
"No. No, no, no," he mumbled, turning to face the road again.
"Hold on a second," the Chrysler blocked his path. "You can't just go back down there."
That was it. That was all Lightning could handle. He went off with frustration and rage. He was scared.
"What?" he yelled aggressively as the imposing flyer stood his ground. "Why? Tell me what's going on! Who are you? Why does Chick want me dead? I haven't done anything to you guys!"
"Lightnin', calm down and I – "
"No! Don't tell me to calm down!" Lightning cut him off. "Sally's down there. The rest of the town is down there. Chick is on a rampage. I can't just leave them. I can't let anything happen..."
At the mention of the Porsche's name, Lightning's voice cracked and grew weaker until it ended in a whisper.
Strip watched in empathy as Lightning seemed to dive nose first into a bottomless pit of despair. He didn't make any sudden moves, but he did turn to check on the progress of the Route 66 travelers. They had maybe five minutes before Wheel Well was covered in other cars.
"What's going on?" Lightning asked again. "Why did you save me?"
Strip turned back to look at his former racetrack competitor and sighed. "You deserve to know. But not here. Not in the open. Is there somewhere out of sight we can go?"
Lightning noticed the oncoming wave of traffic as well. The last thing he wanted was to have a meltdown in public. No, the last thing he wanted was to be questioned about the resurrected war machine at his side.
Not even that. The last thing he wanted was to be the reason his friends got hurt.
"Yeah."
Strip hurriedly followed Lightning up the road a ways and veered off through an open area cleft in the mountain. He barely fit with his wingspan, but eventually it opened up again. The path ended in a small clearing at the mouth of a cave. To one side, the mountain rose vertically above them. To the other, a clear view down to the town remained.
"Alright, give it to me while I'm thinking straight," Lightning ordered. "What don't I know that – "
He stopped as something clicked in his restored mind. When the Chrysler had asked him if he was "alright" just moments earlier. That tone. That inflection. It was familiar. He recognized that.
You alright, kid?
Lightning shivered as he remembered the day he'd heard that same nuance, less than two weeks earlier.
What're you doin', kid?
"No," Lightning turned to look at the fighter head on. "I'm losing my mind."
Strip knew he'd figured it out. He braced himself and triggered the conversion, returning to his normal self.
Lightning stared in astonishment as the fighter's wings retracted and folded away. The jet engines tucked themselves neatly out of sight. In seconds, the black metal panels that had protected him from the deadly blast shifted and replaced themselves with familiar Dinoco blue sheet metal. This wasn't a fighter. This was an exhausted, remorseful looking Piston Cup legend.
Strip faltered a bit as he recovered from the aftereffects of the transformation. Wincing, he looked up at the shell-shocked rookie.
"King?" Lightning asked unevenly, feeling more unsettled than ever.
"Kid, you have no idea what you're wrapped up in," Strip told him as he gained his awareness back. "And before you freak out again, give me a minute to explain."
Lightning remained silent, confused. What had just happened? The King was one of Chrysler's long forgotten brigade? Was this a trick? The multitude of questions he had amassed in the forefront of his mind. He didn't know which to ask first.
He watched as his former rival struggled to find himself. To Lightning's untrained eye, something seemed wrong. The King acted injured.
"Are you okay?" Lightning asked quietly, suddenly concerned.
"Yeah, just –" Strip winced again and uttered a small groan of discomfort as a final wave of vertigo rocked him. "Takes a while to adjust sometimes."
As the King steadied himself, Lightning noticed an unevenness along his left door where the bomb had exploded against his side. The sight of the damage, no matter how slight, sent a wave of guilt through the rookie. He felt responsible, but again didn't know why.
Though his first instinct had been to feel betrayed by the sudden reveal, Lightning found himself finding comfort in the King's presence. He knew he should be more surprised, and it's not that he wasn't. But he'd seen enough already – too much, in fact. Any other day the sight of what he'd just witnessed would have troubled him, but after nearly being obliterated by a weaponized Chick, a battle-ready King didn't seem that far-fetched.
"Alright, first off, thanks for pullin' yourself together," Strip said after taking a deep breath. "Lot of cars would lose their senses over that."
"Mmm," Lightning mused for a moment, unsure of his own mental state. He felt incredibly fragile, not that he would admit it aloud. "Jury's still out on that."
"Second," Strip ignored the kid's remark, "Chick's not gone crazy, much as I hate to admit it. He's doin' this because he has to."
"I'm gonna stop you right there, King," Lightning cut in as respectfully as he could. "He said the same thing. 'Because he has to.' That doesn't tell me anything! Why? Why would he have to? What's going on?"
"Right, right," Strip stopped, reminding himself that Lightning genuinely didn't know a thing. "Let me back up. Kid, you're smack in the middle of a war you didn't ask to be in. General Motors built you to take on the mantle of their name in the Detroit War."
Lightning's instinctual reaction evoked a single, sharp laugh. That was absurd. Him? A warrior? This whole thing had to be nothing more than a nightmare.
Strip was taken aback at the sudden reaction. Lightning had gone from uselessly panicked, to angrily coherent, to obnoxiously in denial in a matter of mere moments. While Strip wasn't necessarily surprised, he had hoped for a more reasonable reaction. As the kid began to talk, it became obvious he wasn't about to receive that. Annoyance faded to unchecked irritation.
"Me?" Lightning asked, raising his voice in obvious disbelief. "Me, Lightning McQueen, GM's pawn in a war? I don't think so. I mean, I'm pretty sure I would know if I was built to fight. Look at me! I don't have any weapons. I'm a racecar! I thought you were, too."
Though patient by nature, Strip was not in the mood to put up with McQueen's arrogance. This wasn't a joking matter. He'd taken a hit for this kid and revealed his identity to him. A little respect, or even an attempt at understanding, would have been appreciated. Strip let out a frustrated growl as he rolled closer to put the kid in his place. There wasn't time to be gentle. This wasn't a time for calm coercion. The heat of battle had not yet cooled, and it didn't appear that it would any time soon.
"Do you think I'm jokin' with you?" Strip shouted in return. "Do you honestly think that this whole mornin' has been nothin' but a joke?"
Lightning flinched and rolled backward. He'd never heard the King yell before. Heck, he'd never seen the King be angry in the least. This car was known for being the most relaxed and collected racer on the track. Realizing his mistake, Lightning cursed himself for being so unthinkingly brash. He grew conscious that his remark had been nothing more than an inconsiderate defense mechanism.
He remembered how genuinely close he'd been to death less than half an hour ago, how helpless he'd been. That same plane that took that hit was the racer sitting in front of him. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the King's words were the first that had made sense thus far.
"Do you think that I wanted this?" Strip continued without remorse. "I dare you to look me in the eyes and tell me you think I wanted any part of this. Do you know what it's like to be torn apart against your will as a kid and put back together into somethin' built to kill for someone else? Do you? No. You don't."
Lightning's gaze fell to the ground in embarrassment. "I'm – "
"Do you know what it's like to watch innocent cars die at the will of some corporate entity? Do you know what it's like to be injured to the point you genuinely wish death would just take you instead, just so you won't have to fight anymore? Look at me. Look at me, Lightnin'. I didn't sign up for this. Everyone that I watched die didn't either. Don't you dare make this war out like it's not real, kid, 'cause it is. Whether you like it or not, you're right in the middle of it."
Realizing his rebuke had turned into something much more personal than he had intended, Strip took a second to let silence settle between them. Lightning's ignorant remark was nothing but a thoughtless, instinctive reaction without any premeditation. The expression on the kid's face now looked more like a whipped dog. The point had been made.
"Chick has been told he has to kill you." Strip continued in a slightly quieter but equally stern voice. "In case you ain't figured it out yet, he's the Grand National that defected to fight for Ford back in the eighties. GM built you to be naïve in the hopes that you'd keep yourself out of harm's way. Lot of good that did."
"I'm sorry," Lightning whispered, forcing himself to man up and look the King in the eyes. "Really. I didn't know. I shouldn't have lost my nerve."
Strip forced himself to take a moment and calm down. Perhaps he shouldn't have gone off on the young racer like that. Perhaps, but he didn't regret it. Sometimes the quickest shortcuts are the roughest.
"Look, Lightnin', I know how this sounds to you," Strip said in a friendlier, but perhaps more grave tone. "I know how scared you are. You didn't ask for this. You shouldn't have to deal with this. But I need you to trust me. I need you to help me end this."
Lightning glanced back down the mountain range toward Radiator Springs. There were even more cars down there, and something seemed to be going in the center of town. A congregation of cars surrounded a couple others, but it was too far away to tell who was where. His inherent worry grew again, but this time he faced it thoughtfully. If he really was a part of this, maybe there was something he could do to help.
"What can I do?" Lightning asked as Strip turned to observe the town below. "Chick's armed. I can't fly like you. I literally can't do anything except be a burden. And I still have a million questions."
"I'll answer them later," Strip promised, "once we get you in the clear. But first we need to get Chick out of town and away from the civilians."
"How?" McQueen inquired. "I saw you shoot at him. Your bullets bounced right off. He's indestructible."
"I didn't say kill him. I said get him away from town."
"But isn't that – "
Lightning stopped. He knew about the war. He knew that the winner was the last manufacturer standing with living competitors. As it stood, the three racers represented all three manufacturers. Lightning backed up and eyed the King suspiciously.
"Wait a minute..." he said. "You're a Mopar. I'm GM. Doesn't that mean...?"
Strip turned to look at the rookie, flatly annoyed. "How well do you know me, kid? Do you honestly think I'd come after you, after all you've done for me? I'm not a murderer. We're on the same side these days, anyway. You should watch the news every now and then."
"It's been a long day," Lightning excused his query, knowing full well the sun had only been up for an hour at most. "I think you can forgive my suspicions."
"Yeah, alright. Anyway," Strip turned back to look at the town, "I don't know what's goin' on down there, but I doubt it's good. We need to move."
"Right," Lightning agreed hesitantly. "But what are we gonna do?"
Strip hesitated for a moment, gauging the risk of his haphazard, half-formed plan. It would work. It would have to.
"Hope you got plenty of gas left," he told McQueen. "You might have to outrun him for a while."
Lightning frowned. "Really? You've got all that tech and you're wanting me to act as bait? Really?"
"Got a better idea?"
Silence.
"Look, I know you can outrun him. I won't let him touch you if you can just stay far enough ahead." Strip tried to convince him. "Come on, kid, I need you to trust me."
Lightning still didn't look so sure, but then he gazed at the disruption in town again. "Alright."
Strip nodded in approval. Finally. "Just keep focused and don't panic. Use that confidence you do out on the track. You'll be fine, I pro– "
A familiar roar faded in across the desert and caught his attention. Something moved over the horizon.
Lightning heard it too. It was the same sound he'd heard earlier right before Chick attacked. He looked at the King and found him smiling.
"Get movin', boy. This'll be easier than I thought."