Rage

THIRTY-ONE

Raine awoke at midday, the darkness of the storeroom hiding the afternoon light.

He had helped pick up when the bar closed last night, pulling chairs back into place, cleaning the floor, taking out the trash.

Sally didn’t have much to say after he came out of his room. They both watched the hours run down and race time draw close, lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually, though, she looked at him. “You better go,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, and he walked out of the bar and headed back to where he left his buggy. • • •

Except it wasn’t there.

“Where’s my buggy?”

Jackie Weeks looked up from the innards of an engine sitting on an open frame. Guess that’s how they put these things together, Raine thought. Grab an engine, a frame, find some seats, get a fuel tank.

“No one told ya? Once you got your sponsor, Mick had to get Sally’s name painted on. Of course, not much space for that on what you’re driving. Still, you got a sponsor.”

“So-Mick has it?”

“You really don’t know how it goes, do you? See, the cars are put in position in the stadium. Yours is probably there already. Then at race time, I announce all the drivers as they come out one by one. Showmanship, got it?”

“Right. So I head in here?” Raine pointed to a corridor that led into the back of the stadium.

“Yeah. I’ll walk you down later. Being that you’re new and all. But hold on. Mick did some things to your buggy. Don’t you want to learn about them?”

“Sure.”

“First, that engine of yours? Not the most efficient or powerful. Not sure you’d even be able to keep up if I didn’t have Mick tinker. What he did was… well, these engines don’t burn the fuel that we cook up too good. Most engines have to be modified. Yours-no time to really do that. Know anything about engines?”

“I’ve had some die on me.”

“Funny. I like that. A real jokester. ’Kay, so Mick figured out something-when you burn the fuel, the engine shoots out the exhaust, laced with fuel. But if the carburetors can reuse some of that exhaust, you can get a second quick burn. Just a little extra push. Like getting a double shot. Pretty nifty, if I do say so myself.”

“An afterburner.”

“Hm? An after-what? I dunno. Anyway, you will see, more speed, more power. You’ll need it. And then there’s your defenses, as in… you didn’t have any.” He laughed at that.

Everyone seems really concerned about my buggy’s defenses.

“It’s amazing you’ve stayed alive without them. So he put in some ramming hooks, front and back. Nothing fancy. But also, you’ll see by the driver’s seat, Mick put in a lever. Lowers a side panel on both sides of your vehicle… about forty-five degrees. Got a nasty edge to it. Good for taking a slice out of another buggy.”

“Can I bring my guns?”

“You do like to make with the jokes, eh? So that’s about it. I got to get to the booth. Showtime, you know. You can go find Mick if you got any more questions.”

Then a smile that Raine took to be not a good thing.

“Oh-and you can meet… the competition.”

Raine walked into a large room filled with smoke and loud chatter. The feeling in the room felt familiar.

Before a mission, grunts milling about, waiting for the order to hit their Humvees or get into choppers. Jokes, nervous excitement, stuff that would all dissipate once they made a move.

“You, Raine… Raine, get over here.”

He turned and saw a scrawny guy wearing a belt of tools that looked heavy enough to drag him down to the ground.

“You must be Mick.”

“Got it. Mr. Weeks tell you about the mods to your buggy?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Mick looked around at the room of people. “Couldn’t let you race against these guys in what you had. Goddamn, no. People would think it’s a fix. Not that you, a newbie, will be able to do anything in today’s race. Just stay alive. But you gotta pop your cherry somewhere.”

Interesting, Raine thought, how some phrases survived. Probably all those connected to the most basic human functions. They lived on.

As Mick spoke he looked around the room. A few other drivers seemed to have taken note of him; others went on talking, laughing.

No one talking to me, Raine thought.

A newcomer must be bad luck.

He spotted someone tall wearing a broad-brimmed hat. Even from across the room, Raine could see the shiny glow of a badge.

“Mick-who’s that guy?”

“Him? Sheriff Black. Likes to come back here, talk with the drivers.”

“He works for Clayton?”

Now Mick laughed. “If you say so. Could be the other way around.” Mick looked around, then back to Raine. “Black always comes in when Starky’s racing.” Now Raine looked at the man that the tall sheriff, this Wellspring lawman, was talking to.

He was dressed in brown leather, like what in the last century would have been a motorcycle outfit. Guy had a gut, a few extra pounds from spending his prize money on rarities, no doubt. The man nodded as Black spoke.

Then, just as Raine was looking at him, the man looked over.

That, Raine thought, has got to be Starky.

“Hey, gotta go, man,” Mick said. “Enjoy your new wheels… long as they last.” Mick wandered over to some other drivers, leaving Raine alone… and under the scrutiny of Starky. The race champ grinned, nodding as Black spoke to him.

Then a laugh.

Fresh meat, Raine thought. That’s probably what they think I am.

Suddenly he wondered what he had agreed to-to Clayton, to do this race, to Sally-to get payback against what was obviously one nasty piece of work. A racing star.

Raine looked away.

Then, echoing from outside, he could hear the magnified voice of Jackie Weeks.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Wellspring, honored guests from Capital Prime, representatives of all the settlements who have joined us today… welcome to… The White Rabbit!”

The White Rabbit.

Chasing the rabbit didn’t turn out so well for Alice…

What are my chances?

But Mick had gone, and now the drivers began gathering near a door to the back, getting ready to be introduced to the fans in the stadium.

No one looked at Raine as he moved into place.

It was as though he wasn’t there at all.

And that can’t be a good thing, he thought.

Jackie Weeks introduced the first driver, and Raine saw a kid-couldn’t have been more than seventeen-push his way past the other drivers, out to the stadium.

A smattering of applause.

Like Clayton said, people came here from all over to try their luck. Must need a steady stream of new drivers, with their battered vehicles and dreams of success.

Then someone up front told Raine to get close, get ready; he was next.

Another newbie, he thought.

He had to push his way past the other drivers, down the narrow corridor, then out To the stadium.

The place was filled-but the sound that greeted him wasn’t deafening. No, just a few whistles, some applause. But he could see the people of Wellspring filling every seat.

“And direct from the Wasteland, Nicholas… Raine!”

Raine walked out. Twilight here, but no lights on yet-though he could see big lights that must have once lit Friday night football games.

Bet they had to conserve those babies.

He looked around for his buggy, and saw it farthest to the left. Down the long line of a dozen cars or so, where the first announced driver-the kid-also waited.

Guess the pros got the center slots.

Jackie Weeks went on calling the other names. But Raine took the time to look at the course laid out on the track.

The White Rabbit.

He had expected a NASCAR-style track: a big loop, mile markers, pits where you could get a quick repair.

No pits here. A high wall around the sides made the arena look sunken. And while the stadium might have been a loop, it was dotted with odd structures as though someone forgot to clear it for the race.

Dead ahead-a trio of metal tubes. In between them Raine could see wavy chunks of metal with hooks sticking up.

Nice.

What the hell were they?

Past that barrier, at the far end of the stadium, he saw a ramp leading up two, three stories high. No telling what was on the other side, as the loop curved around.

Another name, and a driver appeared beside him.

Raine hadn’t even checked out his own vehicle.

“Done this before?” Raine asked.

The driver to his right shook his head.

So the setup was-a bunch of new drivers to provide the show, while a handful of regulars did the real driving for the prizes.

Except Sally’s friend, her Jack, had been a real driver until Starky took him out.

And even though the other driver didn’t seem interested in talking, Raine went on. “Why the ‘White Rabbit’? Why is it called that?”

The guy barely looked at him, just a glance as if he wanted him to go away.

“Some story. About holes. Falling. Got to get into the holes and out again. Jeez, I don’t fucking know. Wished it was anything but a White Rabbit.”

Suddenly-so did Raine.

The roll call continued, leading up to-apparently-the real drivers.

Now the crowd roared, a sound he felt in his gut. Raine saw that some of their vehicles were nearly twice as big as his.

Others were more like sleek tanks. These had the armor plating of a prehistoric monster.

No engines had started yet, but Raine could imagine that the beastlike nature of the cars would be matched by the deep roar of their engines.

More roars and applause from the crowd.

Until the last name “Ladies and gentleman, three-time Dusty 8 winner, undefeated in the White Rabbit, creator of the Blue Sky Rally, Wellspring’s own master driver, the one… the only-”

Jackie Weeks didn’t finish it.

Because the crowd did.

“Starkyyyyyyy!”

Popular guy. And his car, a sleek black thing that didn’t look quite as dangerous as the others, bore the logo of something called SALVAGE EMPIRE. Yeah, salvage was big here. Sally had mentioned that.

Raine looked up at the crowd. He saw a special box and spotted Clayton, his monocle catching the fading light. But Raine wasn’t interested in him. Rather, he was looking at who sat near him.

Men in uniform. Talking to Clayton and to each other. People brought them drinks.

Authority brass?

The people I’m supposed to avoid.

Then Weeks came back.

“Drivers… time to get in… and… start your engines.”