35, Race
“I’ve never lost a race, I’ve never run out of gas, and I’ve never crashed, even with boyfriends going down on me while I was racing. Never.” Pilot Porter was the happiest person that anyone in Team Whiskey had ever met. She was normally sweet, bubbly and very agreeable. Today, she had a maniacal permagrin that made her look like a creep from a horror movie.
Special agent Bradley McVandalay knew it was pointless to speak in this moment as the defeated words left his mouth. “This isn’t supposed to be a race, Porter.” His voice wasn’t heard over the sound of the van engine which was remarkably loud. “Our getaway hasn’t gotten us away.”
“Stay focused, Bradley!” Porter snapped. Then she added, “where’s Doc?”
“That fucker ditched us to hit a bar. Shocker.” McVandaly snorted as the van hit a small bump at high speed that made it feel like they were launched over a mountain.
Porter had the gas pedal floored. She was a hundred yards behind a group of Russian police cars that all had their lights and sirens blaring, chasing a Russian SUV. For unknown reasons, Porter was hauling ass in an American SUV because she wanted to race the Russian, despite the police presence everywhere.
Von Stryker was calm in the blisteringly fast vehicle. She kept staring at her smart phone as it’s screen light eerily illuminated her face. She didn’t comment on their current situation. “My sources inform me that the huge warehouse explosion five minutes ago was a drug smuggling operation.”
Sergeant Schuman was also calm, as if driving in a speeding van surrounded by police sirens and lights was a normal Friday night for the crew. “Do they know if it was Team Vodka or not?”
“Had to be,” McVandalay grumbled crankily.
Von Stryker shrugged as the van bounced violently on a slightly uneven stretch of road. “No one calls them Team Vodka except for us.”
McVandalay spoke up loudly. “Look! We can tell that outfit is special ops all the way.”
“We can’t prove that,” Schuman interjected.
Von Stryker finished reading the text message on her phone. “The warehouse went sky high but didn’t destroy any of the surrounding buildings.”
McVandalay shook his head. “That’s a military trained demolitions expert who blew that place up, you guys. No way that’s a mafia hit.”
“O’Connor couldn’t have done a job that clean. Maybe Blacktide could’ve pulled something like that off, but for real, their demolitions guy is good,” said Von Stryker.
“Or gal!” Porter quipped.
“Porter, we know the demolitions member is a guy. Murdock saw him, or rather smelled him, so no need to judge us for being sexist,” Von Stryker answered.
“And I saw the guy stagger into a getaway rig that drove off like you were driving.” He looked over at the vehicle that they were now engaged with in a high speed race. “And yet it wasn’t you, it was that woman you’re racing now.”
A cop car tried to swerve into the Ford SUV to force it off the road. As the cop car moved violently towards the van, Porter hit the brakes with the perfect amount of pressure to not lock them up, but to slow down hard for just a second. The cop car was in front of her but going way to fast towards the side of the road. Porter then stomped on the gas and hit the driver side rear of the cop car as the cop was locking up the brakes. The SUV rocked backwards for a brief second but lurched forward as if hitting another car at high speed was normal. The cop car went spinning off the road as it’s tires all blew out, but it never flipped.
“Jesus!” McVandalay gasped, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was more like he felt pity for the cop who’d been chasing them.
The whole van could hear his tone and knew it wasn’t about Porter, but Porter was too focused on trying to race the car a few hundred feet in front of her. “Pipe down, McVandaly! This bitch up ahead has no clue who he’s fucking with.”
Addressing her friend this way made everyone realize, she’d snapped. The pleasant woman whom they’d all grown to know and love had now become a full on insane woman. The agents were used to Porter’s unnatural ability to superbly operate and maneuver any transportation vehicle that had ever been made. The woman was fearless in combat, but this wasn’t a combat situation. This was an imaginary race that only Porter thought was real.
The three agents with her all should’ve been scared for their lives, but they were way more scared about the implications of being caught. It would not fare well for international relations if four highly trained American special ops members were caught and detained on Russian soil.
As the SUV drove at high speed, she rolled down the driver side window. She reached into her jacket pocket and grabbed something, then threw it out the open window. As she rolled it back up, several cars chasing her blew flat tires and spunout. Of the dozen cop cars left, only two remained.
“What the fuck was that!?” McVandalay asked excitedly. “That was unreal!”
Von Stryker’s full attention was now on Porter too. “What did you throw out the window, Porter?”
“Some lint! It had been bugging me all day, and I wanted to get rid of it.”
The engine noise was loud, so the agents weren’t sure they heard her correctly. McVandalay asked loudly, “did you say, lint?”
“Yes! It bugs me! I just thought about it and had to take care of it.” The American was almost even with her opponent on the highway. It was fairly deserted at this point in the night. “I have no idea why those cops back there all did that. I didn’t do it.”
Porter was being honest, and the agents could tell right away. As the SUV bounced up and down violently, the mood was getting angrier. “Porter, for fucks sake, what in the fuck is going on with you.”
She never took her eyes off of the road but spoke with no chipper tone in her voice. “That woman driving that car right there has no clue that she’s not the best in the world. I’m about to show her.” The malice in her tone was lethal. It was not the Porter the team knew and loved.
McVandalay said, “no need to prove your ego today, Porter. This isn’t necessary!”
“And watching the fucking Cubs while you’re in a foreign country isn’t necessary! Shut your fucking mouth!” For ten years Porter had been their friend, their sister, let alone their coworker. She’d flown and driven fearlessly into deadly situations but always was chipper and polite, thinking of her friends first and how she could best facilitate her role on the team. This woman driving today was a completely different woman than those ten years previously. All niceness was gone. This was something personal.
“Ego. It’s a bitch,” McVandalay shrugged as the van bounced yet again.
“Watch and learn, Bradley,” Porter said with force and contempt. She murmured to herself, “this woman has no idea how badly I’m gonna beat her.”
Suddenly, the last two cop cars fell into the distance fast as their tires also blew out unexpectedly.
“Whoa!” Von Stryker yelled, “what was that?” As they zoomed down the road she watched the cop cars disappear into nothingness in the distance behind them.
“I’ll tell you what that was!” Porter exclaimed with joy. “That was God telling me to kick this woman’s ass.”
Schuman held on tightly as the vehicle bounced. “Since when do you believe in God, Porter?”
“Since he gave a reason to live again!” Porter’s words were cryptic and unexpected.
The only two vehicles left on the road were the crappy Russian car and the old rusted out van, both driving at the top of their engine’s capabilities. The van pulled up next to the car, and Porter looked over to get a glimpse of the face of the woman she was going to beat. The opposing driver looked over and made eye contact with Porter, then stared straight forward.
“Fuck,” Porter muttered. Her brow crinkled. “It’s a guy?”
As if to snap back from Porter’s earlier comment about gender, “Ah, look who’s sexist now!” McVandalay was being sarcastic. “You know what, I won’t judge. Maybe Russian women like to wear their beards neatly trimmed, I won’t assume to know.”
The information in Porters head was spinning. She was racing a guy. A guy? The rage inside of her welled up in a way that she had no idea where it was coming from. “I WILL KILL THIS MOTHER FUCKER,” she said with her teeth gritted.
“If you want him dead, all of us are obviously carrying,” Schuman added.
“No more words,” Porter said forcefully. The agents looked worryingly at each other with big “I’m freaked out right now” eyes, but wisely they all obeyed.
The vehicles were actually wildly evenly matched, even though the Russian rig had all the racing advantages. It had a lower center of gravity, better suspension, a larger engine and a wider wheel base. The Ford was a bigger rig with a smaller engine. It didn’t matter. The race was neck and neck. Gasoline burned as the two vehicles screamed through the night.
Time and space went void. All that existed was this race.
Porter heard nothing. She didn’t hear the engine, her friends, the hum of the tires on the road, none of it. Everything went clear in her mind. This wasn’t just a race. The balance of all life on Earth that ever was, is, or will be would end if this race was lost. Porter couldn’t handle the idea that all of life would be over. She pushed the thought away but it bugged her immensely.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes of tight, side by side racing until Porter crept forward just a little bit. Then, she began to sneak ahead and gradually pulled in front. The other driver was insanely talented, but he flat out couldn’t keep up with Porter while keeping it on the road. After yet another minute, the American was a hundred yards ahead and pulling away for good.
Fifty years from now, science would discover that Porter’s eyes were evolved like a bird of prey. She could focus on things hundreds of yards out with sharp precision while still focusing on what was directly in front of her. With this ability, Porter could see through headlights on cars. As she glanced in the rearview at the headlights in the growing distance, she saw him.
The driver. He was beautiful regardless of the fact that he was scowling with pride and anger. In that millisecond of seeing through those headlights and glimpsing his perfectly groomed beard, something snapped in Porter. She wondered if she’d been drugged cuz euphoria was kicking in and it was wildly disorienting.
Her Ford was loud as fuck, but the tension was as if someone was telling some sort of shocking, deep family secret. McVandalay broke the silence. “You told me no more words, but I gotta know, you ok, Porter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The lights in the distance disappeared as the Russian rig turned off the road. Porter slowed the van back down to a reasonable speed as she started breathing heavily. After another minute, Porter got off the highway and started driving towards a farm outside of town that had a small airstrip. “I need to be in the air, you guys. My nerves don’t feel good. I’m freaking out. I can’t figure it out.”
“You’re ok, sister,” Schuman said reassuringly.
“You’re better than ok, lady. You’re a fucking legend. Who does what you just did?” Von Stryker’s compliments were sincere, but they clearly went in one ear and out the other.
“It’s like I’ve swallowed a bowl full of insects or something. I need to puke, but,” Porter paused, “like I feel fine, for real, but I’m freaking out. I’m sick or something, you guys.”
McVandalay and Von Styrker made concerned eye contact, but Schuman spoke up. “I understand, Porter. I understand completely.”
“How can you understand?!? I feel awful!”
Schuman’s smile got huge. “But you feel great too, don’t you.”
Porter thought about it. “No! Not really!”
“Liar. Come on, Porter. Be real with me.” Schuman wasn’t being rude, but Porter wasn’t Porter tonight and the sargeant’s forceful nature felt abrasive. Schuman’s words were like a light, illuminating shadowy parts of Porters soul that had been kept locked away and buried.
“I don’t feel great, Sarge. My guts are a mess, my heart is beating, I think I’ve been drugged.”
Schuman had zero concern. “You haven’t been drugged, Porter.”
Again, Porter’s calm and chipper demeanor was completely gone. All that remained was borderline panic. “How in the fuck do you know! I think I’m dying, Sarge!”
The sergeant put a reassuring hand on her friends shoulder. “Ok then, let’s talk about that. Does it feel like your skin is tingling?”
“Yes! All over, it’s like my skin is on fire or something!”
“Ah, but it doesn’t hurt, now does it? It feels good.”
Porter was too freaked out to be introspective. “No, it doesn’t!”
“Yes, it does, god dammit! Don’t fight it, Porter! That feeling! Don’t fight it. Like, there’s a fifty gallon trash bag of butterflies just bouncing around in your stomach.”
“Yes! That’s what it feels like!”
Von Stryker gasped, then smiled and nodded at Schuman. McVanadalay, being a guy and all, was fucking clueless. “Oh honey,” said Von Stryker. “Look at you. You’re crazy, sure, but you’re not dumb.”
Porter’s confusion was so immense that she started to get teary. “I don’t like this, Von!”
Von Stryker gave Schuman a look as if to say, don’t worry, I’ll take care of this. “Porter, honey, what you’re experiencing right now is as normal as the sunrise. It’s what every woman dreams of from the time we’re little girls all the way up to the day it happens.”
“Fuckin A, I’m not on my period, Von!”
“No honey, you’re not. The feelings you’re experiencing, think about it! You’re alive, you’re on fire, you’re losing your mind, there are butterflies in your stomach, you can put two and two together, Porter!”
“God dammit, Von, I’m not pregnant!” The driver hadn’t blinked for a minute. Whatever drug effect was in her blood stream, she’d never felt it before and it was making her sick.
“Porter, honey,” Von Stryker paused and gave her a big smile, “you’re in love.”
Upon those words, Porter brought the van to a complete stop in the middle of the road and stared at the empty road ahead with her mouth agape. No one said anything. She was breathing heavily, as if she were catching her breath after a fast sprint. She calmed her breathing and finally closed her eyes as a small tear slipped down her cheek. “It was a guy. The driver was a guy. Fuck. I don’t need this shit.”
In the distance, a Russian military trained pilot and driver ran his fingers through his hair, trying to process why he was so powerfully aroused, even though he’d lost his first ever race.
