Page 97 of Furious
The makeshift racetrack is just a couple of miles long, with a funnel shaped curve three quarters of the way. We can’t see the starting line, but we’ll be able to see the racers coming at the end of the race.
I stay with the men who group at either side of the track, choosing the side where the Gamma president is standing.
“They’re starting.” He announces after checking his phone.
I can feel my heart beating in my ears, tension making me feel dizzy. I don’t know if Smith knows anything that will help me figure out who hit Atlas, but this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to getting more firsthand information about that day.
When it all happened, I was so shocked that I can barely remember anything despite being on the racetrack. I have a vague recollection of trying to climb into the ambulance with Atlas; of struggling with the first responders when they tried tokeep me away. Then I blacked out, and I woke up inside an ambulance myself. I must have lost consciousness because of the shock. That meant losing precious time to figure out what had really happened. I’m not going to make the same mistake now. I’m going to talk to JJ Smith, if it was the last thing I do. I’ll deal with Chance and Lev after.
We hear the bikes before we see them.
The noise is almost deafening. Racetrack staff wears ears defenders during official races; here there’s nothing to protect us from the noise, like there aren’t any safety measures. But the men beside me must not be thinking about the risk of losing their hearing in the long run. They’re yelling excitedly at the bikes that come into view as they come out of the funnel shaped curve.
The Ducati is in the lead by about half a length, trailed closely by Chance’s MTT 420-RR and by Lev’s Damon Hypersoft Premier.
It hits me that they’re using their old bikes, the ones they used to ride for Star Arrows. I thought Dad had sold them when the company was dissolved, but somehow they must have been able to get them back.
That’s the least of my worries, though.
I watch with bated breath as Chance and Lev fight Smith for the lead. The other bikes are just now getting out of the funnel, Fox’s Beamer included.
My muscles tense up to snapping point as the three bikes race toward the finish line.
Everything happens in a couple of seconds. The action is so fast that if you blink, you might miss it. And yet, my mind slows it down as if I was watching it in slow motion.
The Ducati leaps forward, increasing its lead over the other two motorcycles.
Smith is going to win this race. I don’t know what kind of modifications his bike has, but he’s the fastest rider by far.
I get ready to run after him, but just a few moments before he crosses the finish line, another motorcycle appears from literally nowhere.
Or at least, that’s how it looks at first. In reality, the dirt bike must have been waiting hidden behind the high grass that borders this old road.
My eyes struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing. It’s like a fucked up flashback. A wave of nausea washes through me as the dirt bike zeroes in on Smith’s Ducati and hits it.
Smith gets thrown off his bike and literally flies off the road and into the tall grass on the opposite side the dirt bike came from.
The moment that follows is total chaos as the Ducati is lying on one side, blocking the way at the finish line and the other bikes have to go around it, too fast to stop with no notice.
The dirt bike has disappeared into the thick vegetation, probably already too far to even think about chasing it.
Everything happened so fast that I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of who was riding it. All I caught was a black leather race suit and an all black full helmet.
“Someone call 911!” One of the Gamma brothers yells.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Someone else argues. “We can’t call an ambulance. We’ll all end up in jail.”
Somebody else, Fox I think, suggests calling Morelli.
“What about Smith?” Chance has just come to a stop, and he’s taking off his helmet. “Where is he? Is he ok?”
Lev is just beside him. “His bike is there, but he was thrown off.”
I don’t waste any time.
While everyone is yelling and arguing, clearly shocked, I take off running in the direction I saw Smith’s body being flung.
I wade through the tall grass for a few hundred feet, and then I spot him. A still body covered in black leather.
