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praxcrown5 · 24 days

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Doc Fanfic: Sneak Peek

I've been working on this beast for five months now, and it's about 70% complete. The story jumps back and forth between Doc and Lightning in the "present" (AKA 2008) and the past (1947 for this excerpt), as Doc recounts his pre-racing life.

Hud turned off his headlights and made his way into the woods, but not before snatching a pine bough off a nearby tree with his teeth and brushing away all traces of his and the original tracks. He also used the branch to fluff up the understory plants that had been bent and bowed by whomever passed by, so as not to give away the entry point to anyone passing by on the road.

It was rough going for about a quarter mile. These were immature woods, reclaimed after they’d been clear-cut by the Longhauler family, and so the understory was dense with young saplings, ferns, and various shrubs. Even so, whomever had passed through here recently had done an amazing job trying to conceal any evidence of their passing. He tried to do the same, moving slowly and methodically, letting the plants bend to accommodate his body rather than just crush them under bumper and tire.

After what seemed like ages, the lower vegetation seemed to draw back, revealing a game trail that was just wide enough for a mature car. He could see the tire tracks again…multiple sets of ‘em all going the same direction, single-file.

He knew he probably should just leave well-enough alone…but his curiosity quickly got the better of him and he turned onto the trail, following the tracks as quietly as he could and using his engine only if absolutely necessary. He kept looking for the light that he had seen earlier…but it seemed to have vanished. Instead, the trees grew taller and the trail darker as their tall boughs blocked out all but the faintest kiss of moonlight.

He followed the trail for a long time, maybe an hour, long enough that he was starting to question whether or not he should just give up.

But then, at the limits of his hearing, he heard voices.

He paused to listen.

Definitely a small group, maybe three people.

The more rational part of Hud’s brain was telling him to back away…his reckless side, however, reminded him that he had invested a considerable portion of his free time into this adventure…and he was going to see it through to the end.

He kept going. Slowly. Cautiously. His tires hardly making a sound.

He could hear the voices more clearly now; three of them…and they were talking about moonshine.

Trippers!

He’d actually stumbled upon a camp of real moonshine runners!

He knew that his grandfather made illegal corn whiskey in the basement of the shop, and many of the times he’d snuck out of the house was in hopes of actually meeting the cars that came by late at night to fill their trunks with product. He’d only ever got close once, but they disappeared into the woods before he could get their attention.

He was fascinated by them for the sort of lives they had to lead, outsmarting and outrunning the police on a daily basis. There was danger…but also the element of discovery. Of breaking the rules. Of blazing new roads…

Something rammed Hud’s back end. Hard.

Yelping in pain and surprise, the young Hornet gunned his engine…but whatever had struck him had also lifted his rear end off the ground. His drive wheels spun helplessly.

“Well, well…looks like we got us a snooper.” A male voice growled.

“A cop by the look of ‘em,” A female voice sneered.

He hadn’t seen anyone in his rearview, and even now, eyes darting around terrified, he still couldn’t see his assailants. Fighting back a wave of panic, Hud opened his mouth to say something, but found himself flipped sideways and slammed up against a nearby tree.

He felt the wind leave him. He gasped and struggled to draw air into his thermo-respiratory system…but a crushing pressure on his undercarriage made it almost impossible.

He could see the vehicle who had pinned him, now. It was a dark red Chevorlet pickup that had been fitted with a modified bulldozer blade where his front bumper should have been.

The other car was a black Chevrolet Master Coupe with five whip antennae of varying lengths mounted to her roof, rear fenders and trunk. She rolled up beside him and stared him down with a look of pure hatred. “Got any last words, Copper?” Faster than Hud could follow, panels atop her front fenders opened lengthwise to reveal an arsenal of submachine guns which swiveled to point at his roof and engine.

“I…ain’t a cop…” Hud gasped.

“I’ve heard that one before,” She hissed. “You know what, Wilkis; you can have this one,” She turned and used her rear tires to kick dirt up at him. “Make it hurt.”

“My pleasure,” Wilkis crowed. He began to push forward. Hud felt his airways close off completely, and the discomfort in his frame and sheet metal was quickly transitioning to a full-body, burning pain. His frame and undercarriage casings began to whine as the metal flexed to its limits. His vision began to darken as his oxygen deprived systems faltered.

Oh, Chrystler! I’m gonna die. They’re going to kill me. Realizing this, he mustered the last of his strength. “Please!” He could feel the metal of his roof beginning to buckle. “I’m not a cop!! I’m a kid! I swear it!” He groaned as the pain began seep into his cabin. “I swear!” His voice quickly trailed off to a tortured groan.

“Hold up.” A new voice called out.

“Boss?”

Wilkis reversed. Not enough to drop him, but enough that Hud could breathe. He sucked in a few sputtering, gasping breaths and watched, nervously, as a matte grey Oldsmobile 88 Rocket rolled forward, looking him over with severe, steel grey eyes.

Suddenly, those eyes widened in surprise. “He’s telling the truth!”

Wilkis looked confused.

The Chevy Master looked skeptical. “What makes ya so sure?”

“He ain’t got a toolkit.”

Both the other vehicles blinked in surprise, then looked at the sheet metal on Hud’s rear, right fender, finding no markings that would indicate the presence of reproductive hardware.

Wilkis immediately lowered Hud to the ground and then reversed to make room for the Chevy Master who began to look him over, checking for any serious injuries.

Hud was trembling uncontrollably.

“Hey…it’s ok, kid. Shhhhhh.” She cooed in a soothing, maternal voice, leaning against him and gently caressing his fender with her tire. Her ministrations helped, and Hud felt himself calming down…a little.

“What in the ever-lovin’ hell are you doin’ out here this late at night, kid?” Wilkis demanded. He sounded horrified.

“Oi! What’s goin’ on?” A new, male voice asked.

“Nothin’, Otto. Go back to camp.” The Chevy Master growled.

“Oh, hey! What are we all doin’…?” Another new voice, male also. “Holy hell, I dip off for a minute and y’all go and catch a cop. Seriously, wait for me next time.”

“All y’all better get back to camp or so help me I’ll find creative places to shove my guns.” The female growled. “Seriously, the kid’s scared outta his husk, and y’all poking your hoods over here ain’t helping.”

“That’s a kid??”

“We sure he ain’t a scout or sommat? Those bastards at the ATF have hired locals before…”

At this, everyone hushed up.

Hud looked up, fearfully, at the group that had gathered around him in a loose half-circle. The two new additions were a pair of black, Fords: a Coupe and a Deluxe. The Deluxe, with its spacious trunk, was likely a tank runner.

“Flips’ got a point.” The Oldsmobile said, rolling forward until the appeared to loom over Hud. His grey eyes were intense and calculating. “A well-detailed kid snoopin’ round the woods this late at night. No civilization for miles…”

“I seriously doubt the ATF would be so desperate as to recruit children.” The Chevy Master snarled.

“Cass, even you have’ta admit…it’s suspicious. And if he HAS made contact with the ATF…”

“Chrysler damn it, Ghost.” Cass pushed herself away from Hud with effort and reversed to idle alongside the others, though she didn’t look happy about it.

“So, kid…” Ghost said in a cold voice that slapped Hud out of his stunned stupor. “We ain’t gon’ kill ya…but you better start talkin’.” His eyes narrowed. “If I don’t like what I hear, I’ll take your tires and leave ya out here.”

Hud swallowed, heavily.

The northern valleys were home to herds of feral coal scrapers, abandoned in the 30s when the anthracite mines were exhausted. They were scavengers, and normally not a threat on account of how slow they were. But without tires for traction…there’d be no way he could out drive one.

Mustering the last of his resolve, he pushed himself upright and looked up at Ghost. His wheels were shaking and he wasn’t sure if his voice was gonna work or not…but he had to try. “I-I…” he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “My name’s Hudson and I live in Dawsonville, just up the road.” He paused as his frazzled brain struggled to remember why he was here in the first place. “I snuck out to go racin’ on the loggin’ roads. Can’t do it during the day ‘cause of the truck traffic…”

The Oldsmobile, Ghost, said nothing. Instead, he seemed to be watching Hud’s eyes. “Why were you following us?”

“M-mostly, I’s curious…” He gestured back down the game trail. “While I was on top the ridge, I saw a flash of light…and, I figured I’d try to find it. When I was looking for a good point to go off-road, I found some tire tracks…and decided to follow ‘em.”

Ghost pursed his lips and swung his front end towards Wilkis. “I thought you took care of those.”

“I did!” The truck insisted.

“They was mostly covered up,” Hud added, quickly. “Y’all fluffed the underbrush…but you didn’t…”

“Kid, I’ve been hidin’ tracks for years. I know what I’m doin’.”

Hud’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t much like it when people dismissed his skill in something, or his intelligence, just because he was a kid. Hated it, in fact. “Ok,” He shot back with some of his usual sass. “If y’all are so good…then how come I found ‘em?”

“Oh, I like this kid.” The tank runner said nudging the other Ford with his tire.

Wilkis’ eyes narrowed and Hud began to wonder if it was wise to antagonize the truck that had very nearly crushed him to death not five minutes earlier. “If it matters,” He said in a more respectful tone. “Before I started followin’ y’all, I covered your tracks so you can’t see em from the road no more…”

Ghost blinked, surprised, and his expression gentled.

The trippers each looked at each other, then, one by one, they looked at Ghost.

“Well, kid, seems like you lucked out.” The Oldsmobile rumbled in a friendly tone. He turned and made a “follow me” gesture with his right front tire.

Hud hesitated, but an encouraging nod and smile from Cass and the tank-runner encouraged him to catch up with and follow Ghost further up the game trail.

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“So…you followed them?” Lightning demanded, incredulous.

“Yep.”

“The people that just tried to kill you?”

Doc nodded.

Lightning just stared. “W-why?”

Doc considered the younger racer with mild annoyance. “What would you have done in my position, kid?”

“Well, duh…I’d have gotten the heck outta there.”

“Easy to say in hindsight,” he replied, heavily. “But, remember: I was ten and had just had my first real brush with death. Yeah, I talked back to Wilkis…but talkin’ back to adults was like second nature to me back then. In truth, I was terrified,” He shook his front end. “I probably couldn’t have found my way back to the road even if I wanted.”

Lightning smiled, gently. “I can’t imagine you being scared of anything.”

Doc smiled, modestly.

“So, what happened?”

“I followed ‘em to a camp that they’d hidden under the boughs of a massive bur oak, and they let me rest with them for a few hours.” He smiled, wistfully. “Ghost made me a small meal, Otto and Flips gave me some moonshine, and Cass and Wilkis entertained everyone with amusing stories from their time on the run…and I once I started to relax, I was riveted. They were everything that I had been expecting and more, and I lost track of time...” Doc’s eyes shimmered with emotion just then and he paused, looking haunted. “It was Ghost whom made me aware of how late it was getting and suggested that I head back home…but…” His voice trailed off.

“Doc?” Lightning asked, concerned.

The old Hornet closed his eyes and shook his front end. “I never made it home.”

Lightning looked surprised…then concerned. “What do you mean?”

“The ATF had been tipped off by someone that Ghost and his crew were laying low north of Dawsonville. The stoolie also let them know that Cass could pick up on police radio frequencies…so up until the time I ran into ‘em, they were bein’ fed false intel, leadin’ em to believe that the feds were focusing their efforts on Gainesville. So, while they were taking some time to relax, the ATF and the FBI were putting up blockades, and having teams advance on multiple fronts hoping the either kettle ‘em or flush ‘em south so that they could trap ‘em in Dawsonville…or, if that failed, Timing-Belt Valley.”

Lightning’s eyes widened. “You got caught up in it all, didn’t you?”

Doc’s expression was pained. “Yeah. Yeah I did…”

Unfortunately, I don't have proper references for all of the trippers, but here are the photos that I referenced for each character:

Ghost (O.W. modified 1949 Oldsmobile 88 Rocket)