The kids stood around, most with their arms folded, trying to look badass. The driver killed the engine, and the neighborhood went eerily silent.
The driver’s door of the Corvette opened, and a kid not much older than sixteen popped out. He had a thick shock of neon-orange-dyed hair that stood up on his head like he’d been hit with a solid jolt of electricity. Though it was chilly, he only wore an age-faded black AC/DC T-shirt and jeans. He shot up out of the car with so much energy it was like he’d just pounded down a gallon of coffee followed by a liter of Mountain Dew. His jaw was constantly working on a wad of gum.
“Yeah yeah!” he shouted exuberantly. “Didn’t think you clowns would show!”
“You’re calling us clowns, with that hair?” the kid with the hoodie said, scoffing.
The group of teens stared back at the new arrival intently, as if trying to intimidate him. Or to prove his crazy attitude wasn’t threatening them.
“You’re late,” the blond kid said. “Street’s gonna get real busy real soon.”
“Won’t matter,” the wild-eyed kid said. “This won’t take long. Where’s your driver?”
The girl with the purple streak in her dark hair stepped forward.
“Does your daddy know you took his car?” she asked.
The orange-haired, wild-eyed kid furiously worked his gum, glanced down at his ’Vette, and laughed.
“Ooh, disrespect!” he exclaimed. “From a girl with a grandma ride.”
A few of the kids chuckled but quickly stifled themselves.
“It’s not about the ride—it’s about guts,” the girl said.
The wild guy gave her a big Joker-like grin. “Yeah yeah. Let’s find out who’s got ’em.”
The two stared each other down. The girl was laser-focused; the guy looked ready to burst out laughing.
“Start right here,” the blond kid said. “Side by side. Take it to the far end of the parking lot. Straight-ahead sprint. Turn right onto the road. That’s your track. From there keep making left turns until you do a full circle. Finish line is the entrance to the parking lot.”
“I know the course,” the wild-eyed guy said.
“So do I,” the girl added.
“Then let’s fly!” the orange-haired kid exclaimed with a giddy laugh.
The kids all whooped and cheered, forgetting how annoyed they were at having had to get up so early on a cold Sunday morning.
The Mustang was already in position. It was backed against a fence with its nose pointed toward the hundred-yard stretch of empty parking lot. The orange-haired kid ducked back into his Corvette and gunned the engine to impress (or intimidate) the others. He backed up, swung the car around, and eased into position next to the Mustang.
The girl fired up her engine. Its deep roar matched that of the ’Vette. These were two very powerful, very fast muscle cars. They couldn’t idle there much longer or the sound would surely wake the neighbors. This was a quiet neighborhood…
…that wouldn’t be quiet much longer.
The cars sat side by side, rumbling, aching to launch and run.
Two beautiful machines.
A jet-black Mustang.
And a fire-engine-red Corvette.
“Can you go a little faster?” I asked Harry. Pleaded, actually.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked.
“It’s cold,” Lu said. “Maybe we’ll see them walking back from the diner. We can give them a ride.”
I was sitting in the passenger seat, and Lu was in the back. Harry turned around and gave her a confused look.
“They make that walk in a foot of snow,” he said. “A little cold won’t kill ’em.”
“Let’s hope not,” I said. “Hurry, please.”
All I wanted to do was get to the McLeans and surround them in some kind of protective cocoon. Between me and Lu and Theo and Theo’s two brothers, we’d make sure that nothing happened to them. I kept telling myself we had control. The future wasn’t set. That’s not how life worked. But we had the advantage of knowing what might happen. Sort of.
It was a gift from the Oracle Baz. We couldn’t waste it.
MR. AND MRS. MCLEAN finished their breakfast, paid the bill, bundled up, and left the Silver Star diner for the half-mile walk back to Saint Paul’s Church. It was a pleasant walk along suburban sidewalks that they’d made a hundred times before…a tradition they had started long before their boys were born.
The wind kicked up, sending a blast of cold air their way. The two had to lean against each other for fear of getting knocked sideways.
“Whoa!” Mr. McLean exclaimed. “Where did that come from?”
He put his arm around his wife to ward off the piercing cold blast.
“I don’t like this,” Mrs. McLean said. “It’s dangerous to be flying around in a helicopter with this wind.”
“I hear you,” Mr. McLean said. “Russell knows what he’s doing. If it’s too risky, he won’t go up.”
“Would you please call?” Mrs. McLean asked. “I want to know they’re safe.”
“We’ll call from the car. I don’t want to be out in this wind either.”
They trudged on, bundled against the cold, holding tight to one another to stay warm as they made their way back to the church.
IN THE SCHOOL PARKING lot a quarter mile from Saint Paul’s Church, the two cars sat next to one another, their engines revving.
The orange-haired kid behind the wheel of the red Corvette waved playfully to the girl in the black Mustang. “Yeah yeah!” he exclaimed with a wild laugh.
The girl ignored him. One hand gripped the wheel, the other the gearshift. She was focused and ready to go.
Most of the other kids had run to the entrance of the parking lot. Their job was to stop any car that might be coming their way as the racers turned onto the street. It was the only safety precaution planned. Once the racers were on the course, they were on their own.
The blond kid stood five yards in front of the two cars. He looked to the ’Vette and put his hand to his ear.
The Corvette’s driver responded by revving his engine.
The blond kid gave him a thumbs-up, then looked to his friend behind the wheel of the Mustang. He made the same motion.
The girl pumped her gas. Her engine roared.
She too got a thumbs-up. The blond kid stood with his arms at his sides. Slowly, he raised them both until his hands were directly overhead.
The drivers gunned their engines again.
They were ready.
It was on.
The blond kid hesitated for a long two seconds and…
“Go!” he shouted, and dropped both arms.
The drivers jammed their gas pedals to the floor and released their clutches. With a squeal of rubber on blacktop, the cars lurched forward, shooting by the blond kid who stood stock-still for fear of getting run over. He was quickly enveloped in a cloud of pungent smoke from burned rubber. Once the cars sped by him, he spun to watch as the two vehicles screamed away, side by side, each gunning to be the first out of the parking lot.
The Mustang was on the right, the same direction they would have to turn. If they hit the exit at the same time, one of them would have to back off and let the other go first, or it would be a violent end to a very short race.
The other kids stood on the street, cheering the drivers on.
The cars accelerated toward the exit, neck and neck.
Somebody had to blink.
It wasn’t the kid in the Corvette. With a maniacal laugh, he spun the steering wheel and made the turn without slowing or downshifting.
The girl in the Mustang had no choice but to hit the brakes. She slowed, and the Corvette shot across her front grille, headed out
onto the road.
The tone was set and the race was on.
Most everyone who lived nearby in the quiet neighborhood had no idea of what was happening on their streets. Some might have heard distant squeals or engine sounds, but none paid attention. Most were still in bed asleep. It was the exact reason why these kids had chosen this course. They’d scouted it. They knew it was not only a perfect mile-long course that was easy to follow, but the chances of anybody getting in their way were slim to none because of the hour and the quiet time between early-morning Masses.
They had the course to themselves.
Except for the couple who were walking toward the racecourse, huddled together, bundled against the cold, with no idea of what was headed their way.
THE MUSTANG HAD MORE horsepower than the Corvette, but the Corvette was more nimble. The black car caught up with the red in seconds. The girl would have blown right by the orange-haired guy if they hadn’t reached the first left turn of the course.
The red Corvette made the sharp turn without slowing, its wide wheels gripping the blacktop without a slip.
The girl had to downshift to slow quickly or she wouldn’t have made the turn. Her wheels squealed on the pavement as she sideslipped toward the curb. But she kept control, finished the turn, and charged on.
The fast turn gave the Corvette precious seconds to jump farther ahead on the second leg of the “track” as it screamed along the empty suburban street. Once the Mustang finished the turn, the girl instantly jammed down the gas pedal. The powerful engine roared as the black car picked up speed, charging to catch up with the smaller sports car.
We didn’t say much for the rest of the drive to the church. It wasn’t like we were going to explain to Harry all that was really happening. But my mind was working fast, thinking ahead to how we might keep the McLeans safe for the rest of the day. One thing I knew for sure: I’d get Mr. McLean to change his shirt.
“What’s that sound?” Lu asked.
She rolled down the window, and we all listened to hear what sounded like a loud engine running somewhere in the neighborhood.
“Leaf blower?” I said. “You’re not supposed to use those on Sunday.”
“And the wind is blowing everything around anyway,” Lu said.
“Sounds like a car engine,” Harry said. “Maybe two. They’re revving pretty high.”
The sound grew louder. We were only a block or two from Saint Paul’s Church. My mind quickly went ahead to try and guess what might be making this sound. Whatever it was, I didn’t think it would be good.
And I was right.
“Whoa!” Harry exclaimed.
He slammed on the brakes and the car bucked to a stop, forcing us all forward against our seat belts. A second later two cars blew by in front of us, left to right, through the intersection we had been approaching. They were really hauling, too, way over the speed limit.
Two cars. One black and one red.
Lu grabbed my shoulder.
“You saw that, right?” she asked.
“Hard to miss,” Harry said, sounding shaken. “Idiots! What are they doing?”
“Racing,” I said.
“They’re gonna kill somebody,” Harry said.
I glanced back to Lu.
The look on her face was one of realization…and panic.
“Should we try to stop them?” Lu asked.
“Why?” Harry exclaimed. “You want to get killed too?”
“No, let’s get to the church,” I said. “Gotta make sure your parents are okay.”
Harry shot me a worried look. He was with the program. He didn’t know anything about fortunes or destiny or crystal balls, but he understood that if his parents were walking around in an area where two lunatics were drag racing, there could be a problem. He hit the gas and we launched forward.
THE RACERS CHARGED ON down the empty street.
The black Mustang caught up to the Corvette quickly, but once again the fast-handling Corvette was able to take the second left turn without dropping much speed.
The girl was right behind. She hit the turn faster than the last one to try and keep up with the red car, but she ended up in a dangerous side-slip. With smoke billowing from its squealing wheels, the Mustang drifted toward the side of the street. The girl was seconds from hitting the curb when her wheels finally bit and got traction. It was a daring and dangerous maneuver to have taken the turn going that fast, but it paid off. It kept her from losing any more ground to the Corvette. She came out of the turn only a few car lengths back.
The little red car was now in her sights. With a deafening roar that was sure to wake the sleeping neighbors, the Mustang leapt ahead and passed the little car before they were halfway to the next turn. For the first time the Mustang was in the lead, with two more turns to go.
Harry took off through the intersection and made a left turn. It was the exact opposite direction from where the racing cars were headed and the quickest way for us to get to the church. So many thoughts and fears were running around in my head. The cars had come from the direction of the church. If the McLeans had been there, could they have been hit? Were the cars racing to get away from the scene of an accident? Was that how Theo’s life was going to change? Or were the cars going to circle around and arrive back at the church at the same time as the McLeans?
The images from the crystal ball kept playing in my head. Mostly I remembered the red sheet metal hitting something hard and violently buckling. It was the same red as the Corvette. There was no doubt in my mind that whatever Baz’s fortune had predicted, it would be about the car that was now recklessly tearing through the neighborhood. Whatever was supposed to happen hadn’t happened yet.
Harry sped along and made a right turn onto the street that led to the church.
“Slow down,” Lu warned Harry. “We’re not the ones racing.”
But Harry was on a mission.
“If anything happened to my parents because of those guys—”
“Look out!” I shouted.
As soon as we rounded the corner, too fast, we were faced with a group of older kids hanging out in the street. They looked totally clueless, as if they had no idea they were in the middle of the road.
We were moving so fast I thought for sure we’d mow a couple of them down, but Harry spun the wheel hard and hit the brakes. The car fishtailed, swerved, and bumped up and over the curb onto a sidewalk, where we came to rest.
“What the hell!” Harry screamed angrily. “You guys okay?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I’m good,” Lu added.
Some of the kids ran away, weenies. But one kid came running over to us. He was tall, with short blond hair. He was the only one with any guts.
“Are you all right?” he asked excitedly.
Harry threw the car door open, jumped out, and stood up to the guy.
“What’re you all doing in the middle of the road?” Harry screamed at him.
“It’s a race,” the blond guy said nervously. “Usually nobody’s around. Sorry, man.”
“Yeah, well usually ain’t always, fool,” Harry said angrily.
He went to the front of his car and saw that the left front tire was flat.
“Oh man, I am gonna catch it for this,” he whined.
“You know those guys racing?” I asked the blond guy.
“Yeah. It’s been a feud going on for a long time. We wanted to settle it today and finally put—”
“I don’t care,” I said sharply. “Which way are they going?”
“They’re gonna circle around the block,” he said. “Finish line is right here.”
“They’re gonna go right past the church,” Lu said with dread.
I looked at Harry’s car. Flat tire. Done. There was only one way to get to the c
hurch.
Run.
“I’M FREEZING,” MRS. MCLEAN said.
Mr. McLean immediately took off his overcoat and draped it over his wife’s shoulders as they walked along the sidewalk.
“Now you’re going to be chilled,” she said, but didn’t refuse the coat.
“I’ll be fine,” Mr. McLean said, though his thin blue shirt did nothing to protect him from the chilly wind. “We’re almost there.”
“Listen,” Mrs. McLean said with curiosity. “What is that sound?”
They both focused and heard the roar of engines revving higher than normal. They seemed to be far off, but coming closer. Fast.
“Sounds like somebody’s tearing up the street,” Mr. McLean said. “I’ve heard stories about crazy kids drag racing around here because it’s so quiet.”
“Doesn’t sound very quiet to me,” Mrs. McLean said.
They were footsteps away from stepping onto the street that ran in front of the church…the final straightaway of the racecourse.
THE CORVETTE WAS LOSING. The back straightaway before the third turn was the longest of the race, and it gave the Mustang a chance to show what it could do—and it was a lot. It opened up a big lead on the red Corvette, but there were still two more turns to go.
The orange-haired kid eased the Corvette into the left lane. The oncoming lane. He was setting up to take the next turn even sharper than the last and turn inside the Mustang. If he pulled it off, the Mustang would have to slow down and make a wide turn. It was the only hope the Corvette had of taking back the lead.
“Yeah yeah, here I come!” the orange-haired kid screamed at nobody as he sped along the wrong side of the street.
The girl seemed to know exactly what he was trying to do. If she was going to have any hope of outmaneuvering the little sports car, she would have to take this next turn even faster than the last two. It was a big risk. She’d barely made the last turn without skidding off the road. But it was her only hope of winning.
Oracle of Doom Page 18
