Channing was pretty sure skeet shooting was supposed to involve blindingly bright clay disks, but the “retired” vehicles chained to the ceiling were hurriedly spray-painted in a matte dingy orange. Whoever did that paint job had some extra fun. The drivers stuck inside appeared to have a grin, the orange paint streaked across their faces in a facsimile of a smile.
So, this is what happened to people who crossed Fleetwood. That man had a few marbles loose.
Still, Channing did promise to put on a performance, and a good performance was one that involved a fucking explosion. An explosion that preferably didn’t involve her Hilux.
Eventually, Fleetwood’s lackeys signaled the start of the heat with an obscene gesture and the Hilux started with a roar! The little red truck picked up more and more speed until the tires squealed in protest against the continuous corners–with the g’s squishing Channing firmly to one side of the seat. Taking aim, the mounted guns barked a rat-ta-tat-tat as both Channing and Nervous Mike fired at the hapless targets, and the tips of the barrels glowed orange-red hot as the heat built up from the continuous fire.
Being escorts, Channing liked to think that both she and Mike were great shots, but the one thing that the old movie films didn’t get right, was that making a car explode with just bullets was a lot harder than it looked. Sure, the orange “targets” were filled with more holes than swiss cheese, but that wasn’t enough. Things needed to be on fire.
Good thing Channing remembered to bring a little accessory! Trying to time a shot that didn’t hit Nervous Mike in the face. Channing slowly lifted the RPG, held her breath, and squeezed–
Boom!
Channing felt the explosion first, a deep whump of energy that shook the Hilux deep down to its frame and made her ears ring. The explosion blossomed, orange and fiery, then doubled violently in size as it ignited the full tank of fuel, in a hypnotically awesome display.
Perfect. That was totally worth the 4LP.
After the events, things died down a beat, and Channing even talked to that worm Fleetwood. She was pretty sure he didn’t buy her yarn about the ark being an oversized pizza-mobile just looking for a cut of that sweet pizza delivery action, but he left her alone soon enough to go on and interview other contestants.
Eventually, Channing heard the familiar overbearingly loud noises of Junior’s EARACHE belting out:
My, my, my, Delilah
Why, why, why, Delilah
I could see that girl was no good for me
Followed by the familiar barking of guns, and dust and solid things crumbling to a mess that were supposed to be holding this little roof up.
This house was falling down! Time to skedaddle.
But the front door was covered with goons! No exit there! Motioning to the rest of the crew, Channing led the way upstairs, heel-toe downshifted to make the tight turn, picked up speed, and using the last of her SPeed, ManeuVerability, and pure badassery for the night, caught air on that improvised berm, ripping through the second story windowframe like it was ricepaper–
Sure there was a perpetual tire fire and some twisted metal outside–but hell–that didn’t matter!
As, Channing flew through the night air she thought:
