“Ok, let’s get this over with!”, Marina shouted, more to herself than to anyone else when she took over the Zvezda for the final stint of the race.
The past hours had brought a few changes to the overall standings, none lasting though, not even Team White Star topping the timesheets for a short while when the Franklin Marshall had to go into the pits for lengthy repairs and the Winthorpes had been standing in their own (and the others’) ways a bit too much for their own good. Due to these ups and downs, she had been too hyped up on an unhealthy mix of adrenaline and caffeine to catch some proper rest, but she was sure she could make it through the darkness and the beginning dawn to the finish line.
Despite the Team Jaimz’ lengthy mishap, the FM was still too fast to be kept behind in 3rd for too long. For a while it looked like whether her own team or the Winthorpes were effectively in 2nd was mainly dependent on the fuel strategy. Who’d make the final pitstop would most probably end up on the final podium spot. Unfortunately, it looked like it was her own team, when they had to service the brake fluid and the clutch in two unplanned stops over a couple of hours and found out that the necessary arrangements to do either were not designed to be done in a cramped, rudimentary and sparsely lit pitlane in the middle of the night. A few excursions by both Jurij and Jeff did not help matters either, although this merely put them on a level playing field with the Winthorpes.
A loud crunch brought Marina back to the reality as she found her car wedged into the Cabrera’s sides as she tried to avoid the Winthorpes spinning in front of her once again with the reflexes honed in years of rallycrossing, albeit slowed by the effects of being awake for almost a full day straight. “K**wa!”, she muttered. “Saved by the bumper plastic again!”
She reversed away from the Cabrera, shrugged apologetically and continued her laps. She wondered whether Jurij and Jeff were actually watching or had fallen asleep in the pits. On the distant sky, she could see the first traces of dawn breaking on the long Swedish days. It was harder and harder for her to stay focused despite track layout now well ingrained on her neural pathways. Her sole goal became to keep the Zvezda away from the unhealthy gray guardrails and on the gray bits of tarmac instead.
With a curse she noted that she did not have a precise clock or timer in the car (the normal rudimentary digital clock in the dash was of course ripped out when the car was turned into a rallycross machine) so she had no clear idea when the final checkered flag would be waved. While she wore a watch, it was safely tucked away under the fireproof overall and the gloves, and she did not want to fiddle with either in her current state.
Finally, she saw the checkered flag waved in the rear view mirror (which had fallen off during the last crash but luckily stuck back on right away) and rejoiced. Unfortunately she had kept the gaze into the rear view mirror on for too long and only another of her shot reflexes managed to keep the Zvezda away from a race-ending entanglement with guardrail steel.
The engine had stalled, and her only focus was to frantically try to get going again, while exhausting her rich repertoire of curses. The state of the rest of the car didn’t matter, as long as the two front wheels were still on she could make it to the finish line. This was certainly not the way she wanted to end the race, but would she get the Zvezda fired up again in time to make it round once more and stay on the rostrum…?
I just wanted to write something sort and sweet lmao