Page 76 of Until The Lights Go Out

I made an X over my heart with my right hand. “Cross my heart.”

“And hope to win,” we said together, a little good luck charm that had withstood the years of racing. My father was my biggest supporter. I knew my mom and sister were in the crowd with some God-forsaken giant printouts of my face. Lacy had gone on and on about finding a specialty printer here in London.

“Get out there kid,” my dad smiled at me. I waved at him before he put his headphones on and stood at the back of the garage. My engineer went over a few strategy points, and I visualized the track in my head before getting in the car. I tapped my steering wheel two times, and it was time to go.

The world narrowed to the cockpit.

Not the screaming crowd. Not the blur of lights as I sped around the circuit. Just the vibration of the steering wheel beneath my gloves and the pulse in my throat that synced with the engine roaring behind me.

I was on the last few laps. Rain from earlier still clung to the edges of the track, leaving dark slick patches in the corners. Drivers’ overconfidence bled into their driving; they were clearly expecting a drier track. It was just what I was hoping for. Steady won the race. They made a mistake, and I could easily score P2. I was in third now; P3. I could see the blur of black and blue ahead and knew Theo was in first. I still had time, though. Anything could happen when racing.

“Gap ahead is point eight,” my engineer crackled through the radio. “You’re faster in Sector 2. Use overtake out of Turn 9.” I flexed my fingers tighter around the wheel. My heartbeat felt louder than the engine. I knew I was being watched, scouted to see if I was good enough to be taken seriously. I was 17and driving an F2 car at over 200 miles an hour while the entire paddock watched to see if I was worth the hype. This was my moment to show Formula One teams who I was. The car ahead twitched through Turn 8. A tiny mistake, but I saw it immediately.

“There,” I muttered to myself. I hit overtake, and the engine screamed. The car surged forward as I tucked into the slipstream, the front wing practically kissing the gearbox ahead of me. Wind battered my helmet. My vision tunneled. The left side was open, so I dove for it. Late braking, too late maybe. I was trying to play it safe, but my brakes locked up as a result. The tires protested violently, but I held it, wheel trembling beneath my hands as we went side by side into the corner. The crowd erupted somewhere beyond the barriers.

The car in front skidded back in front but misjudged the distance. His rear tire clipped my front wing, just barely, but at this speed barely was enough. My car snapped sideways.

“No no no—” I corrected instinctively, but the rear lost grip completely on the damp edge of the track. The world spun. The barrier rushed toward me.

Then impact.

A deafening explosion slammed through my entire body.

Carbon fiber shattered.

My helmet whipped sideways so violently that stars burst across my vision. The nose of the car crumpled inward with a horrific metallic scream, and suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

I heard myself make this awful choking sound.

The cockpit lurched again.

My car slammed into the barrier a second time, then stopped dead.

Silence.

Not real silence. Ringing silence.

Smoke curled past my visor, but I couldn’t even make sense of what I was seeing. My vision swayed as I smelled fire.

I blinked hard, dazed, trying to right myself. Something was wrong, something was—I could smell burning, fire… There was a fire. I blinked hard again before I could feel anything. I looked down⁠—

My leg.

Oh God, I immediately wished I hadn’t looked at all, that this wasn’t happening. It was just a bad dream, pre-race jitters or whatever. But in front of my eyes was crushed metal. It was all wrong, twisted and smashed. Something had collapsed into the cockpit around my left leg, pinning it beneath the wreckage. My race suit was soaked dark red from the thigh down. Blood, there was blood everywhere.

I stared at it stupidly for half a second, my brain refusing to understand. Then flames flickered near the sidepod.

“No,” I whispered, my ears still ringing.

The fire spread frighteningly fast, orange licking higher along the shattered bodywork. My radio crackled with frantic voices, and suddenly everything was so fucking loud.

“Maisey! Maisey, respond!”

“I’m stuck,” I gasped, panic finally detonating in my chest. “I’m stuck⁠—”

Heat blasted against my side. The marshals were running toward me, but it suddenly felt impossibly far away. I grabbed at the warped metal trapping my leg, but my gloves slipped uselessly against it. My breathing turned ragged.

Come on.