Warrior

   The wrench slipped, and a second later went clanging across the
smooth concrete garage floor, followed closely by sounds of anguish. Under
the car, Richie Kelly glared at the offending bolt, and sucked urgently on
his skinned, aching knuckles.

   "I HATE rust! Why does everything have to rust? Why couldn't it just
sort of wear away? And why do *I* have to be the one to work on the rusty
parts? Geez, whatever happened to safety in the workplace, anyway?"

   Muttering, he retrieved the wrench, and set to work again. Actually,
there wasn't much rust. Courier cars seldom lasted long enough to rust,
but whoever had originally installed the underbody armor on this one hadn't
bothered using galvanized bolts, and the wet Southern seasons had made short
work of the protective grease they had substituted. He removed the final
fastener, and carefully lowered the heavy plate to the floor next to the
silver Taurus. It was bent and twisted, but still in one piece, and it
appeared that, aside from the armor, the Taurus was undamaged.

   Warped beyond saving, Richie judged professionally. Probably a grenade,
or a few sticks of dynamite, because the armor plate was barely a quarter
inch thick, and a real mine would have blown it right off. He examined the
mounting brackets finding that, unlike the plate itself, they were solid
and sturdy, and would easily hold the weight of the stronger armor which
the customer had requested Kelly Courier Cars to install.

   Probably scared him silly, he thought. The explosion, directly under
the driver's seat, must have bounced the Taurus around pretty violently,
and without the protection of the underbody armor, might have launched the
driver out through the roof, as well.

   A familiar grumble of exhaust pipes became audible through the walls
of the garage, and Richie grinned as he ran to open the steel garage door,
after peeking through the security screen next to the door controls. The
door, a massively welded portal made of four inch alloy steel, ground slowly
aside, and as soon as sufficient room existed, a sinister black vehicle slid
into the entry bay, and came to a stop.

   "Dad!" Richie opened the driver's door, and greeted the burly figure
inside. "We didn't expect you until tomorrow. You made great time."

   Red Kelly, Richie's father, had been a star on the old NASCAR racing
circuit, back before the Plague. Building his own cars, and winning a huge
percentage of the races he entered, he became something of a folk hero in
the North Carolina hills as a result, following in the footsteps of the
Pettys. When the Plague came, and most forms of transportation and freight
broke down, he had begun building specially strengthened, powered, and armed
vehicles to carry critical loads, and along with a few other enterprising
men created an second legend around himself. Kelly Courier Cars was very
profitable, and Red Kelly was the undisputed king of the road warriors.

   "I got lucky...caught a military convoy south of Birmingham...and got
a free escort almost to Wilmington. Heavy stuff...M-3s and four of those new
hovercraft personnel carriers...all running around 100 mph. I said hello,
tucked into line, and off we went. They were headed for Norfolk, then north
somewhere...maybe even New York."

   "Yup. They didn't say so, but I got the feeling, talking to them, that
Norfolk is gonna be a big staging area...they mentioned the Navy Yard is
almost cleaned up...so unless they're gonna try Miami again, New York is
the logical place. Philadelphia burned, you know, and with Washington nuked
and contaminated for years, that only leaves Baltimore and New York...the
next big city is Boston, and the weather is all wrong for that."

   "Do you think they'll win?" Richie had been born barely months before
the Plague, and the big cities of the North had been lost for as long as
his memories went back. The cities had become a haven for survivors, offering
shelter and available goods in huge quantity, and most cities had been taken
over by paramilitary gangs, who controlled access tightly, and drove out all
attempts to open the cities by the recently revived US Military.

   "I don't know, son...but you can bet they won't try unless THEY think
they can win, and my money's on the Army. All the dynamite and machine guns
in the world won't help much against a division of M-3 tanks."

   As they talked, Red Kelly had been carefully inspecting the engine of the
black car, a pre-Plague Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS, equipped with a modified
small-block Chevrolet V-8, NASCAR suspension and brakes. Well armored, and
equipped with two pairs of heavy machine guns, the car was Red Kelly's
pride and joy. Painted in small red letters across the trunk was the name
'Firefox', with 'Kelly Couriers' in smaller print underneath.

   The car was nearly as famous as Red Kelly himself, and few indeed were
the courier pirates ready to challenge the low slung black Chevrolet. The
car was used for regular courier runs, when needed, but also served as a
'demo' vehicle for Kelly Courier Cars. A single ride in 'Firefox' had sold
as many cars for the Kellys as Red Kelly's reputation.

   Richie watched with interest as his father examined the top radiator
hose, which was armored in spun wire, and showed a long gouge across the
top. Tapping the hose significantly, Red nodded with satisfaction.

   "That wire armor worked pretty good, Richie. I ran into a couple of
pirates outside Mobile, and one of them was using a pretty good grade of
ammo. He got one round through the seam in the grille armor, and it rattled
around under here pretty good. I was a little worried about it, but nothing
seems to be hurt, except the hose, and it wouldn't surprise me if it lasted
a long time, even nicked like it is. But, we'll change it in the morning, in
any case. No harm in being careful." He closed the hood with a solid clunk.

   "What happened to the pirates?" Richie idolized his father, and hung
on every word about his trips. He wanted nothing more, in life, than to
build his own car, and join his father in delivering the vital supplies
the country so badly needed in order to recover.

   Red grinned. "Aw, they didn't have any horsepower, so as soon as I got
by them I just gave old Firefox a good shot of nitrous and disappeared. The
last I saw of them they were pulling over, about a mile behind me, with a
bunch of smoke coming out from under their hood. All they had was an old
six-cylinder Lexus sedan, and at about a hundred and ten, it was all done.
Firefox don't even hit fifth gear 'til almost one-twenty."

   As they headed toward the family home, which was located inside, and
part of, the family business, Richie couldn't help glancing toward a dark
corner of the shop, where a tarpaulin-covered shape sat in anonymous silence.
Tomorrow, he thought. Right after breakfast, I'll show him. He'll be in
a good mood, then...Mom always fixes pancakes when he comes home.

   Mom, Richie noticed, could hardly be expected to cooperate in Richie's
conspiracies when he couldn't even tell her what they were. Breakfast had
consisted of ham and eggs, and although Big Red had eaten heartily, Richie
still would have felt better if it had been pancakes. Red LOVED pancakes.
Ham and eggs was just food, but pancakes, especially Jana Kelly's pancakes,
were ambrosia.

   Richie worried all the way out to the shop, and decided to wait til
after lunch. His mother made great sandwiches.

   He showed his father the Taurus, and explained what the customer had
requested. They went over a bid request from the local sheriff for a new
cruiser, and discussed a contract for repair services. Richie was rather
proud of that, for it was one they had been trying to get for a while.

   By mid-morning things were humming as always. The Taurus was finished,
and placed outside in the holding yard, near the dozens of old Chevrolets
Red had salvaged from dealers and wrecking yards, for use by the business
as parts or whole converted courier cars. At one time there had been almost
one hundred vehicles in the yard, and Red still bought all he could find,
whenever the price was right. Business had been good, however, and sometimes
it took two or three of the old vehicles to construct a reliable new one,
especially if it was being outfitted as a courier car. Of late they had
been forced to machine more and more new parts from scratch, simply because
none of the old cars had a desired piece in usable condition. There was
no other choice, of course, since there were no automobile companies left,
but Red's insistence on using only Chevrolets, and collecting all he could
locate, had paid dividends many times over.

   The new hose was fitted on Firefox, and pressure-tested, and Red also
changed the plugs and refilled the nitrous tank from the huge tank outside.
Kelly Couriers made their own nitrous gas, and as one of the few remaining
suppliers of it, they became a popular stop for many passing couriers.

   They had just finished Firefox, and written off the last scheduled
morning work when there was a knock at the office door.

   Richie opened the door, and found Art Evans, his mother's brother
and one time engine builder when Red Kelly had been racing in NASCAR,
waiting outside. He grinned, for Uncle Art was one of his favorite people,
but the grin vanished when Art jabbed a thumb in the direction of the far
corner of the shop, where the silent shape rested under the tarpaulin.

   "What do you want done with that old Buick you bought, Richie? We need
to move it so we can use the engine hoist." Uncle Art was another person
Richie hadn't been able to tell, and now the Gestapo, in the burly form of
Red Kelly, was about to pounce. Uncle Art looked at the horror on Richie's
face, made the necessary connection in his mind, and began edging back out
the door. "I, err, guess we can wait a little while...sorry to bother you..."

   "What Buick?" Big Red wasn't disturbed, yet, as he was preoccupied with
the paperwork. He hadn't even looked up yet, but right about now ...yup,
here it came. Richie knew his father REAL well.

   "Richie? Did you buy a car? Without asking? A BUICK?" Red stood up, and
scowled at Richie. Uncle Art gave a quick wave and ducked out the door, not
even waiting for his thirty pieces of silver.

   "Well, I...uh...yessir, I did." Richie figured he might as well die a
hero. Besides, the Buick was eighteen feet long and weighed over two tons,
so hiding it, at this point, was going to be difficult. "It was a good deal,
and I paid for it out of my savings. With a little work..." Too late.

   "Aaaauuuggghhhh!!!!!" The walls shook. "Hell and damnation, Richie! A
Buick!!! We don't have any parts for it! We can't USE any parts OFF it! And
even if we could, YOU can't even sit in it and play, without your mother's
permission, and the chances of that are exactly zip!" Big Red stomped out
of the office, turned, and stomped back in, never missing a beat.

   "Do you have ANY idea what your mother would do to me, if I so much as
let you pull a coaster wagon to the mail box?" He leaned over Richie, face
as red as his hair. "You trying to get me KILLED, boy?"

   "Yes, sir...I mean, no sir...that is..." Richie figured the best plan,
at this point, was to shut up and hope Big Red ran out of breath before his
mother heard the roars from the garage. If this was a disaster, now, adding
his mother in would turn it into a genuine catastrophe.

   Red slumped into his office chair, muttering. "A Buick. You coulda at
LEAST bought a Chevrolet...THAT we could use, or tell her we bought it for
parts. Tell her we were gonna rebuild it as a conversion. Tell her ANYTHING.
But a Buick...cripes, there is no earthly use for a Buick around here."

   Richie looked beseechingly at his father. "It's in good shape, and
it came with two spare engines and a bunch of extra parts and stuff...and
whoever had it put in a full roll cage, heavy duty springs and suspension,
and four hardpoints." Hardpoints were specially reinforced areas where the
car could carry weapons. Most courier cars had one or two, but the Buick,
like Red Kelly's Firefox, was equipped with four...two forward and two in
back. Properly installed, four hardpoints added considerable value to any
prospective courier car, and Richie expected his father to at least take
notice.

   "Four? And two engines?" For the first time, Big Red showed a little
interest, and Richie felt a tiny surge of hope.

   "Yessir...two Buick 455 V-8 blocks, complete with heads and cams, and
I think the one in the car is the same thing...it looks the same. It needs
to be armored, and it doesn't have a navigation computer, but it's big
enough to handle the weight, and haul plenty of cargo. It would make a real
good courier car. It acts fast...even with the automatic transmission."

   "I, err, drove it, Dad. Not far...just around the perimeter road, some,
but it ran real good...the oil pressure was good, and it didn't get hot."

   Red Kelly rolled his eyes skyward. "Did your mother see you? No, I
don't suppose she did...cause you're still alive. How much did you pay for
it? Don't tell me you used ALL of your savings?"

   Richie blushed. "Six hundred. He wanted two thousand, but I told him
six hundred was all I had, and just kept telling him that. After a while
he gave in, and I gave him a check. The sheriff notarized the title for me,
and the guy caught a ride into town with him when he left. He gave us the
trailer with the engines and stuff in it for free, too."

   Red looked impressed, as Richie knew he should be, for six hundred
dollars was dirt cheap for almost anything that ran, these days...let alone
a partially converted courier car, whose prices ranged as high as thirty
thousand dollars, when the weapon costs were included. It had been a very
good deal, and Red knew it.

   "Hmpf." Red looked thoughtful. "OK...so it was a good deal. That still
doesn't get you off the hook. You know the promise you made to your mother...
that you wouldn't set foot in a courier car until I'd retired, for good. Do
I look ready to retire? And even if I WAS ready to retire, we can't afford
for me to retire, right now. You know darn well that you won't get the kinds
of loads, or the prices I do, just starting out...and without a top flight
driver to represent us, the shop will lose a lot of business. Not to mention
the very real possibility that you might get your tail shot off, out there...
most drivers co-drive for a couple of years before they start doing their
own runs." Red sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "And your mother knows
every one of those facts as well as we do, and she'll skin you alive, if
you try and welsh on your promise, and me along with you, if I try and help
you convince her."

   Richie felt the walls closing in. "Dad, there has to be some way out
of this. I know I promised Mother, but to be honest, it wasn't fair to get
me to make a promise like that, before I was old enough to know what I
really wanted. I want to drive. I won't break my promise...but I'm not gonna
be happy, either. And besides, buying the Buick and fixing it up isn't
exactly the same thing as running pennicillin to Louisville. Most guys my
age either have some kind of a car, or want one."

   Red Kelly looked very unhappy. He knows I'm right, Richie thought to
himself. Now all he has to do is figure out a way to make me happy without
hurting Mother. The question is, how do we do that?

   Abruptly, Big Red heaved himself out of his chair. "Well, problems
we got...lets go look at this thing you bought, and see if it's worth
making any more problems to keep it."

   Richie followed his father over to the engine area, and helped him
remove the fitted tarpaulin from the Buick. It sat, gleaming, under a fresh
coat of wax Richie had applied to it the first night. Like Firefox, it was
black, and featured lightweight alloy rims and low, fat self-sealing tires.
Richie watched his father carefully go over the car, checking each area with
knowledgable care.

   "Hmmm...a 1976 Buick Electra...seems solid enough...good roll cage...
whoever worked on it put in some good heavy duty springs...good work, too.
Almost looks like it came from the factory this way. Car's a regular tank...
must weight a couple of tons, easy." He tapped the body panels, paused, and
repeated the gesture. "Hmmm. That's funny..."

   Big Red tapped the body panel significantly. Richie was unable to
detect anything unusual about the sound, but Art's eyes narrowed instantly,
and he reached out and duplicated the gesture. Both men stared at each other
for a long moment, then as one person they moved around the car, tapping
away, and examining all the glass, as well as the seams where the body
panels were joined.

   Art nodded. "I don't know how it got here, but this isn't any ordinary
Buick. Integral armor, bulletproof-shatterproof glass and an armored fuel
cell were not standard equipment on any car I know of. My guess would be
a factory special...a one-off for someone. Those doors, just like they are,
would withstand anything up to an anti-tank rocket...and the rest of the
car is just as well designed. If you believe the odometer, it's got about
four thousand miles on it, and if that's a stock engine I'll eat my hat."

   Red leaned on the car. "You know what I think? Someone hauled this
out of a basement around DC. This is the kind of car they assigned as escort
vehicles for the big diplomatic limos. The Secret Service had a whole bunch
of them, all built by Buick themselves, and they didn't get used that much.
You couldn't ask for a better platform for a courier vehicle...everything
is already heavy duty."

   Uncle Art popped the hood latch, and peered under it for several
seconds. "Lotta high performance under here, Red. This isn't the original
455 engine...it's got the old factory Stage III heads on it, and a nice
set of stainless steel tube exhaust headers.  Even an old nitrous system,
and a lot of electrical stuff that was state of the art around the time it
was built. This thing's gotta be making around 500 HP....and that's a really
conservative estimate."

   Red looked at Richie. "'Acted fast'. huh? I bet it did...you must have
just about had a stroke. I'm surprised you didn't give him two thousand."

   Richie had the grace to blush. "Well, it felt real strong...that was
when I decided to buy it. I took a stopwatch when I drove it, and I got a
rough 0-60 time under seven seconds, and even when I really pushed it, there
wasn't any noticeable body roll. Is it really that good a car?"

   Red nodded slowly. "Yup, its a good car...maybe too good. But, at least
you didn't get took...we can always finish it and sell it off. We could make
a bundle on it."

   Uncle Art looked at Red, and chuckled. "You got Jana trouble over
this? Heck, Richie was just representing the company when he bought this
thing...a bargain like this doesn't come along every day. You two ought to
run right in and tell her how smart he is, making a deal like this while you
were gone...he showed some real brains. Tell her I said so." He grinned, his
face oozing conspiracy.

   Red considered for a moment. "Yeah...that might work. At least, until
the thing is finished, and we need to sell it. I suppose we could put the
price so high no one wants it, but eventually she'd wonder why we needed
to make so much money on it. For now, though, it covers our butts while we
try and think of a better plan...and I do NOT want to sell this car until
we see just how good it really is." He thought a moment further. "Or, just
maybe she'll buy that Richie just bought it by accident, with my permission,
cause I told him to watch for something to fix up for her to drive. She's
been after me to find her something decent to replace the pickup. The
interior is nice enough that she'll like it, and she won't ever notice all
that power, unless we get unlucky." He nodded to himself. "Yup, that's
probably the best we can do...for the time being."

   Richie started to protest, but at the last second he caught a wink
from Uncle Art, and managed to shut his mouth abruptly. Whatever happened to
the Buick, running his mouth to Big Red right now was not gonna change a
thing. He had a small victory, in that the car had impressed Red...at least
enough so it wasn't going to be sold for a while. That would have to do.

   Red headed for the family quarters. "Come on, Richie...lets go tell
your mother how smart you are. I'll do the talking...you just look happy."
He stopped and thought a second, and seemed to remember something else that
disturbed him. "Art, be sure and run a rad meter over it. If it came out
of DC, it could be hot, even after all this time." He gestured again to
Richie, and continued on, toward the back of the shop.

   Richie followed along. Great, he thought. I buy a car, and before I
can even drive it anywhere, I get chewed out, Red gives it to Mom, and now
it might even be radioactive. With my luck, she'll love it, and Red will
figure out a way to keep my six hundred bucks, as an object lesson.

   Richie opened the apartment door for his dad, and sighed. It would
have all worked out, if she'd just served pancakes this morning, he thought.
Red really DID love pancakes.

   It depended, Richie supposed, on who you were, as to how well Red's
plan worked out. Red had put on a show, praising Richie lavishly, while
looking smugly satisfied, as though he had known all about the Buick from
the beginning. Richie had smiled at all the right times, and generally kept
to the background, while Red went through his act.

   Jana was pleased, of course, but Richie couldn't help noticing that
a few times, usually during one of Red's more outrageous compliments, she
had looked very thoughtful. She listened quietly, however, and when Red
finally finished she smiled at Richie.

   "So you bought ME a car? Thank God for sons...I've been after HIM
for months to find one, and now you did it in week! Can we go try it out
now, or isn't it ready yet?" She turned and looked at Red questioningly.

   Red backtracked hastily. "Art has some mechanical stuff to do on it
still, honey...it might be a few weeks before it's ready for you." Red
tried to look sincere. "After all, we can't let company business sit, in
order to work on it...he'll have to do it in his spare time."

   Jana looked disappointed. "Well, can I at least go and look at it?
I know you don't like me wandering around the shop, but couldn't you make
an exception this time...or at least tow it around here in back so I could
see it? It DOES run, doesn't it?" She looked at Richie searchingly, and for
a second he could have sworn she was reading his mind.

   Red realized he was outflanked, and retreated cautiously. "Sure...
I'll have Richie run it around back for you, if Art has it running. If not,
you can come and look at it in the shop. OK?"

   Jana frowned. "Richie driving? Oh, I suppose it's all right...since
it's just around the building." She looked at Red, still frowning. "I hope
you haven't been letting him drive outside the compound...I trust Richie,
but for some reason cars seem to have a magnetic attraction for men. If
you've broken that promise, Red Kelly..." Her expression implied disaster.

   Red backed away, as though he had just confronted an angry beehive.
"Nononono...I wouldn't do that, darling. The only driving Richie does is
repositioning cars, or maybe out to the holding yard. He knows better than
to drive outside the company perimeter." He glared significantly over Jana's
shoulder at Richie. "Don't you, Richie?"

   Richie nodded hastily. "Yessir...no driving outside the company
perimeter. That's the rule." He smiled in what he hoped was innocence.

   Jana smiled. "That will be fine, then. I'll try to be patient...but
it's exciting to finally get another car. I can hardly wait." She glanced
at Richie. "What color is it, Richie? Something nice?"

   "Black? Oh, you men are all alike...you think everything has to be
black." Jana giggled. "We'll just have to paint it...maybe pink. Yes, I
think pink would be a beautiful color. It's certainly not staying BLACK.
After all, it's not as though it's that horrible car your father drives."
Turning, she froze Red in his tracks, a step from safety. "Before you go,
Red, I want to talk to you."

   Red mumbled something inaudible. He looked, Richie thought, a lot
like the time Jana had put hot peppers in his cereal, after he accidently
knocked down her clothesline while testing a car. The clothesline had
contained a week's worth of Jana's laundry.

   Jana smiled sweetly at him. "I know you have a lot to do, dear...I
won't keep you long." She gave Richie a good hug. "Thank you for buying such
a nice car, Richie. I'm proud of you." She held him a second longer, then
gave him a gentle push toward the door. "Dad will be along in a second...
we have a couple of things to discuss."

   Obediently, Richie headed for the door. He couldn't help thinking
that for someone who had successfully explained his way out of a tough
situation, Red certainly looked worried...almost like Jana had it all
figured out...but she certainly hadn't appeared to be upset.

   Richie had barely returned to the shop office when the phone rang.
He picked it up, and tried to make his voice sound adult. "Kelly Couriers.
Richard Kelly speaking."

   "Richie? This is Ron Travis...how you doing, boy?" Richie grinned to
himself. Ron Travis was a courier driver, who worked contract for Bennett
Pharmacuticals, in Raleigh. He bought his cars from the Kellys, and was
a frequent visitor. Like Red, he had driven in NASCAR, although he had
only been driving a few years when the Plague struck. Red claimed he was
the fastest courier driver on the East Coast, and although Richie secretly
remained loyal to his father, he had to admit that Ron could make a courier
car sit up and beg. Richie had called him Uncle Ron for years, til someone
finally explained the lack of blood relationship to him.

   "I'm great. My dad is in back...should I get him?" Richie figured
that Red might not mind being disturbed, though he still didn't understand
what was bothering the big man.

   "Naw...just tell him I got a load for him, to Memphis, if he wants
it...antibiotics and whole blood...packaged and ready to go. I'd take it
myself, but I'm heading out for Charleston, in an hour, with a bunch of
Plague vaccine. They've got a new strain down there...not serious, but we
whipped up a better answer for it, and we need to get it in the field fast.
Tell Red the job pays three thousand, and it needs to be there forty-eight
hours from now." Ron and Red often traded jobs, and covered for each other.
Bennett paid well for its deliveries, and demanded good service.

   "OK. Let me write it down." Richie reached for a pencil, but a second
later the door opened, and Red walked in. He raised an eyebrow at Richie,
who handed him the phone. "It's Uncle Ron, Dad."

   "Ronnie, this is Red. Whaddya got?" Red listened intently for several
seconds, then nodded to himself. "OK. I'll pick it up in a couple of hours.
I need to eat, but the car is all set. Tell them to be sure and pack enough
dry ice this time...last run when I got there, the stuff was cold but the
ice was all gone. If I get delayed, that blood will spoil." He covered the
mouthpiece of the phone for a moment, and turned to Richie. "Tell Art to
come in here, will you, Richie?" He turned back to the phone. "Yes...I'll
take Art along. He gets grumpy if we work him too hard, anyway."

   Richie headed out the door to the shop, and yelled for Uncle Art.
Seeing him sprawled under the Buick, he trotted over and tugged on an
extended trouser leg. "Uncle Art? Dad wants you in the office."

   A muffled assent from under the car reassured him, and he headed
back to the office, entering just in time to hear Red's last words.

   "No, Ronnie...I won't try to be a hero. I heard about that thing,
and it might be fast, but it won't touch Firefox. The only thing they'll
see is my trunklid."

   Richie was jumping up and down, trying to ask about the end of the
phone call, but Red waved him to temporary silence. "You and I are going to
Memphis, Art. Antibiotics and blood from Bennett...due the day after
tomorrow. We can leave as soon as we eat and rearm Firefox. I want to
reload with that special Arsenal ammo I picked up last spring. Ronnie
says the Dinosaur is working around Gatlinburg, and if we see it I want to
be sure we aren't outgunned." He grinned. "Those depleted uranium rounds
will go through normal armor like a drill through soft cheese."

   The Dinosaur! Richie felt a quiver of apprehension. Ordinary courier
pirates were one thing, but the Dinosaur was very definitely something else.

   Shortly after the Plague hit, when courier service was just getting
started, some inventive pirates captured a brand new semi-truck, one of
the first with a full sized gas turbine engine. Uncertain of what they'd
found, but highly impressed with the performance of such a huge vehicle,
the pirates had armed and armored this behemoth, and begun using it as a
giant, self sufficent marauder.

   Over the years many attempts had been made to destroy the thing, but
its near invulnerability to anything less than military firepower had
prevented success, and as the pirates grew more and more proficient in their
repairs and modifications, the truck had grown faster, stronger and even
more terrifying. One courier driver had described an encounter with it as
"being chased by the world's biggest dinosaur", and the name had stuck.

   With the re-emergence of the military, courier pirates in general,
and the Dinosaur particularly, had begun working more and more out of the
mountains, where concealment was easier and military patrols less frequent.
But even with their operations to some extent contained, the pirates still
found plenty of easy pickings, for by now the Dinosaur was known to actually
approach the performance of a courier car, and mounted far more firepower
and armor. The pirates had begun using conventional cars in support of the
huge vehicle, as well, and their tactics were excellent.

   If the Dinosaur was working in the Gatlinburg area, then Red Kelly
would be passing directly through the critical area, in order to deliver
the medical supplies on time. The limited time frame would not permit any
attempt to detour around the area, and the number of available routes which
passed through it were severely limited. In addition, medical supplies were
a prime target for pirates of all types, and Richie knew spies inside the
company shipping the load would have reported its contents and destination.

   Red looked at Richie, and grinned at the expression on his face. "Now
look, boy, like I told Ronnie, I'm not gonna be a hero. If I see anyone
that even resembles a pirate...or looks like the Dinosaur, especially...
I'm gonna run like a rabbit with a good hound on his trail. That thing is
too big to mess with, and without any backup I'd be asking for trouble."
He chuckled. "Besides, I'll have Art with me, and you know how he hates
loud noises. We'll be just fine...Dinosaur or not, this is just an ordinary
courier run. We'll be back in a few days, with any luck."

   Art nodded. "Just meat and potatoes, Richie. Another day's work for
a poor, downtrodden ex-racer. Why, if Red didn't have courier driving, he'd
get fat and slow, and you and I would have to support the family." He ducked
under Red's huge fist, and leered at the big man. "See? He's already slowing
down...a few more years and we'll have to trundle him out to the garage in
a wheelchair, and Jana can bring him warm milk and soft boiled eggs to eat."

   Red shuddered. "If I thought that was my future, I'd get rid of every
chicken on the place, and all the cows, besides. Soft boiled eggs are the
lord's way of telling us to brush our teeth...and they work."

   Richie couldn't help laughing. "All right, I won't worry. At least,
not unless you get overdue. What's depleted uranium?"

   Red looked at Uncle Art. "He listens, too...make some woman a good
husband, someday...you think?" Both men burst out laughing, and Richie
blushed. He'd been seeing a girl in town named Wendy Carruthers, whenever
he could get away from the shop, but his available free time was sharply
limited, especially when Red was absent. His interest in Wendy was well
known by the entire company, and he was the object of considerable humor,
if only because he couldn't control the deep red which appeared on his face
whenever Wendy's name, or any reference to her, was mentioned. The desire
for a car of his own was partly rooted in the knowledge that he would be
much freer to visit her, if he had his own transportation.

   Red stepped over to the desk, withdrew a normal looking machine gun
cartridge from it, and handed it to Richie. "This is a depleted uranium
round...it works just like a regular one, except better."

   The boy took it, surprised at the unexpected weight, and examined it
with interest. Aside from the weight, and a small stamping which read "APDU"
it appeared perfectly normal. "What makes it different?"

   Red tapped the bullet end. "This is different. The outside is lead,
just like a regular bullet, but inside the lead is a a piece of uranium.
It's a lot harder and heavier than lead, so it has a lot more penetration
when it hits anything. The cartridge has a more powerful powder charge, so
the bullet goes just as fast and as far, but when it hits, it hits a lot
harder. I bought four cases from a guy a few months ago, and put them in the
storage locker, just in case. Two cases will fill all four magazines in
Firefox, so I have two complete loads. I've never had to use any, but it's
nice to know I have them, if need be."

   Richie hastily handed the shell back. "But how can you handle it like
that? Uranium is radioactive! Isn't it dangerous?"

   Red grinned. "Nope...that's why they call it DEPLETED uranium. All
the radioactivity is pretty well gone from it, and what's left is inside
the lead of the bullet, so it can't get out. It's as safe as any other
cartridge, as long as the bullets are intact."

   Art snapped his fingers. "Oh, by the way, Richie. That Buick is all
set to go. I went over it with a fine tooth comb, and the only thing it
needed was new nitrous lines...all the seals were bad on the old ones. I
changed the oil and the filters, filled the nitrous tank, tested the hoses
and the radiator, changed the battery and flushed the transmission screens.
That's a real nice car...if we had any refrigerant for it, I think the air
conditioning might even still work." He looked at Red. "I went over it with
the rad meter, too...it's not hot. If it came from Washington, it was buried
pretty deep."

   Red nodded. "I didn't figure it was hot...Richie said the guy drove
it here, and if it was radioactive, he would have been a pretty sick man,
inside all that metal. But it was worth checking, if only to be safe." He
turned to Richie. "OK, it's running. Help Art with the ammo, eat, then go
show it to your mother, and when you're finished, run it back inside the
shop, cover it up, and don't touch it until I get back. Tell her Art said
he had to work on something before it would be safe enough to drive any real
distance. She suspects something is up...I tried to cover for us, but if
she comes out and finds you working on it while we're gone, the cat will be
completely out of the bag. I don't want to come home and find her waiting
to bash my brains out." He turned and headed for the door. "I'll be inside
the apartment, getting ready, if you need me."

   Richie sighed, but nodded obediently. He had hoped that somehow he
could have driven the Buick to town while Red was gone, but he had no
intention of disobeying the big man's orders. So far things weren't going
all that badly, and giving his mother fuel for her suspicions could cause
nothing but trouble. He reluctantly put in storage the thought of Wendy,
riding in the Buick next to him as they drove proudly through town, and
concentrated on the present.

   He went to the storage locker with Art, and helped him haul two of
the heavy ammo boxes out to Firefox. The ammo was in belts, and changing
it was a simple procedure, basically removing the old belts and replacing
them. Even so, it took nearly an hour before Art was satisfied that the
belts would feed smoothly. They both grabbed a sandwich from the plateful
Jana had thoughtfully made, and munched away as they waited for Red.

   As they ate, Richie asked Art about Red and Ron Travis. Art was glad to
talk, and even though Richie knew it was only to remove any remaining worry
he might have about the trip, he was still fascinated, for neither Ron nor
Red spoke much about any of their adventures. Art, his tall, lanky frame
draped over a stack of old tires, considered for a few moments, looking
thoughtful.

   "Riding with Red is like sneaking in at night when you're two hours late.
He don't ever get lost, and he can go through someplace without bending a
blade of grass. He told me once that he figured every time he had to use
a weapon to get where he was going, he wasn't no better than a pirate,
himself...he says they gotta eat, too. I go along with him mostly to make
Jana feel good...he don't need any help."

   "Ronnie? Well, Ronnie is a little bit different breed of cat...man has
the fastest reflexes I ever saw, and he don't hardly make a mistake, driving.
He pushes awful hard, though...cause he ain't never run into anything that
he didn't figure there was a way over, under or through. There just ain't
no go-around in him. He don't hardly shoot any more than Red, but he don't
because he don't let anyone get close enough to him to shoot back.

   "Back when we started, he'd come in after a run, and the car would
be all shot full of holes, and I'd ask him what happened, and he'd just
say, 'Aw, I had a little trouble down at So-and-so...but everything's all
right.'  Darn fool was running them off the road, instead of shooting at
them...thought he was still in NASCAR. Course, since he wasn't shooting,
they all thought he was unarmed, so they just kept coming."

   "I finally went along, one run, and saw what he was doing, and had to
show him how quick they'd give up if he tossed a little tracer at them.
He always takes someone along to handle the guns when he goes anywhere real
dangerous...says it distracts him from his driving when he has to do both."

   "I don't know which one of them is better, but when they raced each
other, Red usually won whenever they had open track at the end, and Ronnie
generally won anytime he could lose Red in traffic. Between them, they could
about split the winner's share anytime they didn't break, and neither one of
them could stand losing worth a darn. If God ever sat down to make a race
driver, those two were his best shots at it...them and Richard Petty."

   Art scratched his head. "Don't rightly know...when Richard was in
his prime, he won everything that wasn't nailed down. He won 200 races, and
made it look so easy people never really noticed how good he was until
he'd been doing it a while. I remember, in 1969, he raced at Riverside in
one of the early NASCAR road course races, and Dan Gurney was there, along
with a bunch of other road racers some of the teams had hired. There was a
lot of talk about how the NASCAR bunch was gonna get their just desserts,
now that they were gonna try REAL racing, with corners and brakes and having
to shift."

   "Gurney was one of the better all-around drivers in the world, back
then. He'd won at Le Mans and Daytona, and a few stock car races besides.
His home track was Riverside, and for the first half of the race, he just
waxed everyone. But Dan was hard on equipment, and after a while his brakes
started getting weak. Richard finally caught him, and for about 20 laps they
ran side by side, trading places. Then Dan just couldn't keep up any more...
his brakes were gone. That was the greatest race I ever watched, and I was
about 19 at the time. It always struck me as funny, that it was Gurney who
used up his brakes, and Richard who saved his, given that Dan was supposed
to be the road course expert. That's the way Richard Petty won a lot of his
races...at the end he'd just have so much more car left than the guys he was
beating, they couldn't keep up. He was one of the best there ever was at
conserving his race car until it mattered, along with being a great driver."

   Art rolled up his napkin, and piled it neatly on the empty sandwich
plate. "Remember that, Richie. If your job...or your life...depends on your
equipment, don't use it up on something unimportant. Then when you really
need it, chances are, it will be there for you."

   Richie nodded thoughtfully, a sudden memory of his problem returning.
Right now a job, as well as his own equipment, were a long way away.

   Art looked at him closely. "You're afraid you aren't going to get
that Buick, aren't you? It must be a pretty bleak picture, right now, with
Red telling Jana it was for her, and you having to agree." Art stretched,
and clapped Richie on the shoulder. "I'll have a couple of days to remind
Red how much fun it was when WE had OUR cars, at your age, and how rotten
you must be feeling right now. By the time we get back, he'll be feeling
so guilty, he might even give you Firefox. Have a little faith, boy...old
Uncle Art is on the job. Once we convince Red, the rest is easy."

   Richie grinned weakly. "Yeah, but even if you can convince Red, that
doesn't solve the problem. I promised Mom, and she's gonna hold me to it,
unless something happens to change her mind, and I don't know if Red can
do that, even...she's pretty definite about it."

   Art shook his head. "Jana is too smart to hold out on you, Richie.
Just try and give her some time to adjust, and she'll give in. She knows
she's wrong, because I told her so, the day after she made you promise...and
I told her what was going to happen someday, unless she changed her mind.
Now, someday is here, and don't think for one minute she doesn't know it."

   "There's a lot you were never told about Jana...things that would make
a big difference, if you knew them...but trust me, you'll get your car, and
a lot sooner than you think. She knows you bought that car for yourself...
I'd bet on it...and as soon as she makes Red squirm a while, she'll give in."

   Richie shrugged. "I don't have any choice, except to wait...unless I
were to break my promise to her, and I won't do that. And I'm not going to
be a baby about it, and whine, either...but I'll be 18 next summer, and
promise or not, that's as long as I wait."

   Art nodded. "You won't have to wait that long. This will be settled
in the next few weeks, if I'm not mistaken. But until it is, you just keep
a low profile, and pretend everything is hunky-dory." He brushed some dust
off his sleeve. "One thing, though...just an old racer's hunch...when you
show Jana the car, you might forget to tell her I need to work on it some
more."

   Grinning, and humming an off-key tune, Art sauntered off toward his
room, leaving Richie awash in confusion. Finally he shook his head, and
began uncovering the tarpaulin covered shape, in the shadows of the shop.

   By the time Richie got the tarpaulin off the Buick, and folded it up
neatly in the back seat, Red and Art were backing out of the main shop door.
Richie hastily scrambled behind the wheel of the Buick, intending to follow
them out the door. He fastened the lap belt and inserted the key, but when
he looked up, the huge door was already closing.

   Since there was no hurry, Richie took a few seconds to examine the
refurbished dashboard. Art had installed a new instrument pod, containing
a nitrous pressure gauge, an oil temperature gauge and an ammunition gauge,
which was nonfunctional in the absence of any installed weapons. The new
nitrous switch was mounted on the floor shifter, where it fell readily into
a driver's right hand, and there was a brand new navigation computer, inset
just below the heater controls. A remote switch for the shop door, nestled
between the front bucket seats, completed the changes.

   Richie was impressed. He snuggled into the comfortable bucket, and
turned on the computer. a pattern of green lines appeared, diagraming the
roads surrounding the shop, with two small yellow dots, which represented
other cars, moving across it. Richie took a few seconds to identify Firefox,
and found it was moving very fast, in the direction of town. The second dot
was ambling across a paved section road a few miles away, in a direction
which was taking it generally along behind Red. The white dot representing
the Buick was in the center of the screen, where it would stay as long as
the computer was operating. The screen display moved in relation to the
car, thus allowing for equal coverage in all directions.

   Richie grinned for a moment, immersed in delight at the well prepared
appearance of the car. If it had any weapons, he thought, it would be ready
to go, just as it is.

   He touched the key, and the big Buick burst into life, with a crisp,
muted grumble. He listened to the engine for a few moments, letting it warm,
and was pleased at the rocking idle it settled into. Finally, he slipped
the shifter into gear, and allowed the Buick to glide across the shop to
the door, where a tap on the remote switch opened the massive entry.

   Once outside, Richie closed the door, and guided the Buick around the
building, toward the family entrance. The engine growled deeply, and proved
instantly responsive to the least pressure from his right foot. The large
wood grain steering wheel required only light effort, and the brakes were
firm and stable. Richie was in heaven.

   All too soon the turn-around which marked the entry to the family
quarters portion of the building loomed ahead. Richie let the Buick coast
all the way around the circle, before coming to a stop outside the door.
He reluctantly turned off the engine, unfastened the lap belt, and climbed
out, just as Jana exited the house. She smiled at him, and then turned to
the car, examining it with a critical eye.

   Richie nodded. "Three coats. It needed it...there wasn't any shine at
all when we first got it. I guess it had been sitting for a while."

   Jana frowned. "I thought so. They put you in the middle, then hopped
in their car, and took off. So, I'll ask you...is it safe to drive, Richie?"

   Richie nodded slowly. "Uncle Art said it was OK, and he wouldn't have
said so, if it wasn't true. It runs fine, as far as I can tell."

   Jana nodded. "OK. Wait here." She trotted into the house, lightfooted
and graceful, and disappeared inside, reappearing a few moments later. As
she approached the car, she put on a pair of thin leather driving gloves,
and wrapped a scarf loosely around her hair.

   Reaching the car, she slipped neatly into the driver's seat, and
adjusted it to fit her. Surprisingly, she seemed very much at home behind
the wheel, and Richie remembered Art's cryptic remark about there being
some things about Jana that Richie didn't know.

   Finished, she looked at Richie. "Well, get in. If it quits, I want
you along to push." She snickered slightly at the look on Richie's face.

   Richie went around to the passenger side of the Buick, and climbed
in, finding that passenger seat was a duplicate of the driver's, and just
as comfortable. He took a second to fasten the lap belt, then leaned back.

   She's probably just going to drive around the perimeter road, or
something, he told himself. All she wants to do is see how the car runs,
because she's curious. No reason to worry. He watched his mother, trying
not to let any apprehension show.

   Jana seemed to be memorizing the location of each control, touching
each one lightly as her lips moved in soundless comment. She caressed the
transmission shifter, noticing the nitrous button, and seemed surprised.

   "This has an automatic transmission, Richie?", she asked. "It must
be pretty slow, then. Surely too slow to be a good courier car."

   "Oh, he did, did he?" Jana was unimpressed. "And as for you, my young
and trusting son, you listen to Red and Art way too much. It's their fault
that all you can think about is driving a courier car, and racing all over
the country. There's lots more to life than fast cars, Richie."

   Richie was tempted to tell her he had lots to think about besides
cars and driving, but he felt the comment would be disloyal to Wendy. She
caught his blush in the corner of her eye, however, and smiled knowingly.

   Jana settled into the driver's seat. "Anyway, let's go see if this
car will actually get us to town and back, before we start trying to
decide if it could really do a courier run." She reached over and turned
the key, and the rumble of the huge V8 drowned out Richie's involuntary
comment.

   Oh, geez...Red's gonna kill me, Richie thought. But she's my mother,
so I can't exactly forbid her to go. Darn Red anyway...and darn Ronnie
for calling him, and darn Art for telling me to tell her the car runs, and
worst of all, darn me for buying the thing in the first place.

   "Do you really think we ought to go all the way to town, Mother? Maybe
we ought to just drive around inside the perimeter, in case something does
go wrong...you know, wait til Red and Art get back to give it a real good
shakedown, first." Richie tried to sound nonchalant, but after a glance at
him, Jana slipped the shifter into gear, and eased the Buick out of the
turn-around onto the main company access road.

   "Richie Kelly, are you a 'fraidy-cat?" Jana giggled at him. "Surely
you can't be afraid to ride to town with your mother...you've done it
a hundred times in the pickup. Why is it different today? Is there something
about this car you haven't told me?"

   Richie swallowed hard, but looked squarely at Jana. "Mother, what
makes it different is that we are going to town in a car *I* was told not
use...an untested car which, even though Uncle Art says it's sound, could
have god knows what wrong with it. And if we break down, this car has no
weapons, and Red and Art are both gone, so the cavalry isn't gonna come
riding over the ridge to save us. If that makes me a 'fraidy-cat, then
I guess I am. But only a fool would be comfortable taking his own mother
into a situation like that."

   He met Jana's surprised gaze levelly. "I know very well I can't tell
you what to do...but if you're set on driving to town, put it off a day,
and drive around the perimeter road long enough to let everything get good
and hot, so if something IS going to break, it happens here, not on the
road to town. And take a rifle along, just in case something DOES happen."

   Jana blinked, then looked at Richie with an appraising glance, as
though she had discovered a stranger masquerading as her son. She stepped
gently on the brake, brought the big Buick to a stop in the middle of the
road, and turned off the ignition. She turned sideways in the seat, and
looked at him for a full minute, her gaze seeming to probe inside him.

   "Well." she said softly, tipping her head sideways, as she looked at
him. "I guess that pretty well covers 'why', doesn't it? You've grown up on
me, Richie...and there's a lot of your grandfather in you...and your father,
as well." She sighed. "Hearing you talk like that, it occurs to me that I've
probably been treating you very badly...not because I wanted to...but simply
because I never noticed just how much you've changed, the last few years."

   She gestured around the inside of the car. "I saw you driving this,
the day you bought it...and I was angry...but not at you. I blamed Red,
for filling my baby's head full of stories, and making him want to be like
his father. I wasn't ready for you to grow up, and so I just ignored the
fact that you had."

   "But you aren't just my baby any more. You're a handsome young man,
with dreams and plans of your own, and I've been a silly old woman to try
and keep you tied down. Do you want me to release you from your promise,
and let you start driving? Because if I don't, I'm going to lose you, very
soon...you proved that a few minutes ago."

   Richie shivered. "You'll never lose me, Mother...I can promise you
that. But I do want to drive...and not just because of the stories Red and
Art talk about. Courier drivers are important to the country...without them,
people would die, and we'd lose more and more knowledge every year. Because
of people like Red, when I have children, maybe the country will be safer,
and they won't have to do the things we do, to survive. That's not such a
terrible reason, is it?"

   Jana shook her head. "No, Richie...that's not terrible at all. But
there are a lot of people who want to be couriers...why do YOU have to be
one? Why not let someone else do it?"

   Richie frowned. "Because I'd be better at it than other people...I
have knowledge starting out that some couriers never learn at all...and I
have Red and Art, and I'd be driving the best car they could build. And
besides, if the company is going to survive, we will need a top driver to
represent us...Red isn't going to drive forever...and if I don't start
building a reputation now, by the time Red retires it will be too late...
our courier car business will disappear. We live on our reputation...and
Red's...and without that, we're just another shop, scraping by."

   Jana spoke softly, as though to herself. "Grow up, girl...your son
is busy thinking about YOUR future, and you're trying to fight it." She
straightened her shoulders, and looked at Richie. "So tell me...just what
did you plan to do with THIS car, Richie? Surely you didn't plan to make
it into a courier car...it's huge."

   Richie wiggled. "I just wanted a car...most of the guys in town have
one, and it was getting embarrassing...being Red Kelly's son, and having
to ride to town with my mother, in an old pickup. So when the guy showed up
with this one, and I realized how good it ran, I just decided to go ahead
and buy it, and try and work out some kind of way to get you and Red to let
me use it. But then Red and Art looked at it, and found out what it was, so
I don't know what they'll decide to do. Art says I'll get it...once you let
Red squirm for a few weeks...er..." Richie blushed to the roots of his hair.

   Jana laughed, a silvery peal of pure enjoyment. "Never mind, Richie...
Art always did delight in giving away my secrets...and I WAS going to make
Red suffer a while before I let him off the hook. But just now you said that
'Red and Art looked at it, and found out what it was'...so just what is it?"
She tapped the Buick's steering wheel enquiringly.

   Richie explained what Art and Red had discovered about the Buick, and
added his own impressions, gained from driving it himself.

   Jana was intrigued. "It's really got all that? And it's that fast? Are
you SURE you wouldn't like to give it to your poor old, broken-down mommy to
drive? I'm getting jealous already."

   Richie grinned. "Mother, why would YOU want a car like this? It isn't
any better, really, than any other car, except that it's probably twice as
fast, and carries twice as much. Since you wouldn't ever use the power, and
you'll never do any courier runs with it, most of the extra goodies would
be wasted on you."

   Jana looked at him disdainfully. "What makes you think I wouldn't ever
use all this power? Do you think Red is the only driver in this family?"

   Richie blushed. "I don't mean you can't drive, Mother...but this car
is FAST...you've never driven anything like it, believe me."

   Without another word, Jana reached over and turned the ignition key.
The big Buick started instantly, she slid the shifter into gear, and mashed
down on the accelerator, and the nitrous button.

   "Mother, don't..." Richie instinctively grabbed the rollbar, for the
Buick had taken one huge gulp of fuel and nitrous, and they were FLYING.
Jana held the engine wide open until the perimeter road entrance loomed
impossibly close, and the Buick was doing well over eighty miles per
hour, then tapped the brakes solidly and executed a perfect four wheel
drift around the corner. As soon as the road was straight, she gave the
Buick full throttle again, and Richie could only gasp at the way the big
car responded to her touch.

   They covered the half mile to the west corner in less than twenty
seconds, the Buick a howling black demon in the afternoon sun, and drifted
through the hairpin on the razor edge of traction. Richie, now securely
stuffed into his seat, was able to watch and appreciate the sure touch
of his mother's driving, noticing the same economy of movement and lack
of corrections that characterized both Red and Ronnie, at speed.

   They passed the back of the shop like a cannonball dropped through
a chimney, the rising scream of the Buick V8 echoing off the concrete wall
as they shot by. Jana kept the car accelerating until the next corner, then
braked solidly, turned the corner, and let the car coast to a sedate halt
near the large pond at the back of the property. She turned to Richie, as
he sat completely speechless, and nodded seriously, though her eyes sparkled
and her cheeks were flushed with color.

   "No, you were right. I've never driven a PASSENGER car that was this
fast, before. And darn few race cars, either...up to around a hundred or so.
I'm impressed, Richie...I certainly wouldn't be afraid to use this as a
courier car, if I was still a courier DRIVER." She giggled at the look on
Richie's face.

   Jana nodded. "Yes...and a racer before that, too, I'm afraid. And
now, sir, you have found me out...what must I do to protect my secret?" She
giggled conspiratorally.

   Richie laughed with delight. "That's easy...just teach me to drive
like you do....and I promise that never shall a word of your past ever
escape my lips, unto death."

   Jana hugged him. "Did I actually impress you, Richie? I was being
careful...and the car is really good, but I shouldn't have showed off like
that...it was juvenile and dangerous. And yes, if there is anything I can
teach you, I'll be glad to try."

   "Yes...racing was as much a part of my life, growing up, as it was
Red's or Ronnie's. My great-grandfather was named Richie Evans...you
were named after him..., and for years he was one of the best NASCAR
Modified drivers on the East Coast. I grew up living around and working
with fast cars, and I met Red when I was driving a Corvette in the American
Racing Series. Even after we got married, I kept it up when I had some
free time. But then you came along, and Red made me promise to stop. Then
the Plague came, and there was so much to do that Red and I used to drive
together...he'd sleep while I drove, and vice-versa. We left you here, with
your Aunt Alice...she was Art's and my sister, until she died when you were
two...and when that happened, Art started going with Red, and I stayed home
and took care of you."

   "Why didn't you or Red ever tell me? Even Uncle Art never told me
anything about it, and he tells me everything." Richie was a little hurt.

   Jana sighed. "Oh, Richie...don't you see? As long as it was just Red
driving, and not me too, then it was reasonable to make you wait til Red
retired before you started...at least, that's what I thought. If you had
known that I'd been a courier driver, too, and a racer...then you would
have resented having to wait a lot more, and it would have been a lot
harder for me to justify not letting you. It wasn't fair, but I made both
Red and Art promise, and no one else knew, except Ronnie. Red talked to
him about it, and he's never said a word, either." She leaned forward, and
gave him an awkward hug, restrained by her seatbelt. "You're important to
me, Richie...and I don't want to lose you."

   "You won't, Mother." Richie returned her hug. "It's not as though I'm
going to start hauling loads tomorrow...I've still got a lot to learn. But
someday I'll be driving, and the longer I wait to start learning, the less
ready I'll be. And besides, I didn't just buy this car to use for that. It's
a really beautiful car, and I've sort of got a reputation to protect. It
was getting embarrassing, being Red Kelly's son, and not having a car."

   Jana glanced at him, and he blushed. "Well, I do. Kelly is a pretty
darn big name to carry around, you know...and since I don't even have a
car, it gets uncomfortable, sometimes. Did you mean it about teaching me
everything you know about driving, Mother?"

   Jana nodded. "I don't know nearly as much about COURIER work as Red
does, but I can teach you some things about driving." She stopped, and
suddenly looked gleeful. "It would be nice, though, if we could fix it so
Red didn't know what we were doing, until we got you up to speed. He's got
a good surprise coming, after the way he tried to cover up this car."

   Jana looked at him severely. "Red, my sometimes-not-so-bright-son,
has been slipping things past me for years. It would do him good to have
to eat crow this one time. And besides, if we tell him, he'll insist that
he be the one to train you, and as busy as things are, you'll be waiting
forever. Do you want that?"

   Richie blinked. "Er, no. And he would, sure as beans grow. But if we
do, is he gonna be upset, when he finds out?"

   Jana patted his shoulder encouragingly. "I'll handle Red. You just
work hard, and don't let a word slip...not even to Art...and we'll see
just how good we can make you, by ourselves."

   They spent much of the next three days in the car, frequently sitting
still on the perimeter road, as Jana explained something. Richie drove
often, spending the rest of the time watching, as his mother demonstrated a
maneuver, or explained some fact about the car. Richie found that he had
overrated his skills badly, for time after time, he found his best efforts
at duplicating his mother's graceful cornering ending in clouds of dust and
tire smoke, as the Buick left the road for the meadows surrounding the shop.

   It was nearly sunset on the third day when, tired and disgusted, he
eased the big Buick back into the shop, and climbed out. He was depressed,
and kicked the front tire of the Buick accusingly. Jana shook her head
in commiseration, and removed her driving gloves.

   "Stupid car...how come when I drive you always end up going backwards? I
feel like I've been riding a merry-go-round, or something...half the time I
try to turn, the front end keeps going straight...and then, when I step on
the brakes wrong, the rear end passes me. What's going on?"

   Jana laughed. "Don't worry about it, Richie. That's normal. Cars all
depend on their tires for stopping and turning, and when you have a car like
this, with a heavy engine and a lot of weight in front, the car tends to
go straight when you try to turn, because the car's mass resists the change
of direction. But...when you put on the brakes, you increase the load on the
front tires, so they apply more turning force...and at the same time, you
LESSEN the load on the rear tires, because the weight of the body has shifted
to the front of the car, so the rear tires lose adhesion, and you spin out."

   She hopped up on the fender of the Buick, and her weight forced the
nose of the car down. "When the body of the car shifts, there's more weight
in front, and less in back...so the rear tires have less grip. The fastest
way through a corner is with all four tires balanced...each one carrying the
same amount of the car's weight. That's not really possible, but the closer
you get to even, the faster the car will corner."

   "I remember a story I heard about an old racer named Juan Fangio. He was
the best of his time, and may have been the best road racer there ever was.
He was from Argentina, a national hero there, and he won the world driving
championship, driving for Mercedes-Benz. The Mercedes team had several really
good drivers, but the mechanics noticed that each driver had an individual
pattern in which he wore out his tires. Some wore out the front tires first,
and some the back tires, but only Fangio's tire wear was exactly even...he
wore out all four of his tires at the same time. He was such a good driver
that his car was always evenly balanced, when he cornered."

   She tapped the Buick. "A car like this will wear out its front tires
first, because more of the car's weight is in front, but you can even the
wear out some by entering a corner a little slower than maximum, and then
accelerating through it, because when you accelerate, you tend to lift the
front of the car, and lessen the wear on the front tires. Just remember that
when you do that, the car will tend to go straight, because the front tires
have less grip." She hopped off the hood, brushing dust from her clothes.

   "Front wheel drive cars are very hard to corner fast, because of the
added loads the front tires have to bear. Besides turning the car, the front
tires also have to accelerate it, at the same time. What usually happens is
that the tires lose traction, and spin, while the car goes straight. So
in order to corner fast, a front wheel drive car has to have good balance,
so the weight on the front and rear tires has to be close the same. Even
then, it won't ever corner quite as fast as a rear wheel drive car that's
set up the same way."

   Richie nodded doubtfully. Driving fast had seemed easy to him...just
step on the gas until you got to a corner, and then slow down and turn. The
repeated lessons had shown him how woefully wrong this plan had been, and
he was amazed at how fast the Buick could slip through corners with Jana at
the controls.

   Jana smiled. "The worst mistake you made was trying to go too fast.
You need to slow down sooner, so you can ease off the brakes as you turn.
When you try to turn while you are still slowing down, you are putting too
much weight on the front of the car, and you can't corner as fast. Do all
your braking before you get to the corner, and then you can accelerate the
car through the corner, and balance your tire loads. Just remember that you
can overload your REAR tires with engine power when you do it, because
the more power you use to accelerate, the less traction they have left to
corner with. If you use too much power, the tires will spin, and you will
spin the car out. Once you get used to doing it, you'll start going a lot
faster, and the car will seem to corner a lot better." She smiled. "You
already know more than 90% of the people I know...if you just slow down a
little, you'll be just fine."

   Richie shook his head. "How did you get so smart? It sounds like I
need a college degree in physics to learn how to drive fast."

   Jana laughed. "I used to sit around for hours, and listen to other
drivers talking about the same things, while I was growing up, and later,
when I started racing, I remembered a lot of what I'd heard. Most drivers
use the same terminology to describe things, so it wasn't that hard. When
a car wants to go straight, instead of turning, a driver will say it's
'pushing', or 'tight'...the technical word is 'understeer'. When the back
of the car tries to go straight when you corner, a driver would say the
car is 'loose', and an engineer would call that 'oversteer'. Remember those
terms, and when Red or someone else tries to explain things to you, you'll
know what they're talking about. This Buick, for example, understeers quite
a bit, so Red would say it was 'pushing'."

   Richie dug out an fresh can of paste wax, and several rags. "One thing
for sure...I better wax this car good, because if Red sees it all dusty and
dirty, he's gonna ask questions."

   Richie soon had the Buick back to its gorgeous ebony shine, and with
satisfaction he covered it up and headed in to eat. He had just finished a
delicious hamburger when the the deep grumble of exhaust pipes announced
that Red and Art had arrived.

   Red strolled in, wearing his usual grin. He was grimy, and there were
grease stains covering the front of his pants. Art was equally dirty, but
both men radiated blissful satisfaction.

   "Well, you can chalk up another first for Kelly Couriers," Red bubbled.
"We not only made it to Memphis and back in less than 4 days, we rebuilt
the rear suspension on the road while we did it. The difficult we can do
instantly...it's only the impossible that takes us longer."

   "What happened?" Richie and Jana spoke simultaneously. Jana plunked a
huge platter of hamburgers on the table, and pointed at the bathroom. "No,
forget that. Go wash, and change your clothes, before you even THINK of
sitting down at this table."

   Red eyed the hamburgers hungrily, but Jana stared at him until he turned
toward the bathroom, muttering. Uncle Art waited until Jana had turned her
back, watching Red, then skillfully filched a hamburger from the pile, and
headed for the door to his apartment, munching away.

   Richie sat on pins and needles until Red and Art were installed at the
dinner table, then gradually dragged the whole story out of them.

   They had made very good time, going to Memphis...so good, in fact, that
Red had decided to stay overnight, instead of leaving on the return trip
right away. The next morning they had departed, but they had only been on
the road a few hours when Red discovered that something was wrong with the
car. A quick examination had shown that someone had hacksawed through about
three quarters of each rear leaf spring, and under the stress of high speed
running, the left one had snapped.

   "We had a couple of scrap pieces of steel in the back of the car, and
Art had a hacksaw, so we clamped them in the springs to keep things together
until we got home. We'd just finished, and pulled out on the road again,
when a bunch of pirates showed up behind us. I had plenty of speed on them,
but they never really tried to catch up...it was like they were HERDING us
somewhere. Art and I finally figured our patches were holding, so I just
took off, and left them in the dust." Red took a huge bite of hamburger,
and looked over at Art. "We had just cleared the mountains when we passed
an exit ramp, and there it was."

   "The Dinosaur." Red said. "I figure we surprised them...we got far enough
ahead of their beaters that they were still out of radio range when we got
to the ambush point, so they couldn't warn that thing we were coming. It
did pull out, and started after us, but we had a good hundred mph roll on
it, and we just kept going. It chased us about twenty miles, but it just
kept falling back, and finally quit. I know I was going over a hundred and
fifty, and we weren't pulling away any too easy. That thing is FAST."

   Art nodded. "It had to be going over a hundred and thirty...an ordinary
courier car would have been dead meat. And I was sweating blood over those
two pieces of scrap holding our rear suspension together...if either one of
those had given way, they could have cleaned us up with a mop and sponge."

   Red chuckled. "Well, today we got the bear, so to speak, and lived to
tell the story, after. I wish the Army would do something about that
monster, though. It's dangerous...and with everything expanding west now,
it's gonna get worse. And besides that, it looks like they're getting a
lot more organized, too. Whoever sawed through our springs did it knowing
we'd be disabled somewhere close to where it was waiting...that was no
coincidence. I wonder why they picked on us? We had already made our run,
and were on the way home. If they wanted to stop us, they should have
tried when we were loaded, not empty." He sighed. "But, who knows what
they had in mind...look at what they do for a living."

   Jana leaned on Red's back, standing over him. "Oh, by the way, dear...
I took my new car out for a drive, and it's gorgeous. All that power and
speed...it's perfect just like it is. You don't need to work on it any
more, and Richie convinced me to leave the color alone, too."

   Red sputtered. "You drove it? I told Richie that Art needed to work on
it...didn't he tell you?" He glared at Richie. "Ye gods, I haven't even
driven it yet, and you already figure it's set to go."

   Jana grabbed a good handful of Red's hair. "You leave Richie alone. He
told me what you said...I decided you were being overcautious. Besides,
it ran fine...I didn't have a bit of trouble."

   Red muttered something that was probably unprintable, and Jana tugged
warningly at his hair. "Keep it up, darling, and you're going to get very
thin on top. Surely you aren't saying that I can't drive my new car? After
all, it WAS bought for ME, wasn't it?"

   Red threw up his hands. "All right! Drive it! Drive it all you want. I
wash my hands of the whole thing. Just don't call me if it breaks."

   Jana giggled. "Well, of course I'll call you if it breaks. Why do you
think I married you, if not to keep my cars running?" She patted Red on
the head, and hugged him. "And I'm glad you understand, because tomorrow
Richie and I are going to town, and we'll be gone most of the day. I'll
need Art to fix the radio, too...it won't transmit."

   Red was bloodied, but not quite ready to surrender. "Oh, no! Richie has
work to do. God knows what he's been doing while we've been gone. We'll
be buried in work, and I can't spare him all day."

   Jana was adamant. "Well, you're going to have to spare him all day. He
hasn't been to town in a while, and he's going with me tomorrow. If you two
big, strong men can't get along without a seventeen year old boy for one
whole day, it's time you learned. I'm going to town tomorrow morning, Red
Kelly, and Richie is going with me. Either that, or you two better get used
to starving, fast...because the cook will be on strike."

   Red looked defeated. "Every time I go away for a few days, I come home
and it's chaos. All right...Richie can go...as soon as he's done going over
the new work with me, in the morning. I'll feel better if you don't go to
town alone, anyway. The way things have been, lately, you'll be safer." He
looked over at Art. "See what you can do with that radio, after you eat. I
don't want her stuck somewhere, with no way to yell for help."

   Art nodded. "I looked at it before...I think it needs a new antenna.
We've got a few in storage...I'll find one for it, soon as I finish."

   Jana disappeared into the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with
a huge chocolate cake. She sat it on the table directly in front of Red and
hugged him, as his face brightened.

   "Chocolate cake! Why didn't you say so? Heck, Richie can go anywhere with
you...just leave the cake." He cut a gigantic piece and dug in, as Richie
and Art watched with interest.

   Richie compared Red's piece with the amount of cake remaining, and shook
his head. "If he takes seconds, we're dead ducks, Uncle Art. One more piece
like that, and we'll need a microscope to eat dessert."

   Red grinned good-naturedly. "Y'all are just jealous. Why, this l'il ol'
piece ain't hardly enough to feed anyone. I'll have to eat another one just
to pack this one down."

   Art groaned realistically. "You keep that up, Red, and I'll have to beef
up the springs on your side of the car, again."

   Richie watched as Red's face expressed surprise...thought...and finally,
growing doubtful suspicion, and burst out laughing. Art and Jana joined him.

   Jana smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, you two. Even if he manages to eat
that whole cake, you'll get some. I've got another one just like it in the
kitchen, cooling."

   Richie arose early the next morning, before anyone else was up. Red and
Art, of course, would sleep in...aside from one night in Memphis, they
hadn't slept a full night in four days. Jana would be up soon, but Richie
planned to have the Buick shined and waiting for her in the turnaround,
when she was ready to leave. He filled the gas tank, and the nitrous tank,
and checked all the other fluids. Everything appeared to be normal, even
the tire pressures. He closed the hood, and wiped off a few stray smears.

   He started the black giant, and carefully eased it over to the paint
rack. Taking a can of quick-drying red enamel, he moved to the rear of the
car, and in the same beautiful script that adorned his father's car, he
carefully applied the name 'Firedrake', and underneath, in smaller letters,
'Kelly Couriers'. He would have loved to put his name in flowing script over
the window, as Red did, but things weren't quite worked out well enough yet
to risk that. Some day, he thought, I will do it, though.

   He carefully adjusted a heat lamp to shine on the paint, and covered
the whole works with a clean sheet, to prevent any dust from coming in
contact with the drying enamel. He checked for any hot spots on the sheet,
and was agreeably pleased. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes, he
figured...just long enough to clean up and grab some breakfast.

   He slipped into the apartment, quietly washed his hands, and went to the
kitchen. To his surprise, Jana was there, and had a tall stack of pancakes
ready for him. As he ate, she built a good sized pile of the delicious cakes
on a platter for Red and Art, once they got up.

   "I guess so." Richie felt his ears burning, and knew they were beet red.
"If she remembers me...I haven't seen her for a while."

   "I'm sure she'll remember you, Richie...if she has any interest in you
at all." Jana looked concerned. "I know it hasn't been easy, trying to have
a social life and living out here...but things will get better."

   Richie tried not to sound morose. "Maybe they will...but it would help
if I had a way to get to town on my own. Wendy's OK, but I know she has
a social life, too, and it's not really fair to expect her to sit at home
all the time, waiting around for you to bring me into town."

   Jana nodded. "You're right, and you can drive well enough to satisfy me
that you aren't going to get hurt, now...but until we square it with Red,
and he checks you out and passes you, that's how you're going to get there,
unless you learn to fly. You're getting better, but you still need practice.
I guess you can drive today, though...you need time on the road as well as
around the perimeter, here."

   He used the last bite of pancake to sop up the remaining pool of syrup,
and carefully carried his plate to the sink, where he rinsed it, and placed
it in the rack to dry.

   Jana finished the last pancake, and placed the platter in the stone lined
warming oven under the stove, where it would await Red and Art. She added
several thick slices of bacon, and made sure the coffee pot was full, and
placed it over one of the still-warm burners. "There! If that doesn't make
them happy, nothing will. Are you going to bring the car around, Richie? I
have some things to put in the trunk...Mrs. Carruthers wanted a few dozen
eggs...she's going to trade us some vegetables for them."

   Richie laughed. "Our first courier job, Mother...eggs to Mrs. Carruthers.
At this rate, we'll be doing medical runs in a couple of weeks."

   Jana waved a greasy spatula at him. "Get going, you brat. I want to be
out of here as soon as Red gets up...and that means you better be ready. So
scoot...I have dishes to do."

   Richie headed for the shop, and upon his arrival, examined the paint he
had applied to Firedrake. It was dry and stable, and would cure quickly in
the hot summer sun. He cleaned up the paint rack and stored the sheet and
heat lamp, then settled into the front seat of the huge Buick.

   He cautiously tested the radio, and was pleased to hear his voice echoing
from the shop receiver. Art had done his normal excellent job. He fastened
the seatbelt, and carefully turned the key.

   The big V8 fired instantly, and settled into its massive, rocking idle.
Richie tapped the accelerator, and reveled in the deep Hoodin! sound the
movement provoked. He checked the navigation computer, found the nearby roads
to be empty of moving traffic, and only then did he use the remote control
to open the shop door.

   Easing out into the morning sunlight, Richie felt a freedom he had only
dreamed of, before. The trip around the building was brief, but he stretched
it out as long as he could, feeling the enormous power of the car coursing
through his hands. He could drive like this forever, he thought.

   The Buick seemed to somehow share his mood, and grumbled happily as they
idled around the driveway. The oil temperature came up fast, and the car
smoothed out slightly as it warmed, seemingly eager to run.

   As usual, the turn around which marked their destination loomed up all
too fast, and reluctantly, Richie parked the car in front of the door. He
entered the kitchen, and found Jana filling an egg crate, and Red, eating
a huge stack of pancakes, and looking happy as a bear with a full honeycomb.

   "Morning, Richie! Boy, your mother sure does know how to turn a hotcake!
How's that car running? Any problems?"

   "No, sir...Art fixed the radio...I tested it. I filled up the gas
tank and the nitrous tank, too...and checked everything else. What rifle do
you want us to take?" Richie tried to sound casual about the whole thing.

   Red engulfed a huge bite of hotcake. "Aw, take that spare Weatherby .300
with the scope...and grab a shotgun, too. I seem to remember that car has
a hold-down rack between the seats, so you can just leave them in it. If
we're going to use the car regularly, it makes more sense to have them in
there, than to carry them in and out all the time." He measured, and cut off
another syrupy mouthful from the stack. "Don't forget to take a couple of
boxes of ammo, too." He chewed with blissful satisfaction. "When you finish
that, go get Art up, if he isn't already moving by then."

   "Yessir." Richie headed for the gun rack, and after a brief search, found
the rifle and a serviceable Remington twelve gauge shotgun. He grabbed two
boxes of buckshot for the shotgun, and dug around for several minutes before
he managed to locate two boxes of shells for the Weatherby. He loaded both,
leaving the chambers empty, and carried the whole collection out to the car.

   As Red had noted, behind the front seat of the Buick, fastened to a bar
running across the interior, was a small vertical rack for weapons. The
rifle and shotgun fit snugly inside the clips, and Richie stored the other
ammo in the cavernous glove compartment.

   Most people carried some kind of weapon with them, whenever they drove
any distance, for although the coastal areas were fairly civilized, there
were still large numbers of people from farther inland desperate enough to
try robbing local residents. Such robbers were subject to a quick trial
and an inexpensive grave, if caught, but the knowledge seldom deterred the
worst of them. Richie was glad for the weaponry...he was an excellent shot,
and had no hesitation in using the guns to protect himself, or his family.

   Finished, he re-entered the kitchen, and found Art pouring himself a cup
of coffee. Red was just finishing his hotcakes, and Jana was still packing.
Richie sat down at the table, and withdrew a sheaf of paper from his pocket.

   "Dad, I wrote down all the incoming work, all the work I finished, and
anything else that happened while you were gone. We got the bid for the
sheriff's new cruiser...he wants it in thirty days. He offered us the old
one back for part payment...I told him you'd have to see it. Uncle Ron
called from Charleston...he'll be stopping by tomorrow, to have some work
done on his transmission, or have it replaced. He got high-centered, on some
back road he uses, by a boulder that tore off his underbody armor and most
of his exhaust system, and did something to the transmission. He says he
lost third gear, and it shifts hard."

   Red looked pleased, as he leafed through the carefully written sheets.
"This is really good, Richie...exactly what I need, when I get home. This
makes it easy to catch up, and from the looks of it you got some useful
work done, too. I hope you didn't work too hard."

   Richie thought of the late evenings spent doing the work he couldn't do
while he and Jana had been practicing around the perimeter road, and held
back a giggle. "No, sir...no harder than usual...things just went well, I
guess. I got done what I could."

   "Richie, put these eggs...and the three sacks by the door over there...in
the car, please." Jana had changed into a summery looking slack and blouse
outfit, and had put her long red hair into a ponytail. She looked fresh and
attractive, as she stood patiently waiting for Red to finish.

   Red laid the sheets down, and stood. "I'll help you, Richie...I've never
seen that monster outside the shop...or heard it run." He grabbed the eggs
in one hand, and one of the sacks in the other, and headed for the door.

   Richie grabbed the other two sacks, and followed. He found Red standing
at the back of the Buick, studying the freshly painted name curiously.

   "A firedrake is a small dragon, and since it had to be a fire-something
I thought that sounded good...it roars like a dragon, and it's big enough."
Richie shrugged. "I dunno...I just liked it."

   "Ok. Put that stuff down. Before your mother goes one more inch in this
thing, I'm gonna drive it. Get in." Red opened the driver's door, and piled
into the Buick. Richie barely had time to get in and close the door, before
the huge V8 rumbled into life.

   Red drove with a flair, his arm resting on the windowsill as he steered
with casual ease, one-handed. The Buick seemed more taut and controlled with
Red driving, but Richie was unable to tell if that translated into any real
advantage, speedwise.

   Red seemed very impressed with the acceleration of the car, and slowed
several times in order to use the full power of the engine. He drove one
entire circuit around the perimeter, and then calmly cruised back to the
turn around, and parked next to the bundles. He climbed out, and Richie
followed suit.

   "Nice car." Red fingered the deeply waxed finish. "Fast, too...you
weren't kidding about that. I don't know if it would catch Firefox from
behind, but with an even start, it would be real close. If this had any
aerodynamics, it would be REAL fast." He tossed the keys to Richie. "OK.
I'm sold. We'll keep it, and if it ends up that you can drive it, I'll be
able to sleep, nights. Now, all you have to do is convince your mother to
let you drive it." He chuckled.

   Richie looked at Red appraisingly. "Bet you a buck I can do it. Time
limit, two weeks...and you don't say a word to her, except to say it's OK,
if she asks you. Bet?"

   Red blinked. "Bet? I'd feel bad, taking your money, boy...but if you
really want to lose it, I'll take ten bucks of it, instead of one."

   Richie nodded. "Ok. Art can hold the money." He withdrew a shiny ten
dollar coin from his pocket, and flipped it to Red. "There's my end."

   Red looked down at the coin in his hand, and scowled. "Now...why is it
that all of a sudden I got this feeling that I'm the mark, holding the
envelope with the newspaper clippings in it?"

   Red looked at the shiny gold coin again, and back at Richie. "You know
darn well that your mother would probably lynch the lot of us before she'd
let you drive...but you still offered to bet, and that just don't make any
kinda reasonable sense, unless you know something I don't."

   Red chuckled. "A miracle is what you need. But I'm gonna keep your money
anyway, in two weeks, as a lesson to you not to bait the bull in the pasture,
without the key to the gate."

   "Well, I hope you left enough of the car to drive to town, Red Kelly. I
heard you, out there...still pretending you're racing...and with Richie
along, too. I hope he doesn't take THAT as an example of how to drive."
Jana sounded tart, and Red wasted no time ducking for cover.

   "Aw, honey...I just wanted to make sure it was safe for you...you know
how I worry, when you are out somewhere." Red put on a look of injured
innocence. He dug in the warming oven hopefully, but Art had already gotten
the last of the pancakes.

   "Hmpf." Jana frowned at him, but after a moment she melted slightly. "Do
you like it? The car, I mean. Does it sound OK to you?"

   "Runs fine...you shouldn't have any trouble." Red looked disappointedly
at the empty platter, and glared accusingly at Art, who cheerfully munched
away, completely unconcerned.

   "Come on, Richie. Let's get going, before it's lunchtime, and I spend
all afternoon feeding them AGAIN." Jana slipped on her driving gloves, and
gave Red a peck on the cheek. "Keep the radio on, dear...just in case."

   As Richie followed his mother out the door, he wondered just who was
really fooling who, and how long it would last. He hoped it wouldn't be
very long, in either case.

   It was a matter of only a few seconds to store Jana's bundles in the
huge trunk of the Buick, and she admired the freshly-painted name on the
rear of the car as she closed the lid.

   "It's a nice name, Richie...I like it. It's sort of magical." Jana
smiled at him, as she adjusted the driver's seat of the car. Richie
quickly climbed into the passenger seat, and busied himself tightening his
seatbelt, then turned on the radio and the navigation computer.

   "Yup. Computer says the road is clear all the way to the junction."
Richie pointed at the small green screen, which currently displayed only
the light green lines of the surrounding roads, with none of the yellow
dots which would have indicated moving vehicles.

   Jana glanced at the screen, and then started the engine. They left the
turnaround decoriously, passing the old family pickup truck, which Red
planned to rebuild into a useful vehicle again, and sell. The tough old
shape contrasted sharply with the satiny waxed finish of Firedrake, and
Richie felt a moment of pride, at the results of his work.

   They followed the perimeter road to the main gate, and carefully looked
at the computer screen before exiting. The safest way to travel was usually
to avoid any other vehicles totally, and by common practice, any vehicle
which deliberately approached another, without contacting the driver by
radio, was treated as hostile, and could well be greeted by flying lead.

   Richie sat back, and enjoyed the ride. On the smooth concrete of the
main road, the Buick rode comfortably, and the bucket seat seemed to adjust
to precisely fit his body. He said as much to Jana, and she nodded in
agreement.

   "Uh-huh...these are self-adjusting seats...they sense the shape of the
person sitting in them, and recontour themselves to provide each person
with the most body support possible. They're great for long trips, and
safer, too, because they give so much more impact protection."

   The Buick rolled along at around fifty miles per hour, the big engine
rumbling happily to itself. The radio was fairly quiet, but Richie knew the
general band would get busier as they approached town, and began to run
into other traffic.

   The trip to town would take about an hour's driving, for in several
areas, road conditions would require them to drive quite slowly. During
the early stages of the Plague, in the ensuing panic which had set in, many
bridges and overpasses had been damaged, or destroyed. As a result, the
trip to town was a hopscotch of road changes and alternate routes, patched
together to take advantage of undamaged or repaired bridges, and roads
which were in better condition. As the crow flew, Cedarville, the nearest
town, was only about twenty miles from the Kelly home, but the actual driven
distance approached thirty miles, once the detours were figured in.

   Road maps, printed before the Plague, were hopeless, and served only to
reveal where a passable road MIGHT be located. Red kept a log on every
courier run, and carefully noted any usable roads he happened to find on a
map of the entire east coast region, which hung on the office wall. Such
maps were closely guarded secrets, for a passable road which was not known
to others offered a safe route for passage, and courier drivers were always
interested in having alternate routes available, to avoid trouble.

   Very early on, the importance of bridges was realized, and for this
reason most of the more used bridges were now guarded, either by military
police, local governments, or private citizens, who usually charged a
toll to pay for their time. The advantages of such private guards had
proven themselves, time and again, and almost everyone using the bridges so
guarded paid the toll without demur, unless the price became extortionate.
When this happened, local authorities were notified, and the guards either
lowered their price, or were sent packing.

   The only bridge Jana planned to cross was about halfway to Cedarville,
and had been guarded by the same family, the Waltons, for as long as Richie
could remember. The Waltons were a large family, running to boys, and on
most days at least two of them were visible, standing at the small shelter
located at the entrance to the bridge. A large log boom was suspended on
chains across the road, and it would have taken a very large vehicle to
displace it any useful distance. Cars had no choice but to stop, and either
pay the toll, or turn around and find another way across the river.

   Jana slowed the Buick as the bridge came into view ahead, and leaning
over, clicked the radio mike twice. She came to a stop, and waited until an
answering click signalled her to proceed, and then drove slowly to the
bridge entrance, and stopped next to the bearded figure which had appeared
from inside the shelter, and stood waiting there. A second figure was just
visible, behind a tree across the road, rifle held casually pointed in the
direction of the car.

   "Good morning, Miz Kelly." The cadaverous figure of Issac Walton peered
in through the window curiously. "New car? Sure beats your old pickup right
hollow, it does. Mornin', Richie."

   Jana smiled back. "Well, it's not exactly all mine, but it sure is nicer
than my old truck. Richie bought it a couple of weeks ago."

   Issac nodded thoughtfully. "Traffic keeps picking up, we might buy a car.
We talked about it last week, at family meeting, and figure we can afford
one by the end of the summer. Mama isn't gettin' any younger, and it just
takes too long to get to town, by buggy. We 'bout lost Adam this spring
'cause we couldn't get him to the hospital fast enough, after he got bit
by that cottonmouth. If we decide to buy one, we'll sure come see y'all
for it. Your cars are the best around."

   Jana looked pleased. "Why, thank you, Issac! I'll tell Red you said so.
It's just a thought, but my old pickup might be for sale, and I'm sure Red
would charge you a fair price for it...it's not exactly new." She handed him
a gold coin, and a medium sized box, which opened to reveal a freshly frosted
chocolate cake. He grinned, and handled the box like precious crystal.

   "Oh, my! Look at that cake! Frosting, too! Mama will be pleased...she's
not been feeling well, and Darcy's had to do the cooking, lately. She does
all right, but she don't bake as often as Mama does. Especially today, 'cause
she had to go into town for groceries. Thank ye, Ma'am...I'll come by and
see Mister Kelly about that pickup, soon as I get a chance." He waved to
the second figure, which Richie identified as Adam Walton, and stepped
back from the car.

   Storing the cake inside the small shelter, Issac then moved to a large
boom and lever arrangement, and slowly swung the huge log aside. As soon as
the way was clear, Jana stepped on the gas, and they drove sedately across
the span, waving to Michael as they passed him.

   "Nice people, those Waltons." Jana mused. "I wish there were more like
them...most folks today seem to want to avoid others...but the Waltons are
an old time family. Remind me, Richie... on the way back I want to invite
them to the barbeque. I don't know if they can all come, but they're all
certainly welcome. This valley owes them a lot."

   "Just for watching the bridge?" Richie asked. "I know it's important, but
lots of people guard bridges...and the Waltons get paid for it. What makes
this bridge so valuable?"

   "Oh, its not the bridge, so much, Richie," Jana said. "That's important,
yes...but the real reason we owe the Waltons is because of Issac's still."

   "Issac's still?" Richie was confused. Moonshining was common, nowadays,
and no one really paid any attention, but Richie had never thought of it
as important to the valley, as a whole.

   "Yes, Issac's still...you see, when the Plague came, all the doctors and
hospitals around here were buried in patients, and shipments of medical
supplies were non-existent. Things like bandages could be made, and the
really critical drugs were still coming in by courier, but the one thing
they really needed was sterile alcohol, for sterilizing instruments and
things. There wasn't a drop of it for hundreds of miles."

   "The Cedarville hospital was hit very hard, and they were boiling all
their instruments, but they found the Plague wasn't being killed by normal
boiling or ultraviolet light. The only thing that killed it dead was pure
alcohol, and they ran completely out."

   "They were about to give up, when one morning Issac came riding up in
their old buggy, and started unloading one gallon jugs of two hundred proof
alcohol from it. He must have had fifty gallons in that buggy, and he gave
it all to the hospital. They tested it, and found it worked just as well,
for sterilizing, as the medically pure stuff they were used to, so they
started using it. There were a couple of others who brought in some of it,
too, but Issac's was the only one distilled pure enough to work."

   "So, every Monday, for over a year, Issac would show up at the hospital
in his buggy, with a load of moonshine, and give it to the doctors. He
wouldn't take a cent for it, just some corn from the feed store to use when
he made it. He probably saved as many lives, during the Plague, as anyone
around here, and to this day, he won't take a cent in payment."

   "Wow! That's neat. No wonder people say we owe them." Richie grinned. The
only Waltons he really knew were Adam, Michael and Darcy...a dark, pretty
girl who always seemed far too serious, but usually teased him some when
they happened to see each other. He thought she was attractive, and often
wished he could see more of her.

   "I'm going to tell Red to fix up that old pickup good enough to sell to
them. We won't need to get much for it, and we could do them a good turn."
Jana nodded to herself.

   "That's a good idea, Mother...and it wouldn't be like we were giving it
to them...I don't think they'd like that." Richie thought of the stern and
unbending countenance of Issac Walton, and felt that any gesture which rang
of charity would be a slap in the face, to such a man.

   "That's right, Richie...always remember, even when you owe someone, you
should always make sure you protect their pride, right along with your
own...otherwise, you do them no goodness, at all."

   The rest of the trip to town was uneventful, although Richie had a brief
scare when an elderly Lexus sedan pulled out from a side road and followed
them the few remaining miles to town. He remembered Red's story about the
pirates who had tried to stop him on the way back from Birmingham, and he
remembered the fact that they had also been driving a Lexus sedan. It seemed
highly unlikely that the two were connected, and the car following them
showed no sign of hostility, so Richie said nothing to Jana, although he
resolved to mention it to Red.

   Arriving in Cedarville, they cruised up the nearly deserted streets to
the Carruthers home. Mrs. Carruthers was Jana's age, a solidly built woman
who was part owner of the local green grocery. She greeted them happily,
and she and Jana were soon haggling cheerfully over the eggs, and what sort
of vegetables would be traded for them.

   Richie looked around, but Wendy was nowhere in sight, so he reluctantly
settled in to wait for Jana to finish. He had barely taken a seat, however,
when Mrs. Carruthers seemed to notice his dismay, and revealed that Wendy
was helping out at the day care center, and would be home in an hour or so.

   "She would be along sooner, but she's walking, and it's two miles from
here. But, be patient, Richie...she'll get home." Mrs. Carruthers smiled
at him.

   Richie looked at Jana. "Do you think I could go pick her up, if I don't
go anywhere else, Mother?" He held his breath.

   "Why, that would be wonderful! It must make life easier, Jana, having a
son old enough to run errands and such for you. My Wendy would be driving,
too, if we had a car...but until we get one, she usually walks."

   Jana blinked, and Richie could have hugged Mrs. Carruthers. No way was
Jana going to admit, in front of her friend, that her SON couldn't do what
her friend's daughter COULD. Richie saw victory forming before his eyes.

   "All right, Richie...but come straight back...we have lots to do, yet."
Her eyes begged him to be careful, words she could not bring herself to say.

   Richie took the keys she handed him, and gave her the briefest nod, to
tell her he wouldn't betray her trust in him. He walked with sedate steps
to the door, and didn't run until he was off the porch, on the silent grass
of the front lawn.

   He climbed into Firedrake, and fumbled with the seatbelts, which suddenly
seemed incredibly tangled. Finally managing to fasten them, he inserted the
key, and let the starter spin the still-warm engine. It came to life with
a quiet rumble, and he let it idle up the street, to the main thoroughfare
of Cedarville.

   There were very few cars, even at midday, and he let the big Buick coast
along, barely above idle, as he waved to the few people he knew. He felt
incredibly happy, and wanted to make this first public ride last forever.

   He didn't take the shortest route to the day care center, exactly, but in
fairness he didn't wander all over town, either. The two miles took only
about ten minutes, and Richie enjoyed every second of it. He pulled up to
the center, and carefully parked Firedrake in a shady spot across the street.

   Entering the building, he looked around the large gymnasium type main
hall for Wendy, and soon spotted her in the far corner, talking to two boys
he didn't recognize. Both were around Richie's age, and they wore black
leather jackets, signifying they belonged to the local militia. Richie
finally recognized the taller of the two as Brud Dawkins, the sheriff's
son...a local athlete of some reputation, who was a year older than Richie.

   Wendy was her usual attractive self, in a pale yellow summer dress. Her
hair was neatly combed, and as she spoke to the taller of the boys, her
eyes sparkled. Richie also noticed she was wearing makeup, and from the
look of it, far more than she needed.

   She saw him, and said something to the boy. They both laughed, and she
gave him a peck on the cheek, then turned and walked over to greet Richie.

   "Hi, Richie. What are YOU doing here? Surely you didn't WALK all the way
into town?" Wendy had a habit of emphasizing some of her words that Richie
suddenly found annoying. She seemed to be speaking for the benefit of the
others in the room, as well as Richie, and this impression was furthered by
smothered giggles from the corner she had recently vacated.

   "I came to take you home, Wen." Richie felt a bit stupid, and kept his
voice low. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the two boys approaching,
and wished they could go somewhere more private.

   "But...I already HAVE someone to take me home, Richie. I'm going to RIDE
home with Brud Dawkins...he offered to take me in his JEEP. It's a pity
you didn't know, because his jeep will only hold THREE people. I guess
you'll have to WALK back." Wendy still looked completely guileless, but in
the back of her eyes there was a strange, reckless glint, and she stepped
closer to Brud Dawkins as she spoke.

   "But..." Richie closed his mouth, feeling foolish. After all, he wasn't
Wendy's keeper...she was free to ride with whoever she chose...and it was
clear she had chosen to ride with Brud Dawkins. He shrugged, and turned to
walk out of the building. "See you at the house, Wendy."

   He exited the building, and stopped for a moment, once he reached the
shade of the trees lining the street, to think. Behind him, Brud, Wendy and
the other boy, which proved to be Brud's close friend Gene, stood at the top
of the stairs, chatting away. If they noticed him, they chose to ignore his
presence, though they kept their conversation loud enough for him to hear.

   "Hey! Look at that!" Richie heard Brud say. "What a great car! Someday,
I'm gonna get a car just like that!" Turning, Richie saw Brud pointing to
Firedrake, and a delicious feeling of retribution swept through him.

   He walked calmly across the street, and climbed into the car, ignoring
all three of the suddenly silent teenagers standing on the steps. He touched
the key, and the huge V8 thundered awake, its mellow growl shaking the
air. He slid the transmission into gear, and only then, as the Buick began
to move, did he turn and call to Wendy.

   "Last chance, Wen...I told your mother I'd bring you home...but it's your
decision." Richie let a note of finality enter his voice.

   There was a muffled, hasty exchange between Wendy and Brud, who looked
extremely unhappy. A moment later she came trotting down the steps, and as
Richie gently brought the big car to a halt, she opened the passenger door,
and climbed inside.

   "Richie! Is this YOUR car? It's NEAT! Is it FAST? I LIKE it!" Wendy's
voice was reaching new heights of modulation, and her eyes were wide with
surprise. Richie found himself thinking that if he had been driving the
jeep, and Brud the beautiful Buick, she would have left him standing
on the steps, fully as fast as she had Brud. It was not a pleasant thought.

   "I bought it last week, Wen...I got a good deal on it, and it's in very
good condition. Mother and I came into town to get groceries, and your mom
said you needed a ride home...so I came to get you." Richie kept his voice
steady, and uninflected.

   "Well, I should hope so, Richie. After all, we HAVE been seeing each
other...you SHOULD have come after me. I was ONLY going to ride with Brud
because I didn't want to WALK...I mean, he had already OFFERED, and I didn't
know YOU were coming to get me...I didn't know you had a CAR!"

   "That's OK, Wendy...don't worry about it. I can't stay, though...we have
a lot of errands to do...then we have to go home, when we're finished." He
had a sudden urge to get away from Wendy...the brief glimpse he had gotten
of her other side left him cold and remote. He aimed the Buick toward Wendy's
house, as she kept up a steady stream of conversation, mostly future plans
of the wonderful places he could take her in 'their' car.

   The ride back to Wendy's house, which had seemed all too short only a few
minutes earlier, was the passage of centuries to Richie. It was with a vast
feeling of relief that he finally parked in front of the home, and turned off
the engine.

   Wendy, who hadn't stopped talking during the entire trip, scrambled from
the car and led Richie into the house, still filling his ears with fanciful
plans for future excursions.

   Once inside, Wendy wasted no time telling her mother and Jana about the
wonderful ideas she had. Jana looked amused, and even Mrs. Carruthers seemed
a little embarrassed. Richie caught Jana's attention, and surreptiously
rolled his eyes at the content of Wendy's remarks.

   "Well, we have to get going, Richie." Jana finally rescued him from the
clutches of the now-predatory Wendy. "We need to stop at the butcher shop,
before he closes for the day. Remember? We need to order the steaks and
hamburger for the barbeque."

   "Oh, Richie! A barbeque! That's wonderful! Are you going to come and get
me for it?" Wendy blinked her eyes at him, and he noticed her mascara had
begun to run in the summer heat.

   Richie shrugged. "I don't know what I'll be doing then, Wendy...we have
a lot of work backed up at the shop. I'll see what happens, and let you
know...I have to talk to Red. Maybe you could ride out with Brud, though."

   Wendy sniffed. "Well, if you can't come get me, I might just do that. I
may be seeing a lot of Brud, from now on, if you're too busy."

   Mrs. Carruthers smiled maternally. "Isn't that sweet? So serious and
concerned about his work...you must be proud of him, Jana." She ignored
Wendy's tantrum completely.

   Jana smiled back. "I AM proud of him, Heidi...more than you know." She
gathered up several bundles of vegetables, which sat near the door, and
waved awkwardly. "See you soon...I'll have some more eggs for you next week."

   Richie took the remaining bundles, and without a word, followed his mother
out the door. They stored the vegetables in the trunk, and Richie turned to
offer Jana the keys to the car, but was stopped by her whisper.

   "Drive, silly...you want to make both of us look bad?" Jana giggled at
his surprise, and calmly seated herself on the passenger side of the car.

   Richie was quiet all the way to the butcher's. Jana hummed softly to
herself, and seemed to find something very amusing, for every few seconds
a soft giggle escaped her. Richie parked in front of the butcher shop, and
sat, staring out the windshield, his mind a confused swirl of conflict.

   Jana finally turned to him, and and managing to keep a straight face,
she reached over and patted his arm. "Pretty bad, wasn't it? Sort of like
seeing your pet goldfish turn into a great white shark...one minute you're
feeding it, and the next minute you're food."

   Richie tried to sort out the tangled mess of his emotions. "Geez, she
never acted like that before...and she just dumped me to ride home with
Brud Dawkins, in his jeep, until she saw the car. I wish I'd gone ahead and
let her...it would have been mean, but at least my problem would be solved.
Why are girls like that, Mother? You're one...you should know."

   Jana looked shocked. "I am NOT a 'girl' like Wendy Carruthers, thank you,
Richie. I don't think I ever was, either...although you might hear different
from Red, when he's teasing. Wendy is actually not all that different, if
you realize that she's still got a lot of growing up to do. I don't doubt
that someday she'll be a pleasant, bright woman, and married to a man who
cares a great deal about her. But, right now she's a long way behind you in
maturity, and it shows."

   Richie shook his head. "I don't think I want to see her any more...not
if she's going to act like that. I think I'll just give up girls completely,
and wait until they grow up. It's safer."

   Jana giggled. "Oh, Richie...don't give up so easily. There are lots of
girls your age, and they aren't all like Wendy. Some of them are quite
adult, presentable young ladies...really. Just be patient...one of them
will find you, and when she does, then you'll know what the good side of
girls really is...I promise you."

   Jana looked skyward, as though appealing to the gods for guidance. "May
the lord help us all, if my brother is your technical expert on women,
Richie. What Art knows about women you could write on the head of a pin...
in Braille. Art is the type of man who searches for answers in old copies
of Playboy...and most of what he finds, he gets from the pictures."

   Richie was helpless with laughter. "Aw, come on, Mother...Uncle Art has
taught me a lot about women...er..." He stopped as he noticed Jana's look
of genuine horror. "That is...I mean...he's easier to talk to than Red."

   Jana muttered something, not quite inaudible, about speaking to Red about
the birds and the bees. "Anyway, let's get our work done, so I can go home
and take something for my headache. When I see Art..."

   Richie obediently exited the car, wishing he'd never mentioned Uncle Art,
and wishing even more he'd skipped going to get Wendy. Problems, problems.

   Once inside the butcher shop, he forgot his problems for a few minutes,
as he nibbled on a sample of venison sausage. The spicy link burst open in
his mouth with an explosion of taste, and he savored it as he waited for
Jana to finish her order.

   He finished the last bite, and as he looked around for something to wipe
his fingers with, a light tap on his shoulder caused him to turn abruptly.

   Behind him, unnoticed, stood Darcy Walton, holding a paper napkin
in her hand. As he turned, she reached up and dabbed at the corner of his
mouth with it, then handed it to him so he could wipe his fingers. She
shook her head in feigned dispair. "Men...you all eat like puppies. Hi,
Richie."

   Richie blushed deeply, and Darcy grinned at his embarrassment. "Good,
isn't it? I love doing the shopping...I get to sample everything. I keep
telling myself it will make me big and strong, but it hasn't worked yet."

   Richie grinned back. Darcy was tiny...barely five feet tall...with long
black hair that fell in thick, shiny waves down over her shoulders, ending
nearly at her waist. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief, and Richie noted
she wore no makeup...and needed none. She held a large rucksack, and although
it appeared rather heavy, she handled it easily. She was dressed neatly in
a faded canvas jacket, and jeans, and wore moccassins on her feet.

   "Did you walk to town?" Richie wondered at her strength, for the Walton
home was nearly ten miles from Cedarville, and unless she had some sort of
a ride, what she bought, she would have to carry all the way home.

   Darcy nodded. "It's not so bad...I know a few shortcuts, and I don't buy
anything real heavy. When we buy a turkey or anything else heavy, Adam will
usually bring me or Momma in, with the buggy. Besides, this way I can go
by Krauser's Jewelers, and windowshop. There's this gold locket in the case
I've been saving up for months." She cocked her head curiously. "How did you
get here? I didn't see your pickup."

   Darcy's eyes widened. "That pretty black car? With the fancy wheels?
That's YOUR car? It's huge...it must be comfortable."

   Richie took her arm. "Come on...I'll show you." It was suddenly very
important to him that Darcy approve of the Buick.

   Darcy started toward the door, but suddenly paused, and looked pensive.
"I really ought to get my shopping done, Richie. I have to get home in time
to fix supper, or Momma will tan me good, and it's getting late."

   Richie nodded unhappily, but just as Darcy was about to return to the
counter he saw that Jana was finished, and an idea sprouted in his head.

   "Well, what if I could guarantee you wouldn't be late?" He grinned at
her curious expression. "We go right past your house...and my mother is
almost done shopping. We'd be glad to give you a ride home."

   Jana joined them in time to hear his last words, and smiled at Darcy.
"Hello, Darcy...we'd be happy to give you a lift...that bag looks pretty
heavy to carry all that way."

   It was Darcy's turn to blush. "I can manage the bag, Ma'am...it's like
I told Richie...I don't buy anything heavy...and I don't want you put out
for me. Momma wouldn't like it."

   Jana looked at the bag, and back at Darcy. "Nonsense. You'll ride home
with us...I'd be embarrassed to death if your mother ever found out I let
you walk, when you could have ridden. Do you want your mother mad at me?"

   Darcy looked helplessly at Richie. "Are you sure it wouldn't cause any
problem, to ride with you? I don't want to make any trouble for anyone."

   Richie shook his head. "We use the bridge, coming and going, so we have
to stop, anyway. It's no trouble at all, Darcy...really."

   They waited while Darcy made her purchases, then together they walked
out to the car. It shone in the mid-afternoon sun, and Darcy listened
quietly as Richie told her how he had acquired it.

   "Six hundred dollars? That's a lot of money, Richie...and you earned it
all, working for your father?" Darcy was impressed. "We don't make a whole
lot more than that from the bridge all summer...cars are expensive."

   They stored their purchases in the cavernous trunk, then climbed into the
Buick...Jana again allowing Richie to drive. Richie started the engine, and
remembered that Art had said the air conditioner might still work. He tried
the controls, and after a brief pause, a jet of faintly cool air began to
stream out of the interior vents. It was pleasant, but not cool enough to do
a truly efficient job, so Richie shut it off, and rolled the windows down.

   Darcy ran her hand over the soft cloth upholstery of the back seat. "This
is like riding in a limousine, or something...I never saw anything like this,
except in books and pictures. Momma says we might get a car in the fall, but
it won't be like this."

   Richie contrasted Darcy's quiet reserve with Wendy's affected pretense,
and found that Darcy came out much the better of the two. He found her to
be restful, and her warmth and manners put him at ease much more readily
than Wendy's continuous self-indulgence. He looked in the mirror, and
found her dark eyes watching him, and they smiled at each other.

   Jana tilted the seat back, and closed her eyes, leaving the driving up
to Richie, and he guided the big car back through the maze of roads toward
home with a mixture of elation and nervousness. As he drove, he and Darcy
chatted about mutual friends, talked about their summer, and shared the
enjoyment of riding in the Buick together, and it was all too soon when
Richie saw the Walton's bridge looming ahead, through the trees.

   He came to a stop, and reaching over, clicked the radio mike twice, as
he had seen Jana do. The answering click came promptly, and he edged across
the bridge, stopping at the shelter once more.

   He shut off the engine, and opened the door, then opened the back door
for Darcy, in the manner of a chauffeur. She climbed out, giggling, and
thanked him for the ride, as Issac Walton watched, with a bemused look on
his face. He retrieved her rucksack from the trunk, and handed it to her.

   "Thank you, Richie! I'm ever so grateful...and thank your mother for me,
when she wakes up...please. It's a wonderful car...I've never enjoyed a
ride so much. It was good to see you again...I hope it isn't so long, next
time." She suddenly turned shy, and waved as she quickly disappeared up the
path toward the Walton house.

   Richie dug for some money, but was stopped by Issac Walton's raised hand.
"No need, Richie...bringin' Darcy home safe covers your crossing. I thank
ye kindly for it, too...you didn't need to put yourself out."

   Richie started to protest, then he caught the look in Issac Walton's eye,
and remembered his mother's words of the morning. "Uh, thank you, sir...it
was no trouble at all. Darcy's nice. She can ride with us anytime."

   Richie suddenly remembered the barbeque. "Oh...we're having the summer
barbeque next weekend, and we'd like all of you to come, if you would. And...
I'd like your permission to ask Darcy, if its all right."

   The words had just come out. He hadn't planned it...or even thought about
it...the words had simply appeared. Richie looked at the gaunt, serious
face of Issac Walton, and waited for the him to refuse.

   Amazingly, there was a trace of approval in the old man's expression...
approval, and sudden examination. He studied Richie for a few moments, and
seemed to find what he was looking for. He nodded slowly.

   "You tell your daddy...I'd be comin' over to talk about that pickup truck,
anyway... so it might as well be next weekend. We'd be pleased to come. And
I'll talk to Darcy's momma...if she can be spared from her chores, you're
welcome to ask her. She'd have to be home before dark, though."

   "Most boys your age...they don't understand that the askin' of it is
important...they would have just asked Darcy, and she'd have said no. You
done well, boy...real well." Issac nodded. "I'll tell your daddy so, too."

   Richie smiled and waved, and started the car. Jana still slept quietly
in the passenger seat, and he eased away gently, to avoid waking her.

   It was not until he was fully five miles down the road, that he realized
not once during his conversation with Issac Walton, had he blushed. Somehow,
that satisfied him a great deal.

   Richie had driven almost all the way home, deep in thought and enjoying
himself, before he realized what was about to happen.

   "Oh, geez...Mother, wake up. You have to drive in, or Red will see me
driving, and have a baby." Richie reached over and shook Jana, and she came
awake with a start.

   "God, yes...pull over, Richie. You aren't ready for a driver's exam from
Red, yet...he'd flunk you, and that would ruin everything. I'll drive in."
Richie pulled over, and they quickly exchanged places, Jana still yawning
and stretching as she walked around the car.

   "I told Mr. Walton about the barbeque, Mother...and he said they'd be
pleased to come, since he wants to talk to Red about the pickup. He thanked
us for bringing Darcy home, too." Richie said nothing about asking after
Darcy, figuring it would be time enough if she could come to the barbeque.

   "Oh, good. I was hoping they would. Mrs. Walton is a nice lady, and I
know she doesn't get out as much as she'd like to. Did he charge you any
toll for the bridge?"

   "No, ma'am...he wouldn't take any. I didn't argue...just told him Darcy
was welcome, anytime. And she is, too, if I'm driving. She's nice."

   Jana glanced at him. "Oh? You went to country school with her, didn't
you, Richie? You two used to play together when you were little, and Mrs.
Walton came to visit. Darcy used to beat you up." She giggled at the memory.

   Richie grinned. "I remember...she was STRONG. But she always made up,
afterwards, and shared her cookies with me. Besides, she's five months older
than I am...that made a big difference, back then."

   Richie complacently surveyed his hundred-eighty pounds. "Naw...and
besides, I've wrestled Adam Walton...he's almost as strong as Red. I'd
hate to make him mad."

   Jana picked up the radio mike, and once she dialed the house frequency,
let Red know they were on the way in. Richie checked the computer screen,
and noticed a car about a mile behind them. "Wait a minute, Mother...there's
someone coming up behind us."

   Just coming into view behind them was the same elderly Lexus sedan he
had seen on the way to town. As it came into view, it slowed abruptly, and
matched their speed...content to follow them, it seemed.

   Suddenly alert, Richie turned to Jana. "Mother, you better step on it.
Red told me about a car like the one behind us...they shot at him on his
last run to Mobile." He picked up the radio mike. "Red? Did you say the
pirates who shot at you south of Birmingham were in an old silver Lexus
sedan? Because if you did, they followed you home, and they're behind us
right now...tagging along innocent as you please."

   Richie and Jana hastily closed the windows, and Richie reached behind the
seat, and retrieved the Remington shotgun. He laid it across his legs, not
because he had any real hope of using it effectively while they were moving,
but to have it ready, just in case they had to stop.

   Jana waited until they had turned the next corner, and entered a long
straight stretch of an old state highway, and as soon as they were out of
the sight of the pirate vehicle, she gave the big V8 all it would take.

   Like an arrow shot from a crossbow, Firedrake leaped down the road. They
were nearly a quarter mile from the corner, accelerating hard, by the time
the Lexus turned into view again, and Richie watched a puff of grey smoke
shoot from it, as it hurriedly attempted to close the gap. A second later,
there was a healthy THUMP! from the rear of the Buick, and a small scar
appeared in the rear window.

   "Holy cow! They're SHOOTING at us!" Richie ducked, even though it was
clear that the Buick was impervious to the pirate's artillery at the current
range. Jana danced the Buick back and forth across the road, making it a
difficult target, until their speed grew high enough to make such maneuvers
more dangerous to them then the pirate's gunfire.

   The huge Buick wailed happily through the gears, reaching well over one
hundred miles per hour before shifting a final time, then settled into a
steady climb, pulling steadily away from the Lexus, which lagged nearly a
mile behind them. Richie had time for one glance at the speedometer, which
showed the car passing a hundred and forty, before the great bulk of the
Buick was rocked violently by the passage of a familiar shape rocketing by
in the other direction.

   "Red!" Richie yelled in relief, as Firefox exploded past. Going at least
as fast as their own vehicle, the Monte Carlo was now screaming up the road
behind them. Jana stood on the brakes, and the big Buick spouted smoke at
all four tires as it fought to slow down. She used the last of her momentum
to make a bootlegger turn, swapping the ends of the car gracefully, and a
moment later she was thundering back the way they had come, following Red.

   The driver of the Lexus, who a moment before had only a single fleeing
target, abruptly discovered he now faced two vehicles, both bigger and
faster than his, with neither one showing any evidence of flight. He locked
up his brakes, turned right...slewing wildly...onto a convenient side road,
and attempted to make his escape.

   Red was unable to stop in time to make the corner, and came to an untidy
halt a few dozen yards past the intersection. Instead of turning around, he
tried to back up, but found Firedrake sliding to a stop behind him. Richie
could see him pounding the back of the seat in frustration, and he gestured
wildly for Jana to move out of the way.

   Jana picked up the radio mike. "Red, I am not going to follow you, while
you chase whoever that was all over the county, and I'm not going to drive
home alone, until I'm sure there was only one of them. We're safe...he's
gone...so lets go home, and try and figure out why he was here, anyway."

   Red's shoulders slumped, but he nodded through the back window, and
together the two black cars turned for home.

   Richie shifted his weight, realizing he had been tense and cramped for
several minutes. He returned the Remington to the rack, and stretched his
legs out gingerly, as relief flowed through him.

   Jana was silent all the way home, and neither Red nor Art chose to use
the radio to talk. By mutual consent, both cars were driven inside the shop,
and it was not until both were safe behind the huge steel blast door that
Richie was able to breathe freely again. The Buick had barely stopped moving
when he was out of it, examining the rear of the car.

   Jana turned off the engine, and sat motionless, as Red and Art approached.
Red opened the door, and she climbed out, and went straight into his arms.
They didn't speak, but after a minute she seemed to relax, and he loosened
his grip slightly, holding her away from him, as he gazed at her.

   "You haven't lost much, have you, Cookie?" Red spoke softly, and waved
a hand at Firedrake, smiling into her eyes.

   Jana smiled back, and shook her head. "No, I haven't...but I had a bit of
an advantage...I've been practicing. But that doesn't make it any better,
you know. Who were those guys...some of your playmates from Alabama?"

   Red grimaced. "Sure looked like them...same car, I think. Beats me what
they were doing all the way up here, though, or why they were following you.
I notified Tank Dawkins on the radio, coming home...he's gonna try and cut
them off at the county line, but that old cruiser he's got isn't good for
too much...I doubt if he'll get there in time, and that's saying they're
headed there, in the first place."

   Jana nodded. "We could have outrun them, I think...but Richie didn't know
that when he called you. We were glad to see you show up so fast...how did
you manage it?"

   Red grinned at her. "I had the car outside...I'd just washed it, so when
you radioed, Art and I just ran out and jumped in. It's a straight shot from
here to where we met up, so I just kept it going all the way." He looked at
Firedrake appraisingly. "You were really moving, too...the computer showed
you at over a hundred and forty, and still climbing."

   Jana giggled. "Richie did good, buying that gorgeous old tank. It just
hunkered down and went...you get the feeling it would accelerate forever. I
even enjoyed it a little."

   Red looked at Richie and Art, who stood at the back of the car, checking
the damage caused by the few rounds which had hit. "Anything hurt back
there? I saw the back window...looks like that's  pretty good armored
glass."

   Art shook his head. "A few dents, but no penetration. This thing IS a
tank, in more ways than one. A little bit of lead filler, and some paint,
and it'll be good as new."

   Richie looked down at the back of the car. One bullet had neatly wiped
out the 'a' in 'Firedrake', leaving an even circle of bare metal in its
place. Another had caught the top of the left rear fender, putting a similar
ding in it, and the last had hit the rear bumper, which obviously was made
of some sort of seriously strong steel, for the only trace of that bullet
was a very slight indentation, in which the shine of the chrome was blurred.
He shook his head in amazement.

   "Don't worry, Richie...I'll have it fixed good as new in a day or so."
Art finished his examination, and clapped Richie on the back. "You did good,
remembering that car...if they'd decided to move in, they could have done
you plenty of dirt...your tires are puncture-resistant, but not armored...and
once you lose your tires, you're all done...a kiddycar could catch you."

   Richie drew in a deep breath. "Boy, I'm glad I wasn't driving...Mother
was great, though. She just waited til she could get a jump on them, and
took off. By the time they saw us running, we were way ahead of them. They
never really had a chance."

   Art looked innocent. "Gee, my sister has undiscovered talent, it seems.
Maybe she ought to be a courier driver."

   Richie shrugged. "Nothing." He bent over and pretended to examine the
bullet craters. It still hurt that Art had hidden Jana's background from him,
and he knew he wouldn't be able to understand why, for a while. His parents
he could understand, but Art had been special...more of a brother than an
uncle, and to learn that Art was keeping secrets wounded him.

   Art stared at Richie for a long moment, then gave a shrug of his own, and
turned to look at Red. "I assume you want this thing fixed yesterday, right?"

   Red nodded. "Right. As long as we got it, we might as well use it...and
nothing moves out of here damaged, unless it's an emergency."

   Jana shook herself, and walked toward the living quarters. "I suppose all
this activity has made all three of you ravenous, so the cook better get
busy. Richie, bring in the packages from the trunk, will you?"

   As Richie loaded his arms with the day's purchases, he couldn't help
thinking that while the day may have ended well, it boded ill for his future
driving to have pirates actively hunting for members of the Kelly family.
Neither Jana or Red would consider allowing him do drive alone until there
was a solution...and Richie had no idea what that solution might be.