D. MacHale - The Never War

Did I mention how bad my head hurt?

“Buck!” called Max.

Spader and I went to him. He was alive, but in bad shape. He had a big gash on his forehead and had trouble focusing his eyes. “You gotta stop him, boys,” he said. “You gotta stop Farrow. I’m counting on you.”

Yeah, right. No chance. That’s exactly what wewouldn’tdo. Max then laid back down on the ground. He was out of it. I may have changed history by saving his life, but there was no way he could do anything about saving theHindenburgnow. Maybe all wasn’t lost after all.

That’s when I heard the sound of an engine starting.

Spader and I spun to see that the second thug had gotten his act back together and picked up the cop’s motorcycle. He was in the saddle, ready to roll. The sound I heard was him kicking over the bike’s engine.

“I got it covered, boss,” he shouted to Max. “I’ll stop him.”

Uh-oh. Rose’s gang wasn’t out of commission yet. I didn’t know what to do. Should I rush the guy and try to tackle him? Should I jump in front of his motorcycle? I had seconds to act, but I didn’t. That’s when something happened that is going to haunt me for a long time.

Spader ran for the bike.

“I’m coming with you!” he shouted as he jumped on the back.

What was he doing? All I could get out was a confused “Spader?”

“Sorry, mate,” Spader said. “We’ve got to save the people on that ship.”

“No!” I shouted. I tried to grab him, but the thug gunned the engine and they lurched forward, just out of my reach.

“I won’t let Saint Dane win,” Spader shouted as they sped away from me.

There it was. The moment I had feared for months. Spader’s hatred for Saint Dane had come roaring back. He was going to avenge the death of his father, no matter what the cost. Spader had promised me he could control his emotions, but he was wrong. Or he lied. It didn’t matter which. The fact was, he didn’t believe me about what we had found on Third Earth. Maybe I hadn’t explained it well enough. Or maybe it was too much for him to understand. Whatever. All he saw was that Saint Dane was about to cause a horrific crash and people would die. He was so blinded by hatred he couldn’t believe he was doing exactly what our enemy wanted him to do.

I realized all this as I stood on the road, alone, with no way to follow him or stop him. I glanced at my watch. It was 7:00. In twenty-five minutes the first domino would fall in Saint Dane’s plan to destroy Halla.

It would be the end of the Earth territories, now and forever.

There was only one way I could get to the airfield. I had to take the car.

I had driven a grand total of once. I was thirteen years old, my mother was in the passenger seat and we were in an empty parking lot with all sorts of room for error. That experience didn’t exactly qualify me for the Indy 500. But hey, I had already jumped out of an airplane in the middle of a thunderstorm, rappelled down the side of a hotel, and lived through a horrendous, flipping wreck. How much worse could driving a car be?

A quick glance around the accident scene told me nobody was going to stop me. Max Rose was lying on the side of the road, unconscious. So was the motorcycle cop. The only guy I had to deal with was the thug who was still in the car, slumped in the passenger seat. Out cold. No way I was taking him along for the ride.

This was the same guy who had grabbed Spader and me and dragged us around the hotel like we were bags of trash. I didn’t mind returning the favor, so I grabbed his jacket and pulled. The guy barely moved. He was twice my size and totally limp. It was like trying to maneuver a huge bag of bowling balls.

I guess my adrenaline kicked in because on my second try I was able to drag him out headfirst. His shoulders hit the ground with a dull thud. Sorry, dude. I then dug my legs in and dragged the rest of his bulk out of the seat. I didn’t have to feel bad for the guy, he was totally out of it. I made sure to drag his deadweight far enough away from the car so that if something wacky happened with me behind the wheel, I wouldn’t run the poor guy over.

I then jumped into the driver’s seat and instantly realized I was in trouble.

This was an old-time car. It didn’t have an automatic transmission. It had a stick shift on the steering column and a clutch pedal on the floor that I was going to have to learn how to use real fast. My father’s car had a stick shift, so at least I knew the basics. I used to sit in his car in the garage with the engine off, pretending to drive. He hated that. He thought I was wearing out the clutch or something. But it was a good thing I had done it because now I knew how to shift. Sort of. The trick was to push the clutch pedal all the way to the floor, put the car in gear, then gently lift the pedal back up while stepping on the gas. If it was done smoothly, the car would move. If it wasn’t, the car would stall out. It was a touchy-feely thing. I didn’t have the touch or the feel. This was going to be interesting.

The engine was still running, so at least I didn’t have to worry about starting it up. I moved the seat as far forward as possible so I could reach the pedals. I put my foot down on the clutch, moved the gear lever up to what I thought was first gear, then gently released the clutch while pressing on the gas.

The car began to roll forward. This was going to work! On the first try, no less. I grabbed the wheel, looked forward, and stepped on the gas.

The car bucked twice and stalled. Man! Not only did I not know how to drive, now I had to figure out how to start the car. I had to force myself not to panic.

There was a key in the dashboard, but when I turned it, nothing happened. For a second I thought the car was officially dead. After all, it had just been through a pretty hairy crash. Still, maybe I was doing something wrong. There weren’t a whole lot of control knobs on the dashboard. Remember, this was long before the age of CD players, air-conditioning, and cruise control. I saw one knob that worked the headlights and another that turned on the windshield wipers. That was pretty much it.

Then I spotted a small, silver button below the dashboard. I had never seen a button like this on a car, but then again, I had never been in a car made in 1937 either. What did I have to lose? Unless it operated an ejection seat, it wouldn’t hurt to press it. So I did…and the engine groaned to life. Yes! I had found the starter button.

The car bucked forward and stalled again. That’s because I still had it in gear. What a dope. I jammed my foot down on the clutch pedal to disengage the gears, then hit the silver button again. After a few coughing backfires, the engine rumbled back to life. Excellent. Now I had to move. Four times I tried to get rolling in first gear, four times it stalled out. I was wasting precious time and getting ready to abandon ship and start running.

I decided to give it one more try. This time I gave it lots of gas. When I felt the car start to shake and stall again, I gave it even more gas. I thought the car was going to rattle into pieces, but a second later the ride smoothed out and I was moving. I had done it.

But getting the car to move was only the first step. Now I had to drive. This is where it got scary. I was so focused on getting the car moving, I didn’t look at where I was going. As soon as I remembered to look up, I saw Max Rose standing right in front of the car! He had somehow gotten his huge bulk vertical and was now staggering toward me. I yanked the wheel hard and barely missed him. But now I was in the dirt on the side of the road. I didn’t dare step on the brakes because I didn’t want to stall out and have to go through that whole start-up ordeal again. So I kept my foot down on the gas and desperately cranked on the wheel, trying to get back on the road. After bouncing around and nearly missing a couple of rocks, a tree, and a stop sign, I finally got the tires back on pavement.