TG Race Week 3 Day 1
“Somewhere under the Rainbow”

“Ready, Doc? The race is about to begin.”

“Almost. One last … Ok, the van is insulated from the cold of the North Pole. Where else would Rugburn send us, this far north?”

“Yeah, good thing we bought all of those extra clothes. Those will keep the cold out, too.”

“Ok, who’s driving?”

“Rock, Paper, Scissors?” She pulls out her palm.

“1. 2. 3.” He shows paper; she shows scissors.

“So, which of us drives?”

“You?”

“Ok,” she heads to the driver’s seat and he heads to the back. She watches the skeevo bird come down and then fly forward. She shifts it into gear and hits the gas. The van jerks and swerves. She manages to get to the new start by stopping and going while trying not to stall. Man, I should have taken up my brother on his offer for flying lessons.

That ‘s when she sees the gigantic hole in the ground. She hits the button to the back, “Uhhh, Doc?”

“Yes?”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“What is it?”

“We’re going to the Center of the Earth. I think we are going to need directions. Quick, use the internet to download a copy of the book while we are still above ground.”

“Agreed.”

“And I’ll program the GPS.” She releases the button and mutters to herself as she punches the screen, “Ok. Journey to the Center of the Earth.”

It’s sweet female voice replies, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t do that.

“What? Everyone knows about that story.” Even if some of us haven’t read it.

I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t do that. It repeats.

“It’s a giant hole 100 yards in front of us,” she says punching icons on the screen, “How can you not see it?”

Tracey hears the engines revving  and hears one word from the Skeevo, “Go!”

Command accepted. Drive forward for 100 yards.

Then all racers race forward. Tracey hits the gas and the van flies backward and stalls. Smoke covers everything in sight. She tries to start the car. RRRrrrooom! Putt. Ssssss. “Oh, not again. This happens every race.”

You are going the wrong way. Drive forward for 110 yards.

She steps out of the vehicle and flips open the phone.  She speed dials her brother. SPLOOOK! The vehicular monstrosity she drives is hit and covered with black. She looks back at it. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The voice on the other end yawns, “Tracey?”

“Yeah Toby, it’s me. Did I wake you?”

He chuckles, “It’s 2am here, Sis. What do you need?”

“The van stalled again. I think it has something to do with Doc banging on it and trying to remove it.”

“Hmm, did it make any sounds?”

“No, but it was trying to stall on its way to the start line.”

“Ok, it’s probably one of the hoses then. Make sure they are all connected and tight.”

“Thanks, Bro. Get some sleep.” She hangs up and turns to the engine in the back. The access panel is covered in black. Great.

She tries to wipe it off, but it has the viscosity of rubber and barely budges. “Well, maybe a little fire will do something.” She bangs on the black by the former back window, “Doc, bring some Picos.” She turns just in time to see one of the car sized bombs seemingly peeking around the van.

BOOOM! The van rocks some causing Doc to take a few missteps. Please continue forward for 109 yards. He opens the passenger door and walks around the wing to see what happened and to give Tracey the vials she asked for.

There he sees her a little dazed and in two pieces of clothing, a cook’s hat and an apron. The apron says four simple words. Reheat and Serve Hot. He holds out the vials and averts his eyes. “What are you …? Oh! I can’t believe he made a bomb like this!” Doc hears the shuffling of feet and after a moment turns to find her gone.

Unsure what she wanted the vials for, he waits. She returns wearing another of her outfits that doesn’t fit her well. She adjusts her shirt causing her chest to bounce around. Then she yanks at her pants until they are comfortable enough. Then she takes a hot sauce bottle and dumps it on the black stuff. Nothing seems to happen at first, but finally a tiny hole is formed. It grows until it is fist sized and reveals the handle to the engine. She looks at Doc. “If that is all it clears …”

“We aren’t wasting our Picos on cleaning this off,” he finishes.

She tries to reveal the engine to fix the van, but the goo resists her energy. “Fascinating,” he says in awe.

“Just give me a hand here.” He reaches down and pulls from below. Slowly a crack is formed on either side going vertical and they win the war of opening the vitals of the vehicle. Doc leaves while she looks for the offending part.  “Ah ha! There you are!” She pushes it in and adjusts the clamp.

She reenters the van. Doc is nowhere to be found. Please continue forward for 109 yards. “That’s the plan,” she tells the device. She turns the key. VRRRRooooOOMMM!

A crack of light enters the blackened windshield. After some hacking and slashing from the outside, it becomes a small hole. Through the hole she sees her co driver and the box cutter from last race. She turns off the motor. “What are you doing?”

He shows her three vials, two that are empty and one that has recently removed goo in it. “Taking samples?”

Tracey smiles and shakes her head. “I suppose we should free the windows at least.”

“And the four doors and the ailerons and rudder.”

“Right. Hand me a razor.” She starts on the passenger’s windshield. “So, should we take it all off?”

“Well, it was an attack.”

“But it didn’t do anything but coat our ride and make it hard to open anything.”

“True. Maybe the attack isn’t done yet.” He thinks a moment, “We could take it all off.”

“But that would take forever and all the other racers are ahead of us. I think we should clear what we need and get on with the race.”

Several hours later, all windows are clear including the ones they can’t see out of, the two side doors, the sun roof and the road, errr, roof, the wing and tail flaps, and for good measure the license plate, too.

They get their tired bodies in the van and into their places. Doc locks the three filled vials of blackness into the shelves designed to hold them. The driving machine surges forward and begins its descent into the volcanic tube. You have reached your destination. Tracey slaps it off. A few minutes later, they land at the bottom of the tube and stop in the darkness. The speaker speaks to her, “Why have we stopped?”

“We should clear the headlights so we can see where we are going. And maybe the propellers so we can go a smidge faster.” They hop out and clear more goo off all the lights and spinning devices. Many hours later they finish.

With the additional light they can see that they are on a rock slide of sorts. “I wonder who would block the volcano.” There seems to be a bus sized hole nearby so she follows it to beneath the captive avalanche.

Finally they reach the bottom and find the opening in the side. They head into it to find a glowing cloud. They head further in and come to a fork in the cave. To the left there is a cloud and they follow that as Tracey yawns. “Doc, I think it’s getting late. You think we should stop for the night?”

“Indeed.”

Tracey hears some water up ahead. She slowly heads forward until she finds a sideways fountain spraying water from one wall hitting the other. “Water. I think I’ll stop here.” The van slows until it is under the torrent of liquid.

The temperature in the cabin slowly begins to rise. Tracey yawns again. “Doc, any landmarks in that story?”

“I just got to the place where they ran out of water. They knocked a hole in the wall and called it the Hansbach. If we get near there, we need to be careful as the water is boiling hot.”

“Thanks, Doc. See you in the morning.” She drifts off to sleep.

As she does so she leans on a button and the TRS-8000 raises up with effort. A sail forms joining the horizontal and vertical poles and blocks the flow of water. Diverted, the boiling water covers and runs over every inch of the machine melting and eroding all traces of the black.

Uncomfortable, she adjusts her position landing on another button, this one on the speaker. “Ddaaa, whys do I hafta wear a swimsoot? I wanna wear trunks like you…”