OUR BRAND IS HORRIBLE IDEAS
"When we asked to borrow her car, Sheila's only words were, and I quote, 'just don't wreck it.'" Arthur had to shout over the Karman Ghia's roaring engine, arms braced to dash. "Those were her exact words!"
"That was just a little dent!" Kavi jerked the wheel, swerving onto the road shoulder to avoid the navy Civic giving chase. Two and a half cups of Shelia’s coffee sloshed through her guts and into her bladder. "Besides, he's the one wrecking the car, not me! Relax! We just need get to Alex! We'll be fine!"
A strange energy swelled Kavi's chest. A burst of adrenaline pushing all her insides to butterflies. For all the noise—roaring engines, spraying gravel, Harris and Arthur shouting—Kavi's mind remained calm, quiet. The Civic and it's flaming red driver swerved back toward them. Kavi bit her lip, counter-steered into the car. The machines came together with sparks and an awful screaming.
"Fine?" Harris sat wedged into the back bench behind them, hands defensively over his head. "We're driving toward a homicidal maniac, with another homicidal maniac Mad Max-ing us! I'm the sardine who'll be crushed to death back here!"
Bernard's Honda slid back ever so slightly. Its front headlight dangled free of the bumper, a zombie whose eye hasn't quite fallen out.
"I can do this," Kavi said. "I looked it up for a story once. Just aim for the corners of the other car and counter-steer, right?"
"That is a horrible idea!" Harris shouted. "Our brand is horrible ideas!"
"Who is this woman in Kavi's skin?" Arthur said. "A few days ago? Panic! Now? Smiling through a bleeding demolition derby!"
"The difference is I'm well caffeinated now. It's a kind of birth."
"Birth?"
Kavi jammed the gas, steadied the wheel against the Karman Ghia's protestations. No different than swerving through the school pick up line, right? Bernard slid back. "I nearly fainted when I saw the blue line on the pregnancy test. The pain. The embarrassment of childbirth. I couldn't sleep. I'd wake up a hundred times a night, always the same nightmare: lying ankles up on some hospital bed, body torn apart by pain. I was convinced I'd die in childbirth."
"Jesus."
"I never told James. But then, a funny thing happened."
"Funny?" Harris said. "Like a chubby guy wedged in the back of a Volkswagen funny? Or being chased by a low-tier pro wrestler in a compact car funny?"
"I gave birth. Instead of panic, I just did it. I'd worried so much about the pain, the what-ifs, but then it was there and I didn't have a choice. You don't have time to worry about the excruciating pain of childbirth during the excruciating pain of childbirth. That's what we've got now. We're in it. Contractions hard and fast. And it's time to get this shit done."
"Fuckin' A, man," Harris wiggled against the bench, searching for comfort. He only managed to wedge his ass in tighter. "That is pretty funny."
"Whatever the Great Imagination is daydreaming for our little lives," Arthur folded his hands and turned pious eyes to the heavens, "please let it include seeing tomorrow's sunrise in safety."
Harris turned his head and snorted. "You'd have more luck with Je…sus Christ!"
"I thought you were a Jew?"
"No." Harris grabbed Arthur by the chin and turned the Brit's head. "I mean, Jesus-H-Mac-and-Cheese-Christ. Incoming!"
Smoke slid over the snow behind them. The Honda shot forward toward their left flank, half-steering, half sliding through the burst of speed. Kavi guided Sheila's lime popsicle of a car left, hoping to cut off the Immolator's advance. Instead, Bernard doubled down. The dented soup can of car swerved harder, two wheels plowing dirt and slush on the road shoulder. The nose of his junker slipped dangerously close to the drainage ditch, shocks bouncing, before he jerked back, tires swaying and swerving.
Aim for the corners of the bumpers. The wheel wells. Isn't that what the actors always did in the Fast and Furious racing movies? Kavi winced, wishing she'd watched a Fast and Furious movie. Maybe the one with The Rock. He always managed to turn in such capable, down-to-earth performances. And those tattoos...
"Kavi!" Arthur faced her, eyes wide. "Do something!"
A hulking mass of orange and red hunched over the Honda's wheel. Smears of yellow, orange and red paint flamed over his blood-spattered scowl. A sequined wrestling costume to match his fiery face bulged over sagging man-tits. Kavi saw the swerve coming a moment before impact: the flex of Bernard's knuckles against the steering wheel, the lean of his body against the expected crash. Choreographed like a bad wrestling move.
Kavi slammed both feet to the brake, swung the Karman Ghia right, hoping her aim was true. Hoping the Rock had taught her well. The crush of metal to metal sounded like an explosion. For a heartbeat, gravity suspended its hold on the car. Kavi, Arthur and Harris floated through space, weightless. The world outside began to spin. For real this time. Kavi wrenched on the steering wheel, but nothing happened.
"Oh Jesus." Much like during her brush with the Norovirus, Kavi's ass began to clench of its own accord. "Here we go."
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