Page 4 of Shifted

Dalton needed to have a chat with Moore when they got back to the pits. Safety first. Always the priority.

Dalton left the garage and steered up pit lane. He hit the track in traffic, and it took him a few turns to catch up to Moore. He stayed behind his student, keeping a watch on what he did. The racing lines he took around the track were all incorrect. They’d have to work on which side of the track he needed to be on and when. Moore let off the gas too much going into the turns and never got a clean exit.

After following him for two laps, Dalton radioed him. “Hey, Dennis, we’re coming up to the straight. I want you to be on the outside leading up to turn one. Remember, start feeding the gas just before the apex and watch the curbing. You don’t want to unsettle the car.”

“Got it,” was the swift reply.

They entered the straight, and Moore took off. He stayed to the outside and then braked at the right point. “Good job,” Dalton said.

Moore was a bit off on the gas but not bad, and he’d managed to exit the turn without hitting the curbing. Dennis Moore wasn’t the fastest man out there, but if they could put together the rest of the lap like the first turn, he’d be fine.

They went around four more times with Dalton coaching him on every turn. As much as Moore didn’t seem to like to listen off the track, he paid close attention while driving. He was steadily improving his lap times. Dalton was satisfied.

“Okay, Dennis, last lap. Let’s see if we can clean up some of these turns.

“There’s something off with the car,” Moore said.

“What?”

“The car,” Moore replied, his tone panicked, “there’s something off with it.”

“Mario,” Dalton asked, “what do you see?”

There was a pause. They were coming up to the pit lane entry. “Dennis, take it into the pits if there’s something up. There’s only one lap left anyway.”

Moore didn’t bother to respond and went flying by the pit lane entrance.

“Mario?” Dalton asked.

“I’m checking. He’s right. Something is off. Checking the sensors.”

“Dennis, take it easy on this lap,” Dalton advised as they came around the corner to the Start/Finish line. “Your tires are old, and the car is acting up. Be careful.”

There was no response.

“Dennis?”

“I’ve got it. I can handle it.” He floored the gas, and the car shot forward.

Dalton had no trouble keeping up, but he was pissed. Moore took the outside line, but the back end of the car slid like it was losing downforce. As they started up the hill into turn one, movement on Moore’s car caught Dalton’s eye. The wing oscillated violently. Moore wouldn’t have enough downforce to keep the car in place. He was going to have a massive oversteer.

“Dennis, ease off the gas slowly and run wide.”

It was like the man wasn’t listening. The back end of the car slid as Moore added gas, causing the car to jump the curbing. The already unsteady car shot across the track and hit the right wall, bounced, rolled three times, and burst into flames.

Dalton yelled, “Moore! Get the hell out of the car!”

There was no response. Dalton’s heart thudded as he continued to drive the rest of the track to pit lane. He wasn’t allowed to stop because it could cause more accidents. It was the strictest rule in racing. He made it around as quickly as he was allowed. Back in the pits, he climbed from the car and raced toward his crew. “Anything?”

Mario shook his head. Moore hadn’t responded. The internal camera had gone offline with the crash, and Dalton wasn’t behind him any longer, so they were blind.

Dalton raced toward the medical building. He rushed inside. “How is he? How’s the driver?”

A woman and a man were standing next to a counter that contained a radio. One was dressed in a fire suit and the other had a white coat on. They stared at him.

“My driver. How is he?” Dalton demanded.

The radio barked to life. “Er ist tot.” The words were squawked loud and clear.

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