Triple Digits

Claire Miles

Well, this was not how Claire expected her night to go.
Her broken wrist screaming in pain at the excessive movement that came with street-racing, she brought her car to a stop behind Quickshift's car, leaning forward in her seat to try and see if he was alright. The other racers shot past.
He'd been driving perfectly well down the street until it looked like he turned ninety-degrees, plunging straight down the muddy banks and toward the water of the bay. Had he misjudged where the hairpin turn was? Surely not. Quickshift had driven this road every night for a month leading up to this race! There was no way he would have gotten the turn wrong! He'd known the track so well that he'd been set to beat her in the race! She'd been metres behind him! Claire had come down and studied his racing every night to try and get a feel for it, and he'd never faltered at knowing where the turn was!
She couldn't leave him down there, injured and bleeding. Even if leaving now meant she would still win the race.
Claire could not see him anywhere in his seat, so she reached forward, unbuckling her seatbelt and carefully heading down the bank. Her shoes slipped in the mud, sending her careening down into the side of Quickshifts's car, her body colliding with the metal in a sharp 'CLANG!' that made Claire's teeth rattle and her wrist ache.
The collision made her slip into the mud, landing on her back and staring up at the night sky. Propping herself up on her elbows, she locked eyes with- A scream wrenched itself out of Claire's lips at the sight of Quickshift slumped halfway through his windshield, glass jutting out from all angles of his body, his eyes open and unseeing. Blood ran from both his nostrils, and even from his mouth, like his insides had been shoved up his throat and out through any orifice available. His body was a broken, shattered mess.
The mask he wore had flown off in the hit, his face revealed for the first time ever.
She didn't recognise him.
Claire wasn't sure if that was a mercy.
It was like looking into an alternate timeline, Claire beginning to shudder at the thought that it easily could have been her yesterday, and she ripped her mask off, uncaring of who saw, to vomit into the mud, having enough foresight to turn away from the bay full of people with cameras.
Another car slowed to a stop at the top of the hill, Maddison emerging and rushing down the hill, skidding to a stop at Claire's side when she saw Quickshifts's dead body, choking out, "Gods, it's even worse up close. Get up, TD." There was the squelching of mud as a third person approached, Corey Strickland, before she heard him throwing up, too.
Her friend threw a jacket over her head, concealing her identity before anyone could think to snap a picture, herding her back up the mud-stained hill and toward Maddison's car, where she was shoved into the backseat, the door slamming shut.
Claire guessed they were leaving the police car behind. Thank the Gods she'd worn gloves to keep her fingerprints from being left behind with it.
Officer Corey Strickland was making a call on a nearby payphone now, phoning the police department, letting them know about the situation.
In the privacy of Maddison's car, her friend murmured, "Claire-Bear, we gotta go before the police rock up."
"I saw it happen," Claire choked out in response, Maddy nodding in horror, "I know, girlie. But we can't stay here. I'll come back to your place."
Corey was leaning against the payphone box, speaking into the receiver, and Claire actually felt bad about leaving him there alone with the body, even if Maddy was right. The police would be here in minutes, and they, like everyone else in this area, had to be gone by then. Across the bay, knowing the same thing, people were scattering. The other racers were already gone.
So Maddy slipped into place behind the steering wheel, and took them back home...