The Story of the Hell Riders

Dirt Roots | Chapter 1

1

The lights were shining down onto the stands and the metal fences. Darkness had fallen, and the grudge races had begun. Blake Chambers, the hometown track favorite, had, at this point, won his way through every grudge race. The finals were just thirty minutes away; Blake sitting in his trailer. With earbuds in, his foot was tapping rapidly on the floor. His fire suit was zipped down and hanging at his sides; sweat trickling down the sides of his face. Outside, hundreds of chattering voices could be heard, the gossip spreading of the drama arising between Blake and Anthony Brewer(who was favored to win the race). Nowadays, the world was fueled by drama. Even countries had participated in the act; speaking nothing but wrong behind each other's backs. War was on the verge of breaking out. But to Blake, none of that mattered to him. At this point in time, he had one goal and one thing to do. Drive the wheels off every other car on that track. Blake's music was blasting, so he had no idea that his dad was knocking on the trailer door. Avalanche by Bring Me The Horizon, to be exact. He was visualizing the victory: possible outcomes, possible passes, possible crashes he'd have to avoid. Anything. 
"It's like an avalanche... I feel myself go under... Cause the weight of it's like hands around my neck-". A firm grip landed on his shoulder; Blake jerked and yanked the earbuds out of his ears, spinning around in his chair. His dad was looking down at him with a look of dismay, and worry. Something that didn't often plague his father's face. There was something, you could tell, he was visibly trying to hide. A slight smile, with a hint of sadness, grew on his face as he nodded,"It's almost time. Be out in five." He kept that same smile, turning and sniffing slightly as he did so before exiting the trailer. The trailer door shut with a thud, shaking it slightly. Blake sighed, looking towards the old picture he had pinned on the mirror just a few feet away. His helmet and gloves lay on a countertop just below it. Blake stood, grabbed his necessary equipment, and walked out to do what he did best. 

                                                                                                  2

With 5 laps left, only six cars remained. Blake was spun out with only 8 laps remaining, and after the caution flag was dropped, he was left in last of those that were left. Anthony Brewer held second place when the green flag dropped once again; dirt kicking up behind every car as their drivers slammed on the throttle. Blake flew around turn one, slinging his late model to the outside line. 5th place was now his. Exiting turn two he noticed Anthony up ahead heading into turn three; taking the inside line over a rookie driver and tapping him into the wall. The driver scrapped against the wall for a good few seconds before he recovered; ending up back beside Blake. To avoid a collision, Blake slammed the brake and the clutch, moving behind the driver's car and sticking to his bumper as they began to exit turn four and head for the start-finish line. 4 to go. In an act of aggression and desperation, Blake carried extra speed into turn 1; rising to the outside line exiting turn 2 and riding the wall with him moving into third place. The rookie driver pushed his way behind Blake, and Anthony had found his way into first with two laps left. "Blake.. Blake.. he...lo..?" The radio had gone static. Nothing was coming through. Meaning his spotter wasn't available and he was essentially driving blind. On realization of this, he realized he was going to have to drive hard, and trust his gut in the process. With one deep breath, and a pop of the clutch he dove towards the inside on the second place driver; pushing him up the racetrack, giving him a clear track to move up behind Anthony. Static continued to flow through his helmet headset, sweat rolling down his face and into the front side of his firesuit. Anthony began driving super aggressive, swerving all over the track to cut him off. Just to spice things up, Blake tapped his rear bumper ever so slightly as they entered turn 3. With his sharp eye, Blake noticed something off about Anthony's car. Not just that the tires had a lack of tread, but his back left wheel was wobbling profoundly. It could hardly make it another lap; if even that. The static continued, and so did the sweat and the profuse heat. They crossed the start/finish line with the crowd at their feet: signs, hands, and beer cans in the air. As the lead drivers dove into turn 1 Blake glued to Anthony's bumper, but a little to the high side in case his tire decided to fly off. They both exited turn 2 in an angry fashion, sparks flying off the wall as they scrapped against it. They were several car lengths ahead of the pack before heading into turn 3, and Blake had one option. With one sudden, maybe even idiotic, move, Blake swerved to the outside line while Anthony stuck to the bottom of the racetrack. He popped the clutch, launching the rear of the car out of his control and into the corner ahead of him. Blake would counter-steer against the opposing force and skid mere millimeters from the outside wall. He'd hold the line for all of turn 3 and 4, in a feeling of complete slow motion. The gas pedal never left the floor, and the crowd roared with excitement as tire smoke filled the stands and rubber flew into the open air. Halfway around the corner, Anthony's loose tire flew off and into the mid-section of the track, eventually rolling back up the racetrack at the end of turn four. Blake got to it first and dropped the car into 3rd gear so as to avoid the tire. He was too late. 

                                                                                                  3

With no word to his father or his crew, Blake threw himself out of the car in a fit. Throwing his helmet to the ground he stomped over to his trailer, slamming the door. His father sighed, lowered his headset to sit around his neck. The crew all looked at each other with confusion before beginning to pack up their equipment, loading the car into the trailer. Blake's mom walked up to his dad, a small, settled smile resting on her lips. She picked up Blake's helmet that he had thrown, handing it to his father. "He's gonna need this, Ben." 

                                                                                                   4

Blake was sitting in the bathroom of the extended trailer; door locked with his fire suit zipped down to his waste. His hair was a jumbled mess, and his pearly green eyes had faded to a shade of aggressive red as tears flooded down to the steel floor. His left shoe foot was tapping furiously, while he gripped the side of the sink. Holding in his sobs, the tears continued to fall to the floor. One by one. Blake jerked suddenly, rising to his feet when a knocking came to the door. He did his best to regain himself, wiping the tears from his face and taking a deep breath before opening the door. Blake gave a surprised look. His father stood in the door, and outside the trailer were a few men dressed in military attire talking to Blake's mom. "They did it... we're going to war." 

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Kind of a bombshell ending? Maybe? No? Let me know what you think. Hopefully, you guys get the gist, but some of it may seem a little fast paced. I'll do my best to have chapter two out soon. This was more or less a prequel chapter. See you guys soon! :)