Conflict

Epilogue

Radiator Springs, the next day...

Lightning woke with a start, ending the visions of flames and sounds of screams as quickly as they'd began. To his right, that charmingly annoying alarm clock was going at it, signaling the start of a new day. Jimi Hendrix was blaring somewhere nearby. Otherwise, serene, wind-blown silence filled the atmosphere around the Cozy Cone Motel.

He switched the clock off and focused on a bird tweeting in the trees outside. He closed his eyes again to regain his lost composure.

"You're fine. You are more than fine. Your friends are fine. Everyone is safe. It's over," he rambled under his breath, repeating the same sentiment until he had convinced himself.

He'd arrived only five hours earlier, in a private helicopter that disrupted the peaceful night over Radiator Springs. The first thing he'd seen was nearly a dozen tired, frightened faces that greeted him as he landed. They swarmed him, all asking variations of the same two questions.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

As relieved as he'd been to come home, he'd panicked. He was stressed and tired and wanted nothing more than to erase the past twenty-four hours from his mind. He'd not given them a response. Instead, he ran from them, holing himself up in his favorite Cone for some much needed peace and rest. He did, however, manage to share a longsuffering stare with Sally before closing the door. He needed to talk to her, to apologize to her.

A sudden knock sounded at the door. Lightning jumped, suddenly alert. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

Doc sat patiently on the other side of the garage door, his usual grumpy, stern demeanor absent.

"Doc?" Lightning asked, surprised to see him and not Sally.

"Hey, kiddo," Doc greeted him quietly with a soft, but concerned, smile. It was what Lightning always thought a real doctor should exhibit. "How're you feelin'?"

Lightning looked down at his hood and shrugged. The scratches on his fenders and down his sides still irritated him, uncomfortable reminders of yesterday.

"I'm fine," he answered. "Just need some new paint and a little work from Ramone."

Doc shook himself. "That's not what I meant."

Lightning stared at his mentor for a few moments, reading the undertones from the old car's expression. He sighed.

"I don't know, Doc," he admitted. "It's early. I'm tired. I don't wanna think about it."

Doc didn't push the issue, though he had hoped for a more insightful answer. Instead, he nodded empathetically.

"News all over the radio this mornin' is that it's over," Doc said. "They're kind of makin' it sound like a coup, but no one's given any real answers yet."

Lightning avoided eye contact. "They're all gone. The head manufacturers, I mean. All three of 'em."

Doc looked surprised. The despairing confidence and succinctness in the rookie's response was evidence of fact. What had he witnessed?

"Hmm," Doc pondered. "Well, you don't have to talk about it until you're ready. I just want you to know that we're glad you're safe. All of us. You had us real worried there, hot rod. I don't ever want you to hesitate to come to me – or anyone else for that matter – if it gets to be too much to handle."

"Thanks, Doc," Lightning showed his appreciation genuinely.

"I'll leave you be, then," Doc dismissed himself, backing away. "Welcome home, son."