Bud
Copyright© 2015 by Bill Offutt
Chapter 20
Bud charged into the lead on the far turn and fishtailed into the straightaway, foot on the floor, seeing a quarter-mile of rutted but empty track before him. He glanced up into his rearview mirror and saw nothing but a bullnosed hood and a grinning driver.
The big Chevy hit his car squarely on the bumper and left rear fender, drove him up toward the fence and then bumped him again, smashing against his door with a screech of torn metal. The back wheels broke loose and the car began to spin as the black and silver Chevrolet skinned by, just nicking Bud's fenders as his car did a quick three-sixty and kept on turning, digging furrows in the track.
He sawed the wheel and held on tight as his light car jounced over the ruts and got straightened out, now trailing the whole pack of racers as his back wheels spun, seeking traction. Bud pushed the long shift lever up into second and floored the accelerator, enjoying the scream of his engine and the roar of its open exhaust. In only two more laps, he was back in the mix but still several cars behind the leading pair.
Bud forced the blue car running beside him to go high on the next turn and squeezed between two others on the straight. In one more lap the Chevy with a fancy number 21 on its sides and trunk lid was right in front of him.
On the last turn, with the checkered flag only two hundred yards away, Bud did not slow down but held the pedal hard to the firewall and drove squarely into the front fender of the black and sliver car, smashing them together into the fence. He snapped his transmission into reverse and pulled back, tearing metal, waved to the furious man in the Chevrolet and coasted into the infield and his pit area, his right front fender flapping.
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