Angel Raceway

Dawn arrived with clouds on the horizon forming a stampede, like hundreds of white buffalo rumbling the sky underfoot. Nico grimaced at the sunflare glinting off her side view mirror. One-hundred thirty-three miles until her destination. Nico was only halfway through her journey down I-40, and she was starting to worry she wouldn’t make it to the viewing.

Based on her estimate, she would be around thirty minutes late to the event, which, she figured, is better than not showing up at all. Attending for a couple hours was the least she could do. Nico hadn’t seen her mother in however many years now, and she decided it would probably be good karma to pay her respects after all this time. Not that she respected her mother very much. But for some people, death tends to soften the hard feelings. It’s difficult to hold a grudge when the person in question is no longer alive.

Nico was one of such forgiving people. Tall, with gangly arms that traveled a bit too far down her sides, like pieces of driftwood floating downstream. She often thought it was a shame she disliked her mother so much, because she looked awfully similar to her. Nico was a total doppelganger, to the point where people thought they were sisters when she was younger. Her hair used to cascade down her back in shimmering waves (again, just like her mother), but as of late she cropped it short. Low maintenance, she told herself. Practical. Yet, no matter what cosmetic alteration she made for herself, every mirror reminded her of her mother.

Her mother’s death was sudden, as most deaths are. The phone rang at two-thirty in the afternoon. It was a Tuesday, and Nico was on her lunch break at the post office. She knew it wasn’t a regular call. Normally the calls were salesmen who bother her, but this time was different. Sometimes you can just tell that the phone has been imbued with a new spirit – almost as if there was a different tone in the ringer chime. From the sound alone Nico could tell it was going to be important. She took one look at the unknown number, then picked up the phone.

Nico, said a woman’s voice. My name is Jonine, I’m a friend of your mother’s. I received a call this morning that she passed away. I was asked to deliver the news to you. I understand that the two of you haven’t been in contact for some time now, but I felt it was important that you should know. I’m sorry that you found out this way. The viewing will be in three days. While I’m not sure where you are located now, I hope you are able to attend.

Nico hung up. She had no idea who this Jonine person was, but she didn’t want to respond, or perhaps she didn’t feel ready to do so. The color of the world around her distorted slightly. Her mother was dead. Nico thought about giving the woman a call back to confirm the news, but decided against it – who would lie about such a thing anyways. She leaned back in her plastic chair, gazing absently at the ceiling of the break room. She watched the rectangular fluorescent light flicker until it hurt her eyes. I should probably go, she thought to herself. This was how Nico was reminded that life never comes knocking on your door, asking politely for your time. It comes barrelling in on random Tuesday afternoons, slugging the wind out of you.

The 2001 Toyota Celica continued to tumble down the highway. A brilliant speck of silver across a lonely landscape, going west from Needles to Bakersfield. Why’d they make it so damn early? She said to herself. Staying the night would have been the sensible choice, but a late shift at the post office stopped that from happening. She had no more sick days. They were all lost to some stupid guy from a dating app she would never see again. Her precious hours wasted on repeated impulsive road trips they took out to the desert.

Nico had been entirely alone on the interstate for quite a while now. It was far too early for most people to be driving, save for a handful of truckers. Earlier on her trip she came across a series of enormous eighteen-wheelers, all pulling off to the nearest rest stop, surely to set up camp before roaring down the road again in a few hours. Like a caravan of dust-worn nomads settling by an oasis. A few of them glanced down at the windshield of her petite four-cylinder car, eyeing her hungrily. One blew her a kiss. Nico flipped him off, zooming past with a cloud of exhaust.

As she drove on, tiredness crept into her body, to which she responded with sips from an energy drink can, and blasting the AC as cold as it would run. The car doors vibrated with LCD Soundsystem’s This Is Happening pumping at full volume. She felt like a mangy dog, some poor creature left by the wayside, forced to rise early in order to survive another day.

Something rumbled on the horizon. Nico suddenly snapped to attention. It wasn’t quiet anymore. There was a car behind her, and it was pulling up fast. Definitely over the speed limit, from her brief assessment. It charged down with seemingly no regard to the lines on the road, weaving in and out of the dashed divider between the two lanes, bringing with it a thunderous sound. Surely a modified exhaust. There’s no way someone could be piss-drunk at this hour. They’re probably out for a joy ride, Nico thought to herself. But at this time of day? She turned on her signal to pull to the right, easing the brakes. A clear sign to let the reckless vehicle pass.

The car came howling forward through her rearview. It was fast, and she nearly missed it happening. An electric blue Mazda RX-7, completely outfitted with JDM gear. You’d expect a sports car like this to be in some Fast and Furious film, not out here on a random strip of asphalt across a sprawling, barren landscape, like something out of a Steinbeck novel. The streak of blue hurtled down the highway, a single anachronism dotting the dust-swept hills like a forgotten toy at the beach. Nico kept her eyes locked straight ahead, fixating on the lines of the highway as it converged into a dot on the horizon. She knew her car attracted the attention of other road junkies, with its modifications from her youth.

The Mazda pulled up to her left. Nico restrained herself from glancing over. She hated when people propositioned her for a race. Especially today. She was just trying to get somewhere, and on top of that, she was going to be late. This was no time to engage in stupid activities. But the car persisted by her side, clinging to her like a lover in a forbidden tryst, moving in parallel for far longer than she expected it would. The sun reared its head, spilling their silhouettes out onto the road which sprawled to infinity. They barreled together past miles of empty, shrub-lined highway, towards the faint mountains looming in the distance.

Whoever was in the other car didn’t want to let her go anytime soon. Nico felt their watchful gaze. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the blue form linger in her sideview mirror. Her hands gripped the wheel tight as she gradually lifted her foot off the gas pedal, slowing to below the speed limit to observe if they would copy her movement, which would confirm they were intentionally shadowing her. Surely enough, the RX-7 followed suit. That was all she needed to know. She decided to look over.

In the driver’s seat of the blue Mazda sat a man, or perhaps a woman. It was difficult to say for sure. They sported a white short-sleeve collared shirt accompanied by a plain black tie, with auburn hair tied back into a neat ponytail. Nico had no clue as to what gender they were – the face could pass either way. Their features through the tinted glass reminded Nico of a photo she had seen in a history textbook once, some old place in Europe. What was it again? She thought for a moment, then it came to her. The Sistine Chapel. That’s what this driver reminded her of, one of those faces on that ornate, sprawling ceiling. The only word she could think of to describe this individual steering the RX-7 was heavenly.

Their marbled-carved expression was among the less notable parts of their appearance. For one, there was a ring of light hovering over their forehead, emitting a soft glow. It seemed to move in concert with the jostling of the car, wobbling gently with each tilt of their head, as if there was an axis attached to it that pivoted the circle wherever they were facing. Well, there was that, and they also had enormous wings. Two huge, dove-like appendages sprouted from slits on the person’s back, filling up half the car. The side windows were almost completely obscured by swaths of white feathers that folded neatly behind the driver. They flashed a kind smile at Nico, signaling for her to roll down her window.

Nico nearly swerved off the road in disbelief. An angel? She blinked a few times, unable to trust her eyesight. The tip of her foot forgot to press on the gas, and the Toyota gradually lost its speed as she stared, caught in a daze, slowing to a pace far more suited to a residential neighborhood. The angel-driver seemed to notice this, and cooled their acceleration as well. Alone in the middle of the interstate, the sportscars waned to a smooth crawl. The RX-7 lowered its window first. The driver leaned out of their seat, waving one hand outside.

– Hey, could you open your window?

They were yelling over the noise of the wind, but the voice came muffled through the glass of the Toyota’s door. They rotated their fist comedically as if they were operating an invisible window crank, like a mime in a cartoon. There was a brief pause as they waited for Nico’s response. They smiled sweetly, placing both hands together and shaking them forward as if to say please. Nico sighed, then lowered her window.

– I apologize for the interruption. I'm not here to cause you trouble, I just need to talk to you.

– Who are you? I have to be somewhere.

– I’ll make this quick. You can call me Angel.

– Angel as in, the Bible kind of angel?

– Yes, exactly.

The sound of their shouts were battered back and forth between the noise of the road and the gusts of wind whipping past their vehicles. Nico didn’t care enough to press further. Her mom died, and now this? Too much for one week.

– Are those wings on you real?

– They are quite real.

Nico watched one of the wings tense up, as if pulled with dozens of puppeteer strings, and unfurl itself slightly with a gentle flap.

– See?

The window of the RX-7 rolled back up. Partway through doing so, Nico began to yell in protest, when suddenly she could hear the same voice with absolute clarity in her head. Is this better? Angel asked. Nico jumped a little in surprise. The car swerved again, and she quickly corrected it. Nico spoke to the air.

– What the fuck. Could you have done that earlier?

Sorry, Angel replied. I figured it would be better to speak normally at first so you knew my voice. I also sensed you were getting tired of yelling at my car. Let me clarify a few things. I know you are headed to your mother’s viewing, therefore I would like to not occupy more time than I need. But you are currently on a track called the Raceway. Since you have somehow found your way onto our road, we have to enter a short competition. Those are the regulations.

– Raceway?

In short, the Raceway was devised a number of years ago in order to efficiently dispatch angels all across the Earth. This stretch of highway runs in a complete loop, across all seven continents. It would take a while to cross the whole thing.

– You’re telling me your special road is the I-40 highway?

Angel didn’t answer this question.

Technically, what you are doing now is an act of trespass. A violation of a sacred path. However, if you can beat me in this race, you may carry on your way. There is also one more detail. If you succeed in this contest, you may select a reward of your choosing.

– I don’t understand. What type of reward?

Let me put it in terms you may understand: we have the capacity to carry out miracles. We are holy agents, after all.

– And what happens if I lose?

I am sorry again. I cannot tell you.

Nico considered this for a moment.

– This feels like insanity. But I suppose I don’t have a choice here, do I?

You are welcome to have that interpretation, but first let me tell you the rules. Then you can tell me how you would like to proceed.

Nico said nothing to this. The two cars kept humming along at a steady crawl.

This is a time based trial. You will have two minutes to pass me. I have a timer that I will set, and I will alert you, just like we are speaking now, of who the victor is when it alarms. I will give you the starting count, descending from three to one. In addition, we will both begin at a low speed roll, say, thirty miles per hour. Other than that, please minimize cosmetic damage, as this is a fresh coat of paint. Anything else goes. How does this sound to you?

– And if I decide to refuse your challenge?

I will have to use alternative methods to vacate you from the road.

Nico didn’t like the sound of that. There was no way she could confirm whether or not Angel was telling the entire truth to her, or if this was really her reality, but given the circumstances, she would rather not argue with a holy entity. She grew up going to church.

– Okay, I accept. Just say when.

Good, Angel’s voice responded. I will begin the count.

The town Nico grew up in was exceptionally boring. In high school, while other teenagers were out at football games or hanging out in diners, her free time normally consisted of driving out to various spots with her friends and doing pointless things. Her memories were almost exclusively composed of loitering in strip mall parking lots. They’d pass around packs of cigs with camels printed on the boxes, and munch on lukewarm orders of fries while leaning against the frames of their cars. Killing time, going nowhere.

Three.

It had been years since Nico last street raced. That’s the original reason why she got the Celica, a relatively impractical car for daily driving, working nights and weekends at an Italian restaurant to pay for upgrades to her gear with saved up tips. Nothing too complex, just typical modifications for a hobbyist looking for an extra kick to show off to their friends: cold air intake, turbocharger, rear sway bar. A handful of other additions, too. Her friend’s dad was a mechanic. Nico would mostly race friends along winding desert routes, but that wasn’t every week. Gas was expensive.

Two.

Nico hated being home in those days. Her mom drank too much, and kept a rotating cast of younger men in her back pocket, cycling through them like trying on shades of lipstick. When they inevitably left, the blame was always placed on her. Can’t you see what you’re doing to me? Her mother would yell. No one wants a woman with a fucking kid.

One.

Nico hit the gas, and the engine awakened beneath the hood. An ancient, guttural growl swelled as the pedal met the floor, passing a tremor up through the frame, into her seat, and finally propelling the car forward with relentless force. Somewhere in the tangle of mechanical parts was a transmutation of her impatience to pure locomotive energy. Pistons hammered down in chambers. Combustible force surged. Veins of metal and rubber were flooded with gasoline.

The route ahead was a complete straightaway then curved off to the right, around a mound of dirt and rock. The driving was no problem, she knew that as much. But despite her familiarity on the road, she was at an immediate disadvantage. The Mazda RX-7 was decisively faster than her Toyota Celica. It had more horsepower, and a quicker acceleration by multiple seconds, or in other words, an entire lifetime for a two minute race. And that was only in its stock form – she was up against a fully tuned model, modified down to the very last bolt from what she saw of her opponent.

Nico knew there would only be one opening for her to potentially press an advantage. Down a straight track, of course, she had no shot. That would be a battle of mechanical superiority, at which she stood no chance. The Mazda would blow right past her. However, the key to her slim chance at victory lay within the dirt mound that rested in the distance, where the road curved into a soft crescent. That single angled turn would be her chance to attack for an opening, to cut inward and edge her opponent slightly off to the steel guardrail of the road, and, if she played her cards successfully, secure a slight lead for whatever remained of the two minutes after that point.

As expected, the RX-7 matched her pace easily, despite her putting as much force into the engine as she could muster. Nico gritted her teeth. The two cars raced down the straightaway, like taut greyhounds on a hunt, running down their helpless prey. Rubber treads tore into the asphalt below. Storms of exhaust howled into the air. The morning’s peace was torn apart by two metallic beasts. The frame of her car jittered with the immense pressure being channeled through it.

The Mazda began to pull ahead, running down the center of the two lanes, as the seconds ticked down in Nico’s mind. Thirty seconds remaining, said Angel, again somehow speaking in her head. Their voice seemed calm, like they were out on a morning stroll, and this was a standard part of their routine. Racing unlucky passerby who stumbled onto I-40. Like brushing your teeth with your eyes closed. The two cars devoured the remainder of the road. With each moment that passed, her Celica started to slip behind. The dirt mound was approaching. Nico gripped the wheel tighter. This is it, she thought.

Angel got to the hill first. Their RX-7 took its turn around the curve, carving a hard right, nearly scraping the barrier. The car’s weight shuddered against the physics being applied to its body. Tires cried out as they scraped against the road. Darkened marks were burned upon the asphalt with wide brush strokes. Gears gnashed upon each other with great teeth. A split second later, Nico reached the same point. There it was, the awaited opening. Nico twisted her steering wheel hard to the right, pulled up the handbrake to lock her rear wheels, then quickly counter-steered to correct her course. The Celica cut a fraction closer to the curve than her opponent and sliced inward like a skater on ice. The tail of her car nearly scraped the Mazda’s front bumper. The outcome was unfurling just as she had planned, of course, with a healthy dose of luck. With this maneuver, she surely would be ahead with the seconds that remained on the clock.

Plans do change, however.

Somewhere in the ticking of these seconds, the tread of Nico’s tires slipped. She seemed to not recognize this. A fraction of a moment earlier, she was beginning to internalize her impending victory, but it unfolded all too quickly, so fast that she didn’t have time to make sense of it. The Celica was sent skidding past, out into the railing with a terrific crash, crunching its layers of galvanized steel, blooming with a dazzling shower of sparks. Nico tumbled inside her metal cage, rolling out over the road’s barrier like an enormous pinwheel spraying out glass rain, a fantastic dynamo in the sky, a ship sailing into the blank space beyond.

It was a cool morning. A faint breeze rustled the shrubs that sprinkled the dusty landscape. A silence settled over the highway, that just a single breath earlier, had hummed with excitement.

---

Nico awoke in a white room. She was in bed. Another rectangular fluorescent light glared at her overhead, and she ached all over. She glanced downward. Everything below her waist was covered in a thick cast. There was a doctor sitting in the corner of the room, a middle-aged man with gray flecks sprinkled throughout a buzzed haircut, staring at a glowing monitor. Her body would not move, no matter how hard she willed it to respond.

What happened? I was driving down I-40, on the way to my mother’s viewing, when suddenly a blue car pulled up on my side. Angel. They challenged me to a race. I was nearing the curve, pulling ahead of them, when… I guess the tires slipped, Nico thought to herself. I knew I should’ve changed them. Where was Angel now? Did the viewing happen already?

The doctor noticed Nico’s gaze resting upon him. He swiveled around in his chair.

– Oh good, you’re awake.

– What day is it?

He thought for a moment, glancing at a calendar on the wall.

– Saturday, March 19.

– It’s Saturday?

– That’s what I said, yes. Today is Saturday, March 19, 2011.

Nico sighed. It was too late. The event had already happened.

– I missed my mom’s viewing.

– Your mom’s viewing?

– Yes, she passed away recently. I was driving to see her one last time.

– Sorry, I must have misunderstood.

– Misunderstood? How?

– Your mother called a moment ago. She’s on her way to the hospital.

Nico’s head lifted up in surprise. There’s no way. She shook it in disbelief.

– That can’t be right. I received a call that she had died four days ago.

– Well, I just spoke to her on the phone. She’s coming to see you right now.

Nico groaned, and laid her head back down on the pillow. She murmured to herself.

– An angel.

– That’s sweet of you to call your mother that.

– I mean, I saw an angel on the highway. Before my crash.

– Is that so? You’re quite lucky then.

The doctor began to exit the room. He turned to dim the lights.

– They must have been watching over you.

Yeah, you could say that. Nico closed her eyes. In the middle of her forehead ran a long highway, one that stretched out to infinity, thrumming with the roar of traffic. Above it sprawled an ornate fresco sky. A gentle glow hovered in the room as she plunged into the depths of a pure, spacious sleep.