[bosky]

Excerpt 6a
"The Grand Canyon? Isn't that like 700 bajillion miles away?" Sunny groaned and imagined the tiring journey.
"Do you really need to be that dramatic?" Ned sighed, "Besides, it's 392 miles, actually, by the route I figured. Phoenix's always hit hard, real hard, by drug cartels. We can skip that mess by jumping off Interstate 10 to highway 60, then 89 through Prescott." Lost in calculations, Ned's view panned up to the ceiling, "We actually save about fifteen miles this way, and can get back on at Interstate 17 to Flagstaff. Then it's just a quick jaunt up 180 to that big hole in the ground."
"And what in the world could be so exciting that we need to drop everything and go there?"
Ned, exasperated, tried to convince Sunny, "Let's face it, Yuma's all dried up. Kilgor was pretty much it in terms of Div 10, and even that was pushing it. You don't want to get a rep as just taking easy matches, ya know? The sponsors-"
"Easy?" Sunny cut in, blustering. He let the comment pass before pausing for a moment to deliver an argument he hoped would end the discussion. "What's stopping me from winning some Div 15 then?"
"Besides the fact that we don't have a car for it?"
Sunny rolled his eyes in response.
"Exactly."

His race suit squeaked together with each hurried step as Sunny paced the garage. He hated feeling forced into a situation, he hated not managing his own matches, and most of all he hated when Ned was right.
The mechanic was slippery as a serpent when it came to convincing people. Ned never intended to change a viewpoint, but maybe that was why his charming approach worked so well. He would pretend like he only wanted the best for Sunny, and present a few well thought out and well founded arguments. Then he wouldn't budge or flinch, which tended to enrage Sunny. Hurt at the slightest outburst, Ned would retreat to a dark corner of the garage to tinker with engine parts. Then Sunny would drift in guilt and, with his defenses down, start to consider Ned's points. Most nights ended with Sunny slumping his shoulders and shuffling over to Ned to agree to whatever plan the mechanic had.
Tonight was no different, and in no time flat Sunny was resigned to the Grand Canyon match. A competent driver and passable gunner, Sunny would have no trouble latching onto a convoy headed in that direction. Ned would also find easy passage with a simple demonstration of his skills at converting burnt out wrecks into working machines.
At the moment Sunny felt like he hated most everything, but he knew one deep, lasting hatred was not having his own vehicle. When he fought in the arena his sponsors would provide a car, or the money for some junker that Ned could fix up. Besides a custom paint job and wildly varying configurations, the base chassis Sunny drove was never the same between matches. Sometimes this wasn't a problem, like against Kilgor, but other times Sunny felt disconnected and distant from the car. Having to learn the feel of a new vehicle each match was wearing on Sunny.
He also hated having to organize his own transportation to whatever match Ned and the sponsors thought up. "A team bus? My own room? As if!" Angrily he kicked over a bucket of thick oil.

The next day his yellow duffel bag was packed and slung over his tired shoulders. Sunny looked like a whipped pup, but Ned was chipper and talkative beside him.
They waited along South Pacific Avenue, a wide street situated near an exit to Interstate 18. "They should be here in no time, eh buddy? I haven't gotten to ride with a road train in a while."
He tried to ignore the mechanic and his upbeat attitude, but eventually Sunny let go of his anger and focused on the bright side. "Yeah, it should be a safe trip. How many trailers did you say the semi had?"
"Four, apparently!"
Sunny cracked a smile at the mechanic's undying appreciation of engineering feats. A rumbling dust cloud near the Interstate drew his attention from any response.
"Looks like we'll know for sure soon enough."
Trailing an impressive cloak of sand, the long convoy rolled to stop in front of the pair. The focal point of the group was a semi-truck covered in enough weapons and armor to give it the appearance of a rolling fortress. As they had thought the rumbling cab towed four trailers.
Named road trains, battle barges, castles, and numerous other intimidating nicknames, semi-trucks were the true kings of the road. Bandit lords yearned to drive such beasts, and rich merchants could finally feel safe in a vehicle. Upkeep of gas, tires, crew, repairs and ammunition ensured semi-trucks remained in only the elitist of hands.
Configuration of such an incredible force varied between each baron and bandit. A popular choice was one trailer focused on supplies and living quarters while another brimmed only with weapons.
In the case of their escort, the first and last bristled with dozens of gun ports. The second trailer seemed to be loaded with equipment and dry goods, most likely a mix of machinery and canned food. Sunny caught glimpses of peering faces through thick portholes in the third trailer, so he guessed it to be the crew cabins.
Their eyes were torn from the details of the setup as the vehicle thundered closer and closer. Loose gravel rattled from the benches and brickwork around them as the cab approached. Vividly painted across the front was "The Dragon", and a matching mural of a coiled serpent wove between the chrome surfaces.
Nervously the pair took a step back, as if driven by some primitive urge to avoid the colossal structure. A screeching air brake cracked across the lonely street, further intimidating Sunny.
Finally the tension passed as a tall man lowered himself from the driver's seat. He appeared perfectly suited to the vehicle, for a chest as broad as the desert horizon split arms as thick as oak trees. Gruffly, the man tipped a weather beaten mesh cap. "Sunny and Ned?"
Sunny coughed, as if unable to find his voice. The shock of The Dragon wore off enough for him to meekly offer a greeting.
"You two don't see many highway rigs, I take it?" Dumbly the two shook their heads side to side. "Well anything you have seen will look like a bitch compared to The Dragon. I built it from the ground up over eight years, and I've never been bested on the road since."
"It's...it's an impressive vehicle." Ned exhaled and stepped forward, offering his grease smeared hand. "I'm Ned, this would be Sunny. We're grateful for the lift."
Like a battering ram the driver clasped Ned's hand. The touch of living flesh seemed to relax the mechanic, as if The Dragon might otherwise be some mythological beast from the netherworld. "Name's Zinc, like the metal," replied the driver.
Regaining his composure, Sunny nodded and joked, "I figured the road up would be boring. Now I'm thinking I won't want to leave at Flagstaff!" Zinc, unamused, grinned slightly to make the nervous autoduelist feel comfortable.
"Everyone's eager to go," he said, motioning to the third trailer and two cars idling behind The Dragon, "so get in the cab and I'll explain our setup on the road. You should be settled before we hit highway 95."

Sunny dozed in and out of sleep. The rumble of dozens of tires soothed him like the calming breaths of a sleeping giant. Beams of light played across the interior of the trailer, sometimes darkening as the vehicle passed a tree or hill.
They were a day and a half into the journey north, and already Sunny felt more rested and more secure than he had in months. Despite his size, Zinc wasn't foolhardy and wasn't in a rush. He figured eagerness leads to ambushes, so they covered a little over one hundred miles a day. The convoy averaged forty miles an hour, even though The Dragon could approach seventy on the flats. Narrow turns and damaged subhighways slowed them, as did the constant fear of attack. Being the biggest mass on wheels had advantages, but it also drew unwanted attention from bold bandits hoping to prove themselves.
Ned and Zinc had discussed the route, and agreed, mostly, on the general approach. Their avoidance of Phoenix and a majority of the Interstate put the trip to Flagstaff at 315 miles. The well maintained Interstate was smoother than some of their highway choices, but it also attracted many gangs and angry drivers.
Stretching out on his cold steel bunk, Sunny was sad they were already halfway there. His temporary home was marked Slab #43, with Ned's belongings resting in #42 beside him. Each Slab turned out to be a comfortable cubby aboard the third trailer with just enough room to stretch out and store a chance of clothes.
A central metal girder cut through stacks and stacks of these curtained bunks. The third trailer, nicknamed The House, was 28 feet long. Filling it were eight bunks to each side of the walkway, and those eight were stacked four high. In theory The House could hold 64 people, but comfort and personal space kept the number closer to half that.
Personnel could edge across a thin plank above each trailer hitch to get between The House and other trailers. Flexible armored plates created a covered crossing that shielding this walkway.
The second trailer, The Kitchen, was split between food storage, parts and tools, medical equipment, and cooking space. When possible The Dragon stopped to eat and clean under the open sky, but an interior option was needed in case of a siege or long running combat.
Sunny had been designated the role of gunner, but the able crew had no need of him so far. Part of his duties entailed familiarizing himself with the first trailer, The Tower, and the last trailer, The Trunk. Each was filled with weapons, targeting system, extra ammo, and other instruments of war. The Trunk focused on dropped weapons to slow pursuit, while The Tower had death dealing guns pointed at every angle.