“He was unconscious for a few moments, and there’s been heavy blood loss.” The doctor spoke quickly. “We’re transporting him to Memorial now, giving him transfusions along the way.”
“Christ almighty.” DJ hung his head.
Chance leaned against the door, knowing they’d be soon heading to the hauler, then the hospital.
“The safety team got him out as quickly as they could, but they had difficulty, because a suspension link traveled through the cockpit and impaled Billy’s right leg. The operating department is prepping for surgery now. That’s the most up-to-date information I’ve got at the moment. I’d head to the hospital if I were you.”
Only Chance, DJ, and Derek left the track. The engineers and mechanics had the heartbreaking job of repairing the car. There was no backup, and parts were at a premium. They’d work knowing their driver might not make it. Chance didn’t envy them, but he was no fan of hospitals.
His career had afforded him a few visits to the ER, but nothing so serious. He’d broken some fingers in a MotoGP3 race, suffered numerous broken ribs, and dislocated a shoulder in a Formula Ford race. Chance raced in anything he could, and over the years he’d lost track of how many events he’d participated in. The thing he never forgot were the injuries. They stuck with him, both in his mind, and in the aches and pains no ordinary twenty-six year-old should feel.
The pain radiating from his chest was worse than any of his accidents. Billy was a bright kid with a real future in racing. He was eager, and that wasn’t a crime. If Chance had been in the car, he probably would have stayed out to finish his laps, too.
His phone was vibrating, but since he didn’t recognize the number, Chance ignored it. Might have been reporters, might have been worse.
Never on the other side of things, Chance didn’t know what to tell Derek. He was antsy, looking for any excuse to talk. “Don’t blame Billy, DJ.”
“I’ll blame whoever I damn well please.”
Typical. “He knew what was at stake for the team. I think we all know this race is do or die.”
“My ass. I’ll run a car at every 500 until the day I die. I’m as important to this track as an Unser or a Penske. You know what else? Billy’s gonna pull through this shit so I can chew his ass out. That’s a damn fact.”
DJ did his best to stay strong, but Chance could see through it. No one had such a steel exterior that they could truly be so callous while their driver was in emergency surgery.
Derek’s head hung down, his hands clasped over the back of his neck. “What the hell happened?”
“The gremlins.”
DJ looked at Chance. “You don’t really believe that shit, do you?”
Despite his name, Chance wasn’t one to believe in luck, karma, or the ethereal. “Not as such. I believe that when a component has more than one thousand moving parts, and those parts move at fifteen thousand revolutions per minute, there are things that are going to fail. Things that we can’t see. Not gremlins, just statistics. We ask so much from that drivetrain.”
“Yeah.” DJ blustered. “And now we’re asking a hell of a lot more from God.”
Half an hour later, a doctor came through the double doors. A man in his mid-forties, the doc wore horn-rim glasses and sported a thinning head of hair. He looked tired, as if the surgery had drained him. “I’m Dr. Cliff, the head surgeon. It was touch and go, but he’s stabilized.”
“What’s the extent of the damage?” DJ got to his feet in a hurry, defying his age and weight.
Pulling a chair up to Chance, Derek, and DJ, the doctor dropped into the seat. “There was extensive tissue damage. From what the rescue team reported, part of the suspension penetrated the tub and impaled Mr. Moore. Blood loss was extensive, and we transfused nearly sixteen pints into the patient before he was stabilized in surgery.”
“God damn…” Derek shook his head. He was barely hanging onto the doc’s words. “Oh my god damn…”
“Mr. Moore was very lucky, if the suspension piece had entered half an inch to the left, he would have bled out. Half an inch to the right, and he would have been paralyzed. Mr. Moore will be alright, but he is in for one tough recovery. He won’t be conscious for some time, but you are more than welcome to stay and wait. He’ll be in intensive care for a week. I’ll check back in with you later.”
“Thanks, Doc.” DJ shook the man’s hand, shaking the doctor up and down with the force.
Chance waited until the doctor left them, then he said, “He’s going to be devastated. Absolutely devastated.”
“He’ll survive. That’s the most important thing.” DJ finally sounded relieved. As if taking on the doctor’s exhaustion, he slumped back down into his chair.
“Doesn’t matter. The kid has been dreaming about this race his entire life.” So had Chance, but he wouldn’t say a word. This wasn’t about him.
Three hours of interminable time sitting in the waiting room came and went. Derek had been on the phone with the mechanics, and they couldn’t find a component on the car that wasn’t trashed. Another healthy dose of bad news.
When they were finally allowed to check in on Billy, Chance felt a lump grow in his throat. Seeing someone in the hospital was never easy, but his teammate and friend would be next to impossible.
DJ pushed through the wide door to Billy’s recovery room. Chance was right behind him, mentally preparing himself for the sight of his friend connected to a myriad of wires and machines. Derek followed last, still visibly upset by the whole episode.
The steady beep of the heart monitor tore Chance apart. It was so cliche, and Billy didn’t deserve that. He had a bandage over his right eye, and wires and relays connected to as many machines as could crowd around his bed. Monitors displayed a constant stream of numbers and values.
One arm was in a cast, and Chance didn’t want to imagine what Billy looked like beneath the bed sheet. He dragged a chair to Billy’s left side, to the kid’s good, but drowsy eye.
Billy managed a weak smile, turning his head slightly to acknowledge everyone in the room. DJ lowered down onto his haunches on Billy’s right side, and Derek stood at the foot of the bed.
The team owner, never one to sugarcoat his words, said, “Kid, you look like you picked a fight with a warthog and a twister.”
Billy looked from DJ to Chance, then said with a lazy gait, “Did I win?”
“No.” Chance let out a sad laugh. “You most certainly did not.”
“I’m sorry. You told me to cut the engine, but I didn’t listen.” Chance was glad that Billy hadn’t lost his short term memory. Brain injuries didn’t heal the same as a broken bone.
DJ laid a careful hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Kid, I don’t give a god damn about any of that. Believe it or not, we’re more worried about you. I’ve taken some hard licks in my time, same with Chance, but you’ve got us beat.”
“How bad is it?”
Chance could see genuine emotion on DJ’s face. The old man cared for Billy, maybe seeing himself in the young driver. “You’ll recover. You owe some doctors and nurses a few steak dinners, I tell you what. A suspension rod came through the tub and pierced you like a kebab. You lost a hell of a lot of blood.” DJ’s voice softened. “You had a close call, to say the least.”
Billy’s eye widened. No one spoke as the full weight of the situation hit Billy. Chance heard the repetitive beep of the heart monitor speed up. He lifted the sheet with his good arm, and Chance turned away. He didn’t want to see the damage done. Drivers were superstitious and hated the idea that they weren’t invincible, and Chance was no exception.
“I’m out for the race, I know that much.” The anesthetic was wearing off as Billy’s voice sharpened. “How long will it take to get back inside the car?”
DJ didn’t say anything, so Chance stepped in. “An attitude like that will make it way sooner than most. You’re in killer shape, so the doctors think you’ll recover quickly. You might be out for the season, but it’s fair to say that you can be back in the cockpit next year.”
“The car?”
DJ shrugged. “The car ain’t great. With every spare part, we might get ‘er back together, but we’re running’ by the skin of our teeth, son.”
Billy turned to Chance, pointing a finger. “You gotta drive for me.”
DJ’s arms rose. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”
“No.” Billy turned, steely determination in his eyes. “You stick Chance in the car. Don’t bring in some outsider. He came to Indy to drive, and he knows Annabelle inside and out. I’m telling you, DJ. Glue her back together and stick Chance in my seat.”
DJ pined on Billy’s demand for a time as everyone in the room remained still. After a slight nod, he said, “Chance, how’d you feel about driving for Lancaster?”
Chance was grateful that he wasn’t hooked to the heart monitor. It would have spiked, probably sending in the nurses fearful that he was having a heart attack. Under the circumstances, he gave a reserved answer. “I’d be honored.”
Derek looked to all three men in front of him, the team owner, injured driver, and the man that had given him every single grey hair on his head. “Here we go again.”