Last Ditch

Chapter Six:

All the racers were lining up at the start for the race. The teams were doing a final check of their cars. Applebloom had her head under of the hood of her Datsun, pretending to look like she knew what she was doing, Rarity and Irvan were arguing about their Jaguar E-Type's tire pressure, and Westside's mechanics were tuning his blown Edsel Corsair for maximum performance. Trixie, racing only for the money, was sitting in her Fleetwood Pace Arrow RV smugly, waiting for the race.

"Okay, Spike", Fleetwood said, looking at Westside's Edsel nervously, "Here's what you gotta do: Pass on the inside, floor it on the straights, and don't worry about Trixie, she's all show and no go. You got that?"

Spike saluted his mentor.

Meanwhile, the announcers were getting ready for the race in their skybox.

"Hello," said one into a camera, "and welcome to the annual running of the Apple Cider Classic 300, here at Sweet Apple Acres. My name's Delray, and we've got an amazing race for you today."

Scootaloo had just finished singing "A Circle of Friends," and several cars had shattered windshields, but the drivers decided to press on anyway.

"Clear the grid, clear the grid, please!" Delray said through the loudspeaker, his voice echoing. "All the cars are looking very nice on the grid...."

Spike had his eyes fixed on the bumper of Irvan's Jag, who was starting just in front of him. Oh, how he wished he could run him off the road. "No, Spike," he thought to himself, "save it for the race!"

The annual flagger, Cheerilee, stepped onto the small platform where she sat. Everyone began to rev their engines, waiting for the start.

"All the cars looking very nice on the grid, engines started, and the countdown begins!"

"Five..."

Wilcox rubbed his Plymouth's steering wheel, anticipating the race.

"Four..."

Snips and Snails stared nervously at Trixie's huge RV.

"Three..."

Westside looked across to Fleetwood, and ran his hoof across his neck.

"Two..."

Mel looked out nervously from the pits.

"One..."

Spike growled in fury, determined to beat his rival.

"The flag is up, and there they go!"

All the cars roared off the line in a crescendo of tires squealing, engines screaming, and superchargers whining. Trixie was left at the line, trying to start her huge Pace Arrow. After a few seconds, she started it, and lumbered away.

****

Very soon, all the cars were roaring down a long, curvy stretch of highway, drifting around corners, and racing through apple orchards. Fleetwood was hell-bent on beating Westside, and the two were locked in a battle far ahead of the other racers. Snips and Snails were sliding through clouds of lumbering larger RV's, barely avoiding being squashed on multiple occaisions. Wilcox was locked in a fog of junkers, right behind an orange Datsun 510, when he made his move, the Fury screamed through the racers, at around 100 Miles Per Hour, passing Irvan, who had already begun to lose ground due to engine troubles. Spike flipped off Irvan as he too passed him. Irvan stared, mindblown at losing so much ground, as even Applebloom speeded past.

After a few laps, and being lapped by everyone on the track, Trixie had enough. She hatched a plan, and put it into action.

Spike was racing along, passing everything in sight in first, when he came along a group of cars, moving at about 50 MPH! Why was this happening, did they have engine trouble?

"Hey, Spike, what the hell's the hold up?" Mel's grizzly voice crackled through the radio.

"I don't know," he replied, "I think someone's blocking us in!

Spike was right. Trixie was swerving about in her massive Pace Arrow, blocking every car behind her. Soon, the racers had enough.

"Hey, move it on over!" yelled Rainbow Dash, honking her Shelby Cobra's horn.

"Not until you admit that Trixie is the best racecar driver in the world!"

"I've had enough of this fooling around!" yelled Lyra, flooring her Chevy Camaro, "COMING THROUGH!"

The torqouise Camaro rocketed past everyone, only to be run off the road by the gargantuan Pace Arrow.

"HOME RUN!" cheered Trixie, clapping her hooves, and letting go of the wheel. She then lost control, and drove the huge RV into a ditch.

She got out, and stomped her hooves angrily. She looked at the mangled grille of the once-mighty beast, and expressed her anger and defeat in one simple word:

"SHIT!"