Chapter 228 B4. 19.1 – Not According to Plan

I had never driven a manual vehicle before. What knowledge could I draw on? Random movies and ancient memories of Dad driving our old sedan.

Shit.

Should I get out and push this truck until I reunited with Deen and Cecilia? They couldn’t be too far away. Their role was to park the rented car somewhere safe and wait for me to pass and pick them up.

Pushing the truck wouldn’t work. People driving by would report my suspicious feat of superhuman strength. And Deen would say that she should’ve hijacked this truck instead of me. I didn’t want to get told off. Embarrassing.

This truck was still moving even though I wasn’t touching anything! The hell was happening?

I’ll figure this out myself. This was a main character moment, as my original self would think. In this form, I didn’t care much for movie references. But now, I drew upon them for confidence and comfort. My real personality was bleeding in.  

Three pedals. Two feet. I hated this. There should be a brake and an accelerator among these three. The last pedal should be the clutch. Which was which?

I lightly stepped on the middle pedal; I had some trouble reaching the pedal as Melinda. The truck slowed—it was the brakes. I didn’t fully brake. Next, I tried the right pedal. The truck lurched forward; it was the accelerator. I immediately took my foot off. That meant that the left pedal was the clutch.

What did the clutch do? Clutch… something? Couldn’t they have used a more descriptive name? It was probably needed for gear-shifting because it existed only in manual vehicles. Turning my eyes to the shifter, I realized there was something very wrong.

The illustration had the usual six slots for the stick, but it had too many numbers. Up to ten! Shouldn’t it be just one to five and the gear for reverse? Scanning the rest of the dashboard, it had tons of buttons and switches that were definitely not on cars. Was this an airplane cockpit? There was even a ‘LO/HI’ switch that might be important, judging by its bright red color.

First thing! I had to stop the truck to figure this out. I wasn’t stepping on the gas, but the truck was moving, though at a very slow pace.

Was this road going downhill? Cars and trucks madly honked before overtaking my truck.

When they passed, I switched my disguise to Bewildered Bush. Possible that other truck drivers who regularly plied this route would recognize this truck and wonder why a different person was in it. People in this area should be familiar with Bewildered Bush. Also much easier to reach the pedals with Bewildered Bush’s legs. I couldn’t help but use nicknames as a shorthand when my brain was focused on getting stressed.

“The shifter is in the first gear,” I muttered in a gruff voice, feeling like a detective gathering evidence to solve a murder mystery. Playing a role lessened my anxiety.

It should be neutral to stop; I knew that much. With a large, hairy hand, I tried to move the shifter. But it was stuck. Using superstrength might be a bad idea. I stepped on the clutch, and a miracle happened—I was able to move the stick into neutral!

Okay, not a miracle. That was just how it worked.

I steered the truck to the side of the road and braked. When I took my foot off the pedal, the truck didn’t move.

“I’m more intelligent than Cecilia!” I raised my fists in celebration. “Time to find her and Deen.”

Step on the clutch. Shift into first gear. The truck made coughing noises, as if it had a sore throat.

“Whoops. Sorry about that.” I stopped forcing the shifter into first gear. I stepped on the clutch again, and some more, all the way to the floor.

The shifter satisfyingly clicked into first gear. I released the clutch. The truck buckled, jolted forward, and died. The engine sputtered down. Complete silence.

“The fuck? This is more stressful than fighting Adumbrae!” I brought my fist down on the steering wheel, stopping at the last moment before I wrecked it.

Part of me wanted to leave this truck and hijack another one. Maybe I’d luckily find a truck with an automatic transmission. If it was another manual, I could threaten the driver to bring us all the way to the PCM commune. Just a little scare. I wasn’t planning on hurting anyone.

But where was my protagonist spirit?

“I won’t give up,” I said.

I closed my eyes and scratched my beard, remembering what Dad used to do. Add some melodramatic music as the heroine draws from the past to overcome her most difficult challenge yet—this was fun to imagine. I stepped on the clutch and returned the shifter to neutral. Dad told Mom to always do this before starting the car.

What was that memory? Dad teaching Mom how to drive? Only now did I remember that happening, like finding a forgotten dollar in a pocket. Kind of irresponsible of them to have driving lessons while I was sitting in the backseat.

Back then, I barely cared about anything, so I didn’t really have that many memories filed in my brain. I should’ve cared more about Dad. Anyway, reminiscing about family would propel the protagonist to victory.

I restarted the truck. Just twist the keys, the same as a car. I shifted into first gear. But as I released the clutch, I also stepped on the accelerator. Dad used to tell Mom to give it more gas. As a kid, I thought he was encouraging her to fart—they laughed at me when I asked them.

Warm memories. It made my throat tighten. I could feel tears forming.

But they were instantly gone with my success.

“I’m moving! I’m so amazing!” I honked the horn to celebrate. It sounded like a deep air horn.

Onto the next gear. Step on the clutch. Move the stick. The hum of the truck’s engine changed. Did I do the right thing? Or not… The truck became slower. Rather, it seemingly had trouble moving.

I changed gears too early, I realized. Such a dopamine hit figuring out this archaic manual transmission system. I was an archeologist figuring out Egyptian hieroglyphs. I was translating the Rosetta Stone! I couldn’t recall the last time I got this excited.

First gear, second gear, all the way to fifth gear. I just had to listen to the engine to know when the time was right. I was becoming one with the machine.

Something I noticed. Fifth gear was the last position in a regular manual car. That should be the fastest, but the truck wasn’t moving very fast.

Was it because the truck was heavy? Or did I need to go into higher gears? Probably a bit of both. I shifted the stick to the sixth gear, which was the same slot as the first. The truck suddenly slowed, making me lurch forward, and groaned in a definitely not good way.

This was the first gear again! How do I pick the sixth?

An epiphany struck. The LO/HI switch!

I climbed back to the fifth gear. I flicked the switch, imagining myself a pilot of a spaceship, and then I moved the stick into the sixth gear. The truck moved faster.

“Yes! I’m so great at—Oh my god! Is that Deen?” I checked the left side mirror and confirmed the familiar blonde hair.

I had sped past Deen and Cecilia waiting on the side of the road. They didn’t know which truck I drove, and which person I had turned into. Our plan was that I’d pick them up, mentioning Deen’s because no one else would know her here.

I parked on the side of the road. I thought of reversing the truck, but that might draw attention to me.

I exited the truck and waved. “Over here!” I called out to Deen, who was looking the opposite way. I jogged over to them, continuing to shout. I refrained from shouting names while other vehicles passed.

Deen finally turned my way. She froze for a moment. Then she pulled Cecilia along.

I returned to the truck. Shortly, Deen opened the door on the passenger’s side. “Erind, is that—?” She saw the unconscious man on the seat.

“Yep, it’s me, Deen,” I said. “And this is the driver. What do we do with him? There’s not enough space. Maybe we can push him down there?”

“It’ll be too cramped,” said Deen, pulling Bewildered Bush’s body out of the truck. “Cecilia, check if there’s any vehicle behind us.”

Cecilia leaned to the right while holding up a finger. “Wait… Wait… A car. No more. Do it.”

Deen sprinted to the embankment lining the road and dropped Bewildered Bush over the short concrete fence. I gasped, not expecting it. I could hear shrubberies rustling as the man’s body tumbled down the slope.

“Why did you—?” I began to ask. “I mean, will he be alright?”

“Yes,” Deen said, climbing onto the seat. “It was a gentle fall. It’s better if we leave him.”

Cecilia also climbed up. “I must say, I enjoy the cavalier way that you girls handle matters. Quite exciting, hijacking a truck.” She beheld me with eyes wide with wonder. “Is this your ability? Did you copy the appearance of the truck driver? I didn’t manage to look at his face.”

“Yes, this is my power,” I said, driving the truck again.

“Superbly useful,” said Cecilia. “It’s not limited to copy appearances, I surmise? You infiltrated the Roost. You must have a way to fool bio-scanners and similar machines.”

“I do,” I replied. “But I’m not fit for combat. Still, I have the usual superstrength.”

“I don’t let Erind fight unless we have no choice,” Deen said.

Frowning, I shifted to the next gear. Deen sounded like she was in charge of my life. I cared for her—she was my best friend and all—but she could be overbearing and out of line sometimes. Many times. She didn’t even compliment me on driving this truck.

“Erind, do you want to switch?” Deen asked. “I know that you’re not comfortable with driving.”

Not a compliment. I didn’t let my disappointment show on my face. Still, this proved that Deen also cared about me. “I’m fine,” I replied. “And it’s better if I drive in this disguise.”

“Are you sure? A truck is harder to drive than a normal car. Also, this is manual.”

“Took me some time to figure out how manual works, but I did it.”

I didn’t crash into anything while on our way to the PCM commune, despite Cecilia bothering me with all sorts of questions. She was excited to experiment with my powers. Expectedly, Deen wouldn’t allow it. Cecilia next fixated on Deen, pestering her about her yet unrevealed powers.

“I can… detect danger,” Deen said, acting hesitant as she gave me a sidelong glance.

We had decided—or rather, Deen decided, and I agreed—that we had to tell Cecilia something. Cecilia would figure out Deen’s powers anyway, so we should present a watered-down version first. We should pretend to be hesitant and not give away the specifics. We’d also be able to plan better with Cecilia if she had an idea of our powers.

“Detect danger?” Cecilia repeated. “Kindly elaborate.”

“It’s difficult to explain,” said Deen. “Think of a sixth sense.”

“Humans already have more than the five well-known senses,” Cecilia said. “Thermoception, which is perceiving temperature changes. We have a sense of time—chronoception. Our sense of balance and—”

“I’m talking about a sense we don’t already have,” Deen interjected.

“It’s like sensing murderous intent,” I said in my deep, manly voice. Way different from my usual. People would take me more seriously if I sounded this way. Though it’d be weird to talk like this as Erind. “Or feeling as if someone is watching you. Those aren’t real senses, but it’s kind of like that. Right, Deen?”

“A sense of foreboding is a better description,” Deen said. “I can feel a sense of foreboding when we’re about to enter a dangerous situation.”

“You can predict the future,” Cecilia said. “An exceedingly rare ability, even amongst Corebrings. And it is mere rumor that the Hive has seers.”

“I suppose this is predicting the future,” Deen said, “in a very incomplete way. I have no idea of the danger that’ll happen. I don’t literally see the future. I can hardly be considered a seer.”

“To be fair,” I said, “many seers throughout history just give vague predictions of the future.” I didn’t know much about history, unless there was some interesting trivia that I looked up. But I had seen movies about mythologies, and there was always some seer predicting something.

“What does your future sense tell you about our mission?” Cecilia asked.

“It’s going to be… dangerous,” Deen said.

“Really?” I lightened my foot on the gas. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

“Danger is a given when attacking the PCM base,” Deen said. “This is a weakness of my power. We’ll obviously be in dangerous situations. We’re not going to retreat just because my power warns us.”

“Right…” I should trust Deen because she was my best friend, but I couldn’t help but worry when she’d ignore her Guardian Angel. She might trap herself, and us, in a future that her Guardian Angel couldn’t save us from.

But that shouldn’t happen this time. What could the PCM do to us? In contrast to my Roost mission, I wasn’t afraid now with Deen and Cecilia by my side. Could also be that learning how to drive manual drained all the stress from my body.

“Is there something more to your power?” Cecilia asked. “It seems burdensome. It’s like having an alarm ring while you’re already awake.”

“The sense of foreboding strengthens,” Deen said, “depending on the level of danger. It’s… It’s happening now.”

“I can see why.” Cecilia pointed down the road.

Vehicles were slowing down as they drove into a funnel. Cop cars with barricades in front blocked lanes on the right and left of the road.

“We can pass safely,” Deen said, ducking under the dashboard. “We just need to hide.”

Cecilia followed Deen.

I slowed down while passing the cop cars. One of the cops nodded at me. I saluted him. He nodded again and gestured to go ahead. “We’re through,” I told Deen and Cecilia.

“Continue forward,” Deen said. “We’ll stay down here. Tell me what you see.”

“More bad news. A helicopter.”