Eddie Howlwood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Eddie Howlwood tuned his guitar in the dark of the orchard garage, three nights before the full moon. His fingers moved faster than they should, sharper, the way they always did near the change. That speed scared him. It meant his grandfather's old hot rod had to be ready by Friday, and it was not. The car sat on blocks, grille cracked, one headlight dead. A hunter had been working these orchards at night. Eddie had seen the man's lantern swing between the trees twice this week. If that hunter cornered him on four wheels, the car could not yet outrun him. And Eddie planned to drive it to the Moonrise Roadhouse, where his father had held the Friday slot for twelve years before giving it up. He needed a part that did not exist on any shelf. A new axle, strong enough to haul the car past a man with a gun. So he went to the forge at the edge of town. Jake Hazardapple stood at the anvil, hammer in hand, red hair stuck to his forehead. Eddie knew him by reputation only. Jake had a name for walking into dead places and fixing what others feared to touch. He did not look up when Eddie entered. "The axle will crack," Jake said. "Metal from here shatters unless you quench it right. Dark stones. Violet glow. Press it white-hot till the glow dies." Eddie set his money on the bench. "Then do it right." Jake worked through the night. Eddie held the light while the blade-metal screamed against the obsidian. The stones' violet shine faded, cell by cell, until the axle rang true and cold. It would not break. They hauled it back and bolted it in before dawn. Mac Lanapple showed up to help lift. Eddie had asked him for one reason: Mac finished things other people quit on. His own album had been starting and stopping for years, but when Mac put his hands on a job, it got done. "Start it," Mac said. Flat. No softening. Eddie turned the key. The engine caught, coughed, then held a low growl. He backed the car into the orchard rows and opened it up. The trees blurred. The new axle took the speed without a shudder. For the first time, the hot rod moved like something that could win a chase. Then the lantern appeared ahead, swinging between two trunks. The hunter stepped into the lane and raised a long gun. Eddie did not slow. He cut the wheel hard, mud spraying, and shot past the man before the barrel came level. A shot cracked behind him and missed. The car pulled clear and gone, faster than the hunter could track on foot. Eddie stopped a mile out, breathing hard. The car outran him. But the hunter had seen the plate, the grille, the whole machine. Now the man knew exactly what to hunt, and where Eddie would drive it Friday night.