𝚂𝙷𝙾𝙾𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙸𝙻𝙻 ,, formula 1: drive to survive

50

2019 Pre-Season

JANUARY

TORO ROSSO TESTING

IMOLA, ITALY

The crash was disorienting. All that Mac could do was close her eyes and brace herself as the Toro Rosso spun into the barrier, the side crunching in like a tin can as the front wing broke.

She felt claustrophobic. There was a ringing in her ears, her grandfather on the other end of the headset. She could hear Graham yelling. Blindly, she undid the seatbelt before yanking at a tear off from her helmet, reaching her arms over the halo to try and extricate herself from the car.

Except she couldn't. Her knee was trapped, wedged between the crushed side of the car and steering wheel, which was at and awkward and unhealthy angle.

"Dakota, are you okay?" Graham asked again. "Your mother isn't going to like this. Hell, I don't like this."

"I'm okay, granddad." She breathed out, sinking back in the seat and trying not to cry out in pain. The wind had been knocked out of her lungs and it hurt to flex her knee.

Sure, she had crashed before, in the Outback. But never in a Formula 1 car going at the speed the Toro Rosso had been. 

"My leg is stuck, it's wedged in here at a bad angle. Fuck, I think I've done summat to it."

"Stay where you are, Dakota. Alex and the medics are coming out with the recovery vehicle. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Do you see any blood?"

"Very reassuring, thank you grandfather. Can I take my helmet off, it's getting really hard to get my breath back in here?"

She didn't wait for an answer, practically ripping the helmet and balaclava off before fumbling with the steering wheel, trying to yank it out of the cockpit. Her knee screamed with pain, and she bit back tears.

The medical car and recovery vehicles pulled even next to the car, leaping into action to get her out of the tin can. Alex Albon reached over the halo, clutching her hand through the Nomex gloves as she bit back a scream, one of the medics abruptly yanking her leg free before removing the steering wheel.

Back at the garage, it still hurt to put pressure on her leg. She clung to Alex as they walked back inside, her helmet hanging limply from her hand, sweaty strands of her shoulder-length hair hanging equally as pathetically over her face.

"I'm fine." She exhaled as the Albon boy helped her sit down. "I just need to ice it. I think."

"As far as crashes go, it could have been worse." Alex shrugged. "And you were making really good time. I think we've built an okay car this year, all things considered."

Mac shook her head, undoing her boiler suit and stripping down to her fireproof shirt and equally as fireproof compression leggings, propping her leg up on another chair as Jake Volkov brought her an ice pack.

"Sorry about that one, guys. I can help you fix it. Many hands make light work."

Graham McManus shook his head, patting his granddaughter on the shoulder. He was prouder of Dakota than he could ever put into words. All of his grandchildren had inherited his love for practical mechanics:  Dakota was in the pit lane every weekend, and working towards her superlicense on the side in private FIA tests. Jackson was a mechanic on a navy warship in the Arafura sea. And Virginia? Well, she knew how to change a tyre, which was more than most girls her age could do.

"Get some rest. You're not going to do yourself any favours if you make that injury worse. We need our best mechanic in shape for Melbourne."

"It could have happened to anybody, kid." Franz Tost agreed. "Don't beat yourself up over the crash. God knows Pierre and Brendan did worse last year."