The sharp, staccato rattle of an air ratchet greeted me as I pushed aside the heavy steel door and stepped into the garage. I shielded my eyes against the blinding white lights, a stark contrast to the dim lighting of the half mile long tunnel that linked the garage to the residential building. The sound stopped for a moment, then started again, over and over in quick succession. I parted my fingers and squinted through the glare. What I saw made me drop my arm to my side.
Filling my vision, a gargantuan rig stretched from one end of the garage to the other, its cockpit nearly touching the ceiling. Its bullet-shaped front end was clearly designed for speed, despite the vehicle's size. Single axle in front and three in the rear, it sported beefy, knobbed tires taller than my 12 year old protégé. The boy approached the mechanical behemoth like it might try to eat him.
Strapped to the cargo bed was a sight I thought I'd never see again: Corra. She looked like a baby turtle ridin