After taking the offer to enter motorsports biggest and dangerous sporting event, Kasi faces off against elite drivers all while battling his animal instincts through the most grueling comeback race of his career.

Today’s story is the second and final part of “Second Chance” by Sean Duroc Silva, originally featured in the anthology Roar Volume 4. He also had stories featured in the Coyotl Awards Anthology and Different Worlds, Different Skins. He was the founder of the Furry Writers’ Guild and currently lives in Texas with his partner and numerous puppies while spending way too much time and money on video games.

Last time, an aging, ex pro race car driver named Kasi was offered a second chance to enter the biggest event in motorsports. Now he is about to jump behind the wheel for the league’s biggest and most grueling competition, while dealing with his natural instincts to chase, hunt, and kill which are becoming stronger and more deadly after every race.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

You’re listening to The Voice of

Dog. I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

and Today’s story is the second and final part of

“Second Chance” by Sean Duroc Silva,

originally featured in the anthology Roar Volume 4.

He also had stories

featured in the Coyotl Awards Anthology

and Different Worlds,

Different Skins. He was the founder of the Furry Writers’ Guild and currently lives

in Texas with his partner

and numerous puppies

while spending way too much time and money on video games.

Last time, an aging,

ex pro race car driver named Kasi

was offered a second chance to enter the biggest event in motorsports.

Now he is about to jump behind the wheel for the league’s biggest

and most grueling competition, while dealing with his natural instincts to chase,

hunt, and kill which are becoming stronger and more deadly after every race.

“Second Chance”

by Sean Duroc Silva,

Part 2 of 2 My ear twitched as the spotter called out to me over the radio.

“Got a group high and low.

Neither’s movin’ but there’s a train comin’ behind ya,” Jimmy said,

his voice sounding almost artificial through the speaker in my helmet. “Hold

your line.” But I couldn’t.

The engine had already pegged as we came to the bumps in turn three,

and the motor let out a high pitched whine as the rear tires lost grip with the track.

The cars on both sides were taking air off my spoiler,

and the car started to whip loose at over two hundred miles an hour;

the ass end nearly slamming against the number five car in the upper groove.

I struggled to regain control,

cranking the steering wheel in the opposite direction and feathering the throttle as I turned it back again,

trying not to over correct the large, metal coffin I was strapped into.

Inches, that’s all that stood between me keeping the car in line and tearing up half the field in a glorious blaze of fiery carnage that would make the fans roar

and cheer at the top of their lungs.

Just what I needed

—to drive a mangled wreck screaming into the wall

in my first race back.

Not exactly the idea I had in mind when I made the decision to come back.

I dropped a few miles per hour compared to the rest of the field as I tried to reel the car in, but the guy behind me was having nothing to do with my

loose vehicle slowing him up

and he bump drafted me heading out of turn four.

The car lurched forward with his push, and luckily,

my tires finally gripped the asphalt just in time. My speed picked up,

and I watched the number five car disappear from my view in the upper groove.

It looked as if the other cars were standing still, even though we were thundering down racing’s version of a crowded,

bumper to bumper three lane highway

at almost three times the posted speed limit.

I just shut my muzzle

and breathed heavily out my nose,

glad I wasn’t flipping end over end as I pushed the gas pedal down

and chased the other vehicles down the backstretch heading for the tri-oval.

“I’m gonna wreck this damn thing!”

I shouted over the radio.

“You guys gotta fix it or get me outta this middle line,

otherwise, we ain’t gonna have a chance in hell at finishing

—period.” “Calm down, Kas, you just got shuffled out.

What’s wrong with the car?”

My crew chief said, in a condescending sort of way.

He was attempting to mollify me.

Crafton should’ve known better than to do that.

“You should’ve went with at least two tires on that last stop.

Cause now I’m too damn free and I can barely hold onto it with all the bump drafting in the corners.”

“All right, as soon as we get—” My spotter cut in.

“They’re wreckin’ behind ya.

Nine car just smacked the wall in turn two.

Caution’s out. Caution’s out.”

I let up on the gas,

and the piercing raucous of the engine quieted down to a low,

angry rumble. Thank God, because my ears were ringing like crazy.

I could barely focus,

fighting the urge to let the instincts out

even though I could feel them clawing to get free,

like a horde of insects crawling around under my skin.

“Okay, we got what we needed,” Crafton said.

“When they open up the pits, come in for four tires and fuel.

We’ll try tightening you up and go with an air pressure adjustment.

Just watch your pit road speed. We don’t need another penalty.”

“All I need is some rear grip.

Right sides would be fine if you’re worried about losin’ spots.

Give me that much and I can take care of the rest,”

I hissed back. “We’ll get you fixed up.

You’ll be fine.” Fine, my ass.

These new cars drove like bricks.

They were nothing like the vehicles I used to drive back in the day.

There was a pause.

“Alright, pit road’s open.

Keep it clean comin’ in and we’ll try to hold onto that track position.”

I shook my head and grumbled,

feeling my whiskers rub against the inside of my helmet.

Crafton may have been wet behind the ears but this wasn’t my first rodeo, and if we kept this performance up,

we’d be lucky to come away with a top twenty finish.

I didn’t come all the way out here for that.

Not when I had to deal with the doctors,

the physicals, the media days, the drivers’ meetings, and spend the entire week listening to Rick’s endless lines of bullshit

just so I could compete

with the C list drivers.

I got that back home;

at the dirt tracks, where I was comfortable.

I ended up losing three spots in the pits

when the jack man tripped over the air hose,

so now I was in the thirteenth spot with just over fifteen laps left to go,

and that would probably leave us with twelve or thirteen green flag laps by the time the caution

concluded. That wasn’t impossible to overcome, but then again, I wasn’t young anymore.

Not like I ever was.

Hell, without using the instincts,

I was lucky to be in contention at this point in the race.

“I’m getting too old for this—” I started to mutter under my breath, but I capped it.

I saw no need to aggravate the guys anymore than they already were.

“How ya holdin’ up?”

Crafton asked, his voice echoing in my helmet.

“Is it just me, or did these races get longer?”

“It’s just you, but don’t worry, you’re almost done.

Hang in there. It’s gonna get squirrely as this thing winds down.”

“It always does.” Christ, why did they have to give me such a callow crew chief? He was completely naive about what was happening inside the car.

It was hotter than hell, my fur felt wet and sticky under the fire suit,

my tail kept cramping in the seat, and my arms were burning from all the strain I’d been putting on the wheel.

It felt as if someone was sticking warm needles into my sore muscles.

Then you add the aching joints and the constant ringing in my ear and the only thing I wanted

was to get out of this damn car.

What I really needed

was an experienced crew chief that would give me a pep talk.

Get me fired up for the chance to come back

and win the biggest race in our sport.

I guess when it comes to someone like me you’re not afforded those kind luxuries.

You simply take what you can get,

and I had Crafton.

Lucky me. “All right, Kasi,

I’m workin’ on getting you somebody to run with,”

my spotter said. “When the pace car peels off, just stay focused

and pick off as many spots as you can.

You get yourself into position and I’ll get you a dancin’ partner for the end.”

“Anybody willing to try running in pairs?”

I asked. “Possibly.

Though with these newer style cars, the engines get too hot too fast for the pusher.

After 400 plus miles, they’re

concerned about blowin’ up.”

“Is Israel still in the race?”

There was a short pause,

then Jimmy confirmed it with a yes.

“Talk with his spotter.

Their team has everything to gain and nothing to lose.

Tell ‘em I’ll push.” “10-4,

Kasi. Pace car’s off.

Keep your eyes on the track and I’ll work you a deal.”

I had to smile. At least Jimmy was a decent spotter.

My claws shot out; nearly poking holes in my gloves as I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

It was time to go to work.

“Steady. Wait for it.

Green flag, green flag! Go, go, go!”

Jimmy bellowed. My car roared to life in unison with all the other vehicles like a deafening

mechanical symphony.

We sounded like a furious,

howling pack of hungry wolves in pursuit of prey as we screamed down the front stretch

and the crowd rose to their collective feet.

I nearly gobbled up the eighty-three car as we crossed the line in front of the main grandstands. He must have spun the tires, so I shoved him instead of trying to dive down low

as we headed toward the first turn.

Finally. It felt like this damn car was beginning to come around at just the right time.

“How’s it feel?” Crafton asked.

“Much better, just make sure whoever decides to go with us doesn’t leave me hung out in the middle again,”

I replied as the rear end of the vehicle whipped a little when I got tagged from behind.

I jerked the wheel back and forth to straighten the car out, doing everything in my power to save it from wrecking.

I didn’t want to release the gas pedal

even for a second.

“Just try to hold it on the bottom.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

My heart skipped a beat for a moment as I watched the eighty-three car switch lanes

and shoot up toward the wall,

but the speed I gained from the draft allowed me to pick off two more spots as we headed back to the start/finish line.

There was a brief pause over the radio as I came to the first turn.

“Whoo! Hey, you missin’ any spots!”

“Hard to tell with this suit on.

Why?” “You just ran your fastest lap of the day. You had

to have blown somethin’ off.” “Ain’t

that why Rick brought me back?

Cause I was fast.” I said with a grunt as I forced the car down,

holding it near the double yellow line and gripping the wheel like I was trying to restrain a wild dog from biting me.

After all this time, it still amazed me how quickly you could tick off laps at this enormous track

driving over two hundred miles per hour. “No, Rick brought you back cause cheetahs are supposed to be fast. You just happened to be the only one available.”

Smartass. “Ten laps to go,” Jimmy called out over the radio,

yet I could barely hear him overtop the engines screaming all around me.

I came into turn three hot,

riding the rear end of the thirty-nine.

Our cars held strong and dug into the low groove even with all the pushing coming from the train of vehicles behind us.

The anxiety of the long race was beginning to show.

Racers were getting more aggressive,

the maneuvers more risky,

and I could feel it as my car started to rattle and jump

rolling through the bumps in the center of the turn.

It seemed as if the forces that were pushing against the car were attempting to rip it apart.

These coffins didn’t like turning at these speeds

and the car wiggled a bit on exit from a last second bump draft.

I had to let up on the gas pedal ever so slightly

just so I wouldn’t lose control.

My vehicle wanted to walk up the track,

and I heard the rumble of the cars behind me getting closer.

That’s when I felt another shove from the twenty-nine car.

He wanted to move me,

to dive down on the inside and force me back to the middle line.

“The twenty-nine is bitin’ at your heels.

Hold her down there,”

Jimmy said over the radio.

As we tore through the tri-oval on the front stretch, I could feel the twenty-nine car sliding along the back panel as he cut down to the double yellow line.

Another shove shifted my car sideways, and for a brief moment,

it felt like I was floating.

I cursed to myself, hearing the roar of the crowd in the main grandstand

as I strained and grunted to keep the car from spinning.

They were cheering,

waiting for the inevitable carnage as I cranked the steering wheel back and forth in an attempt to regain control

and not wreck half the field.

They were hot on my tail just a few feet behind,

and moving much too fast to be able to avoid me.

I was forced to settle in the middle lane,

having lost the bottom groove and all the momentum that came with it.

I dropped back several spots, watching the train of cars above and below me speeding forward like I was standing still.

Then I felt a bump,

rattling me inside the car

as I met up with the other vehicles trapped in the middle row.

We picked up the pace,

getting back a couple of spots as we started to catch up with the front runners.

We had a side draft to the left and right of us now.

Less wind resistance meant more speed,

but the space here was tighter and riskier.

Not to mention that less air made the car incredibly free

and it was much easier to lose control.

Still, we needed more cars in line.

We needed more speed if we were going to make a final push

to get into the favored top or bottom groove.

And that’s when I saw Israel Munoz

dive down in front of me.

That a kid. “Four laps at the line,”

Jimmy said. “Make ‘em count, Kasi.”

It was time to let it all go.

I’d been holding back,

feeling the instincts gnawing at my insides

as they strained to get out.

So I caved in, and bit my bottom lip as hard as I could.

It caused my hands to twitch, and I felt a shiver as my claws pierced through the gloves

and I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

That’s when everything faded.

The race track went away,

darkening as my focus zeroed in

on Israel’s thirty-six car.

It was time to make something

happen. I pounded the throttle down

and sucked up to Israel’s ride.

The nose of my car tucked under his rear panel,

turning us into one screaming bullet

that cut through the air

like a knife. The two of us separated from the middle pack and took off,

easily pulling up alongside the leaders in the top and bottom grooves.

My car became wicked loose,

like a wild animal which had suddenly been unleashed from its cage.

It was as if the car had become me,

vicious and ravenous,

pulsing and thrashing about in the driver’s seat from the instinct’s hunger to feed.

I timed it just right,

tearing out of turn four with incredible momentum

as we peeked out just in front of the other cars and took the lead.

Israel needed to choose a line, up or down, it didn’t matter,

but we needed to get back to one of the favorable grooves before they ran us down.

I cut low a bit, as if I were attempting to swipe at the hooves of a fleeing gazelle.

I was still tucked up tight behind the kid, hoping he would see me and follow suit

but Israel didn’t react.

Dammit. We were gonna get eaten alive here in a minute,

and that’s when I heard a muffled sound coming over the radio.

It didn’t register though. Not with the instincts dialed in.

I could only hear its pounding heart and hot breath,

that visceral lust to kill the thirty-six car

as I trailed so closely behind it

I could reach out and touch the damn thing.

The engine wouldn’t take much more.

I could smell the heat

and hot oil burning my nose.

The temperature was probably off the charts but I couldn’t see the gauge either.

I didn’t even notice the white flag waving as we passed the start/finish line.

One more lap to go,

and I was oblivious to it all.

It took every ounce of concentration I had not to wreck the kid.

I had to jerk the wheel, snarling and growling as I tried to fight the instincts off.

They were going to kill him. Spin him into the wall or take us both out if I tried to slingshot around.

I had to stay close with him.

Keep pushing him

as a faint rumbling sound came at me from both sides.

The stampede. They were coming,

and no matter what I did, the instincts wouldn’t break free.

I nearly hyperventilated,

gasping for air as we throttled toward what may have been the final turn.

I couldn’t tell. Everything was a blur except for the kid,

until I felt a bump from behind.

A push, a turn, and my car went sliding sideways.

It jarred me from the daze, and when I looked to the left,

all I could see was a wall of smoke from my tires gliding across the asphalt.

Then something came through the gray haze

—a car hurtling toward me, unable to stop,

and with nowhere to go.

The impact was thunderous and it threw me around inside the seat.

Even with the restraints

and the specially designed head and neck brace, it still jarred me

and caused several parts of my aging body to crack and pop.

I heard my metal cage crunch

and bend all around me,

like someone was beating on the vehicle relentlessly with a baseball bat.

Another impact,

then a third, and the steering wheel spun free out of my grip

as I became light

and felt the car launch into the air.

I saw the sky, then the ground,

sky, ground, sky until it all slowed to a crawl.

Jimmy was screaming at me over the radio, asking if I was alright but

I didn’t pay attention to him.

For a split second,

with the instincts gone and

my focus finally back I was able to peer out the side window of my car,

and I watched as the thirty-six car drove toward the tri

-oval with a few stragglers several car lengths behind.

They may have been able to squeeze through the wreckage but

they’d never be able to catch the kid at this rate.

No way in hell. How about that, Rick?

I was right about Israel after all.

And as I saw more debris, smoke and mangled sheet metal

envelope my vision from the car continuing to tumble out of control,

seeing that kid take the checkered flag was enough to bring a smile to my muzzle.

He did it. The little bastard won the biggest race our sport had ever known.

Then I heard another loud pop, and my car shifted once more before the roll cage finally gave in from the constant beating.

And just like that,

the instincts, along with the deafening sound of the engines and the thunderous roar of the crowd…

They forever went silent.

At least I got my second chance.

So I could be the King

one final time. To drive full throttle and leave everything out on the line,

just so I could race,

and hunt, and let the instincts run free.

And I did it all in style too,

like a good cheetah was supposed to do.

This was the second and final part of

“Second Chance” by Sean Duroc Silva,

read for you by Khaki,

your faithful fireside companion.

As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

And if you have a story that you think would be a good fit,

please get in touch with me.

I’m @Khakidoggy on Twitter and Telegram

and I’d love to hear from you.

Thank you for listening

to The Voice of Dog.