#race through speed highway get stuck in my head way too often

[chelsiegeorgia]

Speed Highway is probably my favorite Sonic level  

without the text

[caramelcal]

his favorite club

warnings: swearing, arguing, talks of murder, gangs, use of weapons etc. don’t read if you are not comfortable with these! 

word count: 2.5k

a/n: HELLO!!!! WELCOME BACK TO THE NEXT LUKE/BAMBI POST!

thank you so much for all the love anons <3

requests: Anonymous asked:

Could you write a Luke x gang where him and the reader are fighting and maybe his arm goes up and she thinks he’s going to hit her but would never and it’s fluffy in the end?

Anonymous asked:

For the Luke x gang could you write something angsty like maybe he doesn’t come home on time like usual and y/n is really worried idk maybe goes to his place of business and it starts a big fight and the reader gets a bit scared of how mad he is? Idk you can take it in any direction.

Anonymous asked:

Loved the new Luke post. Was wondering if the next part could have some danger concerning the reader? Or maybe she sees the dangerous part of him and it scares her?

The only sound filling the apartment was the sounds of the small girl's shoes hitting off of the floor loudly, and the soft but irritating clicking of the clock that stood on the wall in front of her. It was 8:13 pm. Over an hour later than Luke had said he was going to be.

Bambi knew the dangers of the work that Luke lived in, but he had only ever been once late and even then, she had got a text explaining that he would be. Yet, this time, she never got a text, a call, nothing.

Radio silence.

Her stomach clenched up every time she thought about the possibilities of what could have happened to Luke. She wouldn't consider herself a pessimist, but she can't exactly say that she was expecting the best.

She was sure that if Luke didn't get home soon, the floor would have worn away from the amount of pacing she was doing right now. The clock continued to tick on, each movement from the small circular thing stuck on the wall bringing her more and more anxiety.

He should be home.

Maybe that's why she found herself in one of Luke's cars, somehow managing to sneak past the two members of Luke's gang that she had seen on the way down, and evading Jacob, Luke's personal driver.

In fact, Bambi hadn't driven a car since she moved in with Luke, always being driven around by either Jacob or Luke himself. It felt weird being behind a wheel again, but she didn't have time to dwell on it or soak up in the power she felt inkling into her chest before she was speeding out of the garage, onto the main highway of the city.

If Bambi was being honest, she probably broke about seven driving laws (if there were that many, probably, she thought) on the way to the club that Luke often found himself at. He never brought her there, and actually, forbid her from coming to altogether, but she knew he couldn't be too mad considering it was all about her concern about him.

From the moment she walked in, she felt out of place. Men in dark button-ups, cigarettes falling from their lips, women in minimal and sexy clothing, drinks all around. The red luminous lights of the bar being the only light provided. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for her tall boyfriend but it was really difficult.

A lot of the people in here were very tall, much taller than Bambi was, so trying to see over them was impossible. She was very out of place, alone, scared, and looked far too good to be in such a twisted club.

Somehow, she managed to make her way over to the bar, where she recognized a figure with his back turned towards her, making a cocktail. It was only seconds after when he turned around, dimpled face on display, he almost spilled the drink on him with how fast he stopped upon seeing her.

His eyes whipped around wildly around the club before walking over to her and whispering, "You shouldn't be here! Didn’t Luke forbid you from coming here? You need to leave!"

"Nice to see you too, Ash," Bambi couldn't help the sarcasm falling off of her lips before she asked, "Luke never got home. Is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine, he just got caught up with some paperwork and stuff, he should be back soon,"

"Paperwork?" She asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at the gang member.

"Well yeah, just updating a file on the drug run today just to say it went well," Ashton shrugged lightly, "he should be done soon."

Even though Ashton shrugged it off well, Bambi knew he was lying. She could feel it in her bones, in her gut, that he was lying and she was determined to find out the truth.

She shrugged lightly, "Well if it's just paperwork then he won't mind me being there."

With that, she stalked away from the bar in search of the backrooms, wasting no time for Ashton to catch up with her as she went on her way. She walked around the back hallways, looking for any indication of Luke's presence.

The rooms were silent. All but one.

"Please! I don't know anything! Stop!" It was a plead filled with both pain and desperation but it was quickly cut off with the sound of a swift but powerful hit.

Her pulse raced, legs shakily making their way towards the room, gently pushing the door open. It was silent, the door, cracking open so that the small girl could see.

Bambi felt sick.

She could see her boyfriend’s blond curls held up in a hair tie she had loaned him earlier this morning, bloody hand reaching up high as he punched the poor boy on the chair again.

“I’ll give you one more chance before I use something more than my hand,” He threatened gruffly, causing Bambi to flinch. Her breath was caught in her throat, eyes welling up in tears. She knew she shouldn’t have been so upset, she knew her boyfriend was a gang member, but something about seeing him doing this to someone with the same hands that caressed her and made her feel safe felt...wrong.

Suddenly, Ashton entered another door that entered into the room that Luke was in, alerting both Luke and Michael, who had been overlooking the situation. Only then did Bambi realize that Luke had picked up an object, it glinting in the light as he moved towards the door that Ashton had entered.

Luke was holding a knife.

A soft gasp escaped Bambi’s lips, thankfully not loud enough for Luke to hear. She didn’t want him near her, not right now anyway. She didn’t even want him to look at her.

“She’s here! You need to stop, Luke!” Bambi took that as her clear to get the hell out of there. If what Ashton said was true, about Luke being mad she was here, she didn’t want him to find her. Not anymore, anyway.

She didn’t want him to get anywhere near him. How could she possibly sleep at night knowing the man that slept beside her, that played with her hair, that made her feel safe, did that to people? What if he got so mad that he did that to her?

She was being irrational, but at that moment she couldn’t help it.

She shuffled backward, away from the door that led to the room Luke was in, choosing to swiftly get away from him now that she could.

Now, she wasn’t scared for Luke, she was scared of Luke.

“Hey kid, where are you goin'?” Calum asked as she crashed into his chest, making her stumble back lightly, mouth ajar.

She went to speak, to come up with some excuse but she didn’t have time. She couldn’t sit here and entertain Calum with a nice, little conversation when she was trying to evade her boyfriend.

That’s why she just turned, maneuvering around her, and started to run.

“Bambi!” The girl became rigid as she heard him shout, becoming increasingly aware that he had caught up to her, and was planning on talking to her. It was almost as if she was frozen in place, unable to move into the car and unable to move towards him, not that she wanted to. However, she could hear him come to a stop behind her, his voice softer as he spoke, trying not to gather any attention towards the couple, “Why are you here? I thought I told you that you weren’t allowed at the club?”

Her mouth ran dry, unable to respond. In fact, she acted as if she never heard him speak, afraid of what he would do if she pissed him off. Yet, her silence was probably the most angering thing to the tall blond boyfriend of hers, which became obvious when he spoke next.

“Bambi? Let me get you out of here, I’ll drive,” He went to grab the car keys out of her hand, but she had seen his shadow when he went to grab them, quickly jerking out of his grasp, turning around, and staring up at him.

She didn’t miss the slight shock in his eyes when she did so, or the irritancy that bubbled deep beneath. Her throat felt thick, clouded, but she quickly cleared it, voice forceful as she stared up at the gang member, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Bambi, what the hell are you talking about? Just let me drive and we can talk about this when we get home lets not cause a scene,” Luke was trying to reason with the girl, not cause a scene in front of his men, but Bambi was not having it. She wasn’t about to get into a car with him, shaking her head wildly, “Bambi.”

His tone was a warning, deep voice, cold tone. It was demanding but Bambi was not in the mood for Luke to boss her about, especially not right now.

“What? You don’t want people to realize that we’re fighting and that I’m your girlfriend, is that it?” The words were flying out of the girl’s mouth before she could stop them and Luke’s blue eyes glared down at her, his jaw ticking.

“Is this really what this is about?” Luke asked, referring to the argument they had gone through all of those weeks ago. Yet, that it isn’t. The problem was that Bambi saw something she wasn’t supposed to, that Luke had tried to shield her from as best as he could. Even if it meant that she wasn’t allowed near his favorite club.

“You nearly killed him, Luke.”

Her voice was painfully quiet, muttering in a way that makes it obvious she had to force the words out. Her fists are clenched at her sides, her eyes looking down to evade the scrutiny of his gaze.

“Bambi you don’t know what you saw-”

“You had a knife, Luke! I saw you punch him just look at your hands right now they’re-” She stopped briefly, glancing down at the man’s hands, the ones that gave her such tender, sweet love. The ones that made her feel safe, yet now? All she seen was all of the blood coating them, some dry some relatively fresh, “they’re covered in his blood.”

Luke flexed his hands slightly, feeling the blood coating them become ever so evident, “What else am I supposed to do? What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? I work in a fucking gang, you knew this.”

“I didn’t think-” The girl cut herself off, shaking her head as tears rose to her eyes, shielding her view.

“What the fuck do you think I do? Hand out fucking rainbow stickers and give them a nice hug? That’s not how this works, you know this,” His voice was harsh, and slowly rising to a loud level, and all Bambi wants is to go and hide away from him; to be by herself. She can’t handle this, not right now.

“How can you expect me to be ok with this?” The girl asked, “It’s sick! It’s twisted! You could have killed that guy!”

“Don’t suddenly go getting morals just because you saw a bit of fucking blood! We’re leaving. Now,” His voice is demanding, loud and borderline shouting, his hand coming down towards her rapidly to grab the car keys off of her but then he froze at the movement from the small girl in front of him.

She flinched.

Silence filled them both.

The tears that tracked down her face started to build in his eyes, his heart dropping to his feet when he saw the girl cower. It was barely for a second when she shielded her head, in the same place he had hit that guy barely five minutes before like he was going to hit her.

He spluttered with his mouth ajar. Bambi, his Bambi, the one he had worked so hard to protect, to love, to cherish, was scared of him. He just wanted to comfort her, to hold her close and let her know that everything was going to be okay. Yet, he couldn’t comfort her that he would battle all her fears when he was what she was scared of.

“Bambi...” It was a sad plead.

The girl never replied, tears becoming thicker as she shook her head. She was overcome with emotions. Afraid, sad, ashamed, angry; she wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling at that moment.

“Bambi I’d never...”

The girl wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Never in his whole life had Luke felt so ashamed of himself. Ashamed that he would ever let a fragment of his girl believe he would ever harm her or put her in harm’s way.

He would do everything to make sure she was okay.

“I need to go,” The girl gingerly wiped her tears with her -Luke’s- jumper, the large sleeves rolled up but still covering her hands fully. She entered the car and Luke made no move to stop her, he didn’t care that she had taken one of his cars at that moment, he didn’t care that she had disobeyed his orders of coming to the club, he didn’t care about anything other than how he had wronged her.

Then, he was left by himself, in the middle of the club’s back parking lot, blood still coating his hands that even made him feel sick now. The cold night air nipped at his skin, yet again reminding him that he was void of her warmth. He was all alone.

He returned home all of twenty minutes later, a fresh pair of clothes on and hands bare of blood. The house was quiet but he knew that she was there, the bedroom door ever so slightly ajar, a faint light emitting from the room.

He leaned against the door frame, watching her with a sullen face as she packed. She was only packing a few outfits, not anything major as she sniffed lightly. She was still crying, Luke noticed, and it made his heart ache, “I’m leaving for Anna’s. I just need some time.”

Luke knew he was in no position to argue with the girl right now. She was fragile enough as it is, and even if Luke didn’t want her to leave, she needed space and he respected that.

She slung the overnight bag over her shoulder, hefting it up, “I’ve called an Uber. They’re waiting downstairs.”

Luke nodded as Bambi stopped in front of him, and almost hesitantly, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead, “Stay safe, ok? I love you.”

The girl nodded her head, sending the boy a tight-lipped smile before leaving, leaving Luke alone once again. Yet, despite the heartbreak, he felt in that moment as she left, he knew this wasn’t the end. He’d manage to make it up to her, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t rest easy until he did.

[katedoesfics]

Under Shadow: Chapter 32

The land was still flat near the coastal side of the country, and though it was too dark to see, Najia knew that the distant mountains would be looming before her as she neared them. The air was cooler as she drove through the day, further and further north, and the land gradually began to elevate. The interstate narrowed and started to slope and twist as it neared the mountain range, forcing her to slow her speed, which was well over eighty. She slowed even more as her headlights flashed over a dark figure, standing on the edge of the road. She pulled to a stop beside the man who had his hands shoved in his pockets.

“I wondered when you’d find me,” Shane’s voice said.

“Don’t get too excited,” Najia said. “I wasn’t looking for you. I’m going to Stardew Valley.”

“I know,” he said simply.

“What are you doing out here?”

Shane shrugged. “Stardew Valley or bust.”

“Why?”

“Well,” he hesitated. “I realized I really had nothing to live for, and wandering around the world aimlessly really wasn’t going to accomplish anything.” He paused. “I guess I wasn’t ready to give up, and the valley felt like another goal to work towards. Plus, I figured I’d find you there. And that didn’t seem so bad.”

Najia grew quiet. “And what if we don’t find anything?”

“Like you said; we’ll find something else to get to.” He smiled to her. “I heard the Fern Islands are great this time of year.”

“You know,” Najia said, returning his smile, “I’ve never been.”

“You have just got to go,” Shane said mockingly. “Their Maki Rolls are to die for.”

“So, Stardew Valley or bust?” She nodded to the empty seat beside her.

“Alright,” Shane said, climbing in beside her. “Just don’t go picking up any more hitch hikers. You got lucky, this time.”

*****

They climbed higher into elevation as they neared the night, pausing only for a moment to find the easiest way through the mountains on their map. If the map was accurate, and if Stardew Valley hadn’t changed since the abrupt invasion, the could make their way around the mountain range and follow a set of train tracks through them and straight into the valley.

They followed the route as best as they could, climbing higher and higher, slowly working their way around the range. Shane took a turn driving them through the night and by morning, they had reached the abandoned tracks. Though it was over grown with weeds, it was level enough for them to drive through, so Najia took over, following the tracks as they twisted their way through the mountains.

But as the day wore on, the temperature continued to drop and a light snow started to fall, illuminated by the car’s headlights.

“I wish I stole Kent’s sleeping bags,” Najia muttered. “I didn’t quite plan for the weather change in the mountains.”

“It will be warmer once we reach they valley,” Shane pointed out. “It’s not winter, yet.”

The snow fell more heavily as they drove into the night and the wind picked up, howling around them as they continued to navigate their way through the mountains. Before long, Najia found herself squinting through the windshield in an attempt to see through the heavy snow, but she had already lost sight of the tracks that guided her.

She argued with Shane but eventually agreed to stop for the night. He was right after all; there was no sense getting lost in the mountains and freezing to death. Of all the ways to die in this world, it would be a shame to be defeated by nature.

Shane draped the one blanket they did have over them and Najia turned off the engine. They stared up at the ceiling as the warmth quickly left the car and the cold took over until they could see their breaths. Najia crossed her arms in an attempt to hold the heat in her body.

“We could cuddle,” Shane joked.

“I’d rather freeze to death,” Najia said through her teeth.

“Ouch.”

Najia listened as his body shifted and he turned over.

“You can keep the car running.”

“We can’t waste the gas.”

“We can’t be that far,” Shane said.

“We can deal with a little shivering, too,” Najia pointed out.

Shane sighed. “You’re going to make this a long night.”

“Did you see all the sights while you ran away like a child?”

“Miles and miles of highway,” Shane said sarcastically. “Did you enjoy the beach?”

“We found five more survivors,” Najia said. “Sam’s father was one of them.”

Shane propped himself up in his make-shit bed. “Really?”

“They’ve got a whole hide out and everything. Living the good life.”

Shane settled back into the seat. “Hm.”

“Do you think its weird?” Najia asked. “That through all this, a family has managed to stay alive, together?”

“Lucky, I suppose. Dumb luck. Like winning the lottery. Doesn’t happen often.”

“Everyone else is alone. We’ve all lost people. Yet, they get to be together.”

“You’ve got ol’ gramps,” Shane pointed out.

Najia smiled a half smile at the ceiling. “I guess so,” she said softly. “And you’ve got Marnie and Jas.”

*****

When they awoke, the snow was still coming down heavily. They had made it through the cold night, letting the car heat up every couple of hours, but the fuel ran dangerously low.

“We can’t sit around,” Najia said anxiously. “We’ll be stranded here.”

“We’re already stuck in the snow,” Shane pointed out. “There’s no sense wasting the gas trying to get through.”

“So, we’re supposed to just wait and hope it stops and melts?”

“It won’t be melting any time soon,” Shane said. “But it will stop eventually. And when it does, we can trek through it.”

“We don’t have time for eventually,” Najia argued. “We don’t know when that will be, and we don’t have gas to last us much longer.”

“We’re not going out into the storm,” Shane said, his voice raising.

“I’m not going to sit here and hope it stops before we freeze to death.”

“You’re being irrational,” Shane growled.

Najia pushed the door open with all her might. The snow was still light and fluffy and fortunately had not grown too deep at that point. She stumbled into the snow, slamming the door behind her. Her flashlight illuminated the flakes falling around her, but proved useless in guiding her way.

Shane pushed his way out of the car, chasing after her and grabbing her wrist.

“Will you stop being stubborn, for once in your damned life?” he hissed at her.

“We don’t need the tracks,” Najia insisted. “We’re so close. All we have to do is follow the break in the trees. The valley isn’t far. We just have to go down and then we’ll be out of the storm.”

“We can wait it out until we can see better.”

“See better?” Najia yelled over the howling wind. “It can’t possibly any darker out here. There’s no sun to keep this warm. We can’t stay up here in this storm, Shane. We need to leave.” She pulled her hand out of his grip and trudged through the snow.

Shane followed her wordlessly, pulling his jacket tight around him. He wasn’t sure if she had gone completely mad or not. Maybe she had a point. Or maybe they were just walking to their deaths.

“No, Najia,” he shouted to her. “This is a bad idea.”

“It’s close,” she said to him. She pointed to the sky. “It’s lighter, Shane. See? It’s lighter. It’s real. Stardew Valley is real.”

“Najia,” Shane growled. “Stop. We’re going to die out here.”

“I’m not going back,” she insisted.

“It’s not real, Najia. You’re seeing things. There’s nothing out here.”

Shane started to lose sigh of Najia. Her dark figure disappeared into the darkness, her flashlight lost in the heavy snow which kicked up around them in the wind.

“Najia!”

Shane ran forward, but she was no where to be seen. He called for her again, but his voice was lost in the wind. He stumbled forward, his heart racing as he searched for her. He shouted, but the wind drowned out his voice. He reached desperately into the air, hoping to grab her, but his hands fell, grabbing at air.

He stumbled through the snow as he tried to run, but quickly grew disoriented. His heart raced and his head spun as, but he pushed onward aimlessly until a hand gripped his shoulder pulling him backwards. He turned quickly, panicked, as a grey bearded man stood before him, shining a light in his face.

“Where is she?” the man shouted at him. “Where’s my granddaughter?”

[twdeadlysins]

Days Gone Bye: Part One

Season one, episode one (1/2)

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 3,883

Warnings: slow burn, the usual walking dead violence and such, language, minor character death, blood

Summary: Your life wasn’t anything special or out of the ordinary, so you didn’t expect much. That was until your best friend, Rick, got shot and fell into a coma. Oh and did I mention the damn apocalypse started?  

Author’s Note: I don’t own anything from The Walking Dead, so all credit goes to their respective owners. This is the first episode, but the reader inserted into the story line and all the character’s lives. I did and will continue to use some dialogue from the actual show because I wanted it to be similar to what you’ve already watched, but obviously have the reader in it.

If you want to tagged in this series rewrite, don’t hesitate to send me an ask or message and I’ll add you. The same goes for any other fics! I’m in no way, shape, or form a writer. Any feedback is appreciated, but hate is a different story. Thank you and enjoy!

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

It was another day on the job as a deputy of the King County Sheriff’s Department … or at least you thought it was.

The sheriff forced you to take Leon, a childish and cocky rookie under your wing and show him the ropes. You wished you could be partnered up with Rick since you two worked better together, but Shane insisted on spending more time with him on the job. You didn’t want to be selfish and you practically were Rick’s family, so you didn’t object.

Leon and you were in your police car eating lunch while he talked your ear off. You tuned him out and kept chewing on your burger, nodding here and there to make him believe you were listening. Eventually you dazed off looking out the window, enjoying the weather and the scenery, but it was cut short when you got a radio call stating that two armed men in a vehicle were going down Highway 18.

You slammed your foot on the gas and made your way to the location meeting up with your colleagues.

“Sounds like they’re chasing those idiots up and down every back road we got,” the sheriff said, taking cover behind one of the car doors aiming his shotgun.  

You exited out your door and whipped out your pistol keeping your eyes fixated on the road ahead, quickly taking place behind the door waiting for the two armed suspects to run over the spikes Rick and Shane had placed.

Leon glanced at the sheriff with a huge grin on his face. “Hey, we’ll get on one of those video shows, you know, like World’s Craziest Police Chases, what do you think?”

You rolled your eyes thinking how inappropriate he could be at times, you all are in the middle of getting ready for a gunfight and he’s making jokes. It’s just another day on the job for you, doesn’t matter to you what they put on television or not. You gave Leon the side eye and noticed his safety was still on … idiot, you thought. You were about to embarrass him and call him out on it, but Rick beated you to the punch.

“What I think, Leon, is that you need to stay focused. Make sure you got a round in the chamber and your safety off.”

Leon realized he didn’t do any of those things and quickly tried to fix his mistakes earning a smirk from you.

“Would be kind of cool to be on one of them shows,” Shane shrugged.

Before anyone else could make a comment, the suspected car came into view speeding down the road followed by two police vehicles hot on their tail. You had a feeling by the speed they were going that they would flip once their car made contact with the spikes, you just hoped it wouldn’t tumble in your direction.

Your prediction came to life as the car’s tires popped earning multiple flips hurling towards the side of the road.

“Holy shit,” is all you managed to say before the car came to a stop upside down and the driver came out with ease with a gun in his hand.

“Gun, gun, gun!”

“Put the gun down! Put it down now!” Rick instructed, but the driver disobeyed and opened fire. Several shots were exchanged and one struck Rick making your eyes go wide.

The driver was put down after a couple more shots were dealt and out came the other man ready to retaliate, but you fired one shot to his abdomen and he collapsed. You turned your attention to Rick.

“Rick!”

“I’m alright, Y/N!”

“I saw you get hit, damn, you scared the hell out of me.” You sighed, relieved he was okay.

“Me too. Son of a bitch shot me. You believe that?”

Shane came over just as relieved, “he got you in your new vest,” he pointed.

“Yeah, Both of you don’t say a word to Lori about what just happened. Ever. I-”

You didn’t comprehend whatever Rick said next because you saw movement near the wrecked car in your peripheral vision. A third man no one was aware of aimed his shotgun at Rick and you sprinted to push him out of the way preparing to take the hit, but it never came … you were too late.

You kneeled down next to Rick not even bothering to look over or help take down the assailant, you knew the situation was handled. If some reason a bullet went into you, then so be it, you weren’t leaving your best friend. Rick was gasping for air and blood was seeping through his uniform near his shoulder. You frantically unbuttoned your shirt and shrugged it off putting it over the wound with shaky hands, tears escaping your eyes dampening his shirt.

“No, no, no. Rick. Rick! Shh … shhh, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine, you hear me? You aren’t allowed to die on us … on me.” You heard shouting, but didn’t know what was being said. All you could focus on was your best friend and trying to keep him alive.

***

That was few weeks ago … before the entire world had gone to shit.

After Rick was shot, he fell into a coma. You took some time off the job earning worried phone calls from your aunt and uncle, and they urged you to come with them on a camping trip to relieve your mind. At first you were hesitant, but you ultimately decided it would be best to get out and the outdoors always calmed you, giving you a sense of peace.

You felt bad for not visiting Rick as often as you’d like, but seeing him in a coma was too much for you to handle. You couldn’t even imagine how Lori and Carl were doing and you wouldn’t know because you haven’t seen them since before the incident. Shane told you that he would handle telling them the news seeing how you couldn’t fathom witnessing their reactions.

Some nights you wished you were the one who got injured and was stuck in a coma because Rick had a family to care for and be with. Yes, you had Jolene and Chris, but you didn’t have a family of your own besides you thought they would manage.

***

You’ve been camping for four out of five days and you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. It was getting fairly dark and Jolene suggested to roast some marshmallows and make smores.

The two lovebirds were huddled in front of the fire with a thin blanket draped across their shoulders while you sat on a log roasting everyone’s marshmallows. After roasting the treat to a coffee color like crisp, you noticed you forgot an ingredient.

“Sorry to break you two up, but I left the graham crackers in my tent. One of you mind getting them for me?” you shyly asked, hating to interrupt.

Your uncle was in the process of getting up, but your aunt prevented him. “I’ll go get them, honey. I have to get up anyways to use the bathroom,” she shrugged off the blanket and kissed his forehead before making her way to your tent.

“Thanks for taking me with you guys, it feels good to do this again like old times,” you smiled earning a wave of dismissal.

“Y/N, you’re always welcome to join us.” Chris gestured his head to the tent, “she’s missed you a bunch. I even think she wants you around more than me.” He laughed and you shook your head with a grin plastered on your face, but it was short lived when you heard a deafening scream.

You bolted up and threw the marshmallows on the ground replacing them with your machete while Chris grabbed his hunting rifle racing to help. When you caught up with him, you stiffened as your aunt came into view, she was on the ground with something on top of her … devouring her.

Chris was in complete shock, not moving an inch and you needed to stop this, so you tighten your grip on your machete and you creeped up on the creature. Once you got close enough you were about to grab the creature’s head, but paused. You were trying to comprehend what was right in front of, but you didn’t want to believe. All you could hear was the constant gnawing of your aunt’s flesh and guts, you just wanted it to stop.

You reached out and grabbed their hair roughly bending the head back and sinking your blade into the back of it. You instantly let go of the creature dropping your machete in the process feeling overwhelmed and the body lands face down. You fell down out of shock and something wet dropped on the back of your hand, you didn’t even realize you had been crying the entire time.

Forcing yourself to pull it together, you stretched over the body, roughly grasped their left side and faced them up gasping at the sight. You sealed your eyes shut hoping this wasn’t real, that this was just a nightmare and you would wake up any minute. That minute turned into five and then ten when you finally opened your eyes compeling you to accept that this was reality. Someone just like you murdered your aunt, but the difference between you and him … is that you’re alive.

***

You sat with your elbows on your knees still staring at your aunt’s colorless face with tears streaming down your cheeks. Chris gradually made his way over and knelt down with a clenched jaw trying not to shed anymore tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “I should’ve protected you … it should’ve been me. Why could it not have been me?” He stroked her lavender scented locks and placed his fingers over her lifeless eyes to shut them. “Wait for me, baby. I’ll be with you soon.”

Forcing yourself up, you strided over to your tent collecting all the things you can grab and forced them down in one of the bags you brought.

“Chris…” You tried to form a sentence, but a lump in your throat prevented anything audible to come out. You quickly cleared your throat and swung the bag over your shoulders. “We … we have to go, there could be more of those things.”

“Yeah … yeah you’re right.” Chris kissed Jolene’s forehead before he got up and brushed off his knees. He was coming towards you when you spotted about ten more “people” come out heading in your direction. “Chris!” He noticed your shocked expression and whipped his head in the direction of your terrified orbs. Chris sprinted to you while you tossed him his hunting rifle and he fired, striking one between the eyes.

You only had your machete at hand, but you knew getting too close to one would result in more crowding around you, so Chris pushed you behind him while he continued to keep them at a distance. One man was struck in the shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch, he just kept coming like it was nothing.

It all happened so fast, one minute they were dropping like flies, then the next you were overrun. Chris couldn’t protect you anymore because they started getting too close for comfort, so while he pulled out his hunting knife you were slicing and dicing.

You were in the middle of stabbing one in the brain when all of a sudden hands latched onto your hair making you plummet to the ground. It was about to pounce on you, but you rolled to the right and once you got to your feet you sunk the blade into their skull. “Y/N! Grab my rifle and the bag and just leave!” Chris shouted while a woman tried to grip onto his arm, but he was quicker and stabbed her multiple times in the eye making her fall to the ground. “No, I’m not leaving you!” You screamed running to aid him, but one dominated your uncle biting into his forearm making you wail.

Chris howled out in pain, “Go Y/N! Run and don’t look back!” You wanted to try and save him, but you knew it was no use. He was right, you needed to book it out of there, so you hurried and slung the bag over your shoulders and grabbed his rifle.

When you looked back, you could see through your tears that they were feasting on your uncle still giving you a chance to escape. You darted through the woods brushing past trees and jumping over logs trying to find your way of out through your tears, but everything looked the same like you were going in circles.

It must’ve been ten minutes worth of running when you finally approached pavement, a road. You looked left and right trying to determine which one would lead you home, but luckily there was a sign that read, “CAMP EXIT, .5 MILE.”

You were exhausted, your feet were in a great deal of pain, and the blood that was splattered across your face and body had already embed into your skin never leaving even if you tried to wipe it off. All you wanted to do was get home, to receive an explanation for what had happened back in the woods.

You’ve been walking for what seemed like days when you embark a sign, “King County, 1 mile.” A break sounded great to you, but you couldn’t knowing that if you did that you would have a breakdown. Keeping busy would never give you the time to be alone with your thoughts, so you kept moping on the path.  

Once you reached King County, you saw millions of cars trying to get out of town. You glanced at people in their vehicles and they looked absolutely terrified especially when they saw your bloody figure. One family locked their doors when you trudged past their car, so you didn’t even bother asking anyone for help or a ride.

It was a long journey, but you made it to your street seeing your neighbors frantically stuffing their vehicles with anything they could. You spot Mr. and Mrs. Blake, an old couple who you knew very well, shut their trunk ready to follow the train of people getting out of here.

“Harold!” You yelled, but they got into their car without even acknowledging you. “Hey, Harold!” You were now banging on the driver’s window when he looked up giving you apologetic eyes and started to drive off. You kept banging and banging following the car down the driveway before they sped off leaving you there to watch them get smaller and smaller.

Everyone was gone and you were all alone in your house trying to pack everything and anything that could fit, but you didn’t have a car because it decided to break down a week ago. You had tried calling Shane a thousand times, but no answer. You gave up and started to exit your house when you saw those things everywhere, in the yards and especially in the streets. No way you could go leave town and survive, so you decided to stay put and pray that they would leave. The world was laughing at you and made sure you knew it too.

Staying cooped up in your home for three weeks took a toll on you. You hallucinated Jolene and Chris and talked to them because you had no one else, but you knew they weren’t real. Every time you would carefully look out your window, there were still swarms of them outside.

Some days you would contemplate whether or not to just try your chances and make a run for it. Some days you wanted to accept your fate of never getting out and just let the dead have you, and one time you almost did.  

You didn’t want to die of starvation or go insane, so one day you opened the back door and saw that three of them managed to get pass your fence in your backyard. Slowly walking down the creaking steps, one of them groaned and started to drag their feet towards you.

The thing was getting closer and you held out your arms, ready to die, but the voices of your aunt and uncle were swimming inside your head. When you opened your Y/E/C irises, you saw the two of them standing on either side of you, pulling your arms down.

“Fight, down let them win,” the voice of Chris pleaded.

They saved your life even though you knew they weren’t actually there, but if it wasn’t for that you’d be dead right now. You realized you never tried the back way of your house and it was less crowded than the street, so this could be your chance to finally escape.

You gathered a few cans of tuna, some clothes, and your knife collection in your bag. Some knives went into your thigh holster and you strapped your uncle’s hunting rifle onto your back while handling your machete as your primary weapon.

The back door swiftly swung open as you quietly exited your home for the last time under the moonlight. The dead didn’t acknowledge your presence giving you an easy escape over your fence and down the street. The only thing you could think of doing was to head towards the hospital to see if they evacuated and if so, what happened to Rick?

***

The sun was peeking through the trees by the time you got to the hospital and the bodies across the ground in front was clear that they didn’t evacuate the hospital, they exterminated it. You didn’t come all this way for nothing, so you walked between the bodies and made your way to the fire exit door. Something deep down within you had hope that Rick somehow woke up and was long gone by now with Lori and Carl.

When you stepped through the door, you were met with darkness and you mentally thanked yourself for bringing a flashlight. You carefully stepped down the stairs through a door that you believed would lead you to the recovery ward. Turning off your flashlight, you froze in place witnessing the once pristine, crowded hallway now a dead zone with blood at every corner. You slowly walked down the hallway taking your surroundings in when you saw Rick’s room come into view and you frowned seeing a hospital bed blocking the door. Was it keeping something in or out? When you reached his door you heard a huge thump coming from inside making you not move a muscle. “Nurse!!”

You recognized the voice instantly and immediately shoved the bed out of your way entering the room to see Rick struggling to get up. Without hesitation you gripped his arm while your other hand was against his waist hoisting him to his feet, but he retracted not knowing who touched him until he turned around realizing it was you. “Y/N? What are you doing here? What’s going on?” You were hesitant, not knowing what to tell him. “Uh. Rick … you’ve been in a … um … a coma for about five weeks now.” Rick’s eyes were going back and forth trying to grasp what came out of your mouth. If he couldn’t handle this, then you knew he wouldn’t be ready to hear that the damn apocalypse had started. “Where are the doctors? Why haven’t they came in yet?”

You gulped, not wanting to frighten his already fragile state, but he was going to have to find out sooner or later.

“Rick, the world… the world isn’t how it was before you slipped into a coma. It’s only you and I here,” you softly replied. That response didn’t ease him one bit because he had even more questions and you would eventually answer them all or at least try to, but you wanted to get out of this horrid place stat. He kept asking why you had blood on your clothes and what the backpack was for, but you kept dodging his questions wishing he would just drop it.

You both were about to round the corner when Rick abruptly stopped in front of a boarded up chained door that read, “Don’t Open. Dead Inside.”

“Rick, come on, let’s go,” you urged him, but he didn’t listen and shuffled to the door. You went to grab him because you obviously knew what was inside, but you missed, hitting air. The door started to push open, but the board and chain with a padlock on it prevented those things from ever reaching you. Some pale, dirty hands started to come out of the door and that’s when Rick started to withdraw in terror.

Finally making it to the exit, you helped Rick down the stairs, but that’s when he noticed the hundreds of bodies. You sighed seeing him limp towards the bodies in horror and disgust. You wished he didn’t have to see all this especially after coming out of a coma, but it’s reality now.

***

Rick wanted to go to his house to see if Lori and Carl were there and despite all your protests that they most likely weren’t there he threatened to go by himself. You couldn’t and wouldn’t let that happen, so here you were running up on his porch.

“Lori … Lori! Carl! Carl! Lori!”

He searched throughout the house while you sadly watched him, too afraid to say anything. He fell to the ground, sobbing, “Lori! Carl!”

You bent down in front of Rick with tears in the brim of your eyes. “Rick, I’m sorry, but … but they aren’t here,” you choked up on those last three words.

“Is this real? Am I here?” He lightly patted the ground and then started to hit himself across the face. “Wake, wake up!” You grabbed his hands forcing him to look at you, “I’m sorry, but this is real. I’m real, you’re real, it’s all real.” You assumed they found help and booked it out of town with the rest of the town the first chance they got.

If they did, then hopefully Shane was with them. You couldn’t help, but to feel abandoned because he never came for you. You thought maybe it was because he knew you were away on a camping trip, but you realized you never told him about it. Did he really not think of you when things went south and people started getting killed and turning into those things?

Your thoughts were interrupted when Rick trudged outside and plopped down in frustration on the steps to his house and you settled down next to him unsure of what to do next. You were about to ask when you noticed he was eyeing at something in confusion, so you followed his gaze to a man in the street. Rick had started to wave him over while you moved your hand to block the blinding sun. It wasn’t a man, it was like the things that killed your aunt and uncle. You looked over at Rick to tell him, but suddenly darkness took over you.

[gwynne-fics]

Silver Lining

chapter thirty-five

Young-Do looked at the list of employees in front of him and frowned. “Surely, we have more female employees with children up for promotion or highly recommended for recognition than this. This won’t fill the rest of the theater.”

Hyun-Shik looked uncomfortable. “If you opened it up to fathers, I could fill the theater.”

“That’s not the point of what I’m trying to do. Go back and tell the management I want more names. Attach the latest report from the government on labor statistics and the gender gap. Highlight the responsibilities of corporations. We’re probably going to have to have another seminar.”

“Yes, President Choi.”

“Send out the invitations for the first group. I’ll try not to be disappointed that I haven’t changed our company culture as much as I want to. We’re the hospitality industry. We employ a lot of women, plenty are single mothers and work to support their children. That number should be bigger.”

“Yes, President Choi. I will make that clear.” Hyun-Shik gathered his report, bowed, and went to follow through for him. Young-Do leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He didn’t think it would be this hard to include some employee appreciation in the babysitting outing. He’d asked his management teams to provide recommendations and they failed. It irked him.

He pulled up the illegal report Father got on Eun-Sang’s software and wished he could get his hands on it. Having unbiased data would allow him to prove to men that their female coworkers were doing good, hard work. Young-Do was sick of the bland sexism his father left behind.

He could have the data when doing internal interviews. Young-Do thought it would make him more compassionate but he absolutely understood her reticence. His father would use it to fire people without severance. He would be the kind of president Eun-Sang was afraid of letting use her software.

Young-Do wanted his hands on Eun-Sang’s program probably more than his father did but he would never take it from her outright. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes again before he pulled out his original proposal. He hadn’t brought it to marriage negotiations because he didn’t want to scare her away. She was exactly what he wanted—a beautiful, ambitious woman, with no scandals. His other options were few. Now he couldn’t use it.

It was a vanity exercise but he attempted to rework it since he knew Eun-Sang better. When it was time to go home for dinner, he stuck it in his briefcase along with a new round of reports Hyun-Shik had for him. His assistant bowed and helped him put on his jacket. “Were you able to get enough people?”

“Almost. Perhaps I should speak with President Cha’s assistant and ask her if there are employees in Park Industries that match your requirement? That way it can be a joint endeavor to put in the company newsletter?”

Young-Do sighed. “That’s a good idea. I just don’t want this to turn into a photo opportunity. These girls belong to her vice president and I don’t want pictures taken of minors for press, not even internal press. I’m just finding a way to fill seats and reward employees. I’m going to make myself available during this.”

Hyun-Shik smiled slightly and held up his briefcase. “I will communicate that when this gets out. I’ll only give a small copy for the newsletter. No pictures.”

“Thank you.” He went down to the garage and stared at his car for a few moments. He still was a little bit in awe that Eun-Sang stole it so easily. There was a part of him that mentally checked it for any damage after her speeding up a highway to the middle of nowhere but it drove smoothly all the way back into the city. It drove smoothly all the way home.

He liked judo but he didn’t like racing. The adrenaline was different. Maybe he was too aware of the dangers of speeding because of the car ride he went on with Mother and Father when he was twelve right before she left. Maybe if he hadn’t cried like a weakling Mother wouldn’t have left with nothing more than a letter explaining he was a bad son.

Young-Do shoved those old feelings aside. He couldn’t do anything about it. Mother was gone and she didn’t want him. That’s all that mattered. He could hear Ha-Jin cooking dinner when he arrived. Wook took his briefcase and jacket before offering him a drink to unwind. Young-Do sat down on the couch and tried to clear his mind as he heard Eun-Sang get home.

“Single female employees with children under the age of twelve?”

“That’s the age group for the movie and single moms deserve a little break on the weekend. Apparently my company sucks at supporting working women so I hope you have more.” He was a little surprised when she kicked off her shoes and sat down next to him. He didn’t look at her. “Do the bird girls do well with strangers in public spaces? I should’ve asked.”

“Bo-Na doesn’t want them to know she’s rich.”

“She has a pool and a three floor, split level estate in a neighborhood full of palaces. They know they’re rich.” Eun-Sang leaned against his side and took his hand. “I’m not overcompensating. Hyun-Shik doesn’t let me plan things very often and I enjoy putting together activities like this. I’m between projects right now.”

“I don’t need a justification. You don’t have to feel defensive. They will be fine with strangers. Jae-Hee will just want to sit on your shoulders during the movie.” She fell quiet for a few moments and he dared to open his eyes to look down at the top of her head. She still smelled like the sea mixed with her perfume. “That is nice of you to think of single mothers with young children.”

“I had to take a gender studies class in college. I had a good teacher who impressed upon me my responsibilities as an upcoming president to make equality inside my company a goal.”

Eun-Sang gave a dry little chuckle. “I’m going to shower. I’ve been going nonstop since Hyun-Shik brought us coffee. I’ll be fast. Ha-Jin is still finishing up.”

“Alright.” He watched her go upstairs. Young-Do didn’t realize he was so tired this early in the evening until he’d walked into his office and took out the work he meant to do. He left it behind for later.

They didn’t talk much over this dinner either.

[bestautochicago]

2018 BMW M5 First Drive: The King is Dead, Long Live the King

There was a time when the alpha-numeric “M5” held transcendental place in our automotive consciousness and struck fear in the hearts of AMG drivers. Unfortunately, this car’s immediate predecessor, the F10 M5 (2011-2016), was roundly criticized for being a luxury car with a big motor—a rather large, distant-feeling speed instrument and not much else. In a comparison test against the last-generation Mercedes-Benz E63 S AMG, of the fortified, overboosted 2014 M5 Competition Pack, senior features editor Jonny Lieberman wrote: “…the M5 feels like a bank vault with the speedometer always reading 100 mph.” That car, and others since, linger as reminders that the M Division, perhaps only temporarily, had lost its way. Even Cadillac has driven a supercharged V-8 wedge into the super sedan battlefield with its underappreciated and highly capable CTS-V. BMW had to react in a big way. They did.

Of course, some will argue the V10-powered E60 M5 (2005-2010) was a technical marvel, sprung from the last time BMW was participating in Formula 1 racing. Yet, that high-strung low-torque engine operated within too narrow a window to be an effective all-around super sedan. It was a car that was alternatively at five-tenths or 10/10ths with little between. Arguably, it’s not been since the first V-8-powered E39-generation M5 (1998-2003) was on the prowl that BMW held a winning hand in this uber-sedan war. We were reminded of just how special the E39 remains when BMW supplied one to drive during this program in Portugal. In fact, they brought an M5 from each era—and even a 1981 M535i progenitor—for us to drive on the road when it wasn’t our turn on track in the 2018 M5. This fact made us ponder if BMW and, more specifically, the M division were, in fact, reminding themselves of the unique magic that the M5 should contain and supply. It should be more than a fast 5 Series. It should, like that E39 did, have us asking, “Wait. BMW are actually going to sell this car? To anybody who can afford it? This thing is completely bonkers. No way.”

Hair-on-Fire Great

Well, guess what? The BMW M5 is once again, completely bonkers, hair-on-fire great in its current F90 form. Not only does it once again sound like a proper ne plus ultra sedan, but it is also scary fast yet has the poise and feedback it so lacked in the F10 era. It’s once again the proverbial ballerina body builder able to balance on one toe while holding a two-ton weight over its head with one hand behind its back. Technical director Frank Markus wrote a terrific deep-dive into all the nuts and bolts of what makes the 2018 BMW M5 work when he drove a prototype earlier this year. Suffice to say that one lap of the Estoril circuit in the new M5 thrashed and dashed any misplaced preconceptions about the first use of all-wheel drive in an M5 and the shift from a dual-clutch automated manual (or a honest DIY manual) in favor of a well-tuned ZF eight-speed automatic. This M5 is alive, eager, and ready for a fight. A highly revised and more powerful version of the previous 4.4-liter twin-turbo V-8 now makes 592 horsepower (officially 441 kW) and 553 lb-ft (750 Nm) of torque. By Frank’s count there are 270 combinations available with driver-selectable options for engine responsiveness, transmission, chassis, M xDrive (4WD/Sport 4WD/2WD, so, yes, a “drift” mode), stability control (DSC), etc. That’s still too many. Luckily, there are two prominent red steering wheel “preset” buttons (M1/M2) where you can store your favorite configurations for easy retrieval. Seated in the car on the track, we were asked to start with M1 that BMW reps had programmed.

Out Lap

The M1 was conservatively set with the engine/exhaust at full song but with the transmission in the second-most aggressive mode, non-Sport AWD setting, and full DSC for introductory laps. BMW claims a 0-62-mph (100 kph) time of just 3.4 seconds. That seems about right because the car was insanely fast out of the paddock and down to the first corner. What’s more, unlike the muted F10, this car sounded stupendously good—like that old E39! Besides having control flaps in the exhaust system, we’re told that a “Helmholtz” resonator fitted between the two branches contributes to it. Some of that glorious sound is, of course, “enhanced” with the car’s audio system, as well. BMW horses have always felt bigger than their numbers suggest, but the way the M5 lifts its nose and puts the power to the ground on throttle hints at the all-wheel drive working effectively. At that there’s a deep reserve of torque (553 lb-ft) from a mere 1,800 up to 5,600 rpm.

Arriving at the first several corners, the turn-in was crisp and accurate like a rear-drive car, but the eager, aggressive M5 suddenly went lazy and stubborn midturn. Despite the driveline defaulting to 2WD until the computer-controlled transfer case deems it necessary to allot power to the front wheels, the heavy hand of DSC was obvious. In this mode, the first corners were agonizingly, artificially slowed. Any attempt to alter the car’s conservative line and speed by frantically (or gently) manipulating the throttle to shift the car’s prodigious weight (estimated to be about 4,250 pounds) or yaw rate was met with a dead go-pedal until the front wheels were pointed straight. About half way around the 2.6-mile lap, I pressed the M2 button (ushering Sport 4WD and M Dynamic DSC) and ensured the shift protocol was the most aggressive available. As if I had loosened the car’s bridle and let the reins go, the M5 came alive beneath me; it began to shrink around me. With more power being directed to the rear wheels, the tail of the car was easily coaxed into gentle, measured oversteer. The steering (which I had switched to Comfort to get rid of unnecessary weight) began offering me genuine information about the front tires’ impending lack of grip. The car was so predictable that when I’d lift off the throttle, weight would transfer to the front, and I’d quickly flick the steering the other way to catch the slide and meter it with the throttle and/or the laser-precise steering. Despite its wheelbase growing an inch, overall length by 2, and width by 0.5 inch, weight is down by 50-90 pounds compared to the rear-drive F10 M5—and this is how an M5 should behave on a track.

The first time down the half-mile straight, the M5 piled on the speed as if it were in a vacuum without wind resistance. In what felt like a never-ending surge, and with each seamless, belching upshift, it just never stopped accelerating. All I could say to myself on that first lap and throughout that first sessions was: “Whoa. What. A. Motor!” For me, it defined the car in the morning, making the M5 feel like a uncaged beast that was ready to pick up asphalt and throw it at the cars following—which it did, and BMW reportedly replaced 10 windshields during the event.

On the Road

I was just getting comfortable. My hands had stopped sweating, and I had learned the track and just how much tail-out was allowed or discouraged by the car. I hadn’t yet dared look at the speedometer at the end of the straight. Too soon, however, the out lap, three hot laps, and one cool down were now behind us. We were assured that because it had rained on a previous group’s track day that there were plenty of M5-bespoke Pirelli P Zeros in the garage and that there would be afternoon hot-lapping. As we had planned, my co-driver for the afternoon road drive was none other than Jonny’s new Head2Head co-host, Jethro Bovington. And waiting for us in the parking lot was an identically equipped 2018 M5: Optional carbon-ceramic brakes (reducing corner weights by 50 pounds collectively), the M Driver’s Pack (raising the speed limiter from 155 to 189 mph), and 20-inch wheels with 275/35R20 and 285/35R20 tires.

The first order of business was to get out of town by negotiating a single roundabout then charging down an onramp onto the A16 headed north. Jethro wasted no time pressing the M2 button, and we blasted down the highway with the sat-nav system gently giving us guidance. It wasn’t long before we had arrived at the first toll station, and I asked Jethro, “If we were to arrive at the next one ‘too soon,’ would you expect to be fined for speeding?”

“I think that’s an urban myth meant to keep people from speeding,” he replied. “I’ve never heard of anybody getting nicked like that in all these years on European A roads. The speed cameras are real, but I don’t believe they time you between toll gates.”

At the first highway transition, Jethro really leaned on the car, and it just stuck to the line. “It’s really good at hiding its weight, isn’t it?” he asked. “The grip is tremendous, and it truly does feel rear drive. And this motor! Gawd.”

After a time we’d gotten off the A-routes and switched seats for the country road portion. At the first corner, I dabbed the brake and only the seat belts kept us from slamming into the dashboard. “Wow, these brakes take some getting used to, right?” I said.

We were going a good clip between towns, and interestingly, the nav system lagged behind so often that we missed several turns by the time we reached junctures. Besides that, the M5 that felt all-conquering on track and on the highway it suddenly felt all knees and elbows; the proverbial bull in a china shop. “Boy is this car big,” I said. “It takes up the entire width of this little road, and I don’t like those game-over drainage troughs one bit.”

The ride quality, too, suffered a great deal on broken pavement and even a short stretch of Belgian blocks through a small Portuguese hamlet. “Yeah, you really, really have to want this M5 to put up with the ride out here in the real world—even on the softest settings, it’s sports-car firm,” Jethro added. “Pretty punishing.” We both wondered why BMW hadn’t ventured into magnetorheological dampers yet. This would seem the perfect candidate for them. Licensing? Hmm.

The conversation continued. “I think most people will be more satisfied with a less-mental M550i xDrive,” Jethro added.

“Agree, but I’m glad they went all in with the M5,” I said. “Let’s get back to the track and queue up.”

Session Two

With the morning’s wisdom, new-found confidence in, and respect for the new M5, we took our place in line for a second opportunity to really probe the car’s limits on fresh tires behind two pro drivers, a DTM champ and Blancpain GT competitor/rising star. No sooner were we belted in our cars, M2 button pressed, than the pros leading the group of three chase M5s at a time wooded the throttle and did a glorious burnout in pit lane. Oh, it was go-fast time alright. The lead M5s were the liveried version of the Moto GP pace car that was curiously shod with Michelin Pilot Sport 4 S tires—not Pirellis. At any rate we were off and hell bent for leather.

If the morning session was all about appreciating the motor, then the afternoon was devoted to the chassis and driveline and finding the perfect line. The pro drivers were goading us to go faster and faster, and finally, we were at the limit of the car. I finally caught a glimpse of the speedo right before I got on the brakes into Turn One. It read, “270 kph” or 168 mph, to us yanks. No wonder the cars’ top speeds were raised for the event. We would’ve been on the 155-mph limiter well before the first turn. With all three lights indicating the most aggressive transmission mapping, it ripped matched-rev downshifts like a twin-clutch. It’s utterly indistinguishable in shift speed and intelligence. Turn after turn, I grew more confident in adding throttle sooner and sooner coming out of the corner. I found the less-strict limits of MDM mode (still not enough yaw to be truly fun) and switched it off completely. I didn’t delve into 2WD drift mode, but the incongruous thing, however, was that even with DSC shut off, it was so easy to dance the car around the track—clipping curbs, drifting wide on the exits, positioning the car inch-perfect, finding the ABS threshold, and backing off slightly to modulate the brakes into corners. The M5 simply does everything you want it to do and nothing you don’t. The M xDrive system is so fluid that a driver can scarcely detect its carbon-clutch pack shifting power to the front, and the Active M Dynamic differential out back effectively shifts torque side to side without using brakes. The harmony of all of this is astounding and what makes the new M5 deserving of the old, highly revered badge. What a car. What a supremely entertaining and capable super sedan it is.

OK, it’s great and all. So what’s the tariff?

How much would you expect to pay for all of this? At this point, only base pricing has been announced at $103,595, or precisely $1,800 below a comparable 2018 Mercedes-AMG E63 S 4Matic. Tantalizing, isn’t it? Adding the historical cost of the M5’s carbon-ceramic brakes ($9,250) and the Competition package (now M Driver’s pack) that includes the 20-inch forged aluminum wheels and specific tuning ($7,300) would indicate we were driving M5s that would easily exceed $120,000 before interior options. And it’s worth it. The last E63 S 4Matic we tested cost $145,160. Rest assured, however, that we will line up the next Head2Head with these two cross town rivals in a few months. Their on-paper credentials are startlingly close, and it’ll be a cage match for the ages. Watch this space.

2018 BMW M5 BASE PRICE $103,595 VEHICLE LAYOUT Front-engine, RWD/AWD, 5-pass, 4-door sedan ENGINE 4.4L/592-hp/553-lb-ft twin-turbo DOHC 32-valve V-8 TRANSMISSION 8-speed automatic CURB WEIGHT 4,250 lb (mfr) WHEELBASE 117.7 in LENGTH X WIDTH X HEIGHT 195.5 x 74.9 x 56.8 in 0-60 MPH 3.2 sec (MT est) EPA CITY/HWY/COMB FUEL ECON 15/21/17 mpg (MT est) ENERGY CONSUMPTION, CITY/HWY 225-160 kW-hrs/100 miles CO2 EMISSIONS, COMB 1.13 lb/mile ON SALE IN U.S. Spring 2018

Source: http://chicagoautohaus.com/2018-bmw-m5-first-drive-the-king-is-dead-long-live-the-king/

from Chicago Today https://chicagocarspot.wordpress.com/2017/12/19/2018-bmw-m5-first-drive-the-king-is-dead-long-live-the-king/

[robertkstone]

2018 BMW M5 First Drive: The King is Dead, Long Live the King

There was a time when the alpha-numeric “M5” held transcendental place in our automotive consciousness and struck fear in the hearts of AMG drivers. Unfortunately, this car’s immediate predecessor, the F10 M5 (2011-2016), was roundly criticized for being a luxury car with a big motor—a rather large, distant-feeling speed instrument and not much else. In a comparison test against the last-generation Mercedes-Benz E63 S AMG, of the fortified, overboosted 2014 M5 Competition Pack, senior features editor Jonny Lieberman wrote: “…the M5 feels like a bank vault with the speedometer always reading 100 mph.” That car, and others since, linger as reminders that the M Division, perhaps only temporarily, had lost its way. Even Cadillac has driven a supercharged V-8 wedge into the super sedan battlefield with its underappreciated and highly capable CTS-V. BMW had to react in a big way. They did.

Of course, some will argue the V10-powered E60 M5 (2005-2010) was a technical marvel, sprung from the last time BMW was participating in Formula 1 racing. Yet, that high-strung low-torque engine operated within too narrow a window to be an effective all-around super sedan. It was a car that was alternatively at five-tenths or 10/10ths with little between. Arguably, it’s not been since the first V-8-powered E39-generation M5 (1998-2003) was on the prowl that BMW held a winning hand in this uber-sedan war. We were reminded of just how special the E39 remains when BMW supplied one to drive during this program in Portugal. In fact, they brought an M5 from each era—and even a 1981 M535i progenitor—for us to drive on the road when it wasn’t our turn on track in the 2018 M5. This fact made us ponder if BMW and, more specifically, the M division were, in fact, reminding themselves of the unique magic that the M5 should contain and supply. It should be more than a fast 5 Series. It should, like that E39 did, have us asking, “Wait. BMW are actually going to sell this car? To anybody who can afford it? This thing is completely bonkers. No way.”

Hair-on-Fire Great

Well, guess what? The BMW M5 is once again, completely bonkers, hair-on-fire great in its current F90 form. Not only does it once again sound like a proper ne plus ultra sedan, but it is also scary fast yet has the poise and feedback it so lacked in the F10 era. It’s once again the proverbial ballerina body builder able to balance on one toe while holding a two-ton weight over its head with one hand behind its back. Technical director Frank Markus wrote a terrific deep-dive into all the nuts and bolts of what makes the 2018 BMW M5 work when he drove a prototype earlier this year. Suffice to say that one lap of the Estoril circuit in the new M5 thrashed and dashed any misplaced preconceptions about the first use of all-wheel drive in an M5 and the shift from a dual-clutch automated manual (or a honest DIY manual) in favor of a well-tuned ZF eight-speed automatic. This M5 is alive, eager, and ready for a fight. A highly revised and more powerful version of the previous 4.4-liter twin-turbo V-8 now makes 592 horsepower (officially 441 kW) and 553 lb-ft (750 Nm) of torque. By Frank’s count there are 270 combinations available with driver-selectable options for engine responsiveness, transmission, chassis, M xDrive (4WD/Sport 4WD/2WD, so, yes, a “drift” mode), stability control (DSC), etc. That’s still too many. Luckily, there are two prominent red steering wheel “preset” buttons (M1/M2) where you can store your favorite configurations for easy retrieval. Seated in the car on the track, we were asked to start with M1 that BMW reps had programmed.

Out Lap

The M1 was conservatively set with the engine/exhaust at full song but with the transmission in the second-most aggressive mode, non-Sport AWD setting, and full DSC for introductory laps. BMW claims a 0-62-mph (100 kph) time of just 3.4 seconds. That seems about right because the car was insanely fast out of the paddock and down to the first corner. What’s more, unlike the muted F10, this car sounded stupendously good—like that old E39! Besides having control flaps in the exhaust system, we’re told that a “Helmholtz” resonator fitted between the two branches contributes to it. Some of that glorious sound is, of course, “enhanced” with the car’s audio system, as well. BMW horses have always felt bigger than their numbers suggest, but the way the M5 lifts its nose and puts the power to the ground on throttle hints at the all-wheel drive working effectively. At that there’s a deep reserve of torque (553 lb-ft) from a mere 1,800 up to 5,600 rpm.

Arriving at the first several corners, the turn-in was crisp and accurate like a rear-drive car, but the eager, aggressive M5 suddenly went lazy and stubborn midturn. Despite the driveline defaulting to 2WD until the computer-controlled transfer case deems it necessary to allot power to the front wheels, the heavy hand of DSC was obvious. In this mode, the first corners were agonizingly, artificially slowed. Any attempt to alter the car’s conservative line and speed by frantically (or gently) manipulating the throttle to shift the car’s prodigious weight (estimated to be about 4,250 pounds) or yaw rate was met with a dead go-pedal until the front wheels were pointed straight. About half way around the 2.6-mile lap, I pressed the M2 button (ushering Sport 4WD and M Dynamic DSC) and ensured the shift protocol was the most aggressive available. As if I had loosened the car’s bridle and let the reins go, the M5 came alive beneath me; it began to shrink around me. With more power being directed to the rear wheels, the tail of the car was easily coaxed into gentle, measured oversteer. The steering (which I had switched to Comfort to get rid of unnecessary weight) began offering me genuine information about the front tires’ impending lack of grip. The car was so predictable that when I’d lift off the throttle, weight would transfer to the front, and I’d quickly flick the steering the other way to catch the slide and meter it with the throttle and/or the laser-precise steering. Despite its wheelbase growing an inch, overall length by 2, and width by 0.5 inch, weight is down by 50-90 pounds compared to the rear-drive F10 M5—and this is how an M5 should behave on a track.

The first time down the half-mile straight, the M5 piled on the speed as if it were in a vacuum without wind resistance. In what felt like a never-ending surge, and with each seamless, belching upshift, it just never stopped accelerating. All I could say to myself on that first lap and throughout that first sessions was: “Whoa. What. A. Motor!” For me, it defined the car in the morning, making the M5 feel like a uncaged beast that was ready to pick up asphalt and throw it at the cars following—which it did, and BMW reportedly replaced 10 windshields during the event.

On the Road

I was just getting comfortable. My hands had stopped sweating, and I had learned the track and just how much tail-out was allowed or discouraged by the car. I hadn’t yet dared look at the speedometer at the end of the straight. Too soon, however, the out lap, three hot laps, and one cool down were now behind us. We were assured that because it had rained on a previous group’s track day that there were plenty of M5-bespoke Pirelli P Zeros in the garage and that there would be afternoon hot-lapping. As we had planned, my co-driver for the afternoon road drive was none other than Jonny’s new Head2Head co-host, Jethro Bovington. And waiting for us in the parking lot was an identically equipped 2018 M5: Optional carbon-ceramic brakes (reducing corner weights by 50 pounds collectively), the M Driver’s Pack (raising the speed limiter from 155 to 189 mph), and 20-inch wheels with 275/35R20 and 285/35R20 tires.

The first order of business was to get out of town by negotiating a single roundabout then charging down an onramp onto the A16 headed north. Jethro wasted no time pressing the M2 button, and we blasted down the highway with the sat-nav system gently giving us guidance. It wasn’t long before we had arrived at the first toll station, and I asked Jethro, “If we were to arrive at the next one ‘too soon,’ would you expect to be fined for speeding?”

“I think that’s an urban myth meant to keep people from speeding,” he replied. “I’ve never heard of anybody getting nicked like that in all these years on European A roads. The speed cameras are real, but I don’t believe they time you between toll gates.”

At the first highway transition, Jethro really leaned on the car, and it just stuck to the line. “It’s really good at hiding its weight, isn’t it?” he asked. “The grip is tremendous, and it truly does feel rear drive. And this motor! Gawd.”

After a time we’d gotten off the A-routes and switched seats for the country road portion. At the first corner, I dabbed the brake and only the seat belts kept us from slamming into the dashboard. “Wow, these brakes take some getting used to, right?” I said.

We were going a good clip between towns, and interestingly, the nav system lagged behind so often that we missed several turns by the time we reached junctures. Besides that, the M5 that felt all-conquering on track and on the highway it suddenly felt all knees and elbows; the proverbial bull in a china shop. “Boy is this car big,” I said. “It takes up the entire width of this little road, and I don’t like those game-over drainage troughs one bit.”

The ride quality, too, suffered a great deal on broken pavement and even a short stretch of Belgian blocks through a small Portuguese hamlet. “Yeah, you really, really have to want this M5 to put up with the ride out here in the real world—even on the softest settings, it’s sports-car firm,” Jethro added. “Pretty punishing.” We both wondered why BMW hadn’t ventured into magnetorheological dampers yet. This would seem the perfect candidate for them. Licensing? Hmm.

The conversation continued. “I think most people will be more satisfied with a less-mental M550i xDrive,” Jethro added.

“Agree, but I’m glad they went all in with the M5,” I said. “Let’s get back to the track and queue up.”

Session Two

With the morning’s wisdom, new-found confidence in, and respect for the new M5, we took our place in line for a second opportunity to really probe the car’s limits on fresh tires behind two pro drivers, a DTM champ and Blancpain GT competitor/rising star. No sooner were we belted in our cars, M2 button pressed, than the pros leading the group of three chase M5s at a time wooded the throttle and did a glorious burnout in pit lane. Oh, it was go-fast time alright. The lead M5s were the liveried version of the Moto GP pace car that was curiously shod with Michelin Pilot Sport 4 S tires—not Pirellis. At any rate we were off and hell bent for leather.

If the morning session was all about appreciating the motor, then the afternoon was devoted to the chassis and driveline and finding the perfect line. The pro drivers were goading us to go faster and faster, and finally, we were at the limit of the car. I finally caught a glimpse of the speedo right before I got on the brakes into Turn One. It read, “270 kph” or 168 mph, to us yanks. No wonder the cars’ top speeds were raised for the event. We would’ve been on the 155-mph limiter well before the first turn. With all three lights indicating the most aggressive transmission mapping, it ripped matched-rev downshifts like a twin-clutch. It’s utterly indistinguishable in shift speed and intelligence. Turn after turn, I grew more confident in adding throttle sooner and sooner coming out of the corner. I found the less-strict limits of MDM mode (still not enough yaw to be truly fun) and switched it off completely. I didn’t delve into 2WD drift mode, but the incongruous thing, however, was that even with DSC shut off, it was so easy to dance the car around the track—clipping curbs, drifting wide on the exits, positioning the car inch-perfect, finding the ABS threshold, and backing off slightly to modulate the brakes into corners. The M5 simply does everything you want it to do and nothing you don’t. The M xDrive system is so fluid that a driver can scarcely detect its carbon-clutch pack shifting power to the front, and the Active M Dynamic differential out back effectively shifts torque side to side without using brakes. The harmony of all of this is astounding and what makes the new M5 deserving of the old, highly revered badge. What a car. What a supremely entertaining and capable super sedan it is.

OK, it’s great and all. So what’s the tariff?

How much would you expect to pay for all of this? At this point, only base pricing has been announced at $103,595, or precisely $1,800 below a comparable 2018 Mercedes-AMG E63 S 4Matic. Tantalizing, isn’t it? Adding the historical cost of the M5’s carbon-ceramic brakes ($9,250) and the Competition package (now M Driver’s pack) that includes the 20-inch forged aluminum wheels and specific tuning ($7,300) would indicate we were driving M5s that would easily exceed $120,000 before interior options. And it’s worth it. The last E63 S 4Matic we tested cost $145,160. Rest assured, however, that we will line up the next Head2Head with these two cross town rivals in a few months. Their on-paper credentials are startlingly close, and it’ll be a cage match for the ages. Watch this space.

IFTTT

[itsworn]

Car Craft Ask Anything: Reader Questions Answered

Jenny on the Block

Bart Jenson, via email: A friend showed me a small-block Chevy engine block with the number 327 cast into the outer wall. He says it came out of a 1961 Corvette and has plans to sell it online. I had no idea Chevy was marking blocks like this way back then. I’ve always heard it was a thing called the “suffix code” that told one block from another. Is this a new discovery for easy identification of blocks?

Steve Magnante: Bart, tell your friend he needs to learn more about what he has before listing it online or even telling others what he thinks it is. I went to my local engine shop (R.A.D. Auto Machine in Ludlow, Massachusetts) and asked proprietor Donnie Wood if he’d ever seen the numbers you describe. His reply: “Oh, I see those 327 blocks all the time. Got one on the boring machine right now.” Sure enough, there it was. A small-block bearing the 327 numbers about an inch high on the passenger side, getting finish-honed.

Donnie tells us, “It’d be great if it was all so easy and Chevy stuck displacement markings on the outside of the block back in 1955 and kept it up over the years. But the fact is, those ‘327’ blocks are actually 350ci units from the LT1/LT4 family of small-blocks.” Also referred to as Gen II engines, they were introduced in 1992 and were used through 1997 when the totally new Gen III LS series engine replaced it.

The Gen II featured several differences from the 1955–1996 Gen I block; the most significant changes were the elimination of the rear-mounted distributor and revised coolant flow that served the heads before the block. The water pump, intake manifold, and dampener/pulley system were all unique to the Gen II small-block, as was the front-mounted Opti-Spark distributor. This version of the small-block was unique enough to warrant the Gen II nomenclature and, yes, many feature the “327” block marking your friend is mistaking for a 1962–1969 block with that displacement.

Though even the basic LT1 installed in Cadillac Fleetwoods, Caprices, Buicks, and so on made a respectable 260 hp and proudly boasted dual exhaust outlets, memorable performance models motivated by a 275- to 300hp variant included the 1992–1996 (non ZR1) Corvette, 1993–1997 Z/28 and Trans Am, and 1994–1996 Impala SS. Only the Corvette-bound blocks got four-bolt main caps; the rest got two-bolt caps. There was also the higher-output LT4—with its OE Crane roller rocker arms, red powdercoated intake manifold, and four-bolt main caps—that saw optional use in the 1996 Corvette (6,359 of the 21,536 cars built got the LT4 for an extra $1,450) and a handful of SLP F-body offerings.

And, yes, there was even an economy version of the LT1 called the L99 in 1994–1996. It made 200 hp, displaced 4.3L (262 cubes), and looked the same as a 350-incher. Classic 4.3 installations were base, fullsize, rear-wheel drivers and taxis. Here we must stop to indicate GM put external metric displacement indicators on these blocks. But they read 5.7 or 4.3 and were located at the top of the block, adjacent to the transmission bellhousing (some blocks carried the 4.3/5.7 numbers on the outside wall, too). In a nutshell, if you don’t see a distributor (or its mounting hole) at the back of the engine block, it’s a Gen II—even if it says 327 on the outer wall.

About the 327, let’s remind your friend the 1961 Corvette he (mistakenly) thinks his block is from actually got the 283 small-block—in its final year under Corvette hoods. The 327 wouldn’t arrive in any Chevy until 1962, when it replaced the 283 in Corvettes. And let’s not forget that Chevrolet has applied the fabled LT1 designation several times. The first was on the potent, solid-lifter 350 of 1970–1972, the second on the very worthy 1992–1997 engines discussed here.

About suffix codes, you are correct that GM stamped alphanumeric identification codes into blocks. Located atop a machined pad that extends forward from the passenger-side deck, this is where hundreds of different codes were stamped in place to identify the engine’s original power rating, transmission, and assembly plant. However, even a light 0.010-inch deck cut (to restore the gasket surface during a rebuild) can eradicate the factory-applied stampings, so they are often missing. There are many sources for casting number and suffix code info, including Mark Allen’s MSA-1 booklets (available from Summit Racing) and online resources like Mortec.com. Hopefully, this sets you and your buddy straight.

The 327 numbers cast into the side of this Gen II block bear no relationship to its displacement. Coincidentally, American Motors 1967-and-later 290, 304, 343, 360, 390, and 401 V8 blocks bear similar markings, but are not applied upside-down.

On the sample LT1 block: Though the block deck surface typically displays a string of characters, the final two or three—or the “suffix” of the item—are where the useful horsepower and transmission data is deciphered. Here, the YSH would be considered the “suffix code.”

Hull of a Deal

Herb Sunderland, via email: The one thing I can’t stand in my hot rods is a leaky engine. I always take extra time when sealing the oil pan to the block, but have a 340 Mopar small-block that’s driving me nuts. No matter what I do, this engine leaks oil from the rear main seal. I built this engine myself, but got the block and crank from a shop that handles a lot of marine engine repairs. They have a side line salvaging former powerboat V8s for use in cars. Thankfully, my 340 is in a 1973 Duster with a 904 Torqueflite. With a stick, the clutch disc would be contaminated by the leak. As it is, the stink of the oil burning off the hot exhaust system on highway trips made my girlfriend so sick she won’t ride in it anymore. Got any suggestions?

Steve Magnante: Herb, the fact your crank was sourced from a marine-oriented shop is telling, and it’s likely the root of the problem. I’ll bet your 340’s crank came out of a boat. And not just any boat, but a larger one with two engines, perhaps a cabin cruiser. Since the 1920s, builders of pleasure craft saw mounting two automobile engines as a cost-effective and lighter alternative to a single, larger marine diesel engine.

Positioned in the hull side by side (tandem mount), twin-engine boats naturally require two propellers, and this is where things get sticky. Automobile engines are designed to run in a clockwise rotation (as viewed from the front of the engine). Straight off the dock, vehicle-sourced engines would churn the propellers counter-clockwise as viewed facing the stern (rear) of the boat. This would result in a constant need to counter-steer the rudder(s) to maintain a straight path through the water—a losing prop-osition.

To cancel this nasty effect, one of the two propellers must be made to turn in the opposite direction from its mate. This can be done with an intermediary gearbox between the crankshaft and propeller, but adds complexity and cost. The simpler path was to reconfigure the ignition, camshaft, water pump (where applicable), and other systems to turn the crank in the opposite of the traditional direction.

One little detail that’s a big deal in reverse-rotation engines is the reversal of the surface treatment applied to the crank surface that rides on the rear main seal. As with most engines (regardless of rotation), minute helix cuts are knurled to the surface to function as an Archimedes pump. Thus while in motion, oil is rolled back into the pan. Beware, the rear main seal must be a correct match to the direction of crank rotation and the type of helix surface present. Inside most Chrysler Marine engines, you’ll find specific helix treatments on the crankshaft and matched rear main seals to control oil flow. The picture shows the details.

Getting back to your 340, remembering that the 340 shares the same 3.312-inch stroke, 2.50-inch main bearing journal diameters, and 2.125-inch crankpin diameters as any 273 or 318 crank, I’d bet you’ve got the crank from a Chrysler Marine 318 V8 in your 340; it’s a direct fit, except for the helix orientation.

Chrysler’s Marine and Industrial division was formed in 1927, and through its sale in 1980 as part of the Chrysler Corp. Loan Guarantee Act with Uncle Sam, offered marine versions of just about every Chrysler passenger-car engine ever made. The resulting waterborne engines got names like Majestic, Ace, Royal, Crown, Super Crown, and Commando and included the Space Saver, a Slant Six that rested flat on its right-hand (starboard) side deep in the hull. There was even a version of the 426 Race Hemi offered in 1965. With two Keith Black–built supercharged Marine Hemis, a boat called Miss Chrysler Crew averaged 100.671 mph on the Detroit River to win the 1967 unlimited hydroplane Gold Cup trophy.

Back to your engine, I’d bet that if you pull your 340’s crank, it’ll have the boat-type helix surface (slanting left). If so, they’re pumping oil at the exhaust plumbing and nasty fumes up your lady friend’s nose. This feature of rotation-specific helix surfacing is also seen in marine engines of other makes. Owners of reverse-rotation Chevrolet big-blocks have to be sure to use the right rear main seal (see it in the picture, Fel-Pro Marine PN 17740). The reverse-rotation rear main seal you need can be found in Fel-Pro Marine gasket set (PN 17150).

One cool detail of interest to curious car crafters is that tandem-engine boat builders can tune boat-handling behavior by juggling what side of the hull they mount the reverse-rotation engine on. A so-called “in” setup (with the reverse-rotation engine on the left side of the hull) causes the tops of the propellers to both turn inward. This draws the stern down into the water under power and is the more common layout for its speed and minimized wake. Putting the reverse-rotation engine on the right side of the hull gives an “out” setup with props that turn away from each other. This increases stern lift under power. Cool, huh?

These crankshafts display three distinct main seal journal surface treatments. On the left is a neutral polished journal. The center passenger-car crank shows serrations that slant to the right. The marine crank (right) has its serrations cut in slanted to the left. The blue-ink slashes applied to the gray tape mirror the helix configurations for visual assistance.

Cold Hearted Wedge

Ron Scurra; via CarCraft@carcraft.com: I love NHRA Stock and Super Stock drag racing, especially the old Mopar Max Wedges. While chatting with some racers in the pits at Pomona during the 2017 Winternationals, the topic of engine blocks came up. The guys were saying there’s a special, extra-thick block made in the 1970s that all the Max Wedge guys try to use. I always heard the factory Max Wedge blocks of 1962–1964 were the best of the best. What’s the story on this mystery block?

Steve Magnante: The Stock and Super Stock classes are the best at maintaining the link between what fans take to the Pomona parking lot and what they see win on the strip surface. The Maxies were there at the beginning, but I’m thrilled to see the new Drag Pak Challengers, Cobra Jet Mustangs and COPO Camaros picking up where those factory drag packages left off. To me, the modern ponycar classes should be made Pro pronto (versus Sportsman).

About that mythical block you heard the racers discuss, it was real and is likely better than a vintage Max Wedge block. More in a second, but first, the Max Wedge castings were identified by specific machined codes stamped atop the raised pad on the driver side of the block area over the timing-chain cover. They showed the letters MP (as in Maximum Performance), the displacement (413 in 1962, 426 in 1963–1964), and the assembly date. Also, blocks used in optional high-compression Max Wedges will also bear the letters HC after the MP stamping. I once owned a 1964 Stage III block that read 426 MP HC.

One other external detail that’s a bit controversial is the supposed elevated tin content used in Maxie blocks. Claimed by many to make the block and bores harder and less prone to wear, these supposed high-tin blocks bear the raised letters AAQA on the driver-side front face. True, original, unrestored Max Wedge cars exhibit the AAQA block casting every time, but I’ve also seen the AAQA on many early 1960s Slant Six and 318 polysphere blocks. There’s danger in generalizing that what is seen on one—or a handful—of blocks applies to all blocks, so who knows.

Barring re-stamped fakery, original 413 and 426 Max Wedge blocks are highly prized by racers and restorers alike. Since they were usually raced a bunch, standard bore examples are super-rare and worth a mint. Most today have at least one sleeve or are overbored 0.060 inch or more.

With the background established, the mystery block being discussed at Pomona was undoubtedly the elusive “cold weather” casting produced in the early 1970s for 440 engines sold for use in cold-weather climates. We’re not talking New Hampshire in the winter here, but rather Earth’s most extreme settings. Places like Alaska, the North Pole, and so on. Quickly identified by several vertical and horizontal raised webs on each side of the block, the extra reinforcement no doubt helps these blocks resist the jacking effect of freezing coolant inside the water jackets. While no iron block casting can alter the reality that water takes up 7 percent more space when frozen than it does in its liquid state, these blocks certainly gave an extra margin of safety in Earth’s most extreme climates. Inside, the webs connecting the main journal saddles to the crankcase are thicker and lack the scalloped reliefs seen on standard 440 blocks. This was part of the rigidity-enhancement strategy, but serves the racer well in high-horsepower builds.

Why would drag racers want these blocks when standard blocks survive just as well without the 12 extra pounds imposed by the cold-weather block’s extra thickness? In the world of Stock and Super Stock, where the block flexing loads imposed by supercharging and nitrous aren’t encountered, these extra-rigid blocks would seem a waste. That is, until you consider their likely ability to better resist cylinder distortion under load. Veteran East Coast Mopar racer Jerry “Teacher’s Pet” Stein once told your author he cherished these cold-weather blocks for that exact reason. His aluminum-nose 1963 Plymouth wasn’t severely handicapped by the block’s 12 extra pounds.

That’s the story of the cold-weather 440 engine block. You can check your garage, but chances of finding one are slimmer than slim. But at least the mystery is solved.

This cold-weather 440 block displays the breed’s many added webs and wears a 5-12-72 (May 12, 1972) casting date. The topside stamped data pad reads “J440 7 8 E.” This decodes to 1973 model year vehicle (J), 440 cubic inches, final assembled on July 8 (7, 8) and cast-iron crank (E).

The post Car Craft Ask Anything: Reader Questions Answered appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/car-craft-ask-anything-reader-questions-answered/ via IFTTT